Pelham — Complete
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CHAPTER XXVI.
Tell how the fates my giddy course did guide, The inconstant turns ofevery changing hour.--Pierce Gaveston, by M. Drayton.
Je me retire donc.--Adieu, Paris, adieu!--Boileau.
When I returned home, I found on my table the following letter from mymother:
"My dear Henry,
"I am rejoiced to hear you are so well entertained at Paris--that youhave been so often to the D--s and C--s; that Coulon says you are hisbest pupil--that your favourite horse is so much admired--and that youhave only exceeded your allowance by a L1,000; with some difficulty Ihave persuaded your uncle to transmit you an order for L1,500, whichwill, I trust, make up all your deficiencies.
"You must not, my dear child, be so extravagant for the future, andfor a very good reason, namely, I do not see how you can. Your uncle, Ifear, will not again be so generous, and your father cannot assist you.You will therefore see more clearly than ever the necessity of marryingan heiress: there are only two in England (the daughters of gentlemen)worthy of you--the most deserving of these has L10,000 a year, the otherhas L150,000. The former is old, ugly, and very ill tempered; the lattertolerably pretty, and agreeable, and just of age; but you will perceivethe impropriety of even thinking of her till we have tried the other.I am going to ask both to my Sunday soirees, where I never admit anysingle men, so that there, at least, you will have no rivals.
"And now, my dear son, before I enter into a subject of great importanceto you, I wish to recal to your mind that pleasure is never an end, buta means--viz. that in your horses and amusements at Paris--your visitsand your liaisons--you have always, I trust, remembered that these wereonly so far desirable as the methods of shining in society. I have nowa new scene on which you are to enter, with very different objects inview, and where any pleasures you may find have nothing the least incommon with those you at present enjoy.
"I know that this preface will not frighten you as it might many sillyyoung men. Your education has been too carefully attended to, for you toimagine that any step can be rough or unpleasant which raises you in theworld.
"To come at once to the point. One of the seats in your uncle's boroughof Buyemall is every day expected to be vacated; the present member, Mr.Toolington, cannot possibly live a week, and your uncle is very desirousthat you should fill the vacancy which Mr. Toolington's death willcreate. Though I called it Lord Glenmorris's borough, yet it is notentirely at his disposal, which I think very strange, since my father,who was not half so rich as your uncle, could send two membersto Parliament without the least trouble in the world--but I don'tunderstand these matters. Possibly your uncle (poor man) does not managethem well. However, he says no time is to be lost. You are to returnimmediately to England, and come down to his house in--shire. It issupposed you will have some contest, but be certain eventually to comein.
"You will also, in this visit to Lord Glenmorris, have an excellentopportunity of securing his affection; you know it is some time since hesaw you, and the greater part of his property is unentailed. If you comeinto the House you must devote yourself wholly to it, and I have no fearof your succeeding; for I remember, when you were quite a child, howwell you spoke, 'My name is Norval,' and 'Romans, countrymen, andlovers,' I heard Mr. Canning speak the other day, and I think his voiceis quite like yours; in short, I make no doubt of seeing you in theministry in a very few years.
"You see, my dear son, that it is absolutely necessary you should setout immediately. You will call on Lady--, and you will endeavour to makefirm friends of the most desirable among your present acquaintance; sothat you may be on the same footing you are now, should you returnto Paris. This a little civility will easily do: nobody (as I beforeobserved), except in England, ever loses by politeness; by the by, thatlast word is one you must never use, it is too Gloucester-place like.
"You will also be careful, in returning to England, to make very littleuse of French phrases; no vulgarity is more unpleasing. I could nothelp being exceedingly amused by a book written the other day, whichprofesses to give an accurate description of good society. Not knowingwhat to make us say in English, the author has made us talk nothing butFrench. I have often wondered what common people think of us, sincein their novels they always affect to pourtray us so different fromthemselves. I am very much afraid we are in all things exactly likethem, except in being more simple and unaffected. The higher the rank,indeed, the less pretence, because there is less to pretend to. This isthe chief reason why our manners are better than low persons: ours aremore natural, because they imitate no one else; theirs are affected,because they think to imitate ours; and whatever is evidentlyborrowed becomes vulgar. Original affection is sometimes ton--imitatedaffectation, always bad.
"Well, my dear Henry, I must now conclude this letter, already too longto be interesting. I hope to see you about ten days after you receivethis; and if you could bring me a Cachemire shawl, it would give megreat pleasure to see your taste in its choice. God bless you, my dearson.
"Your very affectionate
"Frances Pelham."
"P.S. I hope you go to church sometimes: I am sorry to see the young menof the present day so irreligious. Perhaps you could get my old friend,Madame De--, to choose the Cachemire--take care of your health."
This letter, which I read carefully twice over, threw me into a mostserious meditation. My first feeling was regret at leaving Paris; mysecond, was a certain exultation at the new prospects so unexpectedlyopened to me. The great aim of a philosopher is, to reconcile everydisadvantage by some counterbalance of good--where he cannot createthis, he should imagine it. I began, therefore, to consider less whatI should lose than what I should gain, by quitting Paris. In the firstplace, I was tolerably tired of its amusements: no business is half sofatiguing as pleasure. I longed for a change: behold, a change was athand! Then, to say truth, I was heartily glad of a pretence of escapingfrom a numerous cohort of folles amours, with Madame D'Anville at thehead; and the very circumstance which men who play the German flute andfall in love, would have considered the most vexatious, I regarded asthe most consolatory.
There was yet another reason which reconciled me more than any other tomy departure. I had, in my residence at Paris, among half wits andwhole roues, contracted a certain--not exactly grossierete--but want ofrefinement--a certain coarseness of expression and idea which, thoughslight, and easily thrown off, took in some degree from my approach tothat character which I wished to become. I know nothing which wouldso polish the manners as continental intercourse, were it not for theEnglish debauches with which that intercourse connects one. Englishprofligacy is always coarse, and in profligacy nothing is morecontagious than its tone. One never keeps a restraint on the manner whenone unbridles the passions, and one takes from the associates with whomthe latter are indulged, the air and the method of the indulgence.
I was, the reader well knows, too solicitous for improvement, not to beanxious to escape from such chances of deterioration, and I thereforeconsoled myself with considerable facility for the pleasures and theassociates I was about to forego. My mind being thus relieved fromall regret at my departure, I now suffered it to look forward to theadvantages of my return to England. My love of excitement and varietymade an election, in which I was to have both the importance of thecontest and the certainty of the success, a very agreeable object ofanticipation.
I was also by this time wearied with my attendance upon women, andeager to exchange it for the ordinary objects of ambition to men; and myvanity whispered that my success in the one was no unfavourable omen ofmy prosperity in the other. On my return to England, with a new sceneand a new motive for conduct, I resolved that I would commence adifferent character to that I had hitherto assumed. How far I kept thisresolution the various events hereafter to be shown, will testify. Formyself, I felt that I was now about to enter a more crowded scene upona more elevated ascent; and my previous experience of human naturewas sufficient to convince me that my safety required a more continualcircumspec
tion, and my success a more dignified bearing.