Paul Clifford

by Edward Bulwer-Lytton

  Chapter IV

  He had now become a young man of extreme fashion, and as much répandu in society as the utmost and most exigent coveter of London celebrity could desire. He was, of course, a member of the clubs, &c. &c. &c. He was, in short, of that oft-described set before whom all minor beaux sink into insignificance, or among whom they eventually obtain a subaltern grade, by a sacrifice of a due portion of their fortune.

  Almack’s Revisited

  By the soul of the great Malebranche, who made ‘A Search after Truth,’ and discovered everything beautiful except that which he searched for; – by the soul of the great Malebranche, whom Bishop Berkeley found suffering under an inflammation in the lungs, and very obligingly talked to death, – an instance of conversational powers worthy of the envious emulation of all great metaphysicians and arguers; – by the soul of that illustrious man, it is amazing to us what a number of truths there are broken up into little fragments, and scattered here and there through the world. What a magnificent museum a man might make of the precious minerals, if he would but go out with his basket under his arm, and his eyes about him! We, ourselves, picked up, this very day, a certain small piece of truth, with which we propose to explain to thee, fair reader, a sinister turn in the fortunes of Paul.

  ‘Wherever,’ says a living sage, ‘you see dignity, you may be sure there is expense requisite to support it.’* So was it with Paul. A young gentleman who was heir-presumptive to the Mug, and who enjoyed a handsome person with a cultivated mind, was necessarily of a certain station of society, and an object of respect in the eyes of the manœuvring mammas of the vicinity of Thames Court. Many were the parties of pleasure to Deptford and Greenwich which Paul found himself compelled to attend; and we need not refer our readers to novels upon fashionable life, to inform them that, in good society, the gentlemen always pay for the ladies! Nor was this all the expense to which his expectations exposed him. A gentleman could scarcely attend these elegant festivities without devoting some little attention to his dress; and a fashionable tailor plays the deuce with one’s yearly allowance!

  We, who reside, be it known to you, reader, in Little Brittany, are not very well acquainted with the manners of the better classes in St James’s. But there was one great vice among the fine people about Thames Court, which we make no doubt does not exist anywhere else, viz., these fine people were always in an agony to seem finer than they were; and the more airs a gentleman or a lady gave him or herself, the more important they became. Joe, the dog’s-meat man, had indeed got into society, entirely from a knack of saying impertinent things to everybody; and the smartest exclusives of the place, who seldom visited any one where there was not a silver teapot, used to think Joe had a great deal in him because he trundled his cart with his head in the air, and one day gave the very beadle of the parish ‘the cut direct.’

  Now this desire to be so exceedingly fine not only made the society about Thames Court unpleasant, but expensive. Every one vied with his neighbour; and as the spirit of rivalry is particularly strong in youthful bosoms, we can scarcely wonder that it led Paul into many extravagances. The evil of all circles that profess to be select is high play, – and the reason is obvious: persons who have the power to bestow on another an advantage he covets, would rather sell it than give it; and Paul, gradually increasing in popularity and ton, found himself, in spite of his classical education, no match for the finished, or, rather, finishing gentlemen with whom he began to associate. His first admittance into the select coterie of these men of the world was formed at the house of Bachelor Bill, a person of great notoriety among that portion of the élite which emphatically entitles itself ‘Flash!’ However, as it is our rigid intention in this work to portray at length no episodical characters whatsoever, we can afford our readers but a slight and rapid sketch of Bachelor Bill.

  This personage was of Devonshire extraction. His mother had kept the pleasantest public-house in town, and at her death Bill succeeded to her property and popularity. All the young ladies in the neighbourhood of Fiddler’s Row, where he resided, set their caps at him: all the most fashionable prigs, or tobymen, sought to get him into their set; and the most crack blowen in London would have given her ears at any time for a loving word from Bachelor Bill. But Bill was a long-headed, prudent fellow, and of a remarkably cautious temperament. He avoided marriage and friendship, viz., he was neither plundered nor cornuted. He was a tall, aristocratic cove, of a devilish neat address, and very gallant, in an honest way, to the blowens. Like most single men, being very much the gentleman so far as money was concerned, he gave them plenty of ‘feeds,’ and from time to time a very agreeable ‘hop.’ His ‘bingo’* was unexceptionable; and as for his ‘stark-naked,’† it was voted the most brilliant thing in nature. In a very short time, by his blows-out and his bachelorship, – for single men always arrive at the apex of haut ton more easily than married, – he became the very glass of fashion; and many were the tight apprentices, even at the west end of the town, who used to turn back in admiration of Bachelor Bill, when, of a Sunday afternoon, he drove down his varment gig to his snug little box on the borders of Turnham Green. Bill’s happiness was not, however, wholly without alloy. The ladies of pleasure are always so excessively angry when a man does not make love to them, that there is nothing they will not say against him; and the fair matrons in the vicinity of Fiddler’s Row spread all manner of unfounded reports against poor Bachelor Bill. By degrees, however, – for, as Tacitus has said, doubtless with a prophetic eye to Bachelor Bill, ‘the truth gains by delay,’ these reports began to die insensibly away; and Bill, now waxing near to the confines of middle age, his friends comfortably settled for him that he would be Bachelor Bill all his life. For the rest, he was an excellent fellow, – gave his broken victuals to the poor – professed a liberal turn of thinking, and in all the quarrels among the blowens (your crack blowens are a quarrelsome set!) always took part with the weakest. Although Bill affected to be very select in his company, he was never forgetful of his old friends; and Mrs Margery Lobkins having been very good to him when he was a little boy in a skeleton jacket, he invariably sent her a card to his soirées. The good lady, however, had not of late years deserted her chimney corner. Indeed, the racket of fashionable life was too much for her nerves, and the invitation had become a customary form not expected to be acted upon, but not a whit the less regularly used for that reason. As Paul had now attained his sixteenth year, and was a fine, handsome lad, the dame thought he would make an excellent representative of the Mug’s mistress; and that, for her protégé, a ball at Bill’s house would be no bad commencement of ‘Life in London.’ Accordingly, she intimated to the Bachelor a wish to that effect, and Paul received the following invitation from Bill:–

  Mr William Duke gives a hop and feed in a quiet way on Monday next, and hops Mr Paul Lobkins will be of the party. N.B. Gentlemen is expected to come in pumps.

  When Paul entered, he found Bachelor Bill leading off the ball to the tune of ‘Drops of Brandy,’ with a young lady to whom – because she had been a strolling player – the Ladies Patronesses of Fiddler’s Row had thought proper to behave with a very cavalier civility. The good bachelor had no notion, as he expressed it, of such tantrums, and he caused it to be circulated among the finest of the blowens, that ‘he expected all who kicked their heels at his house would behave decent and polite to young Mrs Dot.’ This intimation, conveyed to the ladies with all that insinuating polish for which Bachelor Bill was so remarkable, produced a notable effect; and Mrs Dot, being now led off by the flash Bachelor, was overpowered with civilities the rest of the evening.

  When the dance was ended, Bill very politely shook hands with Paul, and took an early opportunity of introducing him to some of the most ‘noted characters’ of the town. Among these was the smart Mr Allfair, the insinuating Henry Finish, the merry Jack Hookey, the knowing Charles Trywit, and various others equally noted for their skill in living handsomely upon their own brains, and the personals o
f other people. To say truth, Paul, who at that time was an honest lad, was less charmed than he had anticipated by the conversation of these chevaliers of industry. He was more pleased with the clever, though self-sufficient remarks of a gentleman with a remarkably fine head of hair, and whom we would more impressively than the rest introduce to our reader, under the appellation of Mr Edward Pepper, generally termed Long Ned. As this worthy was destined afterwards to be an intimate associate of Paul, our main reason for attending the hop at Bachelor Bill’s is to note, as the importance of the event deserves, the epoch of the commencement of their acquaintance.

  Long Ned and Paul happened to sit next to each other at supper, and they conversed together so amicably that Paul, in the hospitality of his heart, expressed a hope that ‘he should see Mr Pepper at the Mug!’

  ‘Mug – Mug!’ repeated Pepper, half shutting his eyes with the air of a dandy about to be impertinent. ‘Ah – the name of a chapel – is it not? There’s a sect called the Muggletonians, I think?’

  ‘As to that,’ said Paul, colouring at this insinuation against the Mug, ‘Mrs Lobkins has no more religion than her betters; but the Mug is a very excellent house, and frequented by the best possible company.’

  ‘Don’t doubt it!’ said Ned. ‘Remember now that I was once there, and saw one Dummie Dunnaker – is not that the name? I recollect some years ago, when I first came out, that Dummie and I had an adventure together; – to tell you the truth, it was not the sort of thing I would do now. But, would you believe it, Mr Paul? this pitiful fellow was quite rude to me the only time I ever met him since; – that is to say, the only time I ever entered the Mug. I have no notion of such airs in a merchant – a merchant of rags! Those commercial fellows are getting quite insufferable!’

  ‘You surprise me!’ said Paul. ‘Poor Dummie is the last man to be rude. He is as civil a creature as ever lived.’

  ‘Or sold a rag!’ said Ned. ‘Possibly! Don’t doubt his amiable qualities in the least. Pass the bingo, my good fellow. Stupid stuff, this dancing!’

  ‘Devilish stupid!’ echoed Harry Finish across the table. ‘Suppose we adjourn to Fish Lane, and rattle the ivories!

  What say you, Mr Lobkins?’

  Afraid of the ‘ton’s stern laugh, which scarce the proud philosopher can scorn,’ and not being very partial to dancing, Paul assented to the proposition; and a little party, consisting of Harry Finish, Allfair, Long Ned, and Mr Hookey, adjourned to Fish Lane, where there was a club, celebrated among men who live by their wits, at which ‘lush’ and ‘baccy’ were gratuitously sported in the most magnificent manner. Here the evening passed away very delightfully, and Paul went home without a ‘brad’ in his pocket.

  From that time, Paul’s visits to Fish Lane became unfortunately regular; and in a very short period, we grieve to say, Paul became that distinguished character – a gentleman of three outs – ‘out of pocket, out of elbows, and out of credit.’ The only two persons whom he found willing to accommodate him with a slight loan, as the advertisements signed ‘X. Y.’ have it, were Mr Dummie Dunnaker and Mr Pepper, surnamed the Long. The latter, however, while he obliged the heir to the Mug, never condescended to enter that noted place of resort; and the former, whenever he good-naturedly opened his purse-strings, did it with a hearty caution to shun the acquaintance of Long Ned. ‘A parson,’ said Dummie, ‘of wery dangerous morals, and not by no manner of means a fit sociate for a young gemman of cracter like leetle Paul!’ So earnest was this caution, and so especially pointed at Long Ned, although the company of Mr Allfair or Mr Finish might be said to be no less prejudicial, – that it is probable that stately fastidiousness of manner, which Lord Normanby rightly observes, in one of his excellent novels, makes so many enemies in the world, and which sometimes characterized the behaviour of Long Ned, especially towards the men of commerce, was a main reason why Dummie was so acutely and peculiarly alive to the immoralities of that lengthy gentleman. At the same time we must observe, that when Paul, remembering what Pepper had said respecting his early adventure with Mr Dunnaker, repeated it to the merchant, Dummie could not conceal a certain confusion, though he merely remarked, with a sort of laugh, that it was not worth speaking about; and it appeared evident to Paul that something unpleasant to the man of rags, which was not shared by the unconscious Pepper, lurked in the reminiscence of their past acquaintance. Howbeit, the circumstance glided from Paul’s attention the moment afterwards; and he paid, we are concerned to say, equally little heed to the cautions against Ned with which Dummie regaled him.

  Perhaps (for we must now direct a glance towards his domestic concerns) one great cause which drove Paul to Fish Lane was the uncomfortable life he led at home. For though Mrs Lobkins was extremely fond of her protégé, yet she was possessed, as her customers emphatically remarked, ‘of the devil’s own temper;’ and her native coarseness never having been softened by those pictures of gay society which had, in many a novel and comic farce, refined the temperament of the romantic Paul, her manner of venting her maternal reproaches was certainly not a little revolting to a lad of some delicacy of feeling. Indeed, it often occurred to him to leave her house altogether, and seek his fortunes alone, after the manner of the ingenious Gil Blas, or the enterprising Roderick Random; and this idea, though conquered and reconquered, gradually swelled and increased at his heart, even as swelleth that hairy ball found in the stomach of some suffering heifer after its decease. Among these projects of enterprise, the reader will hereafter notice, that an early vision of the Green Forest Cave, in which Turpin was accustomed, with a friend, a ham, and a wife, to conceal himself, flitted across his mind. At this time he did not, perhaps, incline to the mode of life practised by the hero of the roads; but he certainly clung not the less fondly to the notion of the cave.

  The melancholy flow of our hero’s life was now, however, about to be diverted by an unexpected turn, and the crude thoughts of boyhood to burst, ‘like Ghilan’s Giant Palm,’ into the fruit of a manly resolution.

  Among the prominent features of Mrs Lobkins’s mind was a sovereign contempt for the unsuccessful; – the imprudence and ill-luck of Paul occasioned her as much scorn as compassion. And when, for the third time within a week, he stood, with a rueful visage and with vacant pockets, by the dame’s great chair, requesting an additional supply, the tides of her wrath swelled into overflow.

  ‘Look you, my kinchin cove,’ said she, – and in order to give peculiar dignity to her aspect, she put on while she spoke a huge pair of tin spectacles, – ‘if so be as how you goes for to think as how I shall go for to supply your wicious necessities, you will find yourself planted in Queer Street. Blow me tight, if I gives you another mag.’

  ‘But I owe Long Ned a guinea,’ said Paul, ‘and Dummie Dunnaker lent me three crowns. It ill becomes your heir apparent, my dear dame, to fight shy of his debts of honour.’

  ‘Taradididdle, don’t think for to wheedle me with your debts and your honour,’ said the dame in a passion. ‘Long Ned is as Long in the forks* as he is in the back: may Old Harry fly off with him! And as for Dummie Dunnaker, I wonders how you, brought up such a swell, and blest with the wery best of hedications, can think of putting up with such wulgar sociates! I tells you what, Paul, you’ll please to break with them, smack and at once, or devil a brad you’ll ever get from Peg Lobkins.’ So saying, the old lady turned round in her chair, and helped herself to a pipe of tobacco.

  Paul walked twice up and down the apartment, and at last stopped opposite the dame’s chair: he was a youth of high spirit, and though he was warm-hearted, and had a love for Mrs Lobkins, which her care and affection for him well deserved, yet he was rough in temper, and not constantly smooth in speech: it is true that his heart smote him afterwards, whenever he had said any thing to annoy Mrs Lobkins: and he was always the first to seek a reconciliation; but warm words produce cold respect, and sorrow for the past is not always efficacious in amending the future. Paul then, puffed up with the vanity of his genteel education,
and the friendship of Long Ned (who went to Ranelagh, and wore silver clocked stockings), stopped opposite to Mrs Lobkins’s chair, and said with great solemnity, –