“And so you would rather have your ribs beat in, than your name left out. But look round you, in God's name! what is the whole scene but & fashionable mob met together to tread on each other's heels and tear each other's dresses? Positively, you cannot approach the mistress of the mansion to pay those common courtesies which politeness in all other cases exacts. And how so many delicate young creatures can bear a heat, pressure and fatigue, which would try the constitution of a porter, is incroyable. Talk of levelling! This 'is the chosen seat of égalité.' All distinctions of age, grace, rank, accomplishment, and wit, are lost in the midst of a constantly accumulating crowd. What nerves but those of pride and vanity, can bear the heat, the blaze of light, the buzz of voices above, and the roar of announcements from below?”
“While Caustic was speaking, his reasoning received a curious and apposite illustration. Three or four ladies near us began fainting, or affected to faint, and hartshorn and gentlemen's arms were in general requisition. Notwithstanding his acerbity, Caustic, like a preux chevalier, pressed forward to offer his aid where the pressure was most oppressive, and where the fainting ladies were dropping by dozens, like ripe fruit in autumn. As for myself, I was just in time to receive in my arms a beautiful girl who was on the point of sinking, and, being provided with hartshorn, my assistance was so effectual, with the aid of a neighbouring window, that I had the satisfaction of restoring her in a few minutes to her friends, who did all they could, by crowding round her with ill-timed condolements, to prevent her recovery. By this time the rest of the ladies took warning from these little misadventures to retire. Caustic, in his sardonic way, would insist upon it, that they retired to avoid that exposure of defects in beauty, which the first ray of morning produces. I took my congé among the rest, and found the hubbub which attended my entrance, increased to a tenfold degree of violence at my exit; for the uproar of calling 'My Lord This's carriage,' and 'My Lady That's chair,' was nothing in comparison to the noise produced by servants quarrelling, police officers remonstrating, carriages cracking, and linkboys hallooing. Some of the mob had, it appeared, made an irruption into the hall, to steal what great-coats, cocked hats, or pelisses they could make free with. This was warmly protested against by the footmen and the police, and a regular set-to was the consequence. Through this 'confusion worse confounded' I with difficulty made my way to the carriage, and was not sorry, as the slang phrase is, to make myself scarce.”
The party could not feel otherwise than amused by Gayfield's description of the rout; and the conversation taking a turn on similar subjects, Sparkle, ever ambitious of displaying his talent for descriptive humour, gave the following sketch of a fashionable dinner party:—
“I went with Colonel A———, by invitation, to dine with Lord F., in Portman Square. Lord F. is a complete gentleman; and, though sadly inconvenienced by the gout, received me with that frank, cordial, and well-bred ease which always characterizes the better class of the English nobility. The company consisted of two or three men of political eminence; Lord Wetherwool, a great agriculturist; Viscount Flash, an amateur of the Fancy; Lord Skimcream, an ex-amateur director of a winter theatre; Lord Flute, an amateur director of the Opera, whose family motto, by a lucky coincidence, is 'Opera non Verba.' There were, moreover, Mr. Highsole, a great tragedian, and my friend Tom Sapphic, the dandy poet; one of those bores, the 'Lions' of the season. He had just brought out a new tragedy, called the 'Bedlamite in Buff,' under the auspices of Lord Skimcream; and it had been received, as the play-bills announced, with 'unprecedented, overwhelming, and electrifying applause.' Of course I concluded that it would live two nights, and accounted for the dignified hauteur of my friend Tom's bow, as he caught my eye, by taking into consideration the above-named unprecedented success. There was also present the universal genius, Dr. Project, to whom I once introduced you. He is a great chymist, and a still greater gourmand; moreover, a musician; has a hand in the leading reviews; a share in the most prominent of the daily papers. “Little was said till the wine and desert were introduced; and then the conversation, as might naturally be expected from the elements of which the party was composed, split itself into several subdivisions. As I sat next to Colonel A., I had the advantage of his greater familiarity with the personages at table. Lord Wetherwool was as absurd as he could possibly be on the subject of fattening oxen. Lord Flute and Viscount Flash laid bets on the celerity of two maggots, which they had set at liberty from their respective nut-shells. The noble ex-director, Highsole and Sapphic, were extremely warm in discussing the causes of the present degradation of the stage; each shuffling the responsibility from the members of their own profession and themselves. Dr. Project entertained his noble host with an interminable dissertation upon oxygen, hydrogen, and all the gens in the chemical vocabulary; for patience in enduring which his Lordship was greatly indebted to his preparatory fit of the gout. Meanwhile, the lordling exquisites only fired off a few 'lady terms,' like minute guns and 'angel visits,' with long intervals between, filling up the aforesaid intervals by sipping Champagne and eating bonbons. The essence of what they said, amounted to mutual wonder at the d———d run of luck last night, in King-street; or mutual felicitation on the new faces which had appeared that day, for the first time, among the old standing beauties who charm Bond-street, at lounge hours, either in curricle or on foot. For my part, I was attracted towards the discussion of the dramatic trio, not because I affect, as the cant of the day is, to have a particular attrait towards the belles lettres, but merely because the more plebeian disputants were vociferous, (a thing not often observed among fashionables) and outré in their gesticulations, even to caricature. 'What do you think of their arguments?' I inquired, sotte voce, of Colonel A. 'If we are to be decided by their conjoint statements, no one is to blame for the degradation of the stage.'
“'They are all in the right,' returned he, '(excuse the paradox,) because they are all in the wrong. There is a rottenness in the whole theatrical system, which, unless it terminate, like manure thrown at the root of trees, in some new fructification of genius, will end by rendering the national theatres national nuisances. With reference to the interests of literature, they are a complete hoax. To please the manager, the object which the writer must have in view, he must not paint nature or portray character, but write up, as the cant phrase is, to the particular forte of Mr. So and So, or Miss Such-a-one. The consequence is, that the public get only one species of fare, and that is pork, varied indeed, as broiled, baked, roasted, and boiled; but still pork, nothing but pork.'
“'But surely,' I rejoined, 'Mr. Sapphic and Mr. Highsole are gentlemen of high acquirements, independently of their several professions, or a nobleman of Lord F———'s taste and discrimination—'
“'There you are falling into an error,' returned the colonel, interrupting me; 'it is the fashion to introduce actors at the tables of our great men; but, in my opinion, it is a 'custom more honored in the breach than the observance.' I have known several good actors on the stage, very indifferent actors in society, and large characters in the play-bills, as well as loud thunders from the gods, may be earned by very stupid, very vulgar, and very ill-bred companions. The same may be said of poets. We are poor creatures at best, and the giant of a reviewer very often cuts but a very sorry figure when left to the ricketty stilts of his own unsupported judgment in a drawing-room. You are tolerably familiar with our political parties; but you are yet to be acquainted with our literary squads, which are the most bigotted, selfish, exclusive, arrogant, little knots of little people it is possible to conceive.'
“By the time that Colonel A———had ended his short initiation into these various arcana, the company broke up; the doctor to give a lecture on egg-shells at the Committee of Taste; Lord Flute to visit the Opera; Lord Skimcream to the Green Boom; Lord Flash to 'Fives Court,' to see a set-to by candle-light; the exquisites to Bouge et Noir or Almack's; and Lord Wetherwool to vote on an agricultural question, without understanding a syllable of its merits.
“Nevertheless,” I soliloquized as I rode home, “his Lordship will be surprised and gratified, I dare say, to find himself a perfect Demosthenes in the newspaper reports of to-morrow morning. Hems, coughs, stammerings, blowing of the nose, and ten-minute lapses of memory, all vanish in passing through the sieves and bolters of a report. What magicians the reporters are! What talents, what powers of language they profusely and gratuitously bestow! Somnus protect me from hearing any but some half dozen orators in both houses! The reader, who peruses the report, has only the flour of the orator's efforts provided for him. But Lord help the unfortunate patient in the gallery, who, hopeless of getting through the dense mass which occupy the seats round him, is condemned to sit with an ?aching head,' and be well nigh choaked with the husks and the bran.”
Our party felt so much amused by these lively and characteristic pictures of real life among the Corinthians of the Metropolis, that all thoughts of seeking amusement out of doors appeared for the present relinquished; and Sparkle, to keep the subject alive, resumed as follows.