"May I ask what your Lordship thinks of me? First time I ever appeared in this kind of thing, my Lord—ha! ha, your Lordship sees!" As he spoke, his look and voice betrayed the overawing effects of the earl's splendid appearance, which was rapidly freezing up the springs of familiarity, if not, indeed, of flippancy, which were bubbling up within the little bosom of Titmouse, on his entering the room. His manner became involuntarily subdued and reverential. The Earl of Dreddlington in plain clothes, and in full court costume, were two very different persons; though his Lordship would have been terribly mortified if he had known that any one thought so. However much he now regretted having offered to take Titmouse to the levee, there was no escape from the calamity; so, after a few minutes' pause, his Lordship rang the bell, and announced his readiness to set off. Followed by Mr. Titmouse, the earl slowly descended the stairs; and when he was within two or three steps of the hall floor, it distresses me to relate, that his Lordship suddenly fell nearly flat upon his face, and, but for his servants' rushing up, would have been seriously hurt. Poor Titmouse had been the occasion of this dismal disaster; for his sword getting between his legs, down he went against the earl, who went naturally down upon the floor, as I have mentioned. Titmouse was not much hurt, but terribly frightened, and became as pale as death when he looked at the earl; who appeared a little agitated, but, not having been really injured, soon recovered a considerable measure of self-possession. Profuse were poor Titmouse's apologies, as may be supposed; but much as he was distressed at what had taken place, a glance at the angry countenances with which the servants regarded him, as if inwardly cursing his stupidity and clumsiness, stirred up his spirit a little with a feeling of resentment. He would have given a hundred pounds to have been able to discharge every one of them on the spot!—
"Sir—enough has been said," quoth the earl, rather coldly and haughtily, tired of the multiplied apologies and excuses of Titmouse. "I thank God, sir, that I am not hurt, though at my time of life a fall is not a slight matter. Sir," continued the earl, bitterly—again interrupting Titmouse—"you are not so much to blame as your tailor; he should have explained to you how to wear your sword!" With this, having cut Titmouse to the very quick, the earl motioned him towards the door. They soon entered the carriage; the door was closed; and, with a brace of footmen behind, away rolled these two truly distinguished subjects to pay their homage to Majesty—which might well be proud of such homage!—They both sat in silence for some time. At length—"Beg your Lordship's pardon," quoth Titmouse, with some energy; "but I wish your Lordship only knew how I hate this cursed skewer that's pinned to me:" and he looked at his sword, as if he could have snapped it into halves, and thrown them through the window.
"Sir, I can appreciate your feelings. The sword was not to blame; and you have my forgiveness," replied the still ruffled earl.
"Much obliged to your Lordship," replied Titmouse, in a somewhat different tone from any in which he had ever ventured to address his august companion; for he was beginning to feel confoundedly nettled at the bitter contemptuous manner which the earl observed towards him. He was also not a little enraged with himself; for he knew he had been in fault, and thought of the neglected advice of his tailor. So his natural insolence, like a reptile just beginning to recover from its long torpor, made a faint struggle to show itself—but in vain; he was quite cowed and overpowered by the Presence in which he was, and he wished heartily that he could have recalled even the few last words he had ventured to utter. The earl had observed his presumptuous flippancy of manner, though without appearing to do so. His Lordship was accustomed to control his feelings; and on the present occasion made some effort to do so, for fear of alienating Titmouse from him by any display of offended dignity.
"Sir, it is a very fine day," he observed in a kind manner, after a stern silence of at least five minutes.
"Remarkable fine, my Lord. I was just going to say so," replied Titmouse, greatly relieved; and presently they fell into their usual strain of conversation.
"We must learn to bear these little annoyances calmly," said the earl, graciously, on Titmouse's again alluding to his mishap;—"as for me, sir, a person in the station to which it has pleased Heaven to call me, for purposes of its own, has his peculiar and very grave anxieties—substantial anx"——
He ceased suddenly. The carriage of his old rival, the Earl of Fitz-Walter, passed him; the latter waved his hand courteously; the former, with a bitter smile, was forced to do the same; and then relapsing into silence, showed that the iron was entering his soul. Thus the earl in his own person afforded a striking illustration of the truth of the observation which he had been making to Titmouse. Soon, however, they had entered the scene of splendid hubbub, which at once occupied and excited both their little minds. Without, was the eager crowd, gazing with admiration and awe at each equipage, with its brilliant occupants, that dashed past them:—then the life-guardsmen, in glittering and formidable array, their long gleaming swords and polished helmets glancing and flashing in the sunlight. Within, were the tall yeomen of the guard, in black velvet caps and scarlet uniforms, and with ponderous partisans, lining each side of the staircase—and who, being in the exact military costume of the time of Henry the Eighth, forcibly recalled those days of pomp and pageantry to the well-informed mind of Mr. Titmouse. In short, for the first time in his life, he beheld, and was overwhelmed by, the grandeur, state, and ceremony which fence in the dread approaches to MAJESTY. He was, fortunately, far too much bewildered and flustered, to be aware of the ill-concealed tittering and even laughter which his appearance excited, wherever he went. In due course he was borne on, and issued in due form into the presence chamber—into the immediate presence of Majesty. His heart palpitated; his dazzled eye caught a hasty glimpse of a tall magnificent figure and a throne. Advancing—scarce aware whether on his head or his heels—he reverently paid his homage—then rising, was promptly ushered out through a different door; with no distinct impression of anything that he had witnessed!—'twas all a dazzling blaze of glory—a dim vision of awe! Little was he aware, poor soul, that the king had required him to be pointed out upon his approach, having heard of his celebrity in society; and that he had had the distinguished honor of occasioning to Majesty a very great effort to keep its countenance. It was not till after he had quitted the palace for some time, that he breathed freely again. Then he began to feel as if a vast change had been effected in him by some mysterious and awful agency—that he was penetrated and pervaded, as it were, by the subtle essence of royalty—like one having experienced the sudden, strange, thrilling, potent influence of electricity. He imagined that now the stamp of greatness had been impressed upon him; that his pretensions had been ratified by the highest authority upon earth. 'Twas as if wine had been poured into a stream, intoxicating the tittlebats swimming about in it!—As for me, however, seriously speaking, I question whether anything more than an imaginary change had come over my friend. Though I should be sorry to quote against him language with which I have reason to believe he was not critically acquainted, I cannot help expressing an opinion that Horace must have had in his eye a Roman Titmouse, when he penned those bitter lines —
"Licèt superbus ambules pecuniâ
Fortuna non mutat genus.
—Videsne Sacram metiente te Viam
Cum bis ter ulnaram togâ,
Ut ora vertat huc et huc euntium,
Liberrima indignatio?
—'Sectus flagellis hic triumviralibus
Præconis ad fastidium,
Arat Falerni mille fundi jugera,
Et Appiam mannis terit!'"[23]