For the truth of another anecdote, connected with this cravat, we have indisputable evidence. A young nobleman of distinguished talents and high pretensions as to fortune and rank, saw this fatal band, and eager to advance himself in the rolls of fashion, retired to his chamber to endeavour to penetrate the method of its construction. He tried every sort of known, and many sorts of unknown stiffeners to accomplish the end—paper and pasteboard, and wadding, shavings, and shingles, and planks,—all were vainly experienced. Gargantua could not have exhibited a greater invention of expedients than he did; but vainly. After a fortnight of the closest application, ardour of study and anxiety of mind combined, brought him to the brink of the grave. His mother having ascertained the origin of his complaint, waited upon Brummel, who was the only living man that could remove it. She implored him, by every human motive, to say but one word, to save the life of her son and prevent her own misery. But the tyrant was immoveable, and the young man expired a victim of his sternness.
When, at length, yielding to that strong necessity which no man can control, Brummel was obliged, like Napoleon, to abdicate, the mystery of that mighty cravat was unfolded. There was found, after his departure to Calais, written on sheet of paper upon his table, the following epigram of scorn: “STARCH IS THE MAN.” The cravat of Brummel was merely—starched! Henceforth starch was introduced into every cravat in Europe.
Brummel still lives, an obscure consul in a petty European town.
Physically there is something to command our admiration in the history of a man who thus lays at his mercy all ranks of men,—the lofty and the low, the great, the powerful and the vain: but morally and seriously, no character is more despicable than that of the mere man of fashion, Seeking nothing but notoriety, his path to that end is over the ruins of all that is worthy in our nature. He knows virtue only to despise it; he makes himself acquainted with human feelings only to outrage them. He commences his career beyond the limits of decency, and ends it far in the regions of infamy. Feared by all and respected by none, hated by his worshippers and despised by himself, he rules,—an object of pity and contempt: and when his power is past, his existence is forgotten; he lives on in an, oblivion which is to him worse than death, and the stings of memory goad him to the grave.
The devotee of fashion is a trifler unworthy of his race; the mere gentleman is a character which may in time become somewhat tiresome; there is a just mean between the two, where a better conduct than either is to be found. It is that of a man who, yielding to others, still maintains his self-respect, and whose concessions to folly are controlled by good sense; who remembers the value of trifles without forgetting the importance of duties, and resolves so to regulate his conduct that neither others may be offended by his stiffness, nor himself have to regret his levity.
Live therefore among men—to conclude our homily after the manner of Quarles—live therefore among men, like them, yet not disliking thyself; and let the hues of fashion be reflected from thee, but let them not enter and colour thee within.
CHAPTER XV.
MISCELLANEOUS.
There is nothing more ill bred in the world than continual talking about good breeding.
You should never employ the word “genteel;” the proper word is “respectable.”
If you are walking down the street with another person on your arm, and stop to say something to one of your friends, do not commit the too common and most awkward error of introducing such persons to one another. Never introduce morning visitors, who happen to meet in your parlour without being acquainted. If you should be so introduced, remember that the acquaintance afterwards goes for nothing: you have not the slightest right to expect that the other should ever speak to you.