Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 1 (of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

The state-apartments were hung with damask or with tapestry. Time had played sad tricks with these decorations, as it had also with the old oak floors, which had lost their shape and colour. No four-legged article of furniture could by any arguments be induced to stand steady on its legitimate supporters; and if a four-post bedstead had been placed on the higher side of a room, it must inevitably have rolled on its castors to the opposite side. The windows throughout the mansion were villainous; and the whole building seemed fit for nothing but to make a pencil-drawing, or an etching from it.

Though the great mass of the house appeared to have sunk into the ground, the fine old chimneys looked as if they had grown taller, or left the house to sink without them. They almost rivalled in altitude the old trees of the avenue. They were visible from a great distance, but the house was not, for it stood in a hollow; and the ground about was finely watered by divers rivulets, which did not seem at all particular as to the course they took, but with a noble and liberal impartiality spontaneously or promiscuously irrigated, that is to say, sopped the meadows, grounds, and gardens, which surrounded the house.

Such was the habitation which the wealthy cousin of the Hon. Philip Martindale proposed for the residence of a young gentleman born to be legislator, and proud of the antiquity of his family and the dignity of his high rank. Philip knew the house, and what is more, he knew that his cousin knew it.

It was a keen and bitter mortification to have such a proposal made; but though he fully determined not to stoop so low as to accept it, he was too dependent to reject it point-blank. He merely said:—

“I am inclined to think, sir, from what I recollect of Trimmerstone Hall, that it will require more to put it into good repair than the present building is worth; and the situation being so very low and swampy, I am afraid that I should not enjoy my health there. But, sir, there is no absolute necessity for my having a distinct residence at present, while I remain single. I can reside with my family; and as I think of paying a closer attention to my parliamentary duties, I shall of course spend more of my time in London.”

“Ay, ay, so you will; right, I forgot that. Yes, yes, you ought clearly to be more attentive to your parliamentary duties. Well, I am not sorry you think of leaving the Abbey. I shall certainly dispose of it. It was very amusing to build the house; and so the proverb will be verified—Fools build houses, and wise men live in them.”

When a man calls himself a fool in the hearing of another, that other is in duty bound to contradict him: for it is not in the nature of things that any man really thinking himself a fool should avow that conviction. To speak paradoxically, if a man sincerely avows himself a fool, he thinks himself a wise man in having found out that he is a fool, and requires a compliment as a matter of course. It is the expected duty of every one therefore, hearing another call himself a fool, to contradict him. To do that well is difficult, and requires great address. It must not be contradicted point-blank and flatly, but it must be circuitously done. Every man who calls himself a fool is offended if he fancies that he is believed, is offended if he be not contradicted, and is also offended if he be contradicted, so as to give proof that he is suspected of expecting contradiction.

Now, though Philip Martindale was a gentleman of very fashionable manners, and perfectly informed and well instructed as to all the forms and modes of fashionable address, yet his knowledge was simply that of forms and modes; he had no natural intuition; no native and unbought perception of abstract propriety and unchangeable good manners. Of mind and its movements he was totally ignorant; he knew what was fashionable as well as any man; even at the cockpit or the ring, though dressed like a groom, he was known to be a gentleman. Thus it is that those who belong to a certain class are always known and recognised by their inimitable and untranscribable manners, having only to do with externals, they are perfect in them. The less intellect they have, the more skilful are they in the art; even as parrots most faithfully utter the words which they are taught, because reflection supplies them with none other. But such parrot-like politeness would not answer with such a man as old John Martindale. Any thing common-place was his aversion and abomination. It required peculiar tact and skill to manage him; and this skill the Hon. Philip Martindale did not possess in a very eminent degree. When therefore the young gentleman began to mutter forth some affected contradiction to what Mr. John Martindale had been pleased to say of himself, the latter hastily interrupted him.

“Pish, nonsense; none of your foolish complimenting. I was a fool to build the house, and I should be a greater fool to live in it. I shall find some simpleton with more money than wit, who may be glad to buy it at half the money which it cost me to build it. Well, now you are in town, you may as well stay with us, if you are not too proud to patronise my relations. You will find them very sensible, well-informed people, though they have no title.”