CHAPTER III.

"Or realize what we think fabulous, I' th' bill of fare of Eliogabalus."

After my marriage, my old malady rose to an insupportable height. The pleasures of the table were all that seemed left to me in life. Most of the young men of any _ton_, either were, or pretended to be, _connoisseurs_ in the science of good eating. Their _talk_ was of sauces and of cooks, what dishes each cook was famous for; whether his _forte_ lay in white sauces or brown, in soups, _lentilles, fricandeaus, bechemele, matelotes, daubes_, &c. Then the history and genealogy of the cooks came after the discussion of the merit of the works; whom my Lord C----'s cook lived with formerly--what my Lord D---- gave his cook--where they met with these great geniuses, &c. I cannot boast that our conversation at these select dinners, from which the ladies were excluded, was very entertaining; but true good eaters detest wit at dinner-time, and sentiment at all times. I think I observed that amongst these cognoscenti there was scarcely one to whom the delicacy of taste did not daily prove a source of more pain than pleasure. There was always a cruel something that spoiled the rest; or if the dinner were excellent, beyond the power of the most fastidious palate to condemn, yet there was the hazard of being placed far from the favourite dish, or the still greater danger of being deputed to carve at the head or foot of the table. How I have seen a heavy n.o.bleman of this set dexterously manoeuvre to avoid the dangerous honour of carving a haunch of venison!

"But, good Heavens!" said I, when a confidential whisper first pointed out this to my notice, "why does he not like to carve?--he would have it in his power to help himself to his mind, which n.o.body else can do so well."--"No! if he carve, he must give the _nice bits_ to others; every body here understands them as well as he--each knows what is upon his neighbour's plate, and what ought to be there, and what must be in the dish." I found that it was an affair of calculation--a game at which n.o.body can cheat without being discovered and disgraced. I emulated, and soon equalled my experienced friends. I became a perfect epicure, and gloried in the character, for it could be supported without any intellectual exertion, and it was fashionable. I cannot say that I could ever eat as much as some of my companions. One of them I once heard exclaim, after a monstrous dinner, "I wish my digestion were equal to my appet.i.te." I would not be thought to exaggerate, therefore I shall not recount the wonders I have seen performed by these capacious heroes of the table. After what I have beheld, to say nothing of what I have achieved, I can believe any thing that is related of the capacity of the human stomach. I can credit even the account of the dinner which Madame de Baviere affirms she saw eaten by Lewis the Fourteenth; _viz_. "quatre a.s.siettes de differentes soupes; un faisan tout entier; un perdrix; une grande a.s.siette pleine de salade; du mouton coupe dans son jus avec de l'ail; deux bons morceaux de jambon; une a.s.siette pleine de patisserie!

du fruit et des confitures!" Nor can I doubt the accuracy of the historian, who a.s.sures us that a Roman emperor,[73] one of the most moderate of those imperial gluttons, _took_ for his breakfast, 500 figs, 100 peaches, 10 melons, 100 beccaficoes, and 400 oysters.

Epicurism was scarcely more prevalent during the decline of the Roman empire than it is at this day amongst some of the wealthy and n.o.ble youths of Britain. Not one of my select dinner-party but would have been worthy of a place at the _turbot consultation_ immortalized by the Roman satirist. A friend of mine, a bishop, one day went into his kitchen, to look at a large turbot, which the cook was dressing. The cook had found it so large that he had cut off the fins: "What a shame!" cried the bishop; and immediately calling for the cook's ap.r.o.n, he spread it before his ca.s.sock, and actually sewed the fins again to the turbot with his own episcopal hands.

If I might judge from my own experience, I should attribute fashionable epicurism in a great measure to ennui. Many affect it, because they have nothing else to do; and sensual indulgences are all that exist for those who have not sufficient energy to enjoy intellectual pleasures. I dare say, that if Heliogabalus could be brought in evidence in his own case, and could be made to understand the meaning of the word ennui, he would agree with me in opinion, that it was the cause of half his vices. His offered reward for the discovery of a new pleasure is stronger evidence than any confession he could make. I thank G.o.d that I was not born an emperor, or I might have become a monster. Though not in the least inclined to cruelty, I might have acquired the taste for it, merely for desire of the emotion which real tragedies excite. Fortunately, I was only an earl and an epicure.

My indulgence in the excesses of the table injured my health; violent bodily exercise was necessary to counteract the effects of intemperance.

It was my maxim, that a man could never eat or drink too much, if he would but take exercise enough. I killed fourteen horses,[74] and survived; but I grew tired of killing horses, and I continued to eat immoderately. I was seized with a nervous complaint, attended with extreme melancholy. Frequently the thoughts of putting an end to my existence occurred; and I had many times determined upon the means; but very small and apparently inadequate and ridiculous motives, prevented the execution of my design. Once I was kept alive by a _piggery_, which I wanted to see finished. Another time, I delayed destroying myself, till a statue, which I had just purchased at a vast expense, should be put up in my Egyptian _salon_. By the awkwardness of the unpacker, the statue's thumb was broken. This broken thumb saved my life; it converted ennui into anger. Like Montaigne and his sausage, I had now something to complain of, and I was happy. But at last my anger subsided, the thumb would serve me no longer as a subject of conversation, and I relapsed into silence and black melancholy. I was "a'weary of the sun;" my old thoughts recurred. At this time I was just entering my twenty-fifth year. Rejoicings were preparing for my birthday. My Lady Glenthorn had prevailed upon me to spend the summer at Sherwood Park, because it was new to her. She filled the house with company and noise; but this only increased my discontent. My birthday arrived--I wished myself dead--and I resolved to shoot myself at the close of the day. I put a pistol into my pocket, and stole out towards the evening, un.o.bserved by my jovial companions. Lady Glenthorn and her set were dancing, and I was tired of these sounds of gaiety. I took the private way to the forest, which was near the house; but one of my grooms met me with a fine horse, which an old tenant had just sent as a present on my birthday. The horse was saddled and bridled; the groom held the stirrup, and up I got. The fellow told me the private gate was locked, and I turned as he pointed to go through the grand entrance. At the outside of the gate sat upon the ground, huddled in a great red cloak, an old woman, who started up and sprang forwards the moment she saw me, stretching out her arms and her cloak with one and the same motion.

"Ogh! is it you I see?" cried she, in a strong Irish tone.

At this sound and this sight, my horse, that was shy, backed a little. I called to the woman to stand out of my way.

"Heaven bless your sweet face! I'm the nurse that suckled _yees_ when ye was a baby in Ireland. Many's the day I've been longing to see you,"

continued she, clasping her hands, and standing her ground in the middle of the gateway, regardless of my horse, which I was pressing forward.

"Stand out of the way, for G.o.d's sake, my good woman, or I shall certainly ride over you. So! so! so!" said I, patting my restless horse.

"Oh! he's only shy, G.o.d bless him! he's as _quite_ now as a lamb; and kiss one or other of _yees_, I must," cried she, throwing her arms about the horse's neck.

The horse, unaccustomed to this mode of salutation, suddenly plunged, and threw me. My head fell against the pier of the gate. The last sound I heard was the report of a pistol; but I can give no account of what happened afterwards. I was stunned by my fall, and senseless. When I opened my eyes, I found myself stretched on one of the cushions of my landau, and surrounded by a crowd of people, who seemed to be all talking at once: in the buzz of voices I could not distinguish any thing that was said, till I heard Captain Crawley's voice above the rest, saying,

"Send for a surgeon instantly: but it's all over! it's all over! Take the body the back way to the banqueting-house; I must run to Lady Glenthorn."

I perceived that they thought me dead. I did not at this moment feel that I was hurt. I was curious to know what they would all do; so I closed my eyes again before any one perceived that I had opened them.

I lay motionless, and they proceeded with me, according to Captain Crawley's orders, to the banqueting-house. When we arrived there, my servants laid me on one of the Turkish sofas; and the crowd, after having satisfied their' curiosity, dropped off one by one, till I was left with a single footman and my steward.

"I don't believe he's quite dead," said the footman, "for his heart beats."

"Oh, he's the same as dead, for he does not stir hand or foot, and his skull, they say, is fractured for certain; but it will all be seen when the surgeon comes. I am sure he will never do. Crawley will have every thing his own way now, and I may as well decamp."

"Ay; and among them," said the footman, "I only hope I may get my wages."

"What a fool that Crawley made of my lord!" said the steward.

"What a fool my lord made of himself," said the footman, "to be ruled, and let all his people be ruled, by such an upstart! With your leave, Mr. Turner, I'll just run to the house to say one word to James, and be back immediately."

"No, no, you must stay, Robert, whilst I step home to lock my places, before Crawley begins to rummage."

The footman was now left alone with me. Scarcely had the steward been gone two minutes, when I heard a low voice near me saying, in a tone of great anxiety, "Is he dead?"

I half opened my eyes to see who it was that spoke. The voice came from the door which was opposite to me; and whilst the footman turned his back, I raised my head, and beheld the figure of the old woman, who had been the cause of my accident. She was upon her knees on the threshold--her arms crossed over her breast. I never shall forget her face, it was so expressive of despair.

"Is he dead?" she repeated.

"I tell you yes," replied the footman.

"For the love of G.o.d, let me come in, if he is here," cried she.

"Come in, then, and stay here whilst I run to the house." [75]

The footman ran off; and my old nurse, on seeing me, burst into an agony of grief. I did not understand one word she uttered, as she spoke in her native language; but her lamentations went to my heart, for they came from hers. She hung over me, and I felt her tears dropping upon my forehead. I could not refrain from whispering, "Don't cry--I am alive."

"Blessings on him!" exclaimed she, starting back: she then dropped down on her knees to thank G.o.d. Then calling me by every fondling name that nurses use to their children, she begged my forgiveness, and alternately cursed herself and prayed for me.

The strong affections of this poor woman touched me more than any thing I had ever yet felt in my life; she seemed to be the only person upon earth who really cared for me; and in spite of her vulgarity, and my prejudice against the tone in which she spoke, she excited in my mind emotions of tenderness and grat.i.tude. "My good woman, if I live, I will do something for you: tell me what I can do," said I. "Live! live! G.o.d bless you, live; that's all in the wide world I want of you, my jewel; and, till you are well, let me watch over you at nights, as I used to do when you were a child, and I had you in my arms all to myself, dear."

Three or four people now ran into the room, to get before Captain Crawley, whose voice was heard at this instant at a distance. I had only time to make the poor woman understand that I wished to appear to be dead; she took the hint with surprising quickness. Captain Crawley came up the steps, talking in the tone of a master to the steward and people who followed.

"What is this old hag doing here? Where is Robert? Where is Thomas?

I ordered them to stay till I came. Mr. Turner, why did not you stay?

What! has not the coroner been here yet? The coroner must see the body, I tell you. Good G.o.d! What a parcel of blockheads you all are! How many times must I tell you the same thing? Nothing can be done till the coroner has seen him; then we'll talk about the funeral, Mr. Turner--one thing at a time. Every thing shall be done properly, Mr. Turner. Lady Glenthorn trusts every thing to me--Lady Glenthorn wishes that I should order every thing."

"To be sure--no doubt--very proper--I don't say against that."

"But," continued Crawley, turning towards the sofa upon which I lay, and seeing Ellinor kneeling beside me, "what keeps this old Irish witch here still? What business have you here, pray; and who are you, or what are you?"

"Plase your honour, I was his nurse formerly, and so had a nat'ral longing to see him once again before I would die."

"And did you come all the way from Ireland on this wise errand?"

"Troth I did--every inch of the way from his own sweet place."

"Why, you are little better than a fool, I think," said Crawley.

"Little better, plase your honour; but I was always so about them _childer_ that I nursed."

"_Childer_! Well, get along about your business now; you see your nursing is not wanted here."

"I'll not stir out of this, while he is here," said my nurse, catching hold of the leg of the sofa, and clinging to it.

"You'll not stir, you say," cried Captain Crawley: "Turn her out!"

"Oh, sure you would not have the cru'lty to turn his old nurse out before he's even _cowld_. And won't you let me see him buried?"

"Out with her! out with her! the old Irish hag! We'll have no howling here. Out with her, John!" said Crawley to my groom.

The groom hesitated, I fancy; for Crawley repeated the order more imperiously: "Out with her! or go yourself."

"May be it's you that will go first yourself," said she.