Sylvester Sound the Somnambulist/Chapter 15
CHAPTER XV.
SYLVESTER'S FIRST NIGHT IN LONDON.
London! How many bosoms have swelled with rapture, how many cheeks have blushed for shame, how many hearts have been filled with joy, and how many have sunk in despair, at the sound of the magic name of London! London!—Well! there's no doubt that London is the Heart of the World-that its provinces are its arteries that the issue of its ventricles gives the prevalent tone throughout Europe, Asia, Africa, and America; and that therefore the pulse of the world is influenced, if not indeed governed, by its action. But viewed as it is, without reference to its external influences, what a mass of all that is vicious and virtuous-pleasing and repulsive—horrible and honourable—profligate and pious—beautiful and brutal—philanthropic and ferocious—artful and amiable—tyrannous and slavish—sceptical and credulous—solemn and absurd—profound and superficial—corrupt and correct—convivial and cold—impudent and diffident—subtle and soft—atrocious and true—cruel and confiding—sincere and satanic—benevolent and heartless—courteous and crafty—courageous and craven—obsequious and despotic—voluptuous and virginal—venerable and contemptible—in fine, what a mass—what a chaotic mass—of all that is good and bad—admirable and abominable—with all the varied shades which intervene—does this "mighty heart" of London present!
Nor is it the Heart of the World only!—it is a world of itself—a world in which all existing feelings, motives, passions, and propensities, are to be found in perfection developed. To know London well is to know the world; and, albeit there are thousands of Londoners who never travelled ten miles from London in their lives, and who, notwithstanding, know but little of it—a London man strictly is a man of the world.
The first appearance too, of London, strikes a stranger with amazement, let him enter at which point he may; and more especially effective is it if he should enter in the evening. It was evening when Sylvester arrived, and as he entered at the cast, and had to go by the coach as far west as Charing-cross, the blaze of light by which he was dazzled, the noise of the various vehicles by which he was deafened, the magnificent shops which he beheld, with the myriads of human beings streaming on either side as he advanced, had the effect of inspiring him with wonder. Where could these people be driving to? What object had they in view? Upon these questions, when they suggested themselves, he had not time to dwell. The motives by which they were actuated were as various as their forms: misery, hope, joy, pride, vanity, crime, love, relaxation and revenge, respectively impelled them on: but of this he knew nothing. The merchant who had just achieved a great commercial swindle which would stamp him a good man for life—the penny-a-liner, who had been walking all day, sustained only by the hope of an accident, praying that some important personage might fall and break his neck, that some murder might be committed before his eyes, or that some destructive fire might burst out as he passed, and thus enable him to dine on the morrow—the clerk who had just given notice to leave, in the full conviction that his "firm" could not get on without him; a mistake of which he would have the proof practically soon—the tradesman who had a bill for forty pounds due on the morrow, and had not forty shillings to meet it—the little master manufacturer who had been running after money all day and couldn't catch it, and who, for the sake of being a master, worked twenty hours anxiously out of the twenty-four, for a far less sum than he might earn by working ten hours, without this anxiety, as a journeyman—the pompous actor—the envious author—the heartless lawyer—the accomplished thief—the unprincipled gambler—the subtle, smirking, over-reaching publisher—the gaudy cyprian and the haggard milliner—the poor but honest man and the highly respectable, because wealthy, rogue—passed on alike: for Sylvester viewed them only in the mass, without reference to their virtues, their vices, or their cares.
On the arrival of the coach at Charing-cross, Sylvester and his aunt were met by Dr. Delolme, who had been a most intimate friend of Dr. Sound, and at whose house, during their stay in town, they were to reside; and when he had received them with the warmest expressions of unfeigned pleasure, he had their luggage pointed out to his servant, who was directed to bring it after them in a hackney-coach, and then led them to his carriage, and gave the word "home."
Dr. Delolme was one of the most accomplished men of the age. He was not, in a strictly professional sense, one of the most profound, albeit he had far more stuff in him than hundreds who had acquired a reputation for profundity: he was a gentleman, a highly accomplished gentleman, who repudiated with scorn those fraudulent exhibitions of eccentricity by which so many in his profession have been made, and who developed his accomplishments only with the view of inspiring with hope, emulation, or joy, those who came within the sphere of his influence.
And Mrs. Delolme was highly accomplished too; but religious enthusiasm had veiled her accomplishments, and prompted her to assume the air and language of a penitent. Her letters were studded with "D. V." in parentheses. Deo volente was continually on her lips. She had been one of the most lively creatures breathing, and while her elegance and amiability had enchanted the circle of which she had long been the recognised centre, her moral purity was acknowledged to be as perfect as her grace; but since a preacher who had set his whole soul on popularity—the Rev. Gipps Terre—had been the incumbent of the parish in which she resided, he, by virtue of acting and preaching for points, touching their feelings and blinding their judgment, had cleverly succeeded in turning not only her head, but the heads of all the women in the vicinity to an extent which prompted them to present him, as a matter of gratitude, with services of plate and purses of gold.
Mrs. Delolme, notwithstanding this, received Aunt Eleanor with much kindness. There was not, it is true, that warmth in her reception, that delightful cordiality, by which guests are at once inspired with the conviction that their presence is pleasing; still, the reception was kind, and as Aunt Eleanor knew of the change which had been wrought, she felt herself perfectly at home.
This, however, was not the case with Sylvester. He did not feel comfortable at all. He admired the doctor—he always had admired him—he was also much pleased with the doctor's son, Tom—a youth about twenty, whom the doctor called Tob, in consequence of Tom having acquired the habit of invariably pronouncing the b for the m, and the d for the n—but he did not at all admire Mrs. Delolme: he felt chilled by her presence; he never did attempt to say much, but her very look seemed to forbid him to speak.
It was therefore with pleasure, when Tom drew him aside and asked him if he would like to go out for an hour, that he replied, "I should indeed:" and when Tom added, "Take doe dotice, I'll cobbudicate with the goverdor," he felt delighted with the prospect of escaping for a time from the apparently severe look of Mrs. Delolme.
"Well," said Tom, embracing the earliest opportunity, "I bust be off dow to by lecture, add as Sylvester beads to be a bedical swell too, he bay as well cub with be."
"Are you not too much fatigued, my dear?" suggested Aunt Eleanor.
"Oh! not at all," replied Sylvester.
"You will be late," said the doctor, "will you not?"
"Oh, they dever cobbedce before a quarter or twedty bidites past."
"It is now more than half-past," said Mrs. Delolme. "It will therefore be useless for you to go now."
"Oh! we shall be id tibe to hear the barrow of it."
"But, my dear, I wish you to remain at home this evening."
"What for? Do you thidk it likely I shall ever pass? do you thidk it possible, if I dod't attedd lectures?"
"I offered no opinion on that point, my dear. I merely said that I wished you to remain at home this evening."
"Very well! I shall be plucked!—I see how it will be!—I'll bet ted to wud that I'b plucked, add if I ab, dod't blabe be."
"Do you think it necessary for him to go?" inquired Mrs. Delolme of the doctor.
"Why, my dear," he replied, "it certainly is necessary for him to attend lectures!"
"Of course it is," interposed Tom.
"Then I have no desire to interfere."
Tom winked at Sylvester, in token of his triumph; and, as Sylvester understood it, they rose and left the room.
"What's the use of our sittidg there?" said Tom, on quitting the house. "I see do fud id it, do you?"
"There is certainly no fun in it," said Sylvester, smiling.
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Students at the Bar.
"Dot a bit! Add yet there they would have kept us as stiff as a brace of pokers the whole of the evedidg! It wod't do Syl—I shall call you Syl, the whole of the dabe is too lodg for hubad utteradce. It isd't as if there was ady thidk goidg forward. If there were, it bight recodcile a fellow to hobe! But doe busic, doe cards, doe chess, doe backgabbod, doe gabe of ady sort do we ever have there; so if you expect any fud id our crib, you'll be buch disappoidted."
Sylvester never had expected much fun: but he certainly had expected more gaiety. He did not, however, allow the absence of it there to distress him. He had quite sufficient to amuse him then. The peculiarity of Tom's pronunciation was amusing, and as Tom was not contemptible as a humorist, and as he was, moreover, very communicative, Sylvester derived during his walk as much amusement as he could have desired.
They now reached the hospital, at the entrance of which groups of students were conversing on subjects which were not strictly of a scientific character.
"Hollo, Tob," cried one. "Here's Tob Delobe," said another. "Tob's always in tibe!" exclaimed a third.
"Is he at it?" inquired Tom of one of them.
"Yes, but it's dreadfully dry."
"Dry, is it? Well, thed, let's go add wet it."
This suggestion was adopted on the instant by half a dozen of them, who followed Tom into a public-house at hand, at the bar of which each of them called for a pot of porter. This order was, however, quite unnecessary. The bar-maid knew in a moment what they wanted, and, therefore, had they omitted to open their lips, she would have counted them and drawn a pot for each. She had had some practice at the bar, albeit still young and beautiful. She had been engaged solely as an attraction, and as an attraction she answered the purpose of her employer. She had a splendid head of hair, a pair of sparkling eyes, and a finely formed animated bust, and while her teeth were like pearls, her skin was soft and warm and clear. She was moreover, elegantly dressed, and displayed a profusion of jewellery. On almost every finger there were two or three rings, the whole of which had been presented to her by students—who were all of course desperately in love with her, and therefore, if she saw a decent ring upon the finger of any one of them, she had but to say, "What a love of a ring!" and it was hers.
Decoy-ducks are not at all rare birds in London, and this one has been mentioned only in order to show what influence they have over the minds of youth. Sylvester, on being appealed to, declared that he had never seen so amiable, so elegant a creature: her eyes were so fascinating, her smile was so lovely, she seemed so delighted with everybody and everything, she was so extremely affable, so free, that really Sylvester was charmed with her; but when she placed the pot of beer before him, he looked with an expression of amazement at Tom, and said, "Is this for me?"
"Of course it is, by boy!" replied Tom, "dridk it up."
"I can't," said Sylvester, "you at all events must help me."
"It's the law id this part of the globe," returned Tom, "that doe bad shall dip idto adother bad's, pot."
Well! if this were the law, it was the law!—but Sylvester couldn't drink it all, that was quite clear, nor did he conceive it to be improbable that a shivering wretch, who stood behind him with a single box of lucifer-matches in his hand, would object for one moment to violate that law. He therefore drank a little of it boldly, and then handed it quietly to the match-man behind, who finished it for him in very fine style, without taking his lips from the pot. As this had been effected unperceived by the rest—for they were all the time chattering with and ogling the bar-maid—Sylvester thereby acquired the reputation of being—although green, palpably green—as good a man as any amongst them.
"Now," said he, when they had emptied their pots, "hadn't we better go in?"
"Id!" returned Tom, "Id where?"
"Why into the lecture-room."
"Oh! It's all over by this tibe, or dearly so."
"Well, but what am I to say if they should ask me about it?"
"Ah, I udderstadd! I say," he added, turning to the rest, "you are goidg to have wud bore fire, I suppose?"
"Oh, yes," they replied, "of course."
"Well, I'll dot be a bobedt: I'll cub back agaid. Dow thed, by boy," he added, seizing Sylvester's arm, "cub alodg. We'll, just give a look id, add thed you'll be able to say with truth that you have beed there."
They accordingly entered the hospital, and proceeded to the theatre in which the lecturer was zealously engaged on some profound demonstration, the nature of which Tom would not stop to hear, but dragged Sylvester out as soon as he felt that he had seen quite sufficient of the building to give a description of its form.
"Dow," said Tom, "we'll just go add have wud bore fire, add thed it'll be tibe for us to trot hobe agaid."
"I can't drink any more of that porter," said Sylvester. "I have already had quite enough of that."
"Well thed, have sobethidg else. I'll tell you what you shall do—I'll stadd it: I'll pay the buddy;—call for a bottle of chabpagde. They are good fellows, all of 'em—regular trubps, add that'll stabp you at wodce as wud of us. Here's the buddy," he added, offering him a sovereign.
"No," said Sylvester, "I'll not take your money, I've some of my own."
"Dodsedce!" cried Tom, "I tell you I'll stadd it!—Take the buddy."
"No, I'll not do that," said Sylvester, "but if you wish it, I'll order a bottle with pleasure."
"Very well, by boy; but bark!—whed I say 'Well, what are you goidg to stadd?' you say boldly, 'Why let's have a bottle of chabpagde.'"
This was agreed to before they reached the house, and when they'reentered, Tom's friends had not only had fresh pots of porter, but had mounted cheroots and German pipes.
"Here he is!" exclaimed one of them. "Now, what do you think of it? I knew that Tob wouldn't cut us so."
"Cut you!" returned Tom, "Dever!—Dow, I say," he added, turning to Sylvester, "well!—what are you goidg to stadd?"
"Why, let's have a bottle of champagne," replied Sylvester.
"Bravo!" exclaimed Tom's friends, "that's the sort of stuff after all."
And the bar-maid—who was continually on the qui vive, waited for no direct order, but sent into the cellar for half a dozen at once.
Sylvester had wisely resolved not to touch it, and turning to the match-man, who still sat behind him, said, in a whisper, "Do you like champagne?"
"Never tasted none your honour," replied the man, "but des say I do."
"Very well, then you shall have some, but do not let either of these gentlemen see you take it."
The man winked and rubbed his hands; and the champagne was brought, and when the bar-maid had duly filled Sylvester's glass, he promptly conveyed it behind him.
When the glasses had been twice filled, the bottle was empty, and Sylvester imagined that Tom would then start; but Tom would have another, and when that had been drank, they would have a bottle all round.
"Now," said Sylvester to the man behind him, at the same time placing a shilling in his hand, "do not take a glass more than you think will do you good. If you do not like to drink it, you can easily throw it behind the cask."
Throw it behind the cask!—throw champagne behind the cask! In the judgment of that man, the idea was monstrous! He, however, merely said, "All right your honour. In all In all my born days, I never tasted nothing like it."
Bottle after bottle was now opened and drank, and Sylvester kept continually urging Tom to go; but Tom as continually said, "Ted bidites bore: there's pledty of tibe yet—off in ted bidites." But while the tall glasses continued to be filled, Tom's "ted bidites" frequently expired, indeed so frequently that Sylvester became extremely anxious, and at length said, "Now Tom, indeed, I must go: my aunt I know is most impatient for my return."
"Well thed," said Tom, "we'll bizzle. This is the last bottle: a couple bore roudds, add thed we'll go."
The man behind Sylvester now began to sing, and although his voice was harsh, while he had not the most remote idea of tune, it manifestly fell upon his ears as sweetly as if it had been celestial music.
"Hold your doise!" cried Tom, who failed to appreciate its beauty. "What do you kick up that bodstrous row here for?"
Heedless of this mild remonstrance, the fellow went on with his song, until two of Tom's friends, receiving the hint from the bar-maid, seized him by the collar with the view of showing him out. They had scarcely however, raised him from the cask on which he had been sitting, when his hat fell off, and out flew a pocket-book and a handkerchief, both of which Sylvester at once recognized as being his. He therefore picked them up, in order to satisfy himself, and having done so, said to the fellow with great severity of expression, "You are a bad man—a very bad man."
"What!" cried Tom, "do they belodg to you?"
"Yes," replied Sylvester; and Tom was about to inflict summary vengeance, but Sylvester held him back, exclaiming, "Pray don't hurt him! He's tipsy, Tom! He knew not, perhaps, what he was about!"
"Dodsedse," cried Tom, who turned to rush at the fellow fiercely, but by this time Tom's friends had kicked him into the street.
"Now Tom," said Sylvester, "pray let us go."
"Yes, we'll go dow," said Tom, "We'll go dow. Are you sure that you have got all you lost?"
"Yes, quite sure—quite."
"Very well, we'll just have a couple of bottles of soda-water to wash the chabpagde dowd, and thed we'll be off."
For Tom's sake, Sylvester consented to this, and when they had drank the soda-water and taken leave of the bar-maid, to whom Sylvester bowed with great politeness—they bade their friends good night, and started.
"Well," said Tom, "we have seed a little life."
"Life," thought Sylvester, "it is life, indeed!—But," said he, "do you not feel somewhat tipsy?"
"Dot at all!" replied Tom. "It would dever do to go hobe touched. They'd sbell a rat id a bobedt! I always, whed I get a little extra, cure byself before I go hobe."
"Cure yourself."
"Of course: I cad always do that in five bidites."
"Indeed!"
"Oh! yes. I expected that I should have to cure you, but I fidd you can stadd it as well as the best of us."
"But you do not drink so much as you have drunk to night often?"
"Oh, just as it happeds. If you associate with fellows like those, you bust dridk: dot that I care about it buch."
"Then why do you associate with them?"
"I'll tell you. There was a tibe whed I was wud of the bost steady fellows goidg—whed all was right at hobe—whed hobe was ad attractiod: I thed studied hard—attedded lectures with the utmost regularity, add so od—but always wedt hobe for relaxatiod, for thed I was fodd of my hobe: sobetibes I sat add sugg with the old lady—sobetibes she would play sub dew busic to abuse be—sobtibes we got the chessboard—sobtibes the cards—sobetibes she got be to read a dew dovel, and sobtibes we had a little party at hobe—there was always sobethidg lively goidg od—I could always fide sub sort of abusebedt—but sidce the old swell has becub so edaboured of our dew parsod everythidg at hobe has beed wretched, dull, forbal, and cold. It is to this I ascribe by associatiod with those whob we have just left; for although they are all fide high-spirited fellows, I shouldd't do as I do, if thidgs were cobfortable at hobe."
"Then do you not study now at all?" inquired Sylvester.
"Study! I believe I do study," replied Tom. "Why, I wouldd't be plucked for a billiod of buddy! You shall see how add where I study, whed we get hobe. I have a couple of the bost perfect skelotods that were ever put together, with spridgs complete frob head to foot, which would albost idduce you to ibagide that you saw the very actiod of the buscles! Study!—Why, I'b at it all the bording; it's odely at dight that I break loose eved for ad hour. Do, Syl; I bay sobetibes kick over the traces; but I look to the baid chadce: I have, add the goverdor kdows that I have, too buch pride to be plucked at either the College or the Hall. But here we are," he added, on reaching home, "all id good tibe. Ted to a bidite!—Doctor at hobe, Jabes?" he inquired of the servant.
"No, sir."
"Tell theb we're id, add gode up to by study. Cobe alodg, Syl," he added, leading the way, and Sylvester followed to the top of the house, where they entered a room strewn with books, plates, and bones, while on the right, as they entered, stood two tall figures enveloped in bags.
"Dow thed, look here," said Tom, taking off the bags, and displaying two really majestic skeletons. "There! what do you thidk of theb?"
"They appear to be very perfect: very perfect indeed."
"Perfect! I believe they are perfect. Look here!—look at the spridgs!—they'll stadd id ady attitude you please! They'll fedce with you—box with you—dadce with you—do adythidg you like. This is the bale add that's the febale: they were twids—rub-uds, wered't they?"
"They must have been finely formed persons," said Sylvester. "I'll look at them again in the morning: I shall see them then to greater perfection. Where did you get them?"
"Goverdor gave theb to be!" replied Tom, covering them up again. "He gave a huddred guideas for theb; but for adotobical study they're worth a thousadd to ady bad alive. There's dothidg like 'eb id Europe! They are a pair of regular beauties.—That's a budkey," he added, pointing to a beautiful little skeleton. "There's dothidg codtebptible eved id that!—good forb, you see—very good forb. Do you kdow buch about cobparative adatoby?"
"Not much," replied Sylvester."
"Thed, study that. If you kdow a budkey, you kdow a bad: to parody the poet's lide—Bad—of course physically—
"Bad's but a budkey of a larger growth."
But I'll show you theb all id the mordidg. That's a cat!—capital cat, isd't it? I've killed lots of 'eb, but dever foudd ode to equal that."
"What, do you kill 'em yourself?" inquired Sylvester.
"Kill 'eb? Perhaps I dod't! Why there isd't a cat that'll cub withid a bile of this house! They all kdow be. Look here," he added, opening the window; "here's a beautiful parapet, gutter add all!—a capital place for 'eb, this! But do you hear ady caterwaulidg? Dot a bit of it! They dever cub here!—they dever will till I'b gode: add thed they'll have a regular jubilee, doubtless. But I cad't get a cat dow!—they all seeb to shud be! The old lady odce had a fadey of keepidg cats; but as she lost about ted every fortdight, she cut it!—so that I cad't get a cat dow at all!"
"Coffee's ready, sir," said James, as he entered the room.
"Very good," said Tom, "we'll be dowd id a bidite. But Jib, I've dothidg for supper here, have I?"
"No, sir; you finished it all up last night."
"Thed get me a pigeod pie: let it be a beauty. Have I ady stout left?"
"There are four or five bottles, sir."
"That will do, Jib. But let the pigeod pie, Jib, be double the size."
"Very well, sir," said James, as he left the room, and as Sylvester looked earnestly at Tom, as if he felt that some sort of an explanation would be agreeable, Tom said, "Syl, I'll tell you what it is: I like a bit of sobethidg for supper—I cad't sleep without it—add as the old swells below have dothidg but coffee, which is all very well id its way, I always sedd Jib for sobthidg dice to eat up here whed they are all gode to bed."
Sylvester thought this rational enough; and when he had given expression to his thoughts on the subject, they went down into the drawing-room together, and took coffee with Aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Delolme.
The doctor, who had been to see a patient, came in immediately after they had finished, and had coffee too; and when the tables had been cleared, he, Sylvester, and Tom, discussed the prominent merits of the medical profession—while Mrs. Delolme was pointing out to Aunt Eleanor various passages in the Bible which favoured her views—till the timepiece struck twelve, when the bell was rung, and the servants came up to prayers.
Mrs. Delolme read them, and the doctor sat opposite, but all the rest turned and knelt; but, although they were read with great fervour of expression, they failed to have any other effect upon the servants than that of inducing them to pinch each other, with the view of changing that aspect of solemnity which, on entering the room, they had assumed.
The prayers being ended, the servants withdrew; and, when Mrs. Delolme had pointed out the extreme beauty of those prayers, they all retired to rest, with the exception of Tom and Sylvester, who went into the study to eat the pigeon pie.
And it really was a nice pie, a very nice pie. Tom pronounced it to be "dothing but ad out-ad-outer!"—and they ate very heartily and enjoyed it very much. The stout too was good: it was capital stout. Tom declared "there was do bistake about it!"—nor was there any: no: it was well up and soft, and two bottles went down with surpassing smoothness.
But with two bottles Tom was not content. "We'll just have wud bore," said he, "add thed we'll go to bed, for you look, Syl, as if you were dearly dead beat."
Sylvester, as Tom promptly opened the third bottle, acknowledged that he felt rather tired, but he was aroused by the production of the skeleton of a squirrel, which Tom caused to crack nuts by pinching its tail.
"I'll read you the history of this little swell," said Tom. "Whed alive he was a rub ud."
And he got his portfolio, and having placed several sheets of manuscript before him, commenced reading the life and adventures of "Moses the Squirrel."
He had, however, scarcely read the second sentence, when, on looking up, he found his friend Sylvester asleep.
"Hollo!" he cried, "Syl!"
"Really," said Sylvester, "you must excuse me."
"Well, I kdow you bust be tired," said Tom, restoring his precious manuscript to the portfolio. "Ebty the glass, add we'll be off. Travellidg idvariably bakes a fellow sleepy. I kdow what it is. I'll just put these thidgs od wud side, add thed see you to your roob.—Dow thed," he added, as soon as this feat had been accomplished, and he and Sylvester left the study, and when he had pointed out Sylvester's room, he shook hands with him, exclaiming, "God bless you!—good dight."