CHAPTER XI--The Old Radical.

"This very dirty man, with his very dirty face,

Would do any dirty act, which would get him a place."

Some time ago the writer was set upon by an old Radical and his wife; but

before he relates the manner in which they set upon him, it will be as

well to enter upon a few particulars tending to elucidate their reasons

for so doing.

The writer had just entered into his eighteenth year, when he met at the

table of a certain Anglo-Germanist an individual, apparently somewhat

under thirty, of middle stature, a thin and weaselly figure, a sallow

complexion, a certain obliquity of vision, and a large pair of

spectacles. This person, who had lately come from abroad, and had

published a volume of translations, had attracted some slight notice in

the literary world, and was looked upon as a kind of lion in a small

provincial capital. After dinner he argued a great deal, spoke

vehemently against the church, and uttered the most desperate Radicalism

that was perhaps ever heard, saying, he hoped that in a short time there

would not be a king or queen in Europe, and inveighing bitterly against

the English aristocracy, and against the Duke of Wellington in

particular, whom he said, if he himself was ever president of an English

republic--an event which he seemed to think by no means improbable--he

would hang for certain infamous acts of profligacy and bloodshed which he

had perpetrated in Spain. Being informed that the writer was something

of a philologist, to which character the individual in question laid

great pretensions, he came and sat down by him, and talked about

languages and literature. The writer, who was only a boy, was a little

frightened at first, but, not wishing to appear a child of absolute

ignorance, he summoned what little learning he had, and began to blunder

out something about the Celtic languages and literature, and asked the

Lion who he conceived Finn-Ma-Coul to be? and whether he did not consider

the "Ode to the Fox," by Red Rhys of Eryry, to be a masterpiece of

pleasantry? Receiving no answer to these questions from the Lion, who,

singular enough, would frequently, when the writer put a question to him,

look across the table, and flatly contradict some one who was talking to

some other person, the writer dropped the Celtic languages and

literature, and asked him whether he did not think it a funny thing that

Temugin, generally called Genghis Khan, should have married the daughter

of Prester John? {8} The Lion, after giving a side-glance at the writer

through his left spectacle glass, seemed about to reply, but was

unfortunately prevented, being seized with an irresistible impulse to

contradict a respectable doctor of medicine, who was engaged in

conversation with the master of the house at the upper and farther end of

the table, the writer being a poor ignorant lad, sitting of course at the

bottom. The doctor, who had served in the Peninsula, having observed

that Ferdinand the Seventh was not quite so bad as had been represented,

the Lion vociferated that he was ten times worse, and that he hoped to

see him and the Duke of Wellington hanged together. The doctor, who,

being a Welshman, was somewhat of a warm temper, growing rather red, said

that at any rate he had been informed that Ferdinand the Seventh knew

sometimes how to behave himself like a gentleman--this brought on a long

dispute, which terminated rather abruptly. The Lion having observed that

the doctor must not talk about Spanish matters with one who had visited

every part of Spain, the doctor bowed, and said he was right, for that he

believed no people in general possessed such accurate information about

countries as those who had travelled them as bagmen. On the Lion asking

the doctor what he meant, the Welshman, whose under jaw began to move

violently, replied, that he meant what he said. Here the matter ended,

for the Lion, turning from him, looked at the writer. The writer,

imagining that his own conversation hitherto had been too trivial and

common-place for the Lion to consider worth his while to take much notice

of it, determined to assume a little higher ground, and after repeating a

few verses of the Koran, and gabbling a little Arabic, asked the Lion

what he considered to be the difference between the Hegira and the

Christian era, adding, that he thought the general computation was in

error by about one year; and being a particularly modest person, chiefly,

he believes, owing to his having been at school in Ireland, absolutely

blushed at finding that the Lion returned not a word in answer. "What a

wonderful individual I am seated by," thought he, "to whom Arabic seems a

vulgar speech, and a question about the Hegira not worthy of an answer!"

not reflecting that as lions come from the Sahara, they have quite enough

of Arabic at home, and that the question about the Hegira was rather mal

a propos to one used to prey on the flesh of hadjis. "Now I only wish he

would vouchsafe me a little of his learning," thought the boy to himself,

and in this wish he was at last gratified; for the Lion, after asking him

whether he was acquainted at all with the Sclavonian languages, and being

informed that he was not, absolutely dumb-foundered him by a display of

Sclavonian erudition.

Years rolled by--the writer was a good deal about, sometimes in London,

sometimes in the country, sometimes abroad; in London he occasionally met

the man of the spectacles, who was always very civil to him, and, indeed,

cultivated his acquaintance. The writer thought it rather odd that,

after he himself had become acquainted with the Sclavonian languages and

literature, the man of the spectacles talked little or nothing about

them. In a little time, however, the matter ceased to cause him the

slightest surprise, for he had discovered a key to the mystery. In the

mean time the man of spectacles was busy enough; he speculated in

commerce, failed, and paid his creditors twenty pennies in the pound;

published translations, of which the public at length became heartily

tired; having, indeed, got an inkling of the manner in which those

translations were got up. He managed, however, to ride out many a storm,

having one trusty sheet-anchor--Radicalism. This he turned to the best

advantage--writing pamphlets and articles in reviews, all in the Radical

interest, and for which he was paid out of the Radical fund; which

articles and pamphlets, when Toryism seemed to reel on its last legs,

exhibited a slight tendency to Whiggism. Nevertheless, his abhorrence of

desertion of principle was so great in the time of the Duke of

Wellington's administration, that when S--- left the Whigs and went over,

he told the writer, who was about that time engaged with him in a

literary undertaking, that the said S--- was a fellow with a character so

infamous, that any honest man would rather that you spit in his face than

insult his ears with the mention of the name of S---.

The literary project having come to nothing,--in which, by the bye, the

writer was to have all the labour, and his friend all the credit,

provided any credit should accrue from it,--the writer did not see the

latter for some years, during which time considerable political changes

took place; the Tories were driven from, and the Whigs placed in, office,

both events being brought about by the Radicals coalescing with the

Whigs, over whom they possessed great influence for the services which

they had rendered. When the writer next visited his friend, he found him

very much altered; his opinions were by no means so exalted as they had

been--he was not disposed even to be rancorous against the Duke of

Wellington, saying that there were worse men than he, and giving him some

credit as a general; a hankering after gentility seeming to pervade the

whole family, father and sons, wife and daughters, all of whom talked

about genteel diversions--gentility novels, and even seemed to look with

favour on High Churchism, having in former years, to all appearance, been

bigoted Dissenters. In a little time the writer went abroad; as, indeed,

did his friend; not, however, like the writer, at his own expense, but at

that of the country--the Whigs having given him a travelling appointment,

which he held for some years, during which he received upwards of twelve

thousand pounds of the money of the country, for services which will,

perhaps, be found inscribed on certain tablets, when another Astolfo

shall visit the moon. This appointment, however, he lost on the Tories

resuming power--when the writer found him almost as Radical and patriotic

as ever, just engaged in trying to get into Parliament, into which he got

by the assistance of his Radical friends, who, in conjunction with the

Whigs, were just getting up a crusade against the Tories, which they

intended should be a conclusive one.

A little time after the publication of "The Bible in Spain," the Tories

being still in power, this individual, full of the most disinterested

friendship for the author, was particularly anxious that he should be

presented with an official situation, in a certain region a great many

miles off. "You are the only person for that appointment," said he; "you

understand a great deal about the country, and are better acquainted with

the two languages spoken there than any one in England. Now I love my

country, and have, moreover, a great regard for you, and as I am in

Parliament, and have frequent opportunities of speaking to the Ministry,

I shall take care to tell them how desirable it would be to secure your

services. It is true they are Tories, but I think that even Tories would

give up their habitual love of jobbery in a case like yours, and for once

show themselves disposed to be honest men and gentlemen; indeed, I have

no doubt they will, for having so deservedly an infamous character, they

would be glad to get themselves a little credit, by a presentation which

could not possibly be traced to jobbery or favouritism."

The writer begged his friend to give himself no trouble about the matter,

as he was not desirous of the appointment, being in tolerably easy

circumstances, and willing to take some rest after a life of labour. All,

however, that he could say was of no use, his friend indignantly

observing, that the matter ought to be taken entirely out of his hands,

and the appointment thrust upon him for the credit of the country. "But

may not many people be far more worthy of the appointment than myself?"

said the writer. "Where?" said the friendly Radical. "If you don't get

it, it will be made a job of, given to the son of some steward, or,

perhaps, to some quack who has done dirty work; I tell you what, I shall

ask it for you, in spite of you; I shall, indeed!" and his eyes flashed

with friendly and patriotic fervour through the large pair of spectacles

which he wore.

And, in fact, it would appear that the honest and friendly patriot put

his threat into execution. "I have spoken," said he, "more than once to

this and that individual in Parliament, and everybody seems to think that

the appointment should be given to you. Nay, that you should be forced

to accept it. I intend next to speak to Lord A---" And so he did, at

least it would appear so. On the writer calling upon him one evening,

about a week afterwards, in order to take leave of him, as the writer was

about to take a long journey for the sake of his health, his friend no

sooner saw him than he started up in a violent fit of agitation, and

glancing about the room, in which there were several people, amongst

others two Whig members of Parliament, said, "I am glad you are come, I

was just speaking about you. This," said he, addressing the two members,

"is so and so, the author of so and so, the well-known philologist; as I

was telling you, I spoke to Lord A--- this day about him, and said that

he ought forthwith to have the head appointment in--and what did the

fellow say? Why, that there was no necessity for such an appointment at

all, and if there were, why--and then he hummed and ha'd. Yes," said he,

looking at the writer, "he did indeed. What a scandal! what an infamy!

But I see how it will be, it will be a job. The place will be given to

some son of a steward or to some quack, as I said before. Oh, these

Tories! Well, if this does not make one--" Here he stopped short,

crunched his teeth, and looked the image of desperation.

Seeing the poor man in this distressed condition, the writer begged him

to be comforted, and not to take the matter so much to heart; but the

indignant Radical took the matter very much to heart, and refused all

comfort whatever, bouncing about the room, and, whilst his spectacles

flashed in the light of four spermaceti candles, exclaiming, "It will be

a job--a Tory job! I see it all, I see it all, I see it all!"

And a job it proved, and a very pretty job, but no Tory job. Shortly

afterwards the Tories were out, and the Whigs were in. From that time

the writer heard not a word about the injustice done to the country in

not presenting him with the appointment to ---; the Radical, however, was

busy enough to obtain the appointment, not for the writer, but for

himself, and eventually succeeded, partly through Radical influence, and

partly through that of a certain Whig lord, for whom the Radical had

done, on a particular occasion, work of a particular kind. So, though

the place was given to a quack, and the whole affair a very pretty job,

it was one in which the Tories had certainly no hand.

In the meanwhile, however, the friendly Radical did not drop the writer.

Oh, no! On various occasions he obtained from the writer all the

information about the country in question, and was particularly anxious

to obtain from the writer, and eventually did obtain, a copy of a work

written in the court language of that country, edited by the writer, a

language exceedingly difficult, which the writer, at the expense of a

considerable portion of his eyesight, had acquired, at least as far as by

the eyesight it could be acquired. What use the writer's friend made of

the knowledge he had gained from him, and what use he made of the book,

the writer can only guess; but he has little doubt that when the question

of sending a person to --- was mooted in a Parliamentary Committee--which

it was at the instigation of the writer's friend--the Radical on being

examined about the country, gave the information which he had obtained

from the writer as his own, and flashed the book and its singular

characters in the eyes of the Committee; and then of course his Radical

friends would instantly say, "This is the man! there is no one like him.

See what information he possesses; and see that book written by himself

in the court language of Serendib. This is the only man to send there.

What a glory, what a triumph it would be to Britain, to send out a man so

deeply versed in the mysterious lore of--as our illustrious countryman; a

person who with his knowledge could beat with their own weapons the wise

men of-- Is such an opportunity to be lost? Oh, no! surely not; if it

is, it will be an eternal disgrace to England, and the world will see

that Whigs are no better than Tories."

Let no one think the writer uncharitable in these suppositions. The

writer is only too well acquainted with the antecedents of the

individual, to entertain much doubt that he would shrink from any such

conduct, provided he thought that his temporal interest would be

forwarded by it. The writer is aware of more than one instance in which

he has passed off the literature of friendless young men for his own,

after making them a slight pecuniary compensation and deforming what was

originally excellent by interpolations of his own. This was his especial

practice with regard to translation, of which he would fain be esteemed

the king. This Radical literato is slightly acquainted with four or five

of the easier dialects of Europe, on the strength of which knowledge he

would fain pass for a universal linguist, publishing translations of

pieces originally written in various difficult languages; which

translations, however, were either made by himself from literal

renderings done for him into French or German, or had been made from the

originals into English, by friendless young men, and then deformed by his

alterations.

Well, the Radical got the appointment, and the writer certainly did not

grudge it him. He, of course, was aware that his friend had behaved in a

very base manner towards him, but he bore him no ill-will, and invariably

when he heard him spoken against, which was frequently the case, took his

part when no other person would; indeed, he could well afford to bear him

no ill-will. He had never sought for the appointment, nor wished for it,

nor, indeed, ever believed himself to be qualified for it. He was

conscious, it is true, that he was not altogether unacquainted with the

language and literature of the country with which the appointment was

connected. He was likewise aware that he was not altogether deficient in

courage and in propriety of behaviour. He knew that his appearance was

not particularly against him; his face not being like that of a convicted

pickpocket, nor his gait resembling that of a fox who has lost his tail;

yet he never believed himself adapted for the appointment, being aware

that he had no aptitude for the doing of dirty work, if called to do it,

nor pliancy which would enable him to submit to scurvy treatment, whether

he did dirty work or not--requisites, at the time of which he is

speaking, indispensable in every British official; requisites, by the

bye, which his friend the Radical possessed in a high degree; but though

he bore no ill-will towards his friend, his friend bore anything but good-

will towards him; for from the moment that he had obtained the

appointment for himself, his mind was filled with the most bitter

malignity against the writer, and naturally enough; for no one ever yet

behaved in a base manner towards another, without forthwith conceiving a

mortal hatred against him. You wrong another, know yourself to have

acted basely, and are enraged, not against yourself--for no one hates

himself--but against the innocent cause of your baseness; reasoning very

plausibly, "But for that fellow, I should never have been base; for had

he not existed I could not have been so, at any rate against him;" and

this hatred is all the more bitter, when you reflect that you have been

needlessly base.

Whilst the Tories are in power the writer's friend, of his own accord,

raves against the Tories because they do not give the writer a certain

appointment, and makes, or says he makes, desperate exertions to make

them do so; but no sooner are the Tories out, with whom he has no

influence, and the Whigs in, with whom he, or rather his party, has

influence, than he gets the place for himself, though, according to his

own expressed opinion--an opinion with which the writer does not, and

never did, concur--the writer was the only person competent to hold it.

Now had he, without saying a word to the writer, or about the writer with

respect to the employment, got the place for himself when he had an

opportunity, knowing, as he very well knew, himself to be utterly

unqualified for it, the transaction, though a piece of jobbery, would not

have merited the title of a base transaction; as the matter stands,

however, who can avoid calling the whole affair not only a piece of--come,

come, out with the word--scoundrelism on the part of the writer's friend,

but a most curious piece of uncalled-for scoundrelism? and who, with any

knowledge of fallen human nature, can wonder at the writer's friend

entertaining towards him a considerable portion of gall and malignity?

This feeling on the part of the writer's friend was wonderfully increased

by the appearance of Lavengro, many passages of which the Radical in his

foreign appointment applied to himself and family--one or two of his

children having gone over to Popery, the rest become members of Mr.

Platitude's chapel, and the minds of all being filled with ultra notions

of gentility.

The writer, hearing that his old friend had returned to England, to

apply, he believes, for an increase of salary, and for a title, called

upon him, unwillingly, it is true, for he had no wish to see a person for

whom, though he bore him no ill-will, he could not avoid feeling a

considerable portion of contempt; the truth is, that his sole object in

calling was to endeavour to get back a piece of literary property which

his friend had obtained from him many years previously, and which, though

he had frequently applied for it, he never could get back. Well, the

writer called; he did not get his property, which, indeed, he had

scarcely time to press for, being almost instantly attacked by his good

friend and his wife--yes, it was then that the author was set upon by an

old Radical and his wife--the wife, who looked the very image of shame

and malignity, did not say much, it is true, but encouraged her husband

in all he said. Both of their own accord introduced the subject of

Lavengro. The Radical called the writer a grumbler, just as if there had

ever been a greater grumbler than himself until, by the means above

described, he had obtained a place: he said that the book contained a

melancholy view of human nature--just as if anybody could look in his

face without having a melancholy view of human nature. On the writer

quietly observing that the book contained an exposition of his

principles, the pseudo-Radical replied, that he cared nothing for his

principles--which was probably true, it not being likely that he would

care for another person's principles after having shown so thorough a

disregard for his own. The writer said that the book, of course, would

give offence to humbugs; the Radical then demanded whether he thought him

a humbug?--the wretched wife was the Radical's protection, even as he

knew she would be; it was on her account that the writer did not kick his

good friend; as it was, he looked at him in the face and thought to

himself, "How is it possible I should think you a humbug, when only last

night I was taking your part in a company in which everybody called you a

humbug?"

The Radical, probably observing something in the writer's eye which he

did not like, became all on a sudden abjectly submissive, and, professing

the highest admiration for the writer, begged him to visit him in his

government; this the writer promised faithfully to do, and he takes the

present opportunity of performing his promise.

This is one of the pseudo-Radical calumniators of Lavengro and its

author; were the writer on his deathbed he would lay his hand on his

heart and say, that he does not believe that there is one trait of

exaggeration in the portrait which he has drawn. This is one of the

pseudo-Radical calumniators of Lavengro and its author; and this is one

of the genus, who, after having railed against jobbery for perhaps a

quarter of a century, at present batten on large official salaries which

they do not earn. England is a great country, and her interests require

that she should have many a well-paid official both at home and abroad;

but will England long continue a great country if the care of her

interests, both at home and abroad, is in many instances intrusted to

beings like him described above, whose only recommendation for an

official appointment was that he was deeply versed in the secrets of his

party and of the Whigs?

Before he concludes, the writer will take the liberty of saying of

Lavengro that it is a book written for the express purpose of inculcating

virtue, love of country, learning, manly pursuits, and genuine religion,

for example, that of the Church of England, and for awakening a contempt

for nonsense of every kind, and a hatred for priestcraft, more especially

that of Rome.

And in conclusion, with respect to many passages of his book in which he

has expressed himself in terms neither measured nor mealy, he will beg

leave to observe, in the words of a great poet, who lived a profligate

life, it is true, but who died a sincere penitent--thanks, after God, to

good Bishop Burnet--

"All this with indignation I have hurl'd

At the pretending part of this proud world,

Who, swollen with selfish vanity, devise

False freedoms, formal cheats, and holy lies,

Over their fellow fools to tyrannize."

ROCHESTER.

Footnotes

{1} Tipperary.

{2} An obscene oath.

{3} See "Muses' Library," pp. 86, 87. London, 1738.

{4} Genteel with them seems to be synonymous with Gentile and Gentoo; if

so, the manner in which it has been applied for ages ceases to surprise,

for genteel is heathenish. Ideas of barbaric pearl and gold, glittering

armour, plumes, tortures, blood-shedding, and lust, should always be

connected with it. Wace, in his grand Norman poem, calls the Baron

genteel:--

"La furent li gentil Baron," etc.

And he certainly could not have applied the word better than to the

strong Norman thief, armed cap-a-pie, without one particle of truth or

generosity; for a person to be a pink of gentility, that is heathenism,

should have no such feelings; and, indeed, the admirers of gentility

seldom or never associate any such feelings with it. It was from the

Norman, the worst of all robbers and miscreants, who built strong

castles, garrisoned them with devils, and tore out poor wretches' eyes,

as the Saxon Chronicle says, that the English got their detestable word

genteel. What could ever have made the English such admirers of

gentility, it would be difficult to say; for, during three hundred years,

they suffered enough by it. Their genteel Norman landlords were their

scourgers, their torturers, the plunderers of their homes, the

dishonourers of their wives, and the deflourers of their daughters.

Perhaps, after all, fear is at the root of the English veneration for

gentility.

{5} Gentle and gentlemanly may be derived from the same root as genteel;

but nothing can be more distinct from the mere genteel, than the ideas

which enlightened minds associate with these words. Gentle and

gentlemanly mean something kind and genial; genteel, that which is

glittering or gaudy. A person can be a gentleman in rags, but nobody can

be genteel.

{6} The writer has been checked in print by the Scotch with being a

Norfolk man. Surely, surely, these latter times have not been exactly

the ones in which it was expedient for Scotchmen to check the children of

any county in England with the place of their birth, more especially

those who have had the honour of being born in Norfolk--times in which

British fleets, commanded by Scotchmen, have returned laden with anything

but laurels from foreign shores. It would have been well for Britain had

she had the old Norfolk man to dispatch to the Baltic or the Black sea,

lately, instead of Scotch admirals.

{7} As the present work will come out in the midst of a vehement

political contest, people may be led to suppose that the above was

written expressly for the time. The writer therefore begs to state that

it was written in the year 1854. He cannot help adding that he is

neither Whig, Tory, nor Radical, and cares not a straw what party governs

England, provided it is governed well. But he has no hopes of good

government from the Whigs. It is true that amongst them there is one

very great man, Lord Palmerston, who is indeed the sword and buckler, the

chariots and the horses of the party; but it is impossible for his

lordship to govern well with such colleagues as he has--colleagues which

have been forced upon him by family influence, and who are continually

pestering him into measures anything but conducive to the country's

honour and interest. If Palmerston would govern well, he must get rid of

them; but from that step, with all his courage and all his greatness, he

will shrink. Yet how proper and easy a step it would be! He could

easily get better, but scarcely worse, associates. They appear to have

one object in view, and only one--jobbery. It was chiefly owing to a

most flagitious piece of jobbery, which one of his lordship's principal

colleagues sanctioned and promoted, that his lordship experienced his

late parliamentary disasters.

{8} A fact.