The Expedition of Humphry Clinker by T. Smollett (the speed reading book txt) 📕

I mentioned in my last, my uncle’s design of going to the duke of N—‘s levee; which design has been executed accordingly. His grace has been so long accustomed to this kind of homage, that though the place he now fills does not imply the tenth part of the influence, which he exerted in his former office, he has given his friends to understand, that they cannot oblige him in any thing more, than in contributing to support the shadow of that power, which he no longer retains in substance; and therefore he has still public days, on which they appear at his levee.

My uncle and I went thither with Mr Barton, who, being one of the duke’s adherents, undertook to be our introducer—The room was pretty well filled with people, in a great variety of dress; but there was no more than one gown and cassock, though I was told his grace had, while he was minister, preferred almost every individual that now filled the bench of bishops in the house of lords; but in all probability, the gratitude of the clergy is like their charity, which shuns the light—Mr Barton was immediately accosted by a person well stricken in years, tall, and raw-boned, with a hook-nose, and an arch leer, that indicated, at least, as much cunning as sagacity. Our conductor saluted him, by the name of captain C—, and afterwards informed us he was a man of shrewd parts, whom the government occasionally employed in secret services. But I have had the history of him more at large, from another quarter. He had been, many years ago, concerned in fraudulent practices, as a merchant, in France; and being convicted of some of them, was sent to the gallies, from whence he was delivered by the interest of the late duke of Ormond, to whom he had recommended himself in letter, as his name-sake and relation—He was in the sequel, employed by our ministry as a spy; and in the war of 1740, traversed all Spain, as well as France, in the disguise of a capuchin, at the extreme hazard of his life, in as much as the court of Madrid had actually got scent of him, and given orders to apprehend him at St Sebastian’s, from whence he had fortunately retired but a few hours before the order arrived. This and other hair-breadth ‘scapes he pleaded so effectually as a merit with the English ministry, that they allowed him a comfortable pension, which he now enjoys in his old age—He has still access to all the ministers, and is said to be consulted by them on many subjects, as a man of uncommon understanding and great experience—He is, in fact, a fellow of some parts, and invincible assurance; and, in his discourse, he assumes such an air of self-sufficiency, as may very well impose upon some of the shallow politicians, who now labour at the helm of administration. But, if he is not belied, this is not the only imposture of which he is guilty—They say, he is at bottom not only a Roman-catholic, but really a priest; and while he pretends to disclose to our state-pilots all the springs that move the cabinet of Versailles, he is actually picking up intelligence for the service of the French minister. Be that as it may, captain C— entered into conversation with us in the most familiar manner, and treated the duke’s character without any ceremony—‘This wiseacre (said he) is still a-bed; and, I think, the best thing he can do, is to sleep on till Christmas; for, when he gets up, he does nothing but expose his own folly.—Since Grenville was turned out, there has been no minister in this nation worth the meal that whitened his peri-wig—They are so ignorant, they scarce know a crab from a cauliflower; and then they are such dunces, that there’s no making them comprehend the plainest proposition—In the beginning of the war, this poor half-witted creature told me, in a great fright, that thirty thousand French had marched from Acadie to Cape Breton—“Where did they find transports? (said I)” “Transports (cried he) I tell you they marched by land”—“By land to the island of Cape Breton?” “What! is Cape Breton an island?” “Certainly.” “Ha! are you sure of that?” When I pointed it out in the map, he examined it earnestly with his spectacles; then, taking me in his arms, “My dear C—! (cried he) you always bring us good news—Egad! I’ll go directly, and tell the king that Cape Breton is an island.”’

He seemed disposed to entertain us with more anecdotes of this nature, at the expense of his grace, when he was interrupted by the arrival of the Algerine ambassador; a venerable Turk, with a long white beard, attended by his dragoman, or interpreter, and another officer of his household, who had got no stockings to his legs—Captain C— immediately spoke with an air of authority to a servant in waiting, bidding him go and tell the duke to rise, as there was a great deal of company come, and, among others, the ambassador from Algiers. Then, turning to us, ‘This poor Turk (said he) notwithstanding his grey beard, is a green-horn—He has been several years resident in London, and still is ignorant of our political revolutions. This visit is intended for the prime minister of England; but you’ll see how this wise duke will receive it as a mark of attachment to his own person’—Certain it is, the duke seemed eager to acknowledge the compliment—A door opened, he suddenly bolted out; with a shaving-cloth under his chin, his face frothed up to the eyes with soap lather; and running up to the ambassador, grinned hideous in his face—‘My dear Mahomet! (said he) God love your long beard, I hope the dey will make you a horsetail at the next promotion, ha, ha, ha! Have but a moment’s patience, and I’ll send to you in a twinkling,’—So saying, he retired into his den, leaving the Turk in some confusion. After a short pause, however, he said something to his interpreter, the meaning of which I had great curiosity to know, as he turned up his eyes while he spoke, expressing astonishment, mixed with devotion. We were gratified by means of the communicative captain C—, who conversed with the dragoman, as an old acquaintance. Ibrahim, the ambassador, who had mistaken his grace for the minister’s fool, was no sooner undeceived by the interpreter, than he exclaimed to this effect ‘Holy prophet! I don’t wonder that this nation prospers, seeing it is governed by the counsel of ideots; a series of men, whom all good mussulmen revere as the organs of immediate inspiration!’ Ibrahim was favoured with a particular audience of