The Man of Forty Crowns/Chapter X
CHAPTER X.
A RASCAL REPULSED.
The reputation which Mr. Andrew had acquired for pacifying quarrels—by giving good suppers—drew upon him last week a singular visit. A dark-complexioned man, shabbily enough dressed, rather crook-backed, with his head leaning toward one shoulder, a haggard eye and dirty hands, asked to be invited to a supper with his enemies.
"Who are your enemies?" said Mr. Andrew, "and who are you?"
"Alas, sir," said he, "I am forced to confess that I am taken for one of those wretches that compose libels to get bread, and who are forever crying out, 'Religion! religion! religion!' in order to come into some little benefice. I am accused of having calumniated some of the most truly religious subjects, the most sincere adorers of divinity, and the most honest men of the kingdom. It is true, sir, that in the heat of composition there often fall from the pen of those of my trade certain little inadvertencies or slips, which are taken for gross errors, and some liberties taken with the truth, which are termed impudent lies. Our zeal is looked upon in the light of a horrid mixture of villainy and fanaticism. It has been alleged that while we are ensnaring the easy faith of some silly old women, we are the scorn and execration of all the men of worth who can read.
"My enemies are the principal members of the most illustrious academies of Europe, writers much esteemed, and beneficent members of society. I have but just published a book under the title of "Anti-philosophical." I had nothing but the best intentions, and yet no one would buy my book. Those to whom I made presents of it threw it into the fire, telling me it was not only anti-reasonable, but anti-Christian, and extremely anti-decent."
"Well, then!" said Mr. Andrew to him, "follow the example of those to whom you presented your libel, throw it into the fire, and let no more be said of it. It is unnecessary to ask you to sup with men of wit, who can never be your enemies, since they will never read you."
"Could not you, sir, at least," said the hypocrite to him, "reconcile me with the relations of the deceased Monsieur de Montesquieu, to whose memory I offered an indignity, that I might give honor and glory to the reverend father Rout.
"Zounds!" said Mr. Andrew, "the reverend father Rout has been dead this long time; go and sup with him."