Complete Works of Wilkie Collins (2203 page)

From this comparison of bills it appears that you save (in the year seventeen hundred and twenty-four) fifteen shillings and three-pence a day by going straight to Newgate instead of going into a sponging-house. Having carried his parallel safely forward to this striking and unanswerable result, B. L. wisely leaves his facts and figures to speak for themselves, and closes that part of his Treatise which has established his claim to the honourable title of The Debtor
ý
s Best Friend. It would be a curious subject for investigation to ascertain how far the parallel instituted by B. L. might hold good in the present day. The author can only excuse himself for not making the inquiry, by confessing, to his shame, that he has not public spirit enough to qualify himself for properly collecting the necessary facts, by becoming a debtor and entering a sponging-house. He is as anxious, in his way, as the anonymous “B. L., of Twickenham” to promote “the public good,” but his patriotism has its limits, and he finds that bailiffs and turnkeys stand at some distance on the outer side of his mental boundary-line. Having confessed his weakness in these plain terms, he will ask permission to abandon the topic of imprisonment for debt, content with having given the reader some idea of the abuses of sponging-houses and the merits of county gaols in the last century, and perfectly willing to resign the honour of discussing the subject in its modern bearings, to any other gentleman who can speak from that superior position of practical experience to which he most devoutly hopes that he himself may never attain.

First published
Household Words
19 September 1857

I KNOW how to read and write, and I have a pretty knack at ciphering, in all the branches of that useful art which overshadow the human mind on this side of Vulgar Fractions. As to any attainments, however, beyond these, I think I may safely say (having due consideration for my superior station in life) that I am, out of all comparison, the most ignorant man in this country. I attribute my want of information on every subject under the sun, to the unnecessary and vexatious difficulties which beset the acquisition of knowledge in all directions. Everything else that I want, I can get easily. My apartments (furnished, in an excellent neighbourhood), my little tasteful dinner, my gentlemanly clothing, my comfortable reserved seat at public amusements; my neat carriage, to take me out and bring me from home; my servant, who bears with my small caprices, and takes troubles of all kinds off my hands
;
these accessories, which revolve round the great fact of my existence, come obediently at my call whenever I want them, and dance attendance, in excellent time, to the faintest jingle of my silver and gold. But Knowledge, scrubby Knowledge, declines to be summoned at five minutes
’
notice; scorns an invitation from me, even when I deliver it myself at the end of my purse; wants my time instead of my money, and my patience instead of my patronage; expects me to follow, where I am accustomed to lead; meets me, in short, on audaciously equal terms, and, as a natural and proper consequence, fails to enjoy the honour of my acquaintance.

I had written thus far the day before yesterday, turning my sentences, I think, very prettily, with a soothing use of metaphor and a pleasing crispness in my arrangement of words
;
I had written thus far, when my brother (a very useful unassuming man) brought me a present of a little book, which informed me, the moment I opened it, that Knowledge had, so to speak, come to its senses at last, and had learnt the necessity of offering itself on reasonably easy terms to all persons of distinction who might desire to possess it.

The book in question is called Things Not Generally Known. It is short; it is portable; it may be taken up one minute and put down the next; it presents abstruse information ready cut and dried into short paragraphs on all subjects
on Domestic Manners, and Life and Death; on the Animal Kingdom, and Church and State; on the Marvels of the Heavens, and the Dignities of the Earth. I am much obliged to my brother (a well-meaning man, but without ambition or talents for society) for giving me this book. I am much obliged to Mr. John Timbs, the industrious person who put it together. I intend to recommend him. Why should I not? He saves me the trouble of digging up my own information out of the mine of Knowledge, just as my tailor saves me the trouble of making my own clothes; just as my cook saves me the trouble of preparing my own dinner. He also assists me in realising the one aspiration which my prosperous position in the World has left me free to form. Handsome, engaging, perfectly dressed, comfortably rich, the one thing I want to complete me is to be well-informed, without the inconvenience of preliminary study. My solitary deficiency is now supplied on the most easy and reasonable terms. I can rush forthwith, by a short cut, into the reputation of a man of vast knowledge, and a talker of unlimited capacity. I can silence all men; I can astonish and captivate all women, Is this mere idle boasting? Certainly not. I have my inestimable pocket Manual of ready-made wisdom, to fit all minds; I have modest assurance, and an excellent memory; I have a brother who will make himself useful as a prompter, and who can be depended on to lead all up to my favourite subjects. What follows, as a matter of course, from these advantages to start with? Conversation which is, by the very nature of it, a monologue, because it bristles at all points with Things Not Generally Known.

I am candour itself: I desire to conceal nothing; and I warn society that I am going to begin covering myself with glory, as a, great talker and a mine of information, on Thursday week. I have a dinner invitation on that day, to meet a posse of clever people. It is to be followed by a soir
e
e with more clever people. I am not in the least afraid of this mass of intelligence. It may be formidable enough on its own customary ground of Things Generally Known; but I shall turn it topsy-turvy, in no time, with Things Not Generally Known. I shall take to this festival my inestimable pocket Manual, my modest assurance, my excellent memory, and my brother. On Thursday week, there will be the most remarkable dinner-party in all England. The Indian Mutiny, the Panic, the Leviathan, the new Parliament, the very weather itself, everything, in short, which is generally known, will be blown away from every mouth the instant I open my lips, and sow my Things Not Generally Known, broad-cast, among the company and the dishes, from the first course to the dessert.

For instance, let us say the cover is off the fish
cod
’
s head and shoulders, I know by anticipation. My brother (previously instructed, and a very trustworthy person in small matters) whispers to me, “Page thirteen, Jack; the Age of the Globe.” My host (an old-fashioned man, who asks everybody what they will have, instead of leaving it to the servants) says, “Fish, my dear fellow?” I shudder, and turn from him with horror. “Good Heavens, Simpson! do you take me for a cannibal? “Simpson stares; the company stare; everybody is puzzled but my useful brother, who is behind the scenes. The opportunity is mine
and I let off my first Thing Not Generally Known, with a loud report, thus:

“Fish!” I exclaim. “You eat fish, after the discovery of the great Demaillet, whose thoughts on the age of the globe are in the hands of every schoolboy? Is it possible that nobody here remembers the passage in which it is stated distinctly that man was originally a fish? Nay more, my dear madam, there are still fish to be met with in the ocean, which are half-men, on their progress to the perfect human shape, and whose descendants will, in process of time
;
you understand me, in process of time
become men. Ah, you smile, sir,” I proceed, stopping a man at the lower end of the table, who is asking under his breath, for news from India, and letting off my second Thing at the same time. “You smile? Well, well, I am not bigoted about Demaillet
’
s theory. I grant you there may be something in Woodward
’
s idea that the deluge was occasioned by a momentary suspension of cohesion among the particles of mineral bodies
nor am I prepared to deny (as who is?) that Oken
may I trouble you for the salt?
that Oken has perhaps solved the great deluge problem in those five immortal words,
 
All is done by Polarisation.
 
Short, you will say, doctor
but how full of meaning, how very full of meaning!”

I offer this as a specimen of the neat manner in which a Thing, so generally known as a Cod
’
s Head, may be made, as it were, to fire a mine of recondite information in the midst of an astonished company, thanks to my pocket Manual and to the industrious person who has put it together. But, if need be, I can do without dishes, and can use the people who eat from them to serve my purpose instead. I take it that a nervous old lady, neatly dressed in stiff black silk, who was a great beauty in some past century, and who is now a wonderful woman for her age is a Thing generally known at family dinner-parties. Nothing is more graceful and becoming in a young and dashing gentleman than a little delicate conversational attention, on his part, offered to Venerable age in the presence of a mixed company; and nothing is more difficult than to hit on an appropriate topic where a man
’
s mind is unprovided with a proper store of Things Not Generally Known. In my case, no such obstacle as this can possibly exist. I can stick a fact with which nobody is familiar into the head of the typical old woman, with whom everybody is familiar, and can set it a-light for the public benefit at a moment
’
s notice. Say, we are just assembling round the dinner-tab1e. The venerable lady is slow in getting to her chair, and nervous about sitting down in it. Her daughter says, “Dear mama, don
’
t hurry.” I instantly groan, shake my head, and fix my eyes on Mrs. Methuselah. My brother (perfectly invaluable where nothing but mere watchfulness is wanted) whispers, “Page fifteen, Jack-the three motions of the earth!”
and off I go with another Thing, like a race-horse from the starting-post.

“Did I hear your daughter, ma
’
am, beg you not to hurry? “I begin with a faint smile. “Excuse me, but of all the vain requests she could possibly have addressed to you, this is the most utterly futile. You are hurrying at this very moment, ma
’
am, at the rate of a hundred and fifty millions of miles a-year towards a particular point in the heavens, a star in the constellation Hercules. We
or, if you like, our Earth, which comes to the same thing
have three Motions. Two, generally known, round our own axis and round the sun. A third, not at all generally known, and recently discovered by great astronomers, with which I have just had the pleasure of making you acquainted. Don
’
t be alarmed, ma
’
am, the sun and all the planets are rushing in our direction, and at our rate, and it is my private opinion that when we do come into collision with that star in the constellation Hercules, we shall probably smash it, and go on again smoothly as if nothing had happened.”

Shall we get back again to the dishes, just to show how easily I can garnish any of them with Things Not Generally Known, as I garnished the Cod
’
s Head? The dinner is nearly over. The cheese has appeared; and the salad is being handed round. “Page twenty-six,” my brother whispers, as the servant approaches me with the verdant bowl.