City Snobs have the same mania for aristocratic marriages. I like to
see such. I am of a savage and envious nature,--I like to see these two
humbugs which, dividing, as they do, the social empire of this kingdom
between them, hate each other naturally, making truce and uniting,
for the sordid interests of either. I like to see an old aristocrat,
swelling with pride of race, the descendant of illustrious Norman
robbers, whose blood has been pure for centuries, and who looks down
upon common Englishmen as a free American does on a nigger,--I like to
see old Stiffneck obliged to bow down his head and swallow his infernal
pride, and drink the cup of humiliation poured out by Pump and Aldgate's
butler. 'Pump and Aldgate, says he, 'your grandfather was a bricklayer,
and his hod is still kept in the bank. Your pedigree begins in a
workhouse; mine can be dated from all the royal palaces of Europe. I
came over with the Conqueror; I am own cousin to Charles Martel, Orlando
Furioso, Philip Augustus, Peter the Cruel, and Frederick Barbarossa.
I quarter the Royal Arms of Brentford in my coat. I despise you, but I
want money; and I will sell you my beloved daughter, Blanche Stiffneck,
for a hundred thousand pounds, to pay off my mortgages. Let your son
marry her, and she shall become Lady Blanche Pump and Aldgate.'
Old Pump and Aldgate clutches at the bargain.
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