Mr. Norcutt's attempt at suicide. The faithful valet.

Chapter XXXVI.

Mr. Norcott’s Attempt at Suicide

The hollowness of interested popularity illustrated in the example of Mr. Norcot - The dilemma of a gamester - The last resource - The “faithful” valet - Mr. Norcot turns Mahometan - His equivocal destiny.

Mr. Norcott was an eccentric Irish barrister, the uncertainty of whose fate has given rise to a vast number of surmises: the last authentic account described him as a Turk selling rhubarb and opium in the streets of Smyrna When the Duke of Richmond was Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland he was a great favourite at the Castle revels. He could drink as stoutly as the duke himself, touch the piano as well as a lady, or gamble as deeply as any of the gentlemen: he could jest even better than Sir Charles Vernon, and drove in his entertainments all other bachelors out of the field. Hence, his reception was so flattering that he discarded all reflection, and at length found his purse empty, his resources dry, his profession unproductive, his estate melted down, and his reputation *not improved. *The noble duke gave him no *place, *but at his dinner table, while smiles and lemonade were the favours of the duchess: the courtiers turned their faces towards him whilst he was rich, and their backs when he had grown poor: his best puns began to pass without notice, his mimicry excited no laughter, and his most high-flown compliments scarcely received a curtsey.

A fat, hearty, convivial fellow does not perceive what is termed the half-cut near so soon as your lank, sensitive, thorough-paced goer; and Norcot was not completely undeceived as to his own declining influence until, one evening having lost much more money than he had to pay, he began to consider how to make up the deficiency. He had very little cash left anywhere, and was not versed in the borrowing system, so he thought he would wait a few days to see what Providence would be pleased to do for him; and as he had never thought it worth his while to rely upon her before, he did not know exactly in what way to court her assistance.

Irish gentlemen so circumstanced are very apt to suppose that they may find *Providence, *or in other words *good luck, *at the bottom of two or three bottles of wine, and accordingly never omit the application thereunto. Norcot pursued the usual course, and certainly made away with that number at least next night with the duke. But alas this kind of exorcism was unsuccessful in his instance, and he was necessitated to return home at three o’clock in the morning, sobered by the very lassitude of excess, and maddened by reflection. On arriving he threw himself into his arm-chair, his mind became confused, his reason wandered; he thought of resources - there were none;- but the extent of his poverty and debts being as yet not publicly known, he thought of borrowing; the plan, however, seemed a doubtful one; and besides, he was deterred from trying it by his pride. He next thought of prison; this inflamed his brain still further; and drove him upon the fearful alternative of suicide. Here a door of retreat seemed open, although whether it led he knew not; but be had neither heart to bear up against misfortune, not religion to assuage it: he had no steady friend to advise with and no liberal one to relieve him.

He sank for a moment into an enviable state of insensibility. His servant Thomas, a broad faithful Irishman, but who never bad known the meaning of any kind of feelings, except corporeal ones, stood by, surprised at the change in his master’s manner. “Thomas!” exclaimed the desponding Norcot, “Thomas, are my pistols charged?”

“Right well, plaze your honour,” replied Thomas.

“The flints,” Thomas?”

“I’m sure they ‘d strike fire enough to burn a barrel of gunpowder, if your honour wanted to blow it up!”

“Bring them hither!” said Norcot.

Thomas did not approve of this order; and answered, “Sure your honour can’t want them till daylight anyhow!” But upon Norcot’s authoritatively waving his hand, he brought the pistols, wondering what his master wanted with them.

“Thomas,” said the desperate man, “you were always faithful!”

“And why should not I?” said Thomas.

“Well, then, Thomas, I can live no longer!”

“Thunder and oons, master I why not?”

“‘Tis enough to say, Thomas,” pursued the hapless barrister, taking up one of the pistols, “that I am *determined *to die.”

Thomas never having seen such a catastrophe was quite alarmed, but all his eloquence was in vain. Having wept and argued to no purpose, he ran towards the window to shout murder, but it was fast. Norcot, who was an unbeliever, shuddering meanwhile less at the idea of the crime he contemplated than at that of eternal annihilation, which his tenets induced him to anticipate, said, “Thomas, take one of these pistols and put it to my head; apply the other here, to my heart, fire both together, and put me out of my pain - for die I will!”

Thornqs mused and bethought himself; and then answered, “I am willing to do the best I can for so good a master, but truly I can’t shoot, and may be I’d miss your honour! Hadn’t I better go to some gentleman of your acquaintance that I heard you say never missed anybody, and who would do it cleverly?”

“None but you,” returned the unyielding desperado, “shall shoot me, Thomas!”

“I never shot anybody!” cried the servant; “but,” taking up the pistols, “your honour says one at your head. May I crave what part of it?”

“There,” said Norcot, pointing to his temple; “the other through my heart!”

“And which side is your honour’s heart to-night ?” inquired the dilatory valet.

“Here!” replied Norcot. “Now cock and fire!”

Thomas, who had been planning all this time how to get rid of the business, now seemed on the sudden to recollect himself. “But, master dear !” said he, “when you were going to fight a duel with that Captain O’Brien, at the Cove of Cork, your honour took out Surgeon Egan with you, saying that no gentleman should risk his life without a doctor; so, if you plase, I’ll just step over first and foremost, and fetch Surgeon Macklin here for fear of accidents!” Without waiting any reply, be instantly stepped out of the room as fast as he could, taking the pistols with him, and leaving Norcot in astonishment. He actually went to the doctor, told him the story, and brought him over to reason with his master, who remained in a state of perfect distraction. However, the fit somewhat subsided, and the incidents being thus placed in a novel and ridiculous point of view, had the most extraordinary effect on Norcot’s mind. He recovered the use of his reason, and calm reflection succeeded the burning frenzy. He could scarcely avoid smiling at Thomas, and relating the adventure himself, pretended it was only a trick of his own to terrify his servant. But when he was left to himself he considered what was best to be done, and adopted it.

He made up all the means he could and got into a place of secrecy, where he awaited the result of the “Chapter of Accidents,” and the efforts of his great friends to procure him some employment for subsistence - nor was he long unprovided for. He was appointed to an office, I think, at Malta, but where he soon disgraced himself in a manner which for ever excluded him from society. Being now lost past all redemption, he fled to the Morea, and from thence to Constantinople, where he renounced the Cross and became a Mussulman. But even there he was not fortunate. He has for some time been lost sight of, and exhibits a most edifying lesson to the dissipated and unbelieving. After commencing the world with as plausible prospects of success and respectability as most men of his day, Norcot, if dead, has died a disgraced and blasphemous renegade - thus confirming an observation of mine throughout life, that a *free-thinker *is ever disposed to be also a *free-actor, *and is restrained from the gratification of all his vices only by those laws which provide a punishment for their commission.

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