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——You are half asleep, my good lady, said the old gentleman, taking
hold of the old lady’s hand, and giving it a gentle squeeze, as he
pronounced the word _Whiskers_——shall we change the subject? By no
means, replied the old lady—I like your account of those matters; so
throwing a thin gauze handkerchief over her head, and leaning it back
upon the chair with her face turned towards him, and advancing her two
feet as she reclined herself——I desire, continued she, you will go on.
The old gentleman went on as follows:——Whiskers! cried the queen of
_Navarre_, dropping her knotting ball, as _La Fosseuse_ uttered the
word——Whiskers, madam, said _La Fosseuse_, pinning the ball to the
queen’s apron, and making a courtesy as she repeated it.
_La Fosseuse_’s voice was naturally soft and low, yet ’twas an
articulate voice: and every letter of the word _Whiskers_ fell
distinctly upon the queen of _Navarre_’s ear—Whiskers! cried the queen,
laying a greater stress upon the word, and as if she had still
distrusted her ears——Whiskers! replied _La Fosseuse_, repeating the
word a third time——There is not a cavalier, madam, of his age in
_Navarre_, continued the maid of honour, pressing the page’s interest
upon the queen, that has so gallant a pair——Of what? cried _Margaret_,
smiling—Of whiskers, said _La Fosseuse_, with infinite modesty.
The word _Whiskers_ still stood its ground, and continued to be made
use of in most of the best companies throughout the little kingdom of
_Navarre_, notwithstanding the indiscreet use which _La Fosseuse_ had
made of it: the truth was, _La Fosseuse_ had pronounced the word, not
only before the queen, but upon sundry other occasions at court, with
an accent which always implied something of a mystery—And as the court
of _Margaret_, as all the world knows, was at that time a mixture of
gallantry and devotion——and whiskers being as applicable to the one, as
the other, the word naturally stood its ground——it gained full as much
as it lost; that is, the clergy were for it——the laity were against
it——and for the women,——_they_ were divided.
The excellency of the figure and mien of the young Sieur _De Croix_,
was at that time beginning to draw the attention of the maids of honour
towards the terrace before the palace gate, where the guard was
mounted. The lady _De Baussiere_ fell deeply in love with him,——_La
Battarelle_ did the same—it was the finest weather for it, that ever
was remembered in _Navarre——La Guyol, La Maronette, La Sabatiere_, fell
in love with the Sieur _De Croix_ also——_La Rebours_ and _La Fosseuse_
knew better——_De Croix_ had failed in an attempt to recommend himself
to _La Rebours;_ and _La Rebours_ and _La Fosseuse_ were inseparable.
The queen of _Navarre_ was sitting with her ladies in the painted
bow-window, facing the gate of the second court, as _De Croix_ passed
through it—He is handsome, said the Lady _Baussiere_——He has a good
mien, said _La Battarelle_——He is finely shaped, said _La Guyol_—I
never saw an officer of the horse-guards in my life, said _La
Maronette_, with two such legs——Or who stood so well upon them, said
_La Sabatiere_——But he has no whiskers, cried _La Fosseuse_——Not a
pile, said _La Rebours._
The queen went directly to her oratory, musing all the way, as she
walked through the gallery, upon the subject; turning it this way and
that way in her fancy—_Ave Maria!_——what can _La-Fosseuse_ mean? said
she, kneeling down upon the cushion.
_La Guyol, La Battarelle, La Maronette, La Sabatiere_, retired
instantly to their chambers——Whiskers! said all four of them to
themselves, as they bolted their doors on the inside.
The Lady _Carnavallette_ was counting her beads with both hands,
unsuspected, under her farthingal——from St. _Antony_ down to St.
_Ursula_ inclusive, not a saint passed through her fingers without
whiskers; St. _Francis_, St. _Dominick_, St. _Bennet_, St. _Basil_, St.
_Bridget_, had all whiskers.
The Lady _Baussiere_ had got into a wilderness of conceits, with
moralizing too intricately upon _La Fosseuse_’s text——She mounted her
palfrey, her page followed her——the host passed by—the Lady _Baussiere_
rode on.
One denier, cried the order of mercy—one single denier, in behalf of a
thousand patient captives, whose eyes look towards heaven and you for
their redemption.
——The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on.
Pity the unhappy, said a devout, venerable, hoary-headed man, meekly
holding up a box, begirt with iron, in his withered hands——I beg for
the unfortunate—good my Lady, ’tis for a prison—for an hospital—’tis
for an old man—a poor man undone by shipwreck, by suretyship, by
fire——I call God and all his angels to witness——’tis to clothe the
naked——to feed the hungry——’tis to comfort the sick and the
broken-hearted.
The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on.
A decayed kinsman bowed himself to the ground.
——The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on.
He ran begging bare-headed on one side of her palfrey, conjuring her by
the former bonds of friendship, alliance, consanguinity, &c.——Cousin,
aunt, sister, mother,——for virtue’s sake, for your own, for mine, for
Christ’s sake, remember me——pity me.
——The Lady _Baussiere_ rode on.
Take hold of my whiskers, said the Lady _Baussiere_—The page took hold
of her palfrey. She dismounted at the end of the terrace.
There are some trains of certain ideas which leave prints of themselves
about our eyes and eye-brows; and there is a consciousness of it,
somewhere about the heart, which serves but to make these etchings the
stronger—we see, spell, and put them together without a dictionary.
Ha, ha! he, hee! cried _La Guyol_ and _La Sabatiere_, looking close at
each other’s prints——Ho, ho! cried _La Battarelle_ and _Maronette_,
doing the same:—Whist! cried one—ft, ft,—said a second—hush, quoth a
third—poo, poo, replied a fourth—gramercy! cried the Lady
_Carnavallette;_——’twas she who bewhisker’d St. _Bridget._
_La Fosseuse_ drew her bodkin from the knot of her hair, and having
traced the outline of a small whisker, with the blunt end of it, upon
one side of her upper lip, put in into _La Rebours_’ hand—_La Rebours_
shook her head.
The Lady _Baussiere_ coughed thrice into the inside of her muff—_La
Guyol_ smiled—Fy, said the Lady _Baussiere._ The queen of _Navarre_
touched her eye with the tip of her fore-finger—as much as to say, I
understand you all.
’Twas plain to the whole court the word was ruined: _La Fosseuse_ had
given it a wound, and it was not the better for passing through all
these defiles——It made a faint stand, however, for a few months, by the
expiration of which, the Sieur _De Croix_, finding it high time to
leave _Navarre_ for want of whiskers——the word in course became
indecent, and (after a few efforts) absolutely unfit for use.
The best word, in the best language of the best world, must have
suffered under such combinations.——The curate of _d’Estella_ wrote a
book against them, setting forth the dangers of accessory ideas, and
warning the _Navarois_ against them.
Does not all the world know, said the curate _d’Estella_ at the
conclusion of his work, that Noses ran the same fate some centuries ago
in most parts of _Europe_, which Whiskers have now done in the kingdom
of _Navarre?_—The evil indeed spread no farther then—but have not beds
and bolsters, and night-caps and chamber-pots stood upon the brink of
destruction ever since? Are not trouse, and placket-holes, and
pump-handles—and spigots and faucets, in danger still from the same
association?—Chastity, by nature, the gentlest of all affections—give
it but its head——’tis like a ramping and a roaring lion.
The drift of the curate _d’Estella_’s argument was not understood.—They
ran the scent the wrong way.—The world bridled his ass at the tail.—And
when the _extremes_ of DELICACY, and the _beginnings_ of CONCUPISCENCE,
hold their next provincial chapter together, they may decree that bawdy
also.