I, John Jorrocks, of Great Coram Street, in the County of Middlesex,
Member of the Surrey Hunt, in England, and Colonel of the Army when
I'm in France, having been grossly insulted by Charles Adolphe
Eugene of No. 15 bis, Rue Poupée, confectioner, this day repaired
to Passy, with the intention of sarving him out with my fists; but,
neither he nor any one for him having come to the scratch, I, John
Jorrocks, do hereby proclaim the said Charles Adolphe Eugene to be a
shabby fellow and no soldier, and totally unworthy the notice of a
fox-hunter and a gentleman sportsman.
(Signed) JOHN JORROCKS.
(Countersigned) STUBBS.
This being completed, and the bill paid, they returned leisurely on foot
to Paris, looking first at one object, then at another, so that the
Countess Benvolio's dinner-hour was passed ere they reached the
Tuileries Gardens, where after resting themselves until it began to get
dusk, and their appetites returned, they repaired to the Café de Paris
to destroy them again.--The lofty well-gilded salon was just lighted up,
and the numberless lamps reflected in costly mirrors in almost every
partition of the wall, aided by the graceful figures and elegant dresses
of the ladies, interspersed among the sombre-coated gentry, with here
and there the gay uniforms of the military, imparted a fairy air to the
scene, which was not a little heightened by the contrast produced by Mr.
Jorrocks's substantial figure, stumping through the centre with his hat
on his head, his hands behind his back, and the dust of the day hanging
about his Hessians.
"Garsoon," said he, hanging up his hat, and taking his place at a vacant
table laid for two, "ge wouderai some wittles," and, accordingly, the
spruce-jacketed, white-aproned _garçon_ brought him the usual red-backed
book with gilt edges, cut and lettered at the side, like the index to
a ledger, and, as Mr. Jorrocks said, "containing reading enough for a
month." "Quelle potage voulez vous, monsieur?" inquired the _garçon_ at
last, tired of waiting while he studied the _carte_ and looked the words
out in the dictionary. "_Avez-vous_ any potted lobster?" "Non," said the
_garçon_, "potage au vermicelle, au riz, a la Julienne, consommé, et
potage aux choux." "Old shoe! who the devil do you think eats old shoes
here? Have you any mock turtle or gravy soup?" "Non, monsieur," said the
_garçon_ with a shrug of the shoulders. "Then avez-vous any roast
beef?" "Non, monsieur; nous avons boeuf au naturel--boeuf à la sauce
piquante--boeuf aux cornichons--boeuf à la mode--boeuf aux choux--boeuf
à la sauce tomate--bifteck aux pommes de terre." "Hold hard," said
Jorrocks; "I've often heard that you can dress an egg a thousand ways,
and I want to hear no more about it; bring me a beef-steak and pommes
de terre for three." "Stop!" cried Mr. Stubbs, with dismay--"I see you
don't understand ordering a dinner in France --let me teach you. Where's
the _carte?_" "Here," said Mr. Jorrocks, "is 'the bill of lading,'"
handing over the book.--"Garçon, apportez une douzaine des huîtres, un
citron, et du beurre frais," said the Yorkshireman, and while they were
discussing the propriety of eating them before or after the soup, a
beautiful dish of little green oysters made their appearance, which were
encored before the first supply was finished. "Now, Colonel," said the
Yorkshireman, "take a bumper of Chablis," lifting a pint bottle out of
the cooler. "It has had one plunge in the ice-pail and no more--see what
a delicate rind it leaves on the glass!" eyeing it as he spoke. "Ay, but
I'd rayther it should leave something in the mouth than on the side
of the glass," replied Mr. Jorrocks; "I loves a good strong generous
wine--military port, in fact--but here comes fish and soup--wot are
they?" "Filet de sole au gratin, et potage au macaroni avec fromage de
Parmesan. I'll take fish first, because the soup will keep hot longest."
"So will I," said Mr. Jorrocks, "for I think you understand the
thing--but they seem to give werry small penn'orths--it really
looks like trifling with one's appetite--I likes the old joint--the
cut-and-come-again system, such as we used to have at Sugden's in
Cornhill--joint, wegitables, and cheese all for two shillings." "Don't
talk of your joints here," rejoined the Yorkshireman--"I told you
before, you don't understand the art of eating--the dexterity of the
thing consists in titivating the appetite with delicate morsels so as to
prolong the pleasure. A well-regulated French dinner lasts two hours,
whereas you go off at score, and take the shine out of yourself before
you turn the Tattenham Corner of your appetite. But come, take another
glass of Chablis, for your voice is husky as though your throat was full
of dust.--Will you eat some of this boulli-vert?" "No, not no bouleward
for me thank ye." "Well, then, we will have the 'entrée de
boeuf--beef with sauce tomate--and there is a côtelette de veau en
papillotte;--which will you take?" "I'll trouble the beef, I think; I
don't like that 'ere pantaloon cutlet much, the skin is so tough." "Oh,
but you don't eat the paper, man; that is only put on to keep this nice
layer of fat ham from melting; take some, if it is only that you may
enjoy a glass of champagne after it. There is no meat like veal for
paving the way for a glass of champagne." "Well, I don't care if I do,
now you have explained how to eat it, for I've really been troubled with
indigestion all day from eating one wholesale yesterday; but don't you
stand potatoes--pommes de terre, as we say in France?" "Oh yes, fried,
and à la maître d'hotel; here they come, smoking hot. Now, J---- for a
glass of champagne--take it out of the pail--nay, man! not with both
hands round the middle, unless you like it warm--by the neck, so,"
showing him how to do it and pouring him a glass of still champagne.
"This won't do," said Jorrocks, holding it up to the candle; "garsoon!
garsoon!--no good--no bon--no fizzay, no fizzay," giving the bottom of
the bottle a slap with his hand to rouse it. "Oh, but this is still
champagne," explained the Yorkshireman, "and far the best." "I
don't think so," retorted Mr. Jorrocks, emptying the glass into his
water-stand. "Well, then, have a bottle of the other," rejoined the
Yorkshireman, ordering one. "And who's to pay for it?" inquired Mr.
Jorrocks. "Oh, never mind that--care killed the cat--give a loose to
pleasure for once, for it's a poor heart that never rejoices. Here it
comes, and 'may you never know what it is to want,' as the beggar boys
say.--Now, let's see you treat it like a philosopher--the wire is off,
so you've nothing to do but cut the string, and press the cork on one
side with your thumb.--Nay! you've cut both sides!" Fizz, pop, bang,
and away went the cork close past the ear of an old deaf general, and
bounded against the wall.--"Come, there's no mischief done, so pour out
the wine.--Your good health, old boy, may you live for a thousand years,
and I be there to count them! --Now, that's what I call good," observed
the Yorkshireman, holding up his glass, "see how it dulls the glass,
even to the rim--champagne isn't worth a copper unless it's iced--is
it, Colonel?" "Vy, I don't know--carn't say I like it so werry cold; it
makes my teeth chatter, and cools my courage as it gets below--champagne
certainly gives one werry gentlemanly ideas, but for a continuance, I
don't know but I should prefer mild hale." "You're right, old boy, it
does give one very gentlemanly ideas, so take another glass, and you'll
fancy yourself an emperor.--Your good health again." "The same to you,
sir. And now wot do you call this chap?" "That is a quail, the other a
snipe--which will you take?" "Vy, a bit of both, I think; and do you
eat these chaps with them?" "Yes, nothing nicer--artichokes á la sauce
blanche; you get the real eating part, you see, by having them sent up
this way, instead of like haystacks, as they come in England, diving and
burning your fingers amid an infinity of leaves." "They are werry pretty
eating, I must confess; and this upper Binjamin of ham the birds are
cooked in is delicious. I'll trouble you for another plateful." "That's
right, Colonel, you are yourself again. I always thought you would come
back into the right course; and now you are good for a glass of claret
of light Hermitage. Come, buck up, and give a loose to pleasure for
once." "For once, ay, that's what you always say; but your once comes so
werry often." "Say no more.--Garçon! un demi-bouteille de St. Julien;
and here, J----, is a dish upon which I will stake my credit as an
experienced caterer--a Charlotte de pommes--upon my reputation it is
a fine one, the crust is browned to a turn, and the rich apricot
sweet-meat lies ensconced in the middle, like a sleeping babe in its
cradle. If ever man deserved a peerage and a pension it is this cook."
"It's werry delicious--order another." "Oh, your eyes are bigger than
your stomach, Mr. J----. According to all mathematical calculations,
this will more than suffice. Ay, I thought so--you are regularly at a
stand-still. Take a glass of whatever you like. Good--I'll drink Chablis
to your champagne. And now, that there may be no mistake as to our
country, we will have some cheese--fromage de Roquefort, Gruyère,
Neufchatel, or whatever you like--and a beaker of Burgundy after, and
then remove the cloth, for I hate dabbling in dowlas after dinner is
done." "Rum beggars these French," said Mr. Jorrocks to himself, laying
down the newspaper, and taking a sip of Churchman's chocolate, as on the
Sunday morning he sat with the Countess Benvolio, discussing rolls and
butter, with _Galignani's Messenger_, for breakfast.
"Rum beggars, indeed," said he, resuming the paper, and reading the
programme of the amusements for the day, commencing with the hour of
Protestant service at the Ambassador's Chapel, followed on by Palace and
Gallery of Pictures of the Palais Royal--Review with Military Music in
the Place du Carousel--Horse-races in the Champs de Mars--Fête in the
Park of St. Cloud--Combat d'Animaux, that is to say, dog-fighting and
bull-baiting, at the Barrière du Combat, Tivoli, etc., etc., "It's not
werry right, but I suppose at Rome we must do as Romans do," with which
comfortable reflection Mr. Jorrocks proposed that the Countess and
he should go to the races. Madame was not partial to animals of any
description, but having got a new hat and feathers she consented to show
them, on condition that they adjoined to the fête at St. Cloud in the
evening.
Accordingly, about noon, the ostler's man of a neighbouring English
livery-stable drew up a dark-coloured job cab, with a red-and-white
striped calico lining, drawn by a venerable long-backed white horse, at
the Countess's gateway in the Rue des Mauvais-Garçons, into which Mr.
Jorrocks having handed her ladyship, and Agamemnon, who was attired in
his chasseur uniform, having climbed up behind, the old horse, after two
or three flourishes of his dirty white tail, as a sort of acknowledgment
of the whip on his sides, got himself into motion, and proceeded on
his way to the races. The Countess being resolved to cut a dash, had
persuaded our hero to add a smart second-hand cocked-hat, with a flowing
red-and-white feather, to the rest of his military attire; and the end
of a scarlet handkerchief, peeping out at the breast of his embroidered
frock-coat, gave him the appearance of wearing a decoration, and
procured him the usual salute from the soldiers and veterans of the
Hospital of Invalids, who were lounging about the ramparts and walks of
the edifice. The Countess's costume was simple and elegant; a sky-blue
satin pelisse with boots to match, and a white satin bonnet with white
feathers, tipped with blue, and delicate primrose-coloured gloves. Of
course the head of the cab was well thrown back to exhibit the elegant
inmates to the world.
Great respect is paid to the military in France, as Mr. Jorrocks found
by all the hack, cab, and _fiacre _ drivers pulling up and making way
for him to pass, as the old crocodile-backed white horse slowly dragged
its long length to the gateway of the Champ de Mars. Here the guard,
both horse and foot, saluted him, which he politely acknowledged,
under direction of the Countess, by raising his _chapeau bras_, and a
subaltern was dispatched by the officer in command to conduct him to
the place appointed for the carriages to stand. But for this piece of
attention Mr. Jorrocks would certainly have drawn up at the splendid
building of the École Militaire, standing as it does like a grand stand
in the centre of the gravelly dusty plain of the Champ de Mars. The
officer, having speared his way through the crowd with the usual
courtesy of a Frenchman, at length drew up the cab in a long line of
anonymous vehicles under the rows of stunted elms by the stone-lined
ditch, on the southern side of the plain when, turning his charger
round, he saluted Mr. Jorrocks, and bumped off at a trot. Mr. Jorrocks
then stuck the pig-driving whip into the socket, and throwing forward
the apron, handed out the Countess, and installed Agamemnon in the cab.
A fine day and a crowd make the French people thoroughly happy, and on
this afternoon the sun shone brightly and warmly on the land;--still
there was no apparently settled purpose for the assembling of the
multitude, who formed themselves in groups upon the plain, or lined the
grass-burnt mounds at the sides, in most independent parties. The Champ
de Mars forms a regular parallelogram of 2700 feet by 1320, and the
course, which is of an oblong form, comprises a circuit of the whole,
and is marked out with strong posts and ropes. Within the course,
equestrians--or more properly speaking, "men on horseback"--are admitted
under the surveillance of a regiment of cavalry, while infantry and
cavalry are placed in all directions with drawn swords and fixed
bayonets to preserve order. Being a gravelly sandy soil, in almost daily
requisition for the exercise and training of troops, no symptoms of
vegetation can be expected, and the course is as hard as the ride in
Rotten Row or up to Kensington Gardens.
About the centre of the south side, near where the carriages were
drawn up, a few temporary stands were erected for the royal family and
visitors, the stand for the former being in the centre, and hung with
scarlet and gold cloth, while the others were tastefully arranged with
tri-coloured drapery. These are entered by tickets only, but there
are always plenty of platforms formed by tables and "chaises à louer"
(chairs to let) for those who don't mind risking their necks for a
sight. Some few itinerants tramped about the plain, offering alternately
tooth-picks, play-bills, and race-lists for sale. Mr. Jorrocks, of
course, purchased one of the latter, which was decorated at the top with
a woodcut, representing three jockeys riding two horses, one with a whip
as big as a broad sword. We append the list as a specimen of "Sporting
in France," which, we are sorry to see, does not run into our pages
quite so cleverly as our printer could wish.[24]
[Footnote 24: Racing in France is, of course, now a very different
business to the primitive sport it was when this sketch was
written.--EDITOR.]
Foreigners accuse the English of claiming every good-looking horse, and
every well-built carriage, met on the Continent, as their own, but we
think that few would be ambitious of laying claim to the honour of
supplying France with jockeys or racehorses. Mr. Jorrocks, indeed,
indifferent as he is to the affairs of the turf, could not suppress his
"conwiction" of the difference between the flibberty-gibberty appearance
of the Frenchmen, and the quiet, easy, close-sitting jockeys of
Newmarket. The former all legs and elbows, spurting and pushing to the
front at starting, in tawdry, faded jackets, and nankeen shorts, just
like the frowsy door-keepers of an Epsom gambling-booth; the latter in
clean, neat-fitting leathers, well-cleaned boots, spick and span new
jackets, feeling their horses' mouths, quietly in the rear, with their
whip hands resting on their thighs. Then such riding! A hulking Norman
with his knees up to his chin, and a long lean half-starved looking
Frenchman sat astride like a pair of tongs, with a wet sponge applied to
his knees before starting, followed by a runaway English stable lad, in
white cords and drab gaiters, and half a dozen others equally singular,
spurring and tearing round and round, throwing the gravel and sand into
each other's faces, until the field was so separated as to render it
difficult to say which was leading and which was tailing, for it is one
of the rules of their races, that each heat must be run in a certain
time, consequently, though all the horses may be distanced, the winner
keeps working away. Then what an absence of interest and enthusiasm on
the part of the spectators! Three-fourths of them did not know where the
horses started, scarcely a man knew their names, and the few tenpenny
bets that were made, were sported upon the colour of the jackets. A
Frenchman has no notion of racing, and it is on record that after a heat
in which the winning horse, after making a waiting race, ran in at the
finish, a Parisian observed, that "although 'Annette' had won at the
finish, he thought the greater honour was due to 'Hercule,' he having
kept the lead the greater part of the distance." On someone explaining
to him that the jockey on Annette had purposely made a waiting race, he
was totally incredulous, asserting that he was sure the jockeys had too
much _amour-propre_ to remain in the rear at any part of the race, when
they might be in front.