Recommandé à Monsieur
le Comte de Vergennes, par le Marquis de Puysegur,
Ambassadeur de France à la Cour de Lisbonne.
The card told more tales than the words written on it. Its colour
indicated the nation of the stranger. Yellow showed him to be English;
red, Spanish; white, Portuguese; green, Dutch; red and white, Italian; red
and green, Swiss; green and white, Russian; etc. The person’s age was
expressed by the shape of the card. If it were circular, he was under 25;
oval, between 25 and 30; octagonal, between 30 and 45; hexagonal, between
45 and 50; square, between 50 and 60; and oblong showed that he was over
60. Two lines placed below the name of the bearer indicated his build. If
he were tall and lean, the lines were waving and parallel; tall and stout,
they converged; and so on. The expression of his face was shown by a
flower in the border. A rose designated an open and amiable countenance,
whilst a tulip marked a pensive and aristocratic appearance. A fillet
round the border, according to its length, told whether the man was
bachelor, married, or widower. Dots gave information as to his position
and fortune. A full stop after his name showed that he was a Catholic; a
semicolon, that he was a Lutheran; a comma, that he was a Calvinist; a
dash, that he was a Jew; no stop indicated him as an Atheist. So also his
morals and character were pointed out by a pattern in the angles of the
card, such as one of these:
[Illustration]
Consequently, at one glance the minister could tell all about his man,
whether he were a gamester or a duellist; what was his purpose in visiting
France; whether in search of a wife or to claim a legacy; what was his
profession--that of physician, lawyer, or man of letters; whether he were
to be put under surveillance or allowed to go his way unmolested.
We come now to a class of cypher which requires a certain amount of
literary dexterity to conceal the clue.
During the Great Rebellion, Sir John Trevanion, a distinguished Cavalier,
was made prisoner, and locked up in Colchester Castle. Sir Charles Lucas
and Sir George Lisle had just been made examples of, as a warning to
“malignants”: and Trevanion has every reason for expecting a similar
bloody end. As he awaits his doom, indulging in a hearty curse in round
Cavalier terms at the canting, crop-eared scoundrels who hold him in
durance vile, and muttering a wish that he had fallen, sword in hand,
facing the foe, he is startled by the entrance of the gaoler who hands him
a letter:
“May’t do thee good,” growls the fellow; “it has been well looked to
before it was permitted to come to thee.”
Sir John takes the letter, and the gaoler leaves him his lamp by which to
read it:
WORTHIE SIR JOHN--Hope, that is ye beste comfort of ye afflictyd,
cannot much, I fear me, help you now. That I wolde saye to you, is
this only: if ever I may be able to requite that I do owe you, stand
not upon asking of me. ’Tis not much I can do: but what I can do, bee
you verie sure I wille. I knowe that, if dethe comes, if ordinary men
fear it, it frights not you, accounting it for a high honour, to have
such a rewarde of your loyalty. Pray yet that you may be spared this
soe bitter, cup. I fear not that you will grudge any sufferings: only
if bie submission you can turn them away, ’tis the part of a wise man.
Tell me, an if you can, to do for you any thinge that you wolde have
done. The general goes back on Wednesday. Restinge your servant to
command.