“Luok, whar i’ th’ nuok o’ yonder tent
Yon crew are slyly smugglin’.
I warrant ye now thar gang are bent
To tek fwonk in by jugglin’;
Some cut purse dow-for-nought, nae doubt,
That deevilments hev skill in,
An’ some’at com’ weel leaden out
May gang widout a shillin’.”
_Rosley Fair, by J. Stagg._
THE intimate friend and bosom companion of M. le Comte de Sanschemise
was ADOLPHE SHEEK, _Peinteur et Philosophe_, and a recent addition to
the small French colony that had located itself in the best bed-room of
Parthenon House.
Adolphe was, by profession, an artist in hair—ingeniously forming
weeping willows out of auburn tresses, and baskets of flowers out of
chesnut, or, indeed, any other kind of locks. His hairy nosegays, he
boasted, were the admiration of all who had seen them; and his flaxen
roses and raven lilies he prided himself upon being the perfection of
imitative art. Still, the hairy art was _merely_ an imitative one, and
the talented Sheek had a soul for nobler things. He had occasionally
soared as high as a fancy composition in hair, and had executed an
elaborate hairy marine piece, displaying a hairy sea and a hairy ship in
the distance, with a hairy cottage, thatched with hair, in the
foreground, and a small hairy pond in front of it, with two hairy ducks
swimming among a thicket of hairy weeds.
But, alas! there was no encouragement for genius in hair, so the
magnanimous Adolphe had determined—in an artistical point of view at
least—to cut his hair, and devote himself to what he was pleased to call
the sister art. This consisted in taking portraits in black paper by
means of the “machine”—and adding the additional attraction of gold hair
and whiskers, for a small extra charge. But Sheek, in his heart,
despised the means of living that prudence compelled him to adopt—though
he occasionally indulged in a full, or three-quarter face, executed in
crayon, water colours, or oil, whenever he was fortunate enough to
obtain a sitter; and though he had already produced several highly
natural “larder pieces,” in the shape of quartern loaves, gammons of
bacon, pots of porter, and wedges of double Glo’ster, each having the
same small mouse nibbling at the corner; and though his moonlight pieces
had been highly admired, especially the reflection of the moon on the
water, and the light in the cottage-window beside the water-mill, still
Sheek longed to signalize himself in higher branches of the pictorial
art, and was now devoting his leisure to the completion of an historic
production, that he hoped might link his name with the great artists of
the age.
At the time we write of, M. Adolphe was busily engaged upon an elaborate
allegory, commemorative of the cosmopolitan character of the Great
Exhibition.
In this great work of high art, Britannia, who is attended by the four
quarters of the globe, has thrown one of her boxing-gloves to the
ground, in token that she invites all nations to a friendly trial of
skill; while France, in the garb of a Sister of Charity, is, in the same
friendly spirit, pointing with one hand to the retreat of the English
from the field of Waterloo, and, with the other, extracting the thorn
from the foot of the British Lion.
For the true perfecting of this grand, and, according to M. Sheek’s
friend, national work of art, the dress of the Charitable Sister had
been hired expressly from a masquerade warehouse, and the lay figure,
which the talented Adolphe used to guide him in the arrangement of the
drapery for his half-lengths, appropriately costumed for the occasion.
It was this dress that the Count had prevailed upon his friend Adolphe
to permit him to forward to Miss Chutney, as a means of facilitating her
escape the following day, on the understanding that the painter should
share with him any property that the girl might be entitled to on her
marriage.
At daybreak on the morning appointed for the Frenchmen’s departure from
Parthenon House, the Comte de Sanschemise and his friend, Adolphe Sheek,
were preparing for the perilous adventure they were about to enter upon.
Having assured themselves no one was yet stirring in the house, they
proceeded to dress the lay figure of the artist in the apparel of Miss
Chutney; and, the toilet of the dummy being finished, the two Frenchmen
crept stealthily up the stairs without their shoes, carrying the wooden
model between them.
On reaching the linen-room, they bent the legs of the huge Dutch doll in
such a manner, that it could be made to sit upon the edge of the
inverted clothes-basket; then, depressing the back, they threw Miss
Chutney’s black silk apron over the face of the model, and, raising the
arms, forced down the head until the face appeared to be buried in the
hands.
This done, they retired a few paces to observe the effect, and when they
perceived how closely it resembled the description the young lady had
given of the attitude she had adopted, in compliance with the Count’s
request, it was as much as the pair of them could do to repress their
laughter. Then, to assure themselves that the deception was as perfect
as possible, they retired from the room, and, closing the door gently
after them, retreated a few paces along the passage, after which they
returned, and entered the room suddenly, so as to judge what effect the
figure would be likely to produce upon a stranger, on first coming into
the apartment.
In suppressed whispers they both pronounced it to be “Soopairb!” and in
the ardour of their admiration proceeded to embrace one another.
They then noiselessly descended the stairs, and, returning to their
rooms, began to arrange their toilet against the coming of Miss
Chutney—the Count being engaged in the gentlemanly operation of taking
his hair out of paper, while M. Sheek was busy removing the
cabbage-leaves, and brushing the lime-powder from his whiskers, in which
elegant occupations we will for the present leave them.
Miss Chutney was awake long before daylight, anxious to learn the
contents of the note, and growing more and more timid as the time for
her departure drew near. Even before there was sufficient light whereby
to decipher the characters in the letter, she was standing by the window
with the note in her hand, poring over each word in the dusk, and so
making out the wishes of the Count, as it were, piecemeal. In this
manner she found out that, before Miss Wewitz was stirring, she was to
descend to the Frenchmen’s apartment in the disguise of the Sister of
Charity, when she would be apprised of all the arrangements that had
been made for her safety.
It was impossible now to retract—with her guardian coming in a few
hours. It would be a nice story for Miss Wewitz to tell him—and a very
pretty tale she would be sure to make out of it. So, come what might,
she had made up her mind to throw herself on the Count’s protection.
Accordingly, she proceeded to dress herself in the disguise the Count
had provided for her, her hand trembling the while so violently, that
she could scarcely fasten the clothes; and though she strove to make as
little noise as possible, there was not a brush nor a glass she touched
without knocking it against some neighbouring thing, and then was nearly
ready to faint at the noise.
At last, however, her toilet was completed, and she opened the door as
gently as possible on her way to the Count. As the handle still remained
in her hand, she heard, to her great horror, the voice of Miss Wewitz
calling to her from her bed-room—for the schoolmistress, knowing that it
was the day for the Frenchmen’s departure, and expecting that there
would be a scene of some kind or other before she got them clear out of
the house, had herself been awake since daylight; and having caught
repeated sounds of glasses jingling, and other noises, proceeding from
Miss Chutney’s room, had felt satisfied that all was not right, and had
been sitting up in her bed for some little time, listening attentively
to what was going on, when she was convinced she heard the door of that
young lady’s bed-room opened.
Miss Chutney no sooner heard the voice, than she felt it was no time for
her to hesitate; so, descending the stairs as rapidly as she could, she
hurried to the Count, begging of him to hide her, for Miss Wewitz was
following her.
The Count did not take long to tell the terrified girl how well he had
arranged matters in the linen-room, and that she need be under no fear
of detection if she would but do as he requested her; and then he
explained that he intended her to take the place of the lay figure of
his talented friend, Adolphe, and to have her removed immediately from
the house in that character. All she had to do was, to keep every limb
perfectly rigid, and not to move a muscle of her body on any account.
The schoolmistress, who now grew considerably alarmed for the safety of
the wayward girl, hastily threw on her dressing-gown, and hurried as
quickly as possible to the linen-room. To confess the truth, however,
she had little hope of finding her in that place; and as she mounted the
stairs, she panted with trepidation, lest she should discover that the
young lady had sought protection from that wretch of a Frenchman.
It would be impossible to picture Miss Wewitz’s astonishment and joy at
perceiving, on opening the linen-room door, the figure of the girl, bent
down in the same attitude of penitence and shame as she had observed her
in on the preceding day; she felt like a female Atlas, with the weight
of the world suddenly taken off her shoulders. Then, noticing that the
despised crust of dry bread was no longer there, (the fact was, M.
Adolphe Sheek had eaten it that morning, with the view of keeping the
wind off his stomach,) Miss Wewitz threw up her hands with delight, to
think all was progressing so favourably, and again congratulated herself
that, if the girl was only left to the workings of her better nature,
she would have her at her feet before dinner-time.
With this consolatory reflection the schoolmistress closed the door, and
having locked it securely, placed the key in her pocket, exclaiming to
herself as she did so, “Thank goodness, my lady, you’re all safe!”
Miss Wewitz descended the stairs with a much lighter step than she had
mounted them a few moments before, comforting herself with the
reflection, that precisely the same change was taking place in Miss
Chutney as had been wrought in her own nature, on the memorable occasion
of her refusing to eat that delicious boiled rice-pudding.
On reaching her bed-room, however, she thought, as she overheard the
Frenchmen on the move, that it would be advisable just to “pop down,”
and assure herself that all was right; “for she could not rest easy,”
she said, “until she had seen the last lock of their back hair.”
Notwithstanding she felt satisfied she had got her parlour boarder safe
under lock and key, there was no telling what tricks the creatures might
be at—they were such a set!”
Accordingly, having adjusted her cap and patted down her front hair, she
tripped down the stairs with one of her most amiable smiles on her
countenance, and putting her head in at the door, said in her softest
tone, and in a mixture of English and French, “I am ready to pay you
_votre argent_, Monsieur le Comte, whenever you please.” (Miss Wewitz
was to be numbered among the many ladies who understand the language
perfectly, but cannot speak it.)
The Count and M. Adolphe had just finished “posing” Miss Chutney in the
same attitude as the model, and had retired a few paces back to admire
her, as she stood with her hands crossed on her bosom, and her head bent
down, as if at her devotions, and were congratulating one another on the
perfect resemblance the young lady bore to the “lay” sister, when the
head of the schoolmistress was discovered peeping round the door.
Miss Chutney no sooner heard the voice of Miss Wewitz, than she felt all
the rigidity she had been throwing into her limbs suddenly leave her,
and her legs become as limp and bendy as sugar-sticks in hot weather;
and it was merely the conviction that they would all be ruined if she
moved a joint, that sustained her in her statuesque position.
The Count ran to the door, and bowing in the face of the schoolmistress,
so as to obstruct her view, thanked her for her polite information, and
excused himself for shutting her out, by saying that some of his friends
were not yet dressed.
Immediately the schoolmistress had left, Miss Chutney, who began to feel
in no way equal to the task she had undertaken, entreated of the Count
to allow her to return to the linen-room. But this, of course, was a
proposition that the Frenchman, now that he had obtained possession of
the girl, felt in no way inclined to listen to; so, by dint of
compliments on her charming appearance in her new character, and
protestations of the most fervent devotion, and assurances of the
unceasing happiness that awaited her in Paris, he at length succeeded in
calming the young lady’s perturbation.
Miss Chutney, however, had not much time to think over the consequences
of the step she was about to take, for scarcely had the Count finished
his exhortation and eulogium, when the servant announced that the cab
was at the door, and the men were ready to carry down the luggage.
It was then arranged that Adolphe should escort the rest of the
Frenchmen out of the house as soon as possible, so that the girl might
not be flurried by the presence of so many. And as soon as this part of
the operations had been executed, the Count, who had remained
continually by the side of the wavering girl, exhorting her to have
“courage” but for a few moments longer, quitted her for a few minutes,
in order to come to a settlement with Miss Wewitz.
He had scarcely left the room when the cabman and his companion, in
obedience to the instructions of M. Adolphe Sheek, stepped up from the
hall to remove the lay figure, with the greatest possible care, to the
cab.
On entering the apartment, the men were mightily taken with the figure
of the Sister of Charity, and declared to one another that if they
hadn’t been given to understand it was an artist’s model, they should
have taken it for a living woman.
For some little time they amused themselves by merely contemplating the
model, and wondering what character it could be intended to represent.
The sombreness and peculiarity of the costume seemed to take their fancy
vastly. In a few minutes, as the novelty of the impression began to wear
away, they commenced handling the rosary, lifting up the white apron,
and, ultimately, the black crape veil.
This was a severe trial for the nerves of Miss Chutney; but with her
teeth firmly set, and holding her breath, she remained with her eyes
upturned, and with every feature and limb as rigid as if they were
petrified.
The men grew more pleased than ever with the life-like appearance of the
figure, and could not keep from laughing at the apparent intensity of
the model’s devotion. Presently, the cab-driver drew the short clay pipe
from under the band of his hat, and saying to his companion, “I say,
Jem, here’s a lark!” thrust the end of it into the corner of poor Miss
Chutney’s mouth.
The girl, though ready to shriek with horror and faint with disgust,
still, by a violent effort, held the “dodeen” between her lips. The
Count, she said to herself, would be sure to return directly, and then
she would be free from all further insult and persecution.
The friend of the cab-driver, determined not to be outdone by his
companion, and discovering on the hob a lump of the charcoal that the
Frenchmen had used to heat their bachelor’s kettle, seized it, and,
approaching the alarmed Miss Chutney, began tracing on her upper lip a
huge pair of black mustachios.
This drollery tickled the driver of the cab to such a degree, that,
spurred on by the comical appearance of the “model,” he ran to the
grate, and having provided himself with another piece of the dingy
material, began, in his turn, to adorn the lady’s cheeks with an equally
enormous pair of whiskers.
The wretched Miss Chutney felt every minute that she _must_ give way
under the accumulated insults she was enduring, and had it not been for
her reliance on the Count’s immediate return, she would have startled
her tormentors by taking to her heels; but every minute she consoled and
sustained herself with the assurance, that the next moment would bring
her protector to her relief. “Oh!” she thought to herself, as she felt
the cabman charcoaling her eyebrows, “if I had only known half I should
have to go through, I’m sure I should never have dreamt of making such a
silly of myself.”
The embellishment of the “model’s” countenance being finished, the
cabman and his “buck” retired a few paces to examine the effect of their
handiwork, and burst into a suppressed fit of laughter at the extreme
incongruity of the lady’s appearance—and certainly the extraordinary
hirsute character of Miss Chutney’s countenance at that moment,
embellished, as it was, with the most extravagant hairy appendages, was
sufficient to burst the waistcoat-strings of any gentleman gifted with
the slightest sense of the ridiculous.
The cabman and his companion were roused from their mirth by the sound
of footsteps on the stairs. In their fear of discovery, it was the work
of a moment for the driver to pull his wash-leather from his pocket, and
endeavour, by rubbing at Miss Chutney’s face, to remove the black marks
from it. This, however, had the effect of distributing the charcoal
evenly over the whole of the young lady’s countenance, so that the
operation served merely to transform her into a negress.
But there was no time for the men to resort to more effectual means of
cleaning the face of the model, so, letting fall the black crape, they
began to prepare for the removal of the “figure” down stairs; and then
Miss Chutney, to her indescribable horror, heard the men propose that
one should take the “old gal” by the head, and the other by the feet. A
dispute, however, arose as to the practicability of that measure, owing
to the peculiar construction of the staircase, whereupon it was
suggested by the driver, that the best way perhaps, after all, would be
to have up the rope from the foot of the cab, and lower the thing down
out of the window; and no sooner was this course agreed upon, than the
men retired together for the cord with which to put it into execution.
Immediately the driver and his companion had quitted the apartment, the
terrified Chutney lifted up the long black robe of the Sister of
Charity, and scampered off as fast as her legs, under the circumstances,
could carry her. She had just reached the door, when the Count, who was
hurrying back to her with all possible speed, ran bump against her, and,
seizing her by the arm, exclaimed in as good English as he was master
of—
“_Mon petit chou!_ vot go you to do? _Reste tranquille_, je t’en prie!
In von minoot you sall be mine for nevare!”
“Oh, if I could tell you all!” she cried, falling into his arms; “take
me away!” she whispered—“take me away! if you would not have me die!”
“Silence! silence, mon ange! von leetel minoot more, and you sall be
mine for nevare!” he said in her ear, as he lifted her in his arms, and
proceeded to carry her down the stairs.
In the passage, to the great discomfort of himself and the alarm of the
girl, stood Miss Wewitz beside the door, determined to see the Frenchmen
safe off the premises. Placing the girl carefully in the corner of the
hall, with her face turned towards the wall, he whispered in her ear,
“_Courage! courage! ma souris_;” and then requested to speak a word with
the schoolmistress in the music-room, so that he might there occupy her
with some little matter, while he returned and placed the trembling girl
in the cab.
The men no sooner perceived that the figure was in the passage, than
they began arranging which was the best place to stow it in the cab;
whereupon the half-dead Chutney was doomed once more to hear the driver
and his companion discuss the most effectual plan of removing her from
the premises.
The cabman was for laying her at full length on the roof of his vehicle,
and lashing her down with the cord, so that, as he said, “there wouldn’t
be no chance of the thing’s rolling off.”
The “buck,” however, hinted that, in going over the stones, “some of her
j’ints might get broke, so he was for tying her up on the board behind
the cab; but this proposal was quickly overruled by the cabman, who
observed that “that there would never do, for them boys would be sartin
to get pelting the thing with stones and mud on the road, and a pretty
pickle it would be in by the time they got to town. No! no! he was for
shoving the old gal right across the foot-board; she could lay there
very heasy under their feet; and where was the hodds, if so be as her
legs did stick out a little bit; there wouldn’t be no danger of their
getting broke off, with them right under his hi.”
The last proposition being considered quite unobjectionable by the
cabman’s companion, Miss Chutney heard the heavy boots of the men moving
across the passage towards the corner in which she stood. She made up
her mind to give a good shriek immediately the fellows laid hands upon
her again, and, indeed, had just got her mouth wide open, ready to utter
one of her most piercing, when, to her unbounded delight, she caught the
voice of the Count de Sanschemise at the end of the passage, shouting—
“_Ne la touchez pas!_ Toosh it not! toosh it not!”
Hurrying towards the girl, the Frenchman seized her in his arms and
carried her to the cab;—there he pretended to adjust the joints of the
imaginary figure, much to the delight of the cabmen, so that it might be
made to assume a sitting posture, and occupy the cushion beside him in
the interior of the vehicle.
He had but barely completed the pretended adjustment, when Miss Wewitz
emerged from the music-room, bearing the receipt in quittance of all
claims upon the Count de Sanschemise, which that gentleman, as a means
of keeping her out of the way for a few minutes, had requested her to
write for him.
The Count hastened back to the schoolmistress, thanking her for her
kindness, raised his Spanish hat from his head, and then, making her a
profound bow, he saluted her with the greatest possible respect, and
jumped into the cab, with his leathern reticule of a portmanteau in his
hand.
In another minute the vehicle was whirling across Wimbledon Common; the
driver and his companion turning round on the “box,” as they dashed
along, to make signs to the servants, who still loitered about the gate,
indicative of the novel character of their fare, and folding their hands
across their bosom, in imitation of the attitude of the fancied model
within.
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