kindly-looking, fat motherly woman, with light-coloured hair, not in the
best order. She was hot and scarlet with exercise, being perhaps too
stout for the steep steps of the fortress; and in one hand she held a
handkerchief, with which from time to time she wiped her brow. In the
other hand she held one of the extremities of my friend’s property,
feeling--good, careful soul!--what was the texture of the cloth. As she
did so, I could see a glance of approbation pass across her warm
features. I liked that lady’s face, in spite of her untidy hair, and
felt that had she been alone my friend would not have been injured.
On either side of her there stood a flaxen-haired maiden, with long
curls, large blue eyes, fresh red cheeks, an undefined lumpy nose, and
large good-humoured mouth. They were as like as two peas, only that one
was half an inch taller than the other; and there was no difficulty in
discovering, at a moment’s glance, that they were the children of that
over-heated matron who was feeling the web of my friend’s cloth.
But the principal figure was she who held the centre place in the group.
She was tall and thin, with fierce-looking eyes, rendered more fierce by
the spectacles which she wore; with a red nose as I said before; and
about her an undescribable something which quite convinced me that she
had never known--could never know--aught of the comforts of married
life. It was she who held the scissors and the black garments. It was
she who had given that unkind cut. As I looked at her she whisked
herself quickly round from one companion to the other, triumphing in
what she had done, and ready to triumph further in what she was about to
do. I immediately conceived a deep hatred for that Queen of the Harpies.
“Well, I suppose they can’t be wanted again,” said the mother, rubbing
her forehead.
“Oh dear no!” said she of the red nose. “They are relics!”
I thought to leap forth; but for what purpose should I have leaped? The
accursed scissors had already done their work; and the symmetry, nay,
even the utility of the vestment was destroyed.
“General Chassé wore a very good article;--I will say that for him,”
continued the mother.
“Of course he did!” said the Queen Harpy. “Why should he not, seeing
that the country paid for it for him? Well, ladies, who’s for having a
bit?”
“Oh my! you won’t go for to cut them up,” said the stout back.
“Won’t I,” said the scissors; and she immediately made another incision.
“Who’s for having a bit? Don’t all speak at once.”
“I should like a morsel for a pincushion,” said flaxen-haired Miss No.
1, a young lady about nineteen, actuated by a general affection for all
sword-bearing, fire-eating heroes. “I should like to have something to
make me think of the poor general!”
Snip, snip went the scissors with professional rapidity, and a round
piece was extracted from the back of the calf of the left leg. I
shuddered with horror; and so did the Rev. Augustus Horne with cold.
“I hardly think it’s proper to cut them up,” said Miss No. 2.
“Oh isn’t it?” said the harpy. “Then I’ll do what’s improper!” And she
got her finger and thumb well through the holes in the scissors’
handles. As she spoke resolution was plainly marked on her brow.
“Well, if they are to be cut up, I should certainly like a bit for a
pen-wiper,” said No. 2. No. 2 was a literary young lady with a
periodical correspondence, a journal, and an album. Snip, snip went the
scissors again, and the broad part of the upper right division afforded
ample materials for a pen-wiper.
Then the lady with the back, seeing that the desecration of the article
had been completed, plucked up heart of courage and put in her little
request; “I think I might have a needle-case out of it,” said she, “just
as a suvneer of the poor general”--and a long fragment cut rapidly out
of the waistband afforded her unqualified delight.
Mamma, with the hot face and untidy hair, came next. “Well, girls,” she
said, “as you are all served, I don’t see why I’m to be left out.
Perhaps, Miss Grogram”--she was an old maid, you see--“perhaps, Miss
Grogram, you could get me as much as would make a decent-sized
reticule.”
There was not the slightest difficulty in doing this. The harpy in the
centre again went to work, snip, snip, and extracting from that portion
of the affairs which usually sustained the greater portion of Mr.
Horne’s weight two large round pieces of cloth, presented them to the
well-pleased matron. “The general knew well where to get a bit of good
broadcloth, certainly,” said she, again feeling the pieces.
“And now for No. 1,” said she whom I so absolutely hated; “I think there
is still enough for a pair of slippers. There’s nothing so nice for the
house as good black cloth slippers that are warm to the feet and don’t
show the dirt.” And so saying, she spread out on the floor the lacerated
remainders.
“There’s a nice bit there,” said young lady No. 2, poking at one of the
pockets with the end of her parasol.
“Yes,” said the harpy, contemplating her plunder. “But I’m thinking
whether I couldn’t get leggings as well. I always wear leggings in the
thick of the winter.” And so she concluded her operations, and there was
nothing left but a melancholy skeleton of seams and buttons.
All this having been achieved, they pocketed their plunder and prepared
to depart. There are people who have a wonderful appetite for relics. A
stone with which Washington had broken a window when a boy--with which
he had done so or had not, for there is little difference; a button that
was on a coat of Napoleon’s, or on that of one of his lackeys; a bullet
said to have been picked up at Waterloo or Bunker’s Hill; these, and
suchlike things are great treasures. And their most desirable
characteristic is the ease with which they are attained. Any bullet or
any button does the work. Faith alone is necessary. And now these
ladies had made themselves happy and glorious with “Relics” of General
Chassé cut from the ill-used habiliments of an elderly English
gentleman!
They departed at last, and Mr. Horne, for once in an ill humour,
followed me into the bedroom. Here I must be excused if I draw a veil
over his manly sorrow at discovering what fate had done for him.
Remember what was his position, unclothed in the Castle of Antwerp! The
nearest suitable change for those which had been destroyed was locked up
in his portmanteau at the Hôtel de Belle Vue in Brussels! He had nothing
left to him--literally nothing, in that Antwerp world. There was no
other wretched being wandering then in that Dutch town so utterly
denuded of the goods of life. For what is a man fit,--for what can he be
fit,--when left in such a position? There are some evils which seem
utterly to crush a man; and if there be any misfortune to which a man
may be allowed to succumb without imputation on his manliness, surely it
is such as this. How was Mr. Home to return to his hotel without
incurring the displeasure of the municipality? That was my first
thought.
He had a cloak, but it was at the inn; and I found that my friend was
oppressed with a great horror at the idea of being left alone; so that I
could not go in search of it. There is an old saying, that no man is a
hero to his valet de chambre,--the reason doubtless being this, that it
is customary for his valet to see the hero divested of those trappings
in which so much of the heroic consists. Who reverences a clergyman
without his gown, or a warrior without his sword and sabre-tasche? What
would even Minerva be without her helmet?
I do not wish it to be understood that I no longer reverenced Mr. Horne
because he was in an undress; but he himself certainly lost much of his
composed, well-sustained dignity of demeanour. He was fearful and
querulous, cold, and rather cross. When, forgetting his size, I offered
him my own, he thought that I was laughing at him. He began to be afraid
that the story would get abroad, and he then and there exacted a promise
that I would never tell it during his lifetime. I have kept my word; but
now my old friend has been gathered to his fathers, full of years.
At last I got him to the hotel. It was long before he would leave the
castle, cloaked though he was;--not, indeed, till the shades of evening
had dimmed the outlines of men and things, and made indistinct the
outward garniture of those who passed to and fro in the streets. Then,
wrapped in his cloak, Mr. Horne followed me along the quays and through
the narrowest of the streets; and at length, without venturing to return
the gaze of any one in the hotel court, he made his way up to his own
bedroom.
Dinnerless and supperless he went to his couch. But when there he did
consent to receive some consolation in the shape of mutton cutlets and
fried potatoes, a savory omelet, and a bottle of claret. The mutton
cutlets and fried potatoes at the Golden Fleece at Antwerp are--or were
then, for I am speaking now of well-nigh thirty years since--remarkably
good; the claret, also, was of the best; and so, by degrees, the look of
despairing dismay passed from his face, and some scintillations of the
old fire returned to his eyes.
“I wonder whether they find themselves much happier for what they have
got?” said he.
“A great deal happier,” said I. “They’ll boast of those things to all
their friends at home, and we shall doubtless see some account of their
success in the newspapers.”
“It would be delightful to expose their blunder,--to show them up. Would
it not, George? To turn the tables on them?”
“Yes,” said I, “I should like to have the laugh against them.”
“So would I, only that I should compromise myself by telling the story.
It wouldn’t do at all to have it told at Oxford with my name attached to
it.”
To this also I assented. To what would I not have assented in my anxiety
to make him happy after his misery?
But all was not over yet. He was in bed now, but it was necessary that
he should rise again on the morrow. At home, in England, what was
required might perhaps have been made during the night; but here, among
the slow Flemings, any such exertion would have been impossible. Mr.
Horne, moreover, had no desire to be troubled in his retirement by a
tailor.
Now the landlord of the Golden fleece was a very stout man,--a very
stout man indeed. Looking at him as he stood with his hands in his
pockets at the portal of his own establishment, I could not but think
that he was stouter even than Mr. Horne. But then he was certainly much
shorter, and the want of due proportion probably added to his unwieldy
appearance. I walked round him once or twice wishfully, measuring him in
my eye, and thinking of what texture might be the Sunday best of such a
man. The clothes which he then had on were certainly not exactly suited
to Mr. Horne’s tastes.
He saw that I was observing him, and appeared uneasy and offended. I had
already ascertained that he spoke a little English. Of Flemish I knew
literally nothing, and in French, with which probably he was also
acquainted, I was by no means voluble. The business which I had to
transact was intricate, and I required the use of my mother-tongue.
It was intricate and delicate, and difficult withal. I began by
remarking on the weather, but he did not take my remarks kindly. I am
inclined to fancy that he thought I was desirous of borrowing money from
him. At any rate he gave me no encouragement in my first advances.
“Vat misfortune?” at last he asked, when I had succeeded in making him
understand that a gentleman up stairs required his assistance.
“He has lost these things,” and I took hold of my own garments. “It’s a
long story, or I’d tell you how; but he has not a pair in the world till
he gets back to Brussels,--unless you can lend him one.”
“Lost hees br----?” and he opened his eyes wide, and looked at me with
astonishment.
“Yes, yes, exactly so,” said I, interrupting him. “Most astonishing
thing, isn’t it? But it’s quite true.”
“Vas hees money in de pocket?” asked my suspicious landlord.
“No, no, no. It’s not so bad as that. His money is all right. I had the
money, luckily.”
“Ah! dat is better. But he have lost hees b----?”
“Yes, yes;” I was now getting rather impatient. “There is no mistake
about it. He has lost them as sure as you stand there.” And then I
proceeded to explain that as the gentleman in question was very stout,
and as he, the landlord, was stout also, he might assist us in this
great calamity by a loan from his own wardrobe.
When he found that the money was not in the pocket, and that his bill
therefore would be paid, he was not indisposed to be gracious. He would,
he said, desire his servant to take up what was required to Mr. Horne’s
chamber. I endeavoured to make him understand that a sombre colour would
be preferable; but he only answered that he would put the best that he
had at the gentleman’s disposal. He could not think of offering anything
less than his best on such an occasion. And then he turned his back and
went his way, muttering as he went something in Flemish, which I
believed to be an exclamation of astonishment that any man should,
under any circumstances, lose such an article.
It was now getting late; so when I had taken a short stroll by myself, I
went to bed without disturbing Mr. Horne again that night. On the
following morning I thought it best not to go to him unless he sent for
me; so I desired the boots to let him know that I had ordered breakfast
in a private room, and that I would await him there unless he wished to
see me. He sent me word back to say that he would be with me very
shortly.
He did not keep me waiting above half an hour, but I confess that that
half hour was not pleasantly spent. I feared that his temper would be
tried in dressing, and that he would not be able to eat his breakfast in
a happy state of mind. So that when I heard his heavy footstep advancing
along the passage my heart did misgive me, and I felt that I was
trembling.
That step was certainly slower and more ponderous than usual. There was
always a certain dignity in the very sound of his movements, but now
this seemed to have been enhanced. To judge merely by the step one would
have said that a bishop was coming that way instead of a prebendary.
And then he entered. In the upper half of his august person no
alteration was perceptible. The hair was as regular and as graceful as
ever, the handkerchief as white, the coat as immaculate; but below his
well-filled waistcoat a pair of red plush began to shine in unmitigated
splendour, and continued from thence down to within an inch above his
knee; nor, as it appeared, could any pulling induce them to descend
lower. Mr. Horne always wore black silk stockings,--at least so the
world supposed, but it was now apparent that the world had been wrong in
presuming him to be guilty of such extravagance. Those, at any rate,
which he exhibited on the present occasion were more economical. They
were silk to the calf, but thence upwards they continued their career in
white cotton. These then followed the plush; first two snowy, full-sized
pillars of white, and then two jet columns of flossy silk. Such was the
appearance, on that well-remembered morning, of the Rev. Augustus Horne,
as he entered the room in which his breakfast was prepared.
I could see at a glance that a dark frown contracted his eyebrows, and
that the compressed muscles of his upper lip gave a strange degree of
austerity to his open face. He carried his head proudly on high,
determined to be dignified in spite of his misfortunes, and advanced two
steps into the room without a remark, as though he were able to show
that neither red plush nor black cloth could disarrange the equal poise
of his mighty mind!
And after all what are a man’s garments but the outward husks in which
the fruit is kept, duly tempered from the wind?
“The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man’s the gowd for a’ that.”
And is not the tailor’s art as little worthy, as insignificant as that
of the king who makes
“A marquis, duke, and a’ that”?
Who would be content to think that his manly dignity depended on his
coat and waistcoat, or his hold on the world’s esteem on any other
garment of usual wear? That no such weakness soiled his mind Mr. Horne
was determined to prove; and thus he entered the room with measured
tread, and stern dignified demeanour.
Having advanced two steps his eye caught mine. I do not know whether he
was moved by some unconscious smile on my part;--for in truth I
endeavoured to seem as indifferent as himself to the nature of his
dress;--or whether he was invincibly tickled by some inward fancy of his
own, but suddenly his advancing step ceased, a broad flash of comic
humour spread itself over his features, he retreated with his back
against the wall, and then burst out into an immoderate roar of loud
laughter.
And I--what else could I then do but laugh? He laughed, and I laughed.
He roared, and I roared. He lifted up his vast legs to view till the
rays of the morning sun shone through the window on the bright hues
which he displayed; and he did not sit down to his breakfast till he had
in every fantastic attitude shown off to the best advantage the red
plush of which he had so recently become proud.
An Antwerp private cabriolet on that day reached the yard of the Hôtel
de Belle Vue at about 4 P.M., and four waiters, in a frenzy of
astonishment, saw the Reverend Augustus Horne descend from the vehicle
and seek his chamber dressed in the garments which I have described. But
I am inclined to think that he never again favoured any of his friends
with such a sight.
It was on the next evening after this that I went out to drink tea with
two maiden ladies, relatives of mine, who kept a seminary for English
girls at Brussels. The Misses Macmanus were very worthy women, and
earned their bread in an upright, painstaking manner. I would not for
worlds have passed through Brussels without paying them this
compliment. They were, however, perhaps a little dull, and I was aware
that I should not probably meet in their drawing-room many of the
fashionable inhabitants of the city. Mr. Horne had declined to accompany
me; but in doing so he was good enough to express a warm admiration for
the character of my worthy cousins.
The elder Miss Macmanus, in her little note, had informed me that she
would have the pleasure of introducing me to a few of my “compatriots.”
I presumed she meant Englishmen; and as I was in the habit of meeting
such every day of my life at home, I cannot say that I was peculiarly
elevated by the promise. When, however, I entered the room, there was no
Englishman there;--there was no man of any kind. There were twelve
ladies collected together with the view of making the evening pass
agreeably to me, the single virile being among them all. I felt as
though I were a sort of Mohammed in Paradise; but I certainly felt also
that the Paradise was none of my own choosing.
In the centre of the amphitheatre which the ladies formed sat the two
Misses Macmanus;--there, at least, they sat when they had completed the
process of shaking hands with me. To the left of them, making one wing
of the semicircle, were arranged the five pupils by attending to whom
the Misses Macmanus earned their living; and the other wing consisted of
the five ladies who had furnished themselves with relics of General
Chassé. They were my “compatriots.”
I was introduced to them all, one after the other; but their names did
not abide in my memory one moment. I was thinking too much of the
singularity of the adventure, and could not attend to such minutiæ. That
the red-rosed harpy was Miss Grogram, that I remembered;--that, I may
say, I shall never forget. But whether the motherly lady with the
somewhat blowsy hair was Mrs. Jones, or Mrs. Green, or Mrs. Walker, I
cannot now say. The dumpy female with the broad back was always called
Aunt Sally by the young ladies.
Too much sugar spoils one’s tea; I think I have heard that even
prosperity will cloy when it comes in overdoses; and a schoolboy has
been known to be overdone with jam. I myself have always been peculiarly
attached to ladies’ society, and have avoided bachelor parties as things
execrable in their very nature. But on this special occasion I felt
myself to be that schoolboy;--I was literally overdone with jam. My tea
was all sugar, so that I could not drink it. I was one among twelve.
What could I do or say? The proportion of alloy was too small to have
any effect in changing the nature of the virgin silver, and the
conversation became absolutely feminine.
I must confess also that my previous experience as to these compatriots
of mine had not prejudiced me in their favour. I regarded them with,--I
am ashamed to say so, seeing that they were ladies,--but almost with
loathing. When last I had seen them their occupation had reminded me of
some obscene feast of harpies, or almost of ghouls. They had brought
down to the verge of desperation the man whom of all men I most
venerated. On these accounts I was inclined to be taciturn with
reference to them;--and then what could I have to say to the Misses
Macmanus’s five pupils?
My cousin at first made an effort or two in my favour, but these efforts
were fruitless. I soon died away into utter unrecognised insignificance,
and the conversation, as I have before said, became feminine. And indeed
that horrid Miss Grogram, who was, as it were, the princess of the
ghouls, nearly monopolised the whole of it. Mamma Jones--we will call
her Jones for the occasion--put in a word now and then, as did also the
elder and more energetic Miss Macmanus. The dumpy lady with the broad
back ate tea-cake incessantly; the two daughters looked scornful, as
though they were above their company with reference to the five pupils;
and the five pupils themselves sat in a row with the utmost propriety,
each with her hands crossed on her lap before her.
Of what they were talking at last I became utterly oblivious. They had
ignored me, going into realms of muslin, questions of maid-servants,
female rights, and cheap under-clothing; and I therefore had ignored
them. My mind had gone back to Mr. Horne and his garments. While they
spoke of their rights, I was thinking of his wrongs; when they mentioned
the price of flannel, I thought of that of broadcloth.
But of a sudden my attention was arrested. Miss Macmanus had said
something of the black silks of Antwerp, when Miss Grogram replied that
she had just returned from that city and had there enjoyed a great
success. My cousin had again asked something about the black silks,
thinking, no doubt, that Miss Grogram had achieved some bargain; but
that lady had soon undeceived her.
“Oh no,” said Miss Grogram, “it was at the castle. We got such beautiful
relics of General Chassé! Didn’t we, Mrs. Jones?”
“Indeed we did,” said Mrs. Jones, bringing out from beneath the skirts
of her dress and ostensibly displaying a large black bag.
“And I’ve got such a beautiful needle-case,” said the broad-back,
displaying her prize. “I’ve been making it up all the morning.” And she
handed over the article to Miss Macmanus.
“And only look at this duck of a pen-wiper,” simpered flaxen-hair No. 2.
“Only think of wiping one’s pens with relics of General Chassé!” and she
handed it over to the other Miss Macmanus.
“And mine’s a pin-cushion,” said No. 1, exhibiting the trophy.
“But that’s nothing to what I’ve got,” said Miss Grogram. “In the first
place, there’s a pair of slippers,--a beautiful pair;--they’re not made
up yet, of course; and then--”
The two Misses Macmanus and their five pupils were sitting open-eared,
open-eyed, and open-mouthed. How all these sombre-looking articles could
be relics of General Chassé did not at first appear clear to them.
“What are they, Miss Grogram?” said the elder Miss Macmanus, holding the
needle-case in one hand and Mrs. Jones’s bag in the other. Miss Macmanus
was a strong-minded female, and I reverenced my cousin when I saw the
decided way in which she intended to put down the greedy arrogance of
Miss Grogram.
“They are relics.”
“But where do they come from, Miss Grogram?”
“Why, from the castle, to be sure;--from General Chasse’s own rooms.”
“Did anybody sell them to you?”
“No.”
“Or give them to you?”
“Why, no;--at least not exactly give.”
“There they were, and she took ’em,” said the broad-back.
Oh, what a look Miss Grogram gave her! “Took them! of course I took
them. That is, you took them as much as I did. They were things that we
found lying about.”
“What things?” asked Miss Macmanus, in a peculiarly strong-minded tone.