IN WHICH MAY BE FOUND DIVERS RULES AND MAXIMS FOR THE ART OF BOWING
"Now, by the Lord!" said Barnabas, stopping all at once, "forgetful
fool that I am! I never bowed to her!" Therefore, being minded to
repair so grave an omission, he turned sharp about, and came
striding back again, and thus it befell that he presently espied the
lace handkerchief fluttering from the bramble, and having extricated
the delicate lace from the naturally reluctant thorns with a vast
degree of care and trouble, he began to look about for the late owner.
But search how he might, his efforts proved unavailing--Annersley
Wood was empty save for himself. Having satisfied himself of the fact,
Barnabas sighed again, thrust the handkerchief into his pocket, and
once more set off upon his way.
But now, as he went, he must needs remember his awkward stiffness
when she had thanked him; he grew hot all over at the mere
recollection, and, moreover, he had forgotten even to bow! But there
again, was he quite sure that he could bow as a gentleman should?
There were doubtless certain rules and maxims for the bow as there
were for mathematics--various motions to be observed in the making
of it, of which Barnabas confessed to himself his utter ignorance.
What then was a bow? Hereupon, bethinking him of the book in his
pocket, he drew it out, and turning to a certain page, began to
study the "stiff-legged-gentleman" with a new and enthralled interest.
Now over against this gentleman, that is to say, on the opposite page,
he read these words:--
"THE ART OF BOWING."
"To know how, and when, and to whom to bow,
is in itself an art. The bow is, indeed, an
all-important accomplishment,--it is the
'Open Sesame' of the 'Polite World.' To bow
gracefully, therefore, may be regarded as
the most important part of a gentlemanly
deportment."
"Hum!" said Barnabas, beginning to frown at this; and yet, according
to the title-page, these were the words of a "Person of Quality."
"To bow gracefully,"--the Person of Quality
chattered on,--"the feet should be primarily
disposed as in the first position of dancing."
Barnabas sighed, frowning still.
"The left hand should be lifted airily and laid
upon the bosom, the fingers kept elegantly spread.
The head is now stooped forward, the body following
easily from the hips, the right hand, at the same
moment, being waved gracefully in the air. It is,
moreover, very necessary that the expression of the
features should assume as engaging an air as possible.
The depth of the bow is to be regulated to the rank
of the person saluted."
And so forth and so on for two pages more.
Barnabas sighed and shook his head hopelessly.
"Ah!" said he, "under these circumstances it is perhaps just as well
that I forgot to try. It would seem I should have bungled it quite
shamefully. Who would have thought a thing so simple could become a
thing so very complicated!" Saying which, he shut the book, and
thrust it back into his pocket, and thus became aware of a certain
very small handful of dainty lace and cambric, and took it out, and,
looking at it, beheld again the diminutive stain, while there stole
to his nostrils a perfume, faint and very sweet.
"I wonder," said he to himself. "I wonder who she was--I might have
asked her name but, fool that I am, I even forgot that!"
Here Barnabas sighed, and, sighing, hid the handkerchief in his
pocket.
"And yet," he pursued, "had she told me her name, I should have been
compelled to announce mine, and--Barnabas Barty--hum! somehow there
is no suggestion about it of broad acres, or knightly ancestors; no,
Barty will never do." Here Barnabas became very thoughtful.
"Mortimer sounds better," said he, after a while, "or Mandeville.
Then there's Neville, and Desborough, and Ravenswood--all very good
names, and yet none of them seems quite suitable. Still I must have
a name that is beyond all question!" And Barnabas walked on more
thoughtful than ever. All at once he stopped, and clapped hand to
thigh.
"My mother's name, of course--Beverley; yes, it is an excellent name,
and, since it was hers, I have more right to it than to any other.
So Beverley it shall be--Barnabas Beverley--good!" Here Barnabas
stopped and very gravely lifted his hat to his shadow.
"Mr. Beverley," said he, "I salute you, your very humble obedient
servant, Mr. Beverley, sir, God keep you!" Hereupon he put on his
hat again, and fell into his swinging stride.
"So," said he, "that point being settled it remains to master the
intricacies of the bow." Saying which, he once more had recourse to
the "priceless wollum," and walked on through the glory of the
morning, with his eyes upon the valuable instructions of the
"Person of Quality."
Now, as he went, chancing to look up suddenly, he beheld a gate-post.
A very ancient gate-post it was--a decrepit gate-post, worn and
heavy with years, for it leaned far out from the perpendicular. And
with his gaze upon this, Barnabas halted suddenly, clapped the book
to his bosom, and raising his hat with an elegant flourish, bowed to
that gnarled and withered piece of timber as though it had been an
Archduke at the very least, or the loveliest lady in the land.
"Ha! by Thor and Odin, what's all this?" cried a voice behind him.
"I say what the devil's all this?"
Turning sharp about, Barnabas beheld a shortish, broad-shouldered
individual in a befrogged surtout and cords, something the worse for
wear, who stood with his booted legs wide apart and stared at him
from a handsome bronzed face, with a pair of round blue eyes; he
held a broad-brimmed hat in his hand--the other, Barnabas noticed,
was gone from the elbow.
"Egad!" said he, staring at Barnabas with his blue eyes. "What's in
the wind? I say, what the devil, sir--eh, sir?"
Forthwith Barnabas beamed upon him, and swept him another bow almost
as low as that he had bestowed upon the gate-post.
"Sir," said he, hat gracefully flourished in the air, "your very
humble obedient servant to command."
"A humble obedient fiddlestick, sir!" retorted the new comer.
"Pooh, sir!--I say dammit!--are ye mad, sir, to go bowing and
scraping to a gate-post, as though it were an Admiral of the Fleet
or Nelson himself--are ye mad or only drunk, sir? I say, what d' ye
mean?"
Here Barnabas put on his hat and opened the book.
"Plainly, sir," he answered, "being overcome with a sudden desire to
bow to something or other, I bowed to that gate-post in want of a
worthier object; but now, seeing you arrive so very opportunely, I'll
take the liberty of trying another. Oblige me by observing if my
expression is sufficiently engaging," and with the words Barnabas
bowed as elaborately as before.
"Sink me!" exclaimed the one-armed individual, rounder of eye than
ever, "the fellow's mad--stark, staring mad."
"No, indeed, sir," smiled Barnabas, reassuringly, "but the book
here--which I am given to understand is wholly infallible--says that
to bow is the most important item of a gentlemanly equipment, and in
the World of Fashion--"
"In the World of Fashion, sir, there are no gentlemen left," his
hearer broke in.
"How, sir--?"
"I say no, sir, no one. I say, damme, sir--"
"But, sir--"
"I say there are no gentlemen in the fashionable world--they are all
blackguardly Bucks, cursed Corinthians, and mincing Macaronies
nowadays, sir. Fashionable world--bah, sir!"
"But, sir, is not the Prince himself--"
"The Prince, sir!" Here the one-armed gentleman clapped on his hat
and snorted, "The Prince is a--prince, sir; he's also an authority
on sauce and shoe-buckles. Let us talk of something more
interesting--yourself, for instance."
Barnabas bowed.
"Sir," said he, "my name is Barnabas--Barnabas Beverley."
"Hum!" said the other, thoughtfully, "I remember a Beverley--a
lieutenant under Hardy in the 'Agamemnon'--though, to be sure, he
spelt his name with an 'l-e-y.'"
"So do I, sir," said Barnabas.
"Hum!"
"Secondly, I am on my way to London."
"London! Egad! here's another of 'em! London, of course--well?"
"Where I hope to cut some figure in the--er--World of Fashion."
"Fashion--Gog and Magog!--why not try drowning. 'T would be simpler
and better for you in the long run. London! Fashion! in that hat,
that coat, those--"
"Sir," said Barnabas, flushing, "I have already--"
"Fashion, eh? Why, then, you must cramp that chest into an abortion,
all collar, tail, and buttons, and much too tight to breathe in; you
must struggle into breeches tight enough to burst, and cram your
feet into bepolished torments--"
"But, sir," Barnabas ventured again, "surely the Prince himself is
accountable for the prevailing fashion, and as you must know, he is
said to be the First Gentleman in Europe and--"
"Fiddle-de-dee and the devil, sir!--who says he is? A set of
crawling sycophants, sir--a gang of young reprobates and bullies.
First Gentleman in--I say pish, sir! I say bah! Don't I tell you
that gentlemen went out o' fashion when Bucks came in? I say there
isn't a gentleman left in England except perhaps one or two. This is
the age of your swaggering, prize-fighting Corinthians. London
swarms with 'em, Brighton's rank with 'em, yet they pervade even
these solitudes, damme! I saw one of 'em only half an hour ago,
limping out of a wood yonder. Ah! a polished, smiling rascal--a
dangerous rogue! One of your sleepy libertines--one of your lucky
gamblers--one of your conscienceless young reprobates equally ready
to win your money, ruin your sister, or shoot you dead as the case
may be, and all in the approved way of gallantry, sir; and, being all
this, and consequently high in royal favor, he is become a very lion
in the World of Fashion. Would you succeed, young sir, you must
model yourself upon him as nearly as may be."
"And he was limping, you say?" inquired Barnabas, thoughtfully.
"And serve him right, sir--egad! I say damme! he should limp in
irons to Botany Bay and stay there if I had my way."
"Did you happen to notice the color of his coat?" inquired Barnabas
again.
"Ay, 't was green, sir; but what of it--have you seen him?"
"I think I have, sir," said Barnabas, "if 't was a green coat he wore.
Pray, sir, what might his name be?"
"His name, sir, is Carnaby--Sir Mortimer Carnaby."
"Sir Mortimer Carnaby!" said Barnabas, nodding his head.
"And, sir," pursued his informant, regarding Barnabas from beneath
his frowning brows, "since it is your ambition to cut a figure in
the World of Fashion, your best course is to cultivate him, frequent
his society as much as possible, act upon his counsel, and in six
months, or less, I don't doubt you'll be as polished a young
blackguard as any of 'em. Good morning, sir."
Here the one-armed gentleman nodded and turned to enter the field.
"Sir," said Barnabas, "one moment! Since you have been so obliging
as to describe a Buck, will you tell me who and what in your
estimation is a gentleman?"
"A gentleman? Egad, sir! must I tell you that? No, I say I
won't--the Bo'sun shall." Hereupon the speaker faced suddenly about
and raised his voice: "Aft there!" he bellowed. "Pass the word for
the Bo'sun--I say where's Bo'sun Jerry?"
Immediately upon these words there came another roar surprisingly
hoarse, deep, and near at hand.
"Ay, ay, sir! here I be, Cap'n," the voice bellowed back. "Here I be,
sir, my helm hard a-starboard, studden sails set, and all a-drawing
alow and aloft, but making bad weather on it on account o' these
here furrers and this here jury-mast o' mine, but I'll fetch up
alongside in a couple o' tacks."
Now glancing in the direction of the voice, Barnabas perceived a
head and face that bobbed up and down on the opposite side of the
hedge. A red face it was, a jovial, good-humored face, lit up with
quick, bright eyes that twinkled from under a prodigious pair of
eyebrows; a square honest face whose broad good nature beamed out
from a mighty bush of curling whisker and pigtail, and was
surmounted by a shining, glazed hat.
Being come opposite to them, he paused to mop at his red face with a
neckerchief of vivid hue, which done, he touched the brim of the
glazed hat, and though separated from them by no more than the hedge
and ditch, immediately let out another roar--for all the world as
though he had been hailing the maintop of a Seventy-four in a gale
of wind.
"Here I be, Cap'n!" he bellowed, "studden sails set an' drawing,
tho' obleeged to haul my wind, d'ye see, on account o' this here
spar o' mine a-running foul o' the furrers." Having said the which,
he advanced again with a heave to port and a lurch to starboard very
like a ship in a heavy sea; this peculiarity of gait was explained as
he hove into full view, for then Barnabas saw that his left leg was
gone from the knee and had been replaced by a wooden one.
"Bo'sun," said the Captain, indicating Barnabas, with a flap of his
empty sleeve, "Bo'sun--favor me, I say oblige me by explaining to
this young gentleman your opinion of a gentleman--I say tell him who
you think is the First Gentleman in Europe!"
The Bo'sun stared from Barnabas to the Captain and back again.
"Begging your Honor's parding," said he, touching the brim of the
glazed hat, "but surely nobody don't need to be told that 'ere?"
"It would seem so, Jerry."
"Why then, Cap'n--since you ax me, I should tell you--bold an' free
like, as the First Gentleman in Europe--ah! or anywhere else--was
Lord Nelson an' your Honor."
As he spoke the Bo'sun stood up very straight despite his wooden leg,
and when he touched his hat again, his very pigtail seemed
straighter and stiffer than ever.
"Young sir," said the Captain, regarding Barnabas from the corners
of his eyes, "what d' ye say to that?"
"Why," returned Barnabas, "now I come to think of it, I believe the
Bo'sun is right."
"Sir," nodded the Captain, "the Bo'sun generally is; my Bo'sun, sir,
is as remarkable as that leg of his which he has contrived so that
it will screw on or off--in sections sir--I mean the wooden one."
"But," said Barnabas, beginning to stroke his chin in the
argumentative way that was all his father's, "but, sir, I was
meaning gentlemen yet living, and Lord Nelson, unfortunately, is dead."
"Bo'sun," said the Captain, "what d' ye say to that?"
"Why, Cap'n, axing the young gentleman's pardon, I beg leave to
remark, or as you might say, ob-serve, as men like 'im don't die,
they jest gets promoted, so to speak."
"Very true, Jerry," nodded the Captain again, "they do, but go to a
higher service, very true. And now, Bo'sun, the bread!"
"Ay, ay, sir!" said the Bo'sun, and, taking the neat parcel the
Captain held out, dropped it forthwith into the crown of the glazed
hat.
"Bo'sun, the meat! the young fool will be hungry by now, poor lad!"
"Ay, ay, Cap'n!" And, the meat having disappeared into the same
receptacle, the Bo'sun resumed his hat. Now turning to Barnabas, the
Captain held out his hand.
"Sir," said he, "I wish you good-by and a prosperous voyage,
and may you find yourself too much a man ever to fall so low
as 'fashion,'--I say dammit! The bread and meat, sir, are for
a young fool who thinks, like yourself, that the World of Fashion
is _the_ world. By heaven, sir, I say by Gog and Magog! if
I had a son with fashionable aspirations, I'd have him triced up
to the triangles and flogged with the 'cat'--I say with the
cat-o'-ninetails, sir, that is--no I wouldn't, besides I--never
had a son--she--died, sir--and good-by!"
"Stay," said Barnabas, "pray tell me to whom I am indebted for so
much good instruction."
"My name, sir, is Chumly--plain Chumly--spelt with a U and an
M, sir; none of your _olmondeleys_ for me, sir, and I beg you to
know that I have no crest or monogram or coat of arms; there's
neither or, azure, nor argent about me; I'm neither rampant, nor
passant, nor even regardant. And I want none of your sables, ermines,
bars, escallops, embattled fiddle-de-dees, or dencette tarradiddles,
sir. I'm Chumly, Captain John Chumly, plain and without any
fashionable varnish. Consequently, though I have commanded many good
ships, sloops, frigates, and even one Seventy-four--"
"The 'Bully-Sawyer,' Trafalgar!" added the Bo'sun.
"Seeing I am only John Chumly, with a U and an M, I retire still a
captain. Now, had I clapped in an _olmondeley_ and the rest of the
fashionable gewgaws, I should now be doubtless a Rear Admiral at the
very least, for the polite world--the World of Fashion is rampant,
sir, not to mention passant and regardant. So, if you would achieve
a reputation among Persons of Quality nowadays--bow, sir, bow
everywhere day in and day out--keep a supple back, young sir, and
spell your name with as many unnecessary letters as you can. And as
regards my idea of a gentleman, he is, I take it, a man--who is
gentle--I say good morning, young sir." As he ended, the Captain
took off his hat, with his remaining arm put it on again, and then
reached out, suddenly, and clapped Barnabas upon the shoulder.
"Here's wishing you a straight course, lad," said he with a smile,
every whit as young and winning as that which curved the lips of
Barnabas, "a fair course and a good, clean wind to blow all these
fashionable fooleries out of your head. Good-by!" So he nodded,
turned sharp about and went upon his way.
Hereupon the Bo'sun shook his head, took off the glazed hat, stared
into it, and putting it on again, turned and stumped along beside
Barnabas.