Good heavens! What have I said to the man? What has he taken me for?
Have I used words conveying to his mind any intention of mine to take
his precious life? Do I look ferocious? Why did he repeatedly call me
_sanguinaire_? Must have this mystery cleared up.
_10th July, 1872._
An English friend sets my mind at rest about the little event of
yesterday. He informs me that the adjective in question carries no
meaning. It is simply a word that the lower classes have to place
before each substantive they use in order to be able to understand each
other.
* * * * *
_11th July, 1872._
Have taken apartments in the neighborhood of Baker Street. My landlady,
_qui frise ses cheveux et la cinquantaine_, enjoys the name of Tribble.
She is a plump, tidy, and active-looking little woman.
On the door there is a plate, with the inscription,
"J. Tribble, General Agent."
Mr. Tribble, it seems, is not very much engaged in business.
At home he makes himself useful.
It was this gentleman, more or less typical in London, whom I had in my
mind's eye as I once wrote:
"The English social failure of the male sex not unfrequently entitles
himself _General Agent_: this is the last straw he clutches at; if it
should break, he sinks, and is heard of no more, unless his wife come
to the rescue, by setting up a lodging-house or a boarding-school for
young ladies. There, once more in smooth water, he wields the
blacking-brush, makes acquaintance with the knife-board, or gets in the
provisions. In allowing himself to be kept by his wife, he feels he
loses some dignity; but if she should adopt any airs of superiority
over him, he can always bring her to a sense of duty by beating her."
* * * * *
_12th July, 1872._
Mr. Tribble helps take up my trunks. On my way to bed my landlady
informs me that her room adjoins mine, and if I need any thing in the
night I have only to ask for it.
This landlady will be a mother to me, I can see.
The bed reminds me of a night I passed in a cemetery, during the
Commune, sleeping on a gravestone. I turn and toss, unable to get any
rest.
Presently I had the misfortune to hit my elbow against the mattress.
A knock at the door.
"Who is there?" I cry.
"Can I get you any thing, sir? I hope you are not ill," says a voice
which I recognize as that of my landlady.
"No, why?"
"I thought you knocked, sir."
"No. Oh! I knocked my elbow against the mattress."
"Ah! that's it. I beg your pardon."