NARRATING HOW LIEUTENANT PUDDOCK AND CAPTAIN DEVEREUX BREWED A BOWL OF
PUNCH, AND HOW THEY SANG AND DISCOURSED TOGETHER.
If people would only be content with that which is, let well alone, and
allow to-day to resemble yesterday and to-morrow to day, the human race
would be much fatter at no greater cost, and sleep remarkably well. But
so it is that the soul of man can no more rest here than the sea or the
wind. We are always plotting against our own repose, and as no man can
stir in a crowd without disturbing others, it happens that even the
quietest fellows are forced to fight for their _status quo_, and
sometimes, though they would not move a finger or sacrifice a button for
the chance of 'getting on,' are sulkily compelled to cut capers like the
rest. Nature will have it so, and has no end of resources, and will not
suffer even the sluggish to sit still, but if nothing else will do, pins
a cracker to their skirts, in the shape of a tender passion, or some
other whim, and so sets them bouncing in their own obese and clumsy way,
to the trouble of others as well as their own discomfort. It is a hard
thing, but so it is; the comfort of absolute stagnation is nowhere
permitted us. And such, so multifarious and intricate our own mutual
dependencies, that it is next to impossible to marry a wife, or to take
a house for the summer at Brighton, or to accomplish any other entirely
simple, good-humoured, and selfish act without affecting, not only the
comforts, but the reciprocal relations of dozens of other respectable
persons who appear to have nothing on earth to say to us or our
concerns. In this respect, indeed, society resembles a pyramid of
potatoes, in which you cannot stir one without setting others, in
unexpected places, also in motion. Thus it was, upon very slight
motives, the relations of people in the little world of Chapelizod began
to shift and change considerably, and very few persons made a decided
move of any sort without affecting or upsetting one or more of his
neighbours.
Among other persons unexpectedly disturbed just now was our friend
Captain Devereux. The letter reached him at night. Little Puddock walked
to his lodgings with him from the club, where he had just given a
thplendid rethitation from Shakespeare, and was, as usual after such
efforts, in a high state of excitement, and lectured his companion, for
whom, by-the-bye, he cherished a boyish admiration, heightened very
considerably by his not quite understanding him, upon the extraordinary
dramatic capabilities and versatilities of Shakespeare's plays, which,
he said, were not half comprehended.
'It was only on Tuesday--the night, you know, I fired the pistol at the
robbers, near the dog-house, through the coach window, returning all
alone from Smock-alley Theatre. I was thinking, upon my honour, if I had
your parts, my dear Devereux, and could write, as I know you can, I'd
make a variation upon every play of Shakespeare, that should be strictly
moulded upon it, and yet in no respect recognisable.'
'Ay, like those Irish airs that will produce tears or laughter, as they
are played slow or quick; or minced veal, my dear Puddock, which the
cook can dress either savoury or sweet at pleasure; or Aunt Rebecca,
that produces such different emotions in her different moods, and
according to our different ways of handling her, is scarce recognisable
in some of them, though still the same Aunt Becky,' answered Devereux,
knocking at Irons' door.
'No, but seriously, by sometimes changing an old person to a young,
sometimes a comical to a melancholy, or the reverse, sometimes a male
for a female, or a female for a male--I assure you, you can so entirely
disguise the piece, and yet produce situations so new and
surprising----.'
'I see, by all the gods at once, 'tis an immortal idea! Let's take
Othello--I'll set about it to-morrow--to-night, by Jove! A gay young
Venetian nobleman, of singular beauty, charmed by her tales of
"anthropophagites and men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders,"
is seduced from his father's house, and married by a middle-aged,
somewhat hard-featured black woman, Juno, or Dido, who takes him
away--not to Cyprus--we must be original, but we'll suppose to the
island of Stromboli--and you can have an eruption firing away during the
last act. There Dido grows jealous of our hero, though he's as innocent
as Joseph; and while his valet is putting him to bed he'll talk to him
and prattle some plaintive little tale how his father had a man called
Barbarus. And then, all being prepared, and his bed-room candle put out,
Dido enters, looking unusually grim, and smothers him with a pillow in
spite of his cries and affecting entreaties, and---- By Jupiter! here's
a letter from Bath, too.'
He had lighted the candles, and the letter with its great red eye of a
seal, lying upon the table, transfixed his wandering glance, and smote
somehow to his heart with an indefinite suspense and misgiving.
'With your permission, my dear Puddock?' said Devereux, before breaking
the seal; for in those days they grew ceremonious the moment a point of
etiquette turned up. Puddock gave him leave, and he read the letter.
'From my aunt,' he said, throwing it down with a discontented air; and
then he read it once more, thought for a while, and put it into his
pocket. 'The countess says I must go, Puddock. She has got my leave from
the general; and hang it--there's no help for it--I can't vex her, you
know. Indeed, Puddock, I _would_ not vex her. Poor old aunt--she has
been mighty kind to me--no one knows how kind. So I leave to-morrow.'
'Not to stay away!' exclaimed Puddock, much concerned.
'I don't know, dear Puddock. I know no more than the man in the moon
what her plans are. Lewis, you know, is ordered by the doctors to
Malaga; and Loftus--honest dog--I managed that trifle for him--goes with
him; and the poor old lady, I suppose, is in the vapours, and wants
me--and that's all. And Puddock, we must drink a bowl of punch
together--you and I--or something--anything--what you please.'
And so they sat some time longer, and grew very merry and friendly, and
a little bit pathetic in their several ways. And Puddock divulged his
secret but noble flame for Gertrude Chattesworth, and Devereux sang a
song or two, defying fortune, in his sweet, sad tenor; and the nymph who
skipt up and down stairs with the kettle grew sleepy at last; and Mrs.
Irons rebelled in her bed, and refused peremptorily to get up again, to
furnish the musical topers with rum and lemons, and Puddock, having
studied his watch--I'm bound to say with a slight hiccough and
supernatural solemnity--for about five minutes, satisfied himself it was
nearly one o'clock, and took an affecting, though soldier-like leave of
his comrade, who, however, lent him his arm down the stairs, which were
rather steep; and having with difficulty dissuaded him from walking into
the clock, the door of which was ajar, thought it his duty to see the
gallant little lieutenant home to his lodgings; and so in the morning
good little Puddock's head ached. He had gone to bed with his waistcoat
and leggings on--and his watch was missing and despaired of, till
discovered, together with a lemon, in the pocket of his surtout, hanging
against the wall; and a variety of other strange arrangements came to
light, with not one of which could Puddock connect himself.
Indeed, he was 'dithguthted' at his condition; and if upon the occasion
just described he had allowed himself to be somewhat 'intoxicated with
liquor,' I must aver that I do not recollect another instance in which
this worthy little gentleman suffered himself to be similarly overtaken.
Now and then a little 'flashy' he might be, but nothing more
serious--and rely upon it, this was no common virtue in those days.