1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
|
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="iso-8859-1"?>
<!DOCTYPE html
PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<head>
<title>
The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Volume 4
</title>
<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
body {background:#faebd7; margin:10%; text-align:justify}
P { text-indent: 1em;
margin-top: .75em;
margin-bottom: .75em; }
H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; }
HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; }
.figleft {float: left;}
.figright {float: right;}
.toc { margin-left: 15%; margin-bottom: 0em;}
CENTER { padding: 10px;}
//
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h2>
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER, Vol. 4
</h2>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Vol. 4
by Charles James Lever (1806-1872)
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer, Vol. 4
Author: Charles James Lever (1806-1872)
Release Date: October 27, 2006 [EBook #5237]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARRY LORREQUER, VOL. 4 ***
Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
</pre>
<hr />
<p>
<br /><br /><br />
</p>
<h2>
THE CONFESSIONS OF HARRY LORREQUER
</h2>
<h3>
[By Charles James Lever (1806-1872)]
</h3>
<h3>
Dublin
</h3>
<h3>
MDCCCXXXIX.
</h3>
<p>
<br /><br />
</p>
<h3>
Volume 4.
</h3>
<p>
<br /><br /> <img alt="bookcover.jpg (95K)" src="images/bookcover.jpg"
height="986" width="650" /> <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <img alt="spine.jpg (51K)"
src="images/spine.jpg" height="1207" width="650" /> <br /><br /><br /><br />
<img alt="titlepage.jpg (48K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" height="1141"
width="601" /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> [Note: Though the title page has no
author's name inscribed,<br /> this work is generally attributed to Charles
James Lever.] <br /><br /><br /><br />
</p>
<h3>
<a name="The_Inn_at_Munich" id="The_Inn_at_Munich">The Inn at Munich</a>
</h3>
<p>
<br /><br /> <a href="images2/00aTheInnatMunich.jpg"><img
alt="00a The Inn at Munich (96K)"
src="images/00aTheInnatMunich.jpg" height="1179" width="693" /></a>
<br /> Click on this or any of the following images<br /> to view the
engraving in black and white detail. <br /><br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<table summary="">
<tr>
<td>
<b> "We talked of pipe-clay regulation caps—<br />
Long twenty-fours—short culverins and mortars—<br />
Condemn'd the 'Horse Guards' for a set of raps,<br />
And cursed our fate at being in such quarters.<br /> Some smoked, some
sighed, and some were heard to snore;<br /> Some
wished themselves five fathoms 'neat the Solway;<br /> And some did
pray—who never prayed before—<br /> That
they might get the 'route' for Cork or Galway."<br /> </b>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>
<br /><br /><br />
</p>
<h3>
CONTENTS
</h3>
<p>
<br />
</p>
<table summary="">
<tr>
<td>
<a href="#ch24">CHAPTER XXIV</a> <br /> The Gen d'Arme <br /> <br /> <a
href="#ch25">CHAPTER XXV</a> <br /> The Inn at Chantraine <br /> <br />
<a href="#ch26">CHAPTER XXVI</a> <br /> Mr O'Leary <br /> <br /> <a
href="#ch27">CHAPTER XXVII</a> <br /> Paris <br /> <br /> <a href="#ch28">CHAPTER
XXVIII</a> <br /> Paris <br /> <br /> <br />
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
<a name="ch24" id="ch24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.
</h2>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
THE GEN D'ARME.
</h3>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<p>
I had fortunately sufficient influence upon my fair friends to persuade
them to leave Calais early on the morning following; and two hours before
Kilkee had opened his eyes upon this mortal life, we were far upon the
road to Paris.
</p>
<p>
Having thus far perfectly succeeded in my plot, my spirit rose rapidly,
and I made every exertion to make the road appear short to my
fellow-travellers. This part of France is unfortunately deficient in any
interest from scenery; large undivided tracts of waving cornfields, with a
back-ground of apparently interminable forests, and occasionally, but
rarely, the glimpse of some old time-worn chateau, with its pointed gable
and terraced walk, are nearly all that the eye can detect in the intervals
between the small towns and villages. Nothing, however, is "flat or
unprofitable" to those who desire to make it otherwise; good health, good
spirits, and fine weather, are wonderful travelling companions, and render
one tolerably independent of the charms of scenery. Every mile that
separated me from Calais, and took away the chance of being overtaken,
added to my gaiety, and I flatter myself that a happier party have rarely
travelled that well frequented road.
</p>
<p>
We reached Abbeville to dinner, and adjourned to the beautiful little
garden of the inn for our coffee; the evening was so delightful that I
proposed to walk on the Paris road, until the coming up of the carriage,
which required a screw, or a washer, or some such trifle as always occurs
in French posting. To this la chere mamma objected, she being tired, but
added, that Isabella and I might go on, and that she would take us up in
half an hour. This was an arrangement so very agreeable and unlooked for
by me, that I pressed Miss Bingham as far as I well could, and at last
succeeded in overcoming her scruples, and permitting me to shawl her. One
has always a tremendous power of argument with the uninitiated abroad, by
a reference to a standard of manners and habits totally different from our
own. Thus the talismanic words—"Oh! don't be shocked; remember you
are in France," did more to satisfy my young friend's mind than all I
could have said for an hour. Little did she know that in England only, has
an unmarried young lady any liberty, and that the standard of foreign
propriety on this head is far, very far more rigid than our own.
</p>
<p>
"La premiere Rue a gauche," said an old man of whom I inquired the road;
"et puis," added I.
</p>
<p>
"And then quite straight; it is a chaussee all the way, and you cannot
mistake it."
</p>
<p>
"Now for it, mademoiselle," said I. "Let us try if we cannot see a good
deal of the country before the carriage comes up."
</p>
<p>
We had soon left the town behind and reached a beautifully shaded high
road, with blossoming fruit trees, and honeysuckle-covered cottages; there
had been several light showers during the day, and the air had all the
fresh fragrant feeling of an autumn evening, so tranquillizing and calming
that few there are who have not felt at some time or other of their lives,
its influence upon their minds. I fancied my fair companion did so, for,
as she walked beside me, her silence, and the gentle pressure of her arm,
were far more eloquent than words.
</p>
<p>
If that extraordinary flutter and flurry of sensations which will now and
then seize you, when walking upon a lonely country road with a pretty girl
for your companion, whose arm is linked in yours, and whose thoughts, as
far you can guess at least, are travelling the same path with your own—if
this be animal magnetism, or one of its phenomena, then do I swear by
Mesmer, whatever it be, delusion or otherwise, it has given me the
brightest moments of my life—these are the real "winged dreams" of
pleasures which outlive others of more absorbing and actual interest at
the time. After all, for how many of our happiest feelings are we indebted
to the weakness of our nature. The man that is wise at nineteen, "Je l'en
fais mon compliment," but I assuredly do not envy him; and now, even now,
when I number more years than I should like to "confess," rather than
suffer the suspicious watchfulness of age to creep on me, I prefer to "go
on believing," even though every hour of the day should show me, duped and
deceived. While I plead guilty to this impeachment, let me show
mitigation, that it has its enjoyments—first, although I am the most
constant and devoted man breathing, as a very cursory glance at these
confessions may prove, yet I have never been able to restrain myself from
a propensity to make love, merely as a pastime. The gambler that sits down
to play cards, or hazard against himself, may perhaps be the only person
that can comprehend this tendency of mine. We both of us are playing for
nothing (or love, which I suppose is synonymous;) we neither of us put
forth our strength; for that very reason, and in fact like the waiter at
Vauxhall who was complimented upon the dexterity with which he poured out
the lemonade, and confessed that he spent his mornings "practising with
vater," we pass a considerable portion of our lives in a mimic warfare,
which, if it seem unprofitable, is, nevertheless, pleasant.
</p>
<p>
After all this long tirade, need I say how our walk proceeded? We had
fallen into a kind of discussion upon the singular intimacy which had so
rapidly grown up amongst us, and which years long might have failed to
engender. Our attempts to analyse the reasons for, and the nature of the
friendship thus so suddenly established—a rather dangerous and
difficult topic, when the parties are both young—one eminently
handsome, and the other disposed to be most agreeable. Oh, my dear young
friends of either sex, whatever your feelings be for one another, keep
them to yourselves; I know of nothing half so hazardous as that "comparing
of notes" which sometimes happens. Analysis is a beautiful thing in
mathematics or chemistry, but it makes sad havoc when applied to the
"functions of the heart."
</p>
<p>
"Mamma appears to have forgotten us," said Isabella, as she spoke, after
walking for some time in silence beside me.
</p>
<p>
"Oh, depend upon it, the carriage has taken all this time to repair; but
are you tired?"
</p>
<p>
"Oh, by no means; the evening is delightful, but—"
</p>
<p>
"Then perhaps you are ennuyee," said I, half pettishly, to provoke a
disclaimer if possible. To this insidiously put quere I received, as I
deserved, no answer, and again we sauntered on without speaking.
</p>
<p>
"To whom does that chateau belong, my old friend?" said I addressing a man
on the road-side.
</p>
<p>
"A Monsieur le Marquis, sir," replied he.
</p>
<p>
"But what's his name, though?"
</p>
<p>
"Ah, that I can't tell you," replied the man again.
</p>
<p>
There you may perceive how, even yet, in provincial France, the old
respect for the aristocracy still survives; it is sufficient that the
possessor of that fine place is "Monsieur le Marquis;" but any other
knowledge of who he is, and what, is superfluous. "How far are we from the
next village, do you know?"
</p>
<p>
"About a league."
</p>
<p>
"Indeed. Why I thought 'La Scarpe' was quite near us."
</p>
<p>
"Ah, you are thinking of the Amiens road."
</p>
<p>
"Yes, of course; and is not this the Amiens road?"
</p>
<p>
"Oh, no; the Amiens road lies beyond those low hills to the right. You
passed the turn at the first 'barriere'."
</p>
<p>
"Is it possible we could have come wrong?"
</p>
<p>
"Oh, Mr. Lorrequer, don't say so, I entreat of you."
</p>
<p>
"And what road is this, then, my friend?"
</p>
<p>
"This is the road to Albert and Peronne."
</p>
<p>
"Unfortunately, I believe he is quite right. Is there any crossroad from
the village before us now, to the Amiens road?"
</p>
<p>
"Yes; you can reach it about three leagues hence."
</p>
<p>
"And we can get a carriage at the inn probably?"
</p>
<p>
"Ah, that I am not sure of—. Perhaps at the Lion d'or you may."
</p>
<p>
"But why not go back to Abbeville?"
</p>
<p>
"Oh, Mrs. Bingham must have left long since, and beside you forget the
distance; we have been walking two hours."
</p>
<p>
"Now for the village," said I, as I drew my friend's arm closer within
mine, and we set out in a fast walk.
</p>
<p>
Isabella seemed terribly frightened at the whole affair; what her mamma
might think, and what might be her fears at not finding us on the road,
and a hundred other encouraging reflections of this nature she poured
forth unceasingly. As for myself, I did not know well what to think of it;
my old fondness for adventure being ever sufficiently strong in me to give
a relish to any thing which bore the least resemblance to one. This I now
concealed, and sympathised with my fair friend upon our mishap, and
assuring her, at the same time, that there could be no doubt of our
overtaking Mrs. Bingham before her arrival at Amiens.
</p>
<p>
"Ah, there is the village in the valley; how beautifully situated."
</p>
<p>
"Oh, I can't admire any thing now, Mr. Lorrequer, I am so frightened."
</p>
<p>
"But surely without cause," said I, looking tenderly beneath her bonnet.
</p>
<p>
"Is this," she answered, "nothing," and we walked on in silence again.
</p>
<p>
On reaching the Lion d'or we discovered that the only conveyance to be had
was a species of open market-cart drawn by two horses, and in which it was
necessary that my fair friend and myself should seat ourselves side by
side upon straw: there was no choice, and as for Miss Bingham, I believe
if an ass with panniers had presented itself, she would have preferred it
to remaining where she was. We therefore took our places, and she could
not refrain from laughing as we set out upon our journey in this absurd
equipage, every jolt of which threw us from side to side, and rendered
every attention on my part requisite to prevent her being upset.
</p>
<p>
After about two hours' travelling we arrived at the Amiens road, and
stopped at the barriere. I immediately inquired if a carriage had passed,
resembling Mrs. Bingham's, and learned that it had, about an hour before,
and that the lady in it had been informed that two persons, like those she
asked after, had been seen in a caleche driving rapidly to Amiens, upon
which she set out as fast as possible in pursuit.
</p>
<p>
"Certainly," said I, "the plot is thickening; but for that unlucky mistake
she might in all probability have waited here for us. Amiens is only two
leagues now, so our drive will not be long, and before six o'clock we
shall all be laughing over the matter as a very good joke."
</p>
<p>
On we rattled, and as the road became less frequented, and the shadows
lengthened, I could not but wonder at the strange situations which the
adventurous character of my life had so often involved me in. Meanwhile,
my fair friend's spirits became more and more depressed, and it was not
without the greatest difficulty I was enabled to support her courage. I
assured her, and not altogether without reason, that though so often in my
eventful career accidents were occurring which rendered it dubious and
difficult to reach the goal I aimed at, yet the results had so often been
more pleasant than I could have anticipated, that I always felt a kind of
involuntary satisfaction at some apparent obstacle to my path, setting it
down as some especial means of fortune, to heighten the pleasure awaiting
me; "and now," added I, "even here, perhaps, in this very mistake of our
road—the sentiments I have heard—the feelings I have given
utterance to—" What I was about to say, heaven knows—perhaps
nothing less than a downright proposal was coming; but at that critical
moment a gen-d'arme rode up to the side of our waggon, and surveyed us
with the peculiarly significant scowl his order is gifted with. After
trotting alongside for a few seconds he ordered the driver to halt, and,
turning abruptly to us, demanded our passports. Now our passports were, at
that precise moment, peaceably reposing in the side pocket of Mrs.
Bingham's carriage; I therefore explained to the gen-d'arme how we were
circumstanced, and added, that on arriving at Amiens the passport should
be produced. To this he replied that all might be perfectly true, but he
did not believe a word of it—that he had received an order for the
apprehension of two English persons travelling that road—and that he
should accordingly request our company back to Chantraine, the
commissionaire of which place was his officer.
</p>
<p>
"But why not take us to Amiens," said I; "particularly when I tell you
that we can then show our passports?"
</p>
<p>
"I belong to the Chantraine district," was the laconic answer; and like
the gentleman who could not weep at the sermon because he belonged to
another parish, this specimen of a French Dogberry would not hear reason
except in his own "commune."
</p>
<p>
No arguments which I could think of had any effect upon him, and amid a
volley of entreaty and imprecation, both equally vain, we saw ourselves
turn back upon the road to Amiens, and set out at a round trot to
Chantraine, on the road to Calais.
</p>
<p>
Poor Isabella, I really pitied her; hitherto her courage had been
principally sustained by the prospect of soon reaching Amiens; now there
was no seeing where our adventure was to end. Besides that, actual fatigue
from the wretched conveyance began to distress her, and she was scarcely
able to support herself, though assisted by my arm. What a perilous
position mine, whispering consolation and comfort to a pretty girl on a
lonely road, the only person near being one who comprehended nothing of
the language we spoke in. Ah, how little do we know of fate, and how often
do we despise circumstances that determine all our fortunes in the world.
To think that a gen-d'arme should have any thing to do with my future lot
in life, and that the real want of a passport to travel should involve the
probable want of a licence to marry. Yes, it is quite in keeping, thought
I, with every step I have taken through life. I may be brought before the
"maire" as a culprit, and leave him as a Benedict.
</p>
<p>
On reaching the town, we were not permitted to drive to the inn, but at
once conveyed to the house of the "commissaire," who was also the "maire"
of the district. The worthy functionary was long since in bed, and it was
only after ringing violently for half an hour that a head, surmounted with
a dirty cotton night-cap, peeped from an upper window, and seemed to
survey the assemblage beneath with patient attention. By this time a
considerable crowd had collected from the neighbouring ale-houses and
cabarets, who deemed it a most fitting occasion to honour us with the most
infernal yells and shouts, as indicating their love of justice, and
delight in detecting knavery; and that we were both involved in such
suspicion, we had not long to learn. Meanwhile the poor old maire, who had
been an employe in the stormy days of the revolution, and also under
Napoleon, and who full concurred with Swift that "a crowd is a mob, if
composed even of bishops," firmly believed that the uproar beneath in the
street was the announcement of a new change of affairs at Paris,
determined to be early in the field, and shouted therefore with all his
lungs—"vive le peuple"—"Vive la charte"—"A bas les
autres." A tremendous shout of laughter saluted this exhibition of
unexpected republicanism, and the poor maire retired from the window,
having learned his mistake, covered with shame and confusion.
</p>
<p>
Before the mirth caused by this blunder had subsided, the door had opened,
and we were ushered into the bureau of the commissaire, accompanied by the
anxious crowd, all curious to know the particulars of our crime.
</p>
<p>
The maire soon appeared, his night-cap being replaced by a small black
velvet skull-cap, and his lanky figure enveloped in a tarnished silk
dressing-gown; he permitted us to be seated, while the gen-d'arme
recounted the suspicious circumstances of our travelling, and produced the
order to arrest an Englishman and his wife who had arrived in one of the
late Boulogne packets, and who had carried off from some banking-house
money and bills for a large amount.
</p>
<p>
"I have no doubt these are the people," said the gen-d'arme; "and here is
the 'carte descriptive.' Let us compare it—'Forty-two or forty-three
years of age.'"
</p>
<p>
"I trust, M. le Maire," said I, overhearing this, "that ladies do not
recognize me as so much."
</p>
<p>
"Of a pale and cadaverous aspect," continued the gen-d'arme.
</p>
<p>
Upon this the old functionary, wiping his spectacles with a snuffy
handkerchief, as if preparing them to examine an eclipse of the sun,
regarded me fixedly for several minutes, and said—"Oh, yes, I
perceive it plainly; continue the description."
</p>
<p>
"Five feet three inches," said the gen-d'arme.
</p>
<p>
"Six feet one in England, whatever this climate may have done since."
</p>
<p>
"Speaks broken and bad French."
</p>
<p>
"Like a native," said I; "at least so said my friends in the chaussee
D'Antin, in the year fifteen."
</p>
<p>
Here the catalogue ended, and a short conference between the maire and the
gen-d'arme ensued, which ended in our being committed for examination on
the morrow; meanwhile we were to remain at the inn, under the surveillance
of the gen-d'arme.
</p>
<p>
On reaching the inn my poor friend was so completely exhausted that she at
once retired to her room, and I proceeded to fulfil a promise I had made
her to despatch a note to Mrs. Bingham at Amiens by a special messenger,
acquainting her with all our mishaps, and requesting her to come or send
to our assistance. This done, and a good supper smoking before me, of
which with difficulty I persuaded Isabella to partake in her own room, I
again regained my equanimity, and felt once more at ease.
</p>
<p>
The gen-d'arme in whose guardianship I had been left was a fine specimen
of his caste; a large and powerfully built man of about fifty, with an
enormous beard of grizzly brown and grey hair, meeting above and beneath
his nether lip; his eyebrows were heavy and beetling, and nearly concealed
his sharp grey eyes, while a deep sabre-wound had left upon his cheek a
long white scar, giving a most warlike and ferocious look to his features.
</p>
<p>
As he sat apart from me for some time, silent and motionless, I could not
help imagining in how many a hard-fought day he had borne a part, for he
evidently, from his age and bearing, had been one of the soldiers of the
empire. I invited him to partake of my bottle of Medoc, by which he seemed
flattered. When the flask became low, and was replaced by another, he
appeared to have lost much of his constrained air, and seemed forgetting
rapidly the suspicious circumstances which he supposed attached to me—waxed
wondrous confidential and communicative, and condescended to impart some
traits of a life which was not without its vicissitudes, for he had been,
as I suspected, one of the "Guarde"—the old guarde—was wounded
at Marengo, and received the croix d'honneur in the field of Wagram, from
the hands of the Emperor himself. The headlong enthusiasm of attachment to
Napoleon, which his brief and stormy career elicited even from those who
suffered long and deeply in his behalf, is not one of the least singular
circumstances which this portion of history displays. While the rigours of
the conscription had invaded every family in France, from Normandie to La
Vendee—while the untilled fields, the ruined granaries, the
half-deserted villages, all attested the depopulation of the land, those
talismanic words, "l'Empereur et la gloire," by some magic mechanism
seemed all-sufficient not only to repress regret and suffering, but even
stimulate pride, and nourish valour; and even yet, when it might be
supposed that like the brilliant glass of a magic lantern, the gaudy
pageant had passed away, leaving only the darkness and desolation behind
it—the memory of those days under the empire survives untarnished
and unimpaired, and every sacrifice of friends or fortune is accounted but
little in the balance when the honour of La Belle France, and the triumphs
of the grand "armee," are weighted against them. The infatuated and
enthusiastic followers of this great man would seem, in some respects, to
resemble the drunkard in the "Vaudeville," who alleged as his excuse for
drinking, that whenever he was sober his poverty disgusted him. "My
cabin," said he, "is a cell, my wife a mass of old rags, my child a
wretched object of misery and malady. But give me brandy; let me only have
that, and then my hut is a palace, my wife is a princess, and my child the
very picture of health and happiness;" so with these people—intoxicated
with the triumphs of their nation, "tete monte" with victory—they
cannot exist in the horror of sobriety which peace necessarily enforces;
and whenever the subject turns in conversation upon the distresses of the
time or the evil prospects of the country, they call out, not like the
drunkard, for brandy, but in the same spirit they say—"Ah, if you
would again see France flourishing and happy, let us once more have our
croix d'honneur, our epaulettes, our voluntary contributions, our
Murillos, our Velasquez, our spoils from Venice, and our increased
territories to rule over." This is the language of the Buonapartiste every
where, and at all seasons; and the mass of the nation is wonderfully
disposed to participate in the sentiment. The empire was the Aeneid of the
nation, and Napoleon the only hero they now believe in. You may satisfy
yourself of this easily. Every cafe will give evidence of it, every
society bears its testimony to it, and even the most wretched Vaudeville,
however, trivial the interest —however meagre the story, and poor
the diction, let the emperor but have his "role"—let him be as
laconic as possible, carry his hands behind his back, wear the well-known
low cocked-hat, and the "redingote gris"—the success is certain—every
sentence he utters is applauded, and not a single allusion to the
Pyramids, the sun of Austerlitz, l'honneur, et al vieille garde, but is
sure to bring down thunders of acclamation. But I am forgetting myself,
and perhaps my reader too; the conversation of the old gen-d'arme
accidentally led me into reflections like these, and he was well
calculated, in many ways, to call them forth. His devoted attachment—his
personal love of the emperor—of which he gave me some touching
instances, was admirably illustrated by an incident, which I am inclined
to tell, and hope it may amuse the reader as much as it did myself on
hearing it.
</p>
<p>
When Napoleon had taken possession of the papal dominions, as he virtually
did, and carried off the pope, Pius VI, to Paris, this old soldier, then a
musketeer in the garde, formed part of the company that mounted guard over
the holy father. During the earlier months of the holy father's
confinement he was at liberty to leave his apartments at any hour he
pleased, and cross the court-yard of the palace to the chapel where he
performed mass. At such moments the portion of the Imperial Guard then on
duty stood under arms, and received from the august hand of the pope his
benediction as he passed. But one morning a hasty express arrived from the
Tuilleries, and the officer on duty communicated his instructions to his
party, that the apostolic vicar was not to be permitted to pass, as
heretofore, to the chapel, and that a most rigid superintendence was to be
exercised over his movements. My poor companion had his turn for duty on
that ill-starred day; he had not been long at his post when the sound of
footsteps was heard approaching, and he soon saw the procession which
always attended the holy father to his devotions, advancing towards him;
he immediately placed himself across the passage, and with his musket in
rest barred the exit, declaring, at the same time, that such were his
orders. In vain the priests who formed the cortege addressed themselves to
his heart, and spoke to his feelings, and at last finding little success
by these methods, explained to him the mortal sin and crime for which
eternal damnation itself might not be a too heavy retribution if he
persisted in preventing his holiness to pass, and thus be the means of
opposing an obstacle to the head of the whole Catholic church, for
celebrating the mass; the soldier remained firm and unmoved, the only
answer he returned being, "that he had his orders, and dared not disobey
them." The pope, however, persisted in his resolution, and endeavoured to
get by, when the hardy veteran retreated a step, and placing his musket
and bayonet at the charge, called out "au nom de l'Empereur," when the
pious party at last yielded and slowly retired within the palace.
</p>
<p>
Not many days after, this severe restriction was recalled, and once more
the father was permitted to go to and from the chapel of the palace, at
such times as he pleased, and again, as before, in passing the corridor,
the guards presented arms and received the holy benediction, all except
one; upon him the head of the church frowned severely, and turned his
back, while extending his pious hands towards the others. "And yet," said
the poor fellow in concluding his story, "and yet I could not have done
otherwise; I had my orders and must have followed them, and had the
emperor commanded it, I should have run my bayonet through the body of the
holy father himself.
</p>
<p>
"Thus, you see, my dear sir, how I have loved the emperor, for I have many
a day stood under fire for him in this world, 'et il faut que j'aille
encore au feu pour lui apres ma mort.'."
</p>
<p>
He received in good part the consolations I offered him on this head, but
I plainly saw they did not, could not relieve his mind from the horrible
conviction he lay under, that his soul's safety for ever had been bartered
for his attachment to the emperor.
</p>
<p>
This story had brought us to the end of the third bottle of Medoc; and, as
I was neither the pope, nor had any very decided intentions of saying
mass, he offered no obstacle to my retiring for the night, and betaking
myself to my bed.
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
<a name="ch25" id="ch25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.
</h2>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
THE INN AT CHANTRAINE.
</h3>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
<a name="Lorrequer_as_Postillion" id="Lorrequer_as_Postillion">Lorrequer
as Postillion</a>
</h3>
<p>
<a href="images2/Ch25LorrequerasPostillion.jpg"> <img
alt="Ch 25 Lorrequer as Postillion.jpg (74K)"
src="images/Ch25LorrequerasPostillion.jpg" height="780"
width="480" /></a> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<p>
When contrasted with the comforts of an English bed-room in a good hotel,
how miserably short does the appearance of a French one fall in the
estimation of the tired traveller. In exchange for the carpeted floor, the
well-curtained windows, the richly tapestried bed, the well cushioned
arm-chair, and the innumerable other luxuries which await him; he has
nought but a narrow, uncurtained bed, a bare floor, occasionally a flagged
one, three hard cane-bottomed chairs, and a looking-glass which may convey
an idea of how you would look under the combined influence of the cholera,
and a stroke of apoplexy, one half of your face being twice the length of
the other, and the entire of it of a bluish-green tint—pretty enough
in one of Turner's landscapes, but not at all becoming when applied to the
"human face divine." Let no late arrival from the continent contradict me
here by his late experiences, which a stray twenty pounds and the
railroads—(confound them for the same)—have enabled him to
acquire. I speak of matters before it occurred to all Charing-Cross and
Cheapside to "take the water" between Dover and Calais, and inundate the
world with the wit of the Cider Cellar, and the Hole in the Wall. No! In
the days I write of, the travelled were of another genus, and you might
dine at Very's or have your loge at "Les Italiens," without being dunned
by your tailor at the one, or confronted with your washer-woman at the
other. Perhaps I have written all this in the spite and malice of a man
who feels that his louis-d'or only goes half as far now as heretofore; and
attributes all his diminished enjoyments and restricted luxuries to the
unceasing current of his countrymen, whom fate, and the law of
imprisonment for debt, impel hither. Whether I am so far guilty or not, is
not now the question; suffice it to say, that Harry Lorrequer, for reasons
best known to himself, lives abroad, where he will be most happy to see
any of his old and former friends who take his quarters en route; and in
the words of a bellicose brother of the pen, but in a far different
spirit, he would add, "that any person who feels himself here alluded to,
may learn the author's address at his publishers." "Now let us go back to
our muttons," as Barney Coyle used to say in the Dublin Library formerly—for
Barney was fond of French allusions, which occasionally too he gave in
their own tongue, as once describing an interview with Lord Cloncurry, in
which he broke off suddenly the conference, adding, "I told him I never
could consent to such a proposition, and putting my chateau (chapeau) on
my head, I left the house at once."
</p>
<p>
It was nearly three o'clock in the morning, as accompanied by the waiter,
who, like others of his tribe, had become a kind of somnambulist
ex-officio, I wended my way up one flight of stairs, and down another,
along a narrow corridor, down two steps, through an antechamber, and into
another corridor, to No. 82, my habitation for the night. Why I should
have been so far conducted from the habitable portion of the house I had
spent my evening in, I leave the learned in such matters to explain; as
for me, I have ever remarked it, while asking for a chamber in a large
roomy hotel, the singular pride with which you are ushered up grand
stair-cases, down passages, through corridors, and up narrow back flights,
till the blue sky is seen through the sky-light, to No. 199, "the only
spare bed-room in the house," while the silence and desolation of the
whole establishment would seem to imply far otherwise—the only
evidence of occupation being a pair of dirty Wellingtons at the door of
No. 2.
</p>
<p>
"Well, we have arrived at last," said I, drawing a deep sigh, as I threw
myself upon a ricketty chair, and surveyed rapidly my meagre-looking
apartment.
</p>
<p>
"Yes, this is Monsieur's chamber," said the waiter, with a very peculiar
look, half servile, half droll. "Madame se couche, No. 28."
</p>
<p>
"Very well, good night," said I, closing the door hastily, and not liking
the farther scrutiny of the fellow's eye, as he fastened it on me, as if
to search what precise degree of relationship existed between myself and
my fair friend, whom he had called "Madame" purposely to elicit an
observation from me. "Ten to one though," said I, as I undressed myself,
"but they think she is my wife—how good—but again—ay, it
is very possible, considering we are in France. Numero vingt-huit, quite
far enough from this part of the house I should suppose from my number,—that
old gen-d'arme was a fine fellow—what strong attachment to Napoleon;
and the story of the pope; I hope I may remember that. Isabella, poor girl—this
adventure must really distress her—hope she is not crying over it—what
a devil of a hard bed—and it is not five feet long too—and,
bless my soul, is this all by way of covering; why I shall be perished
here. Oh! I must certainly put all my clothes over me in addition,
unfortunately there is no hearth-rug—well, there is no help for it
now —so let me try to sleep—numero vingt-huit."
</p>
<p>
How long I remained in a kind of uneasy, fitful slumber, I cannot tell;
but I awoke shivering with cold—puzzled to tell where I was, and my
brain addled with the broken fragments of half a dozen dreams, all
mingling and mixing themselves with the unpleasant realities of my
situation. What an infernal contrivance for a bed, thought I, as my head
came thump against the top, while my legs projected far beyond the
foot-rail; the miserable portion of clothing over me at the same time
being only sufficient to temper the night air, which in autumn is
occasionally severe and cutting. This will never do. I must ring the bell
and rouse the house, if only to get a fire, if they don't possess such a
thing as blankets. I immediately rose, and groping my way along the wall
endeavoured to discover the bell, but in vain; and for the same
satisfactory reason that Von Troil did not devote one chapter of his work
on "Iceland" to "snakes," because there were none such there. What was now
to be done? About the geography of my present abode I knew, perhaps, as
much as the public at large know about the Coppermine river and Behring's
straits. The world, it was true, was before me, "where top choose,"
admirable things for an epic, but decidedly an unfortunate circumstance
for a very cold gentleman in search of a blanket. Thus thinking, I opened
the door of my chamber, and not in any way resolved how I should proceed,
I stepped forth into the long corridor, which was dark as midnight itself.
</p>
<p>
Tracing my path along the wall, I soon reached a door which I in vain
attempted to open; in another moment I found another and another, each of
which were locked. Thus along the entire corridor I felt my way, making
every effort to discover where any of the people of the house might have
concealed themselves, but without success. What was to be done now? It was
of no use to go back to my late abode, and find it comfortless as I left
it; so I resolved to proceed in my search; by this time I had arrived at
the top of a small flight of stairs, which I remembered having come up,
and which led to another long passage similar to the one I had explored,
but running in a transverse direction, down this I now crept, and reached
the landing, along the wall of which I was guided by my hand, as well for
safety as to discover the architrave of some friendly door, where the
inhabitant might be sufficiently Samaritan to lend some portion of his
bed-clothes; door after door followed in succession along this confounded
passage, which I began to think as long as the gallery of the lower one;
at last, however, just as my heart was sinking within me from
disappointment, the handle of a lock turned, and I found myself inside a
chamber. How was I now to proceed? for if this apartment did not contain
any of the people of the hotel, I had but a sorry excuse for disturbing
the repose of any traveller who might have been more fortunate than myself
in the article of blankets. To go back however, would be absurd, having
already taken so much trouble to find out a room that was inhabited—for
that such was the case, a short, thick snore assured me—so that my
resolve was at once made, to waken the sleeper, and endeavour to interest
him in my destitute situation. I accordingly approached the place where
the nasal sounds seemed to issue from, and soon reached the post of a bed.
I waited for an instant, and then began,
</p>
<p>
"Monsier, voulez vous bien me permettre—"
</p>
<p>
"As to short whist, I never could make it out, so there is an end of it,"
said my unknown friend, in a low, husky voice, which, strangely enough,
was not totally unfamiliar to me: but when or how I had heard it before I
could not then think.
</p>
<p>
Well, thought I, he is an Englishman at all events, so I hope his
patriotism may forgive my intrusion, so here goes once more to rouse him,
though he seems a confoundedly heavy sleeper. "I beg your pardon, sir, but
unfortunately in a point like the present, perhaps—"
</p>
<p>
"Well, do you mark the points, and I'll score the rubber," said he.
</p>
<p>
"The devil take the gambling fellow's dreaming," thought I, raising my
voice at the same time.
</p>
<p>
"Perhaps a cold night, sir, may suffice as my apology."
</p>
<p>
"Cold, oh, ay! put a hot poker to it," muttered he; "a hot poker, a little
sugar, and a spice of nutmeg—nothing else—then it's
delicious."
</p>
<p>
"Upon my soul, this is too bad," said I to myself. "Let us see what
shaking will do. Sir, sir, I shall feel obliged by—"
</p>
<p>
"Well there, don't shake me, and I'll tell you where I hid the cigars—they
are under my straw hat in the window."
</p>
<p>
"Well, really," thought I, "if this gentleman's confessions were of an
interesting nature, this might be good fun; but as the night is cold, I
must shorten the 'seance,' so here goes for one effort more.
</p>
<p>
"If, sir, you could kindly spare me even a small portion of your
bed-clothes."
</p>
<p>
"No, thank you, no more wine; but I'll sing with pleasure;" and here the
wretch, in something like the voice of a frog with the quinsy, began,
"'I'd mourn the hopes that leave me.'"
</p>
<p>
"You shall mourn something else for the same reason," said I, as losing
all patience, I seized quilts and blankets by the corner, and with one
vigourous pull wrenched them from the bed, and darted from the room—in
a second I was in the corridor, trailing my spoil behind—which in my
haste I had not time to collect in a bundle. I flew rather than ran along
the passage, reached the stairs, and in another minute had reached the
second gallery, but not before I heard the slam of a door behind me, and
the same instant the footsteps of a person running along the corridor, who
could be no other than my pursuer, effectually aroused by my last appeal
to his charity. I darted along the dark and narrow passage; but soon to my
horror discovered that I must have passed the door of my chamber, for I
had reached the foot of a narrow back stair, which led to the grenier and
the servants' rooms, beneath the roof. To turn now would only have led me
plump in the face of my injured countryman, of whose thew and sinew I was
perfectly ignorant, and did not much like to venture upon. There was
little time for reflection, for he had now reached the top of the stair,
and was evidently listening for some clue to guide him on; stealthily and
silently, and scarcely drawing breath, I mounted the narrow stairs step by
step, but before I had arrived at the landing, he heard the rustle of the
bed-clothes, and again gave chace. There was something in the unrelenting
ardour of his pursuit, which suggested to my mind the idea of a most
uncompromising foe; and as fear added speed to my steps, I dashed along
beneath the low-roofed passage, wondering what chance of escape might yet
present itself. Just at this instant, the hand by which I had guided
myself along the wall, touched the handle of a door—I turned it—it
opened—I drew in my precious bundle, and closing the door
noiselessly, sat down, breathless and still, upon the floor.
</p>
<p>
Scarcely was this, the work of a second, accomplished, when the heavy
tread of my pursuer resounded on the floor.
</p>
<p>
"Upon my conscience it's strange if I haven't you now, my friend," said
he: "you're in a cul de sac here, as they say, if I know any thing of the
house; and faith I'll make a salad of you, when I get you, that's all.
Devil a dirtier trick ever I heard tell of."
</p>
<p>
Need I say that these words had the true smack of an Irish accent, which
circumstance, from whatever cause, did not by any means tend to assuage my
fears in the event of discovery.
</p>
<p>
However, from such a misfortune my good genius now delivered me; for after
traversing the passage to the end, he at last discovered another, which
led by a long flight to the second story, down which he proceeded, venting
at every step his determination for vengeance, and his resolution not to
desist from the pursuit, if it took the entire night for it.
</p>
<p>
"Well now," thought I, "as he will scarcely venture up here again, and as
I may, by leaving this, be only incurring the risk of encountering him, my
best plan is to stay where I am if it be possible." With this intent I
proceeded to explore the apartment, which from its perfect stillness, I
concluded to be unoccupied. After some few minutes groping I reached a low
bed, fortunately empty, and although the touch of the bed-clothes led to
no very favourable augury of its neatness or elegance, there was little
choice at this moment, so I rolled myself up in my recent booty, and
resolved to wait patiently for day-break to regain my apartment.
</p>
<p>
As always happens in such circumstances, sleep came on me unawares—so
at least every one's experience I am sure can testify, that if you are
forced to awake early to start by some morning coach, and that
unfortunately you have not got to bed till late at night, the chances are
ten to one, that you get no sleep whatever, simply because you are
desirous for it; but make up your mind ever so resolutely, that you'll not
sleep, and whether your determination be built on motives of propriety,
duty, convenience, or health, and the chances are just as strong that you
are sound and snoring before ten minutes.
</p>
<p>
How many a man has found it impossible, with every effort of his heart and
brain aiding his good wishes, to sit with unclosed eyes and ears through a
dull sermon in the dog-days; how many an expectant, longing heir has
yielded to the drowsy influence when endeavouring to look contrite under
the severe correction of a lecture on extravagance from his uncle. Who has
not felt the irresistible tendency to "drop off" in the half hour before
dinner at a stupid country-house? I need not catalogue the thousand other
situations in life infinitely more "sleep-compelling" than Morphine; for
myself, my pleasantest and soundest moments of perfect forgetfulness of
this dreary world and all its cares, have been taken in an oaken bench,
seated bolt upright and vis a vis to a lecturer on botany, whose calming
accents, united with the softened light of an autumnal day, piercing its
difficult rays through the narrow and cobwebbed windows, the odour of the
recent plants and flowers aiding and abetting, all combined to steep the
soul in sleep, and you sank by imperceptible and gradual steps into that
state of easy slumber, in which "come no dreams," and the last sounds of
the lecturer's "hypogenous and perigenous" died away, becoming beautifully
less, till your senses sank into rest, the syllables "rigging us, rigging
us," seemed to melt away in the distance and fade from your memory—Peace
be with you, Doctor A. If I owe gratitude any where I have my debt with
you. The very memory I bear of you has saved me no inconsiderable sum in
hop and henbane. Without any assistance from the sciences on the present
occasion, I was soon asleep, and woke not till the cracking of whips, and
trampling of horses' feet on the pavement of the coach-yard apprised me
that the world had risen to its daily labour, and so should I. From the
short survey of my present chamber which I took on waking, I conjectured
it must have been the den of some of the servants of the house upon
occasion—two low truckle-beds of the meanest description lay along
the wall opposite to mine; one of them appeared to have been slept in
during the past night, but by what species of animal the Fates alone can
tell. An old demi-peak saddle, capped and tipped with brass, some rusty
bits, and stray stirrup-irons lay here and there upon the floor; while
upon a species of clothes-rack, attached to a rafter, hung a tarnished
suit of postillion's livery, cap, jacket, leathers, and jack-boots, all
ready for use; and evidently from their arrangement supposed by the owner
to be a rather creditable "turn out."
</p>
<p>
I turned over these singular habiliments with much of the curiosity with
which an antiquary would survey a suit of chain armour; the long
epaulettes of yellow cotton cord, the heavy belt with its brass buckle,
the cumbrous boots, plaited and bound with iron like churns were in rather
a ludicrous contrast to the equipment of our light and jockey-like boys in
nankeen jackets and neat tops, that spin along over our level "macadam."
</p>
<p>
"But," thought I, "it is full time I should get back to No. 82, and make
my appearance below stairs;" though in what part of the building my room
lay, and how I was to reach it without my clothes, I had not the slightest
idea. A blanket is an excessively comfortable article of wearing apparel
when in bed, but as a walking costume is by no means convenient or
appropriate; while to making a sorti en sauvage, however appropriate
during the night, there were many serious objections if done "en plein
jour," and with the whole establishment awake and active; the noise of
mopping, scrubbing, and polishing, which is eternally going forward in a
foreign inn amply testified there was nothing which I could adopt in my
present naked and forlorn condition, save the bizarre and ridiculous dress
of the postillion, and I need not say the thought of so doing presented
nothing agreeable. I looked from the narrow window out upon the tiled
roof, but without any prospect of being heard if I called ever so loudly.
</p>
<p>
The infernal noise of floor-cleansing, assisted by a Norman peasant's
"chanson du pays," the time being well marked by her heavy sabots, gave
even less chance to me within; so that after more than half an hour passed
in weighing difficulties, and canvassing plans, upon donning the blue and
yellow, and setting out for my own room without delay, hoping sincerely,
that with proper precaution, I should be able to reach it unseen and
unobserved.
</p>
<p>
As I laid but little stress upon the figure I should make in my new
habiliments, it did not cause me much mortification to find that the
clothes were considerably too small, the jacket scarcely coming beneath my
arms, and the sleeves being so short that my hands and wrists projected
beyond the cuffs like two enormous claws; the leathers were also limited
in their length, and when drawn up to a proper height, permitted my knees
to be seen beneath, like the short costume of a Spanish Tauridor, but
scarcely as graceful; not wishing to encumber myself in the heavy and
noisy masses of wood, iron, and leather, they call "les bottes forts," I
slipped my feet into my slippers, and stole gently from the room. How I
must have looked at the moment I leave my reader to guess, as with anxious
and stealthy pace I crept along the low gallery that led to the narrow
staircase, down which I proceeded, step by step; but just as I reached the
bottom, perceived a little distance from me, with her back turned towards
me, a short, squat peasant on her knees, belabouring with a brush the well
waxed floor; to pass therefore, unobserved was impossible, so that I did
not hesitate to address her, and endeavour to interest her in my behalf,
and enlist her as my guide.
</p>
<p>
"Bon jour, ma chere," said I in a soft insinuating tone; she did not hear
me, so I repeated,
</p>
<p>
"Bon jour, ma chere, bon jour."
</p>
<p>
Upon this she turned round, and looking fixedly at me for a second, called
out in a thick pathos, "Ah, le bon Dieu! qu'il est drole comme ca,
Francois, savez vous, mais ce n'est pas Francois;" saying which, she
sprang from her kneeling position to her feet, and with a speed that her
shape and sabots seemed little to promise, rushed down the stairs as if
she had seen the devil himself.
</p>
<p>
"Why, what is the matter with the woman?" said I, "surely if I am not
Francois—which God be thanked is true—yet I cannot look so
frightful as all this would imply." I had not much time given me for
consideration now, for before I had well deciphered the number over a door
before me, the loud noise of several voices on the floor beneath attracted
my attention, and the moment after the heavy tramp of feet followed, and
in an instant the gallery was thronged by the men and women of the house—waiters,
hostlers, cooks, scullions, filles de chambre, mingled with gens-d'armes,
peasants, and town's people, all eagerly forcing their way up stairs; yet
all on arriving at the landing-place, seemed disposed to keep at a
respectful distance, and bundling themselves at one end of the corridor,
while I, feelingly alive to the ridiculous appearance I made, occupied the
other—the gravity with which they seemed at first disposed to regard
me soon gave way, and peal after peal of laughter broke out, and young and
old, men and women, even to the most farouche gens-d'armes, all appearing
incapable of controlling the desire for merriment my most singular figure
inspired; and unfortunately this emotion seemed to promise no very speedy
conclusion; for the jokes and witticisms made upon my appearance
threatened to renew the festivities, ad libitum.
</p>
<p>
"Regardez donc ses epaules," said one.
</p>
<p>
"Ah, mon Dieu! Il me fait l'idee d'une grenouille aves ses jambes jaunes,"
cried another.
</p>
<p>
"Il vaut son pesant de fromage pour une Vaudeville," said the director of
the strolling theatre of the place.
</p>
<p>
"I'll give seventy francs a week, 'd'appointment,' and 'Scribe' shall
write a piece express for himself, if he'll take it."
</p>
<p>
"May the devil fly away with your grinning baboon faces," said I, as I
rushed up the stairs again, pursued by the mob at full cry; scarcely,
however, had I reached the top step, when the rough hand of the gen-d'arme
seized me by the shoulder, while he said in a low, husky voice, "c'est
inutile, Monsieur, you cannot escape—the thing was well contrived,
it is true; but the gens-d'armes of France are not easily outwitted, and
you could not have long avoided detection, even in that dress." It was my
turn to laugh now, which, to their very great amazement, I did, loud and
long; that I should have thought my present costume could ever have been
the means of screening me from observation, however it might have been
calculated to attract it, was rather too absurd a supposition even for the
mayor of a village to entertain; besides, it only now occurred to me that
I was figuring in the character of a prisoner. The continued peals of
laughing which this mistake on their part elicited from me seemed to
afford but slight pleasure to my captor, who gruffly said—
</p>
<p>
"When you have done amusing yourself, mon ami, perhaps you will do us the
favour to come before the mayor."
</p>
<p>
"Certainly," I replied; "but you will first permit me to resume my own
clothes, I am quite sick of masquerading 'en postillion.'"
</p>
<p>
"Not so fast, my friend," said the suspicious old follower of Fouche—"not
so fast; it is but right the maire should see you in the disguise you
attempted your escape in. It must be especially mentioned in the proces
verbal."
</p>
<p>
"Well, this is becoming too ludicrous," said I. "It need not take five
minutes to satisfy you why, how, and where, I put on these confounded rags—"
</p>
<p>
"Then tell it to the maire, at the Bureau."
</p>
<p>
"But for that purpose it is not necessary I should be conducted through
the streets in broad day, to be laughed at. No, positively, I'll not go.
In my own dress I'll accompany you with pleasure."
</p>
<p>
"Victor, Henri, Guillame," said the gen-d'arme, addressing his companions,
who immediately closed round me. "You see," added he, "there is no use in
resisting."
</p>
<p>
Need I recount my own shame and ineffable disgrace? Alas! it is too, too
true. Harry Lorrequer—whom Stultze entreated to wear his coats, the
ornament of Hyde Park, the last appeal in dress, fashion, and equipage—was
obliged to parade through the mob of a market-town in France, with four
gens-d'armes for his companions, and he himself habited in a mongrel
character—half postillion, half Delaware Indian. The incessant yells
of laughter—the screams of the children, and the outpouring of every
species of sarcasm and ridicule, at my expense, were not all—for, as
I emerged from the porte-chochere I saw Isabella in the window: her eyes
were red with weeping; but no sooner had she beheld me, than she broke out
into a fit of laughter that was audible even in the street.
</p>
<p>
Rage had now taken such a hold upon me, that I forgot my ridiculous
appearance in my thirst for vengeance. I marched on through the grinning
crowd, with the step of a martyr. I suppose my heroic bearing and warlike
deportment must have heightened the drollery of the scene; for the devils
only laughed the more. The bureau of the maire could not contain one-tenth
of the anxious and curious individuals who thronged the entrance, and for
about twenty minutes the whole efforts of the gens-d'armes were little
enough to keep order and maintain silence. At length the maire made his
appearance, and accustomed as he had been for a long life to scenes of an
absurd and extraordinary nature, yet the ridicule of my look and costume
was too much, and he laughed outright. This was of course the signal for
renewed mirth for the crowd, while those without doors, infected by the
example, took up the jest, and I had the pleasure of a short calculation,
a la Babbage, of how many maxillary jaws were at that same moment wagging
at my expense.
</p>
<p>
However, the examination commenced; and I at length obtained an
opportunity of explaining under what circumstances I had left my room, and
how and why I had been induced to don this confounded cause of all my
misery.
</p>
<p>
"This may be very true," said the mayor, "as it is very plausible; if you
have evidence to prove what you have stated—"
</p>
<p>
"If it's evidence only is wanting, Mr. Maire, I'll confirm one part of the
story," said a voice in the crowd, in an accent and tone that assured me
the speaker was the injured proprietor of the stolen blankets. I turned
round hastily to look at my victim, and what was my surprise to recognize
a very old Dublin acquaintance, Mr. Fitzmaurice O'Leary.
</p>
<p>
"Good morning, Mr. Lorrequer," said he; "this is mighty like our ould
practices in College-green; but upon my conscience the maire has the
advantage of Gabbet. It's lucky for you I know his worship, as we'd call
him at home, or this might be a serious business. Nothing would persuade
them that you were not Lucien Buonaparte, or the iron mask, or something
of that sort, if they took it into their heads."
</p>
<p>
Mr. O'Leary was as good as his word. In a species of French, that I'd
venture to say would be perfectly intelligible in Mullingar, he contrived
to explain to the maire that I was neither a runaway nor a swindler, but a
very old friend of his, and consequently sans reproche. The official was
now as profuse of his civilities as he had before been of his suspicions,
and most hospitably pressed us to stay for breakfast. This, for many
reasons, I was obliged to decline—not the least of which was, my
impatience to get out of my present costume. We accordingly procured a
carriage, and I returned to the hotel, screened from the gaze but still
accompanied by the shouts of the mob, who evidently took a most lively
interest in the entire proceeding.
</p>
<p>
I lost no time in changing my costume, and was about to descend to the
saloon, when the master of the house came to inform me that Mrs. Bingham's
courier had arrived with the carriage, and that she expected us at Amiens
as soon as possible.
</p>
<p>
"That is all right. Now, Mr. O'Leary, I must pray you to forgive all the
liberty I have taken with you, and also permit me to defer the explanation
of many circumstances which seem at present strange, till—"
</p>
<p>
"Till sine die, if the story be a long one, my dear sir—there's
nothing I hate so much, except cold punch."
</p>
<p>
"You are going to Paris," said I; "is it not so?"
</p>
<p>
"Yes, I'm thinking of it. I was up at Trolhatten, in Norway, three weeks
ago, and I was obliged to leave it hastily, for I've an appointment with a
friend in Geneva."
</p>
<p>
"Then how do you travel?"
</p>
<p>
"On foot, just as you see, except that I've a tobacco bag up stairs, and
an umbrella."
</p>
<p>
"Light equipment, certainly; but you must allow me to give you a set down
as far as Amiens, and also to present you to my friends there."
</p>
<p>
To this Mr. O'Leary made no objection; and as Miss Bingham could not bear
any delay, in her anxiety to join her mother, we set out at once—the
only thing to mar my full enjoyment at the moment being the sight of the
identical vestments I had so lately figured in, bobbing up and down before
my eyes for the whole length of the stage, and leading to innumerable
mischievous allusions from my friend Mr. O'Leary, which were far too much
relished by my fair companion.
</p>
<p>
At twelve we arrived at Amiens, when I presented my friend Mr. O'Leary to
Mrs. Bingham.
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
<a name="ch26" id="ch26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.
</h2>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
MR. O'LEARY.
</h3>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<p>
At the conclusion of my last chapter I was about to introduce to my
reader's acquaintance my friend Mr. O'Leary; and, as he is destined to
occupy some place in the history of these Confessions, I may, perhaps, be
permitted to do so at more length than his intrinsic merit at first sight
might appear to warrant.
</p>
<p>
Mr. O'Leary was, and I am induced to believe is, a particularly short,
fat, greasy-looking gentleman, with a head as free from phrenological
development as a billiard-ball, and a countenance which, in feature and
colour, nearly resembled the face of a cherub, carved in oak, as we see
them in old pulpits.
</p>
<p>
Short as is his stature, his limbs compose the least part of it. His hands
and feet, forming some compensation by their ample proportions, with
short, thick fins, vulgarly called a cobbler's thumb. His voice varying in
cadence from a deep barytone, to a high falsetto, maintains throughout the
distinctive characteristic of a Dublin accent and pronunciation, and he
talks of the "Veel of Ovoca, and a beef-steek," with some price of
intonation. What part of the Island he came originally from, or what may
be his age, are questions I have the most profound ignorance of; I have
heard many anecdotes which would imply his being what the French call
"d'un age mur"—but his own observations are generally limited to
events occurring since the peace of "fifteen." To his personal
attractions, such as they are, he has never been solicitous of
contributing by the meretricious aids of dress. His coat, calculating from
its length of waist, and ample skirt, would fit Bumbo Green, while his
trowsers, being made of some cheap and shrinking material, have gradually
contracted their limits, and look now exactly like knee-breeches, without
the usual buttons at the bottom.
</p>
<p>
These, with the addition of a pair of green spectacles, the glass of one
being absent, and permitting the look-out of a sharp, grey eye, twinkling
with drollery and good humour, form the most palpable of his externals. In
point of character, they who best knew him represented him as the
best-tempered, best-hearted fellow breathing; ever ready to assist a
friend, and always postponing his own plans and his own views, when he had
any, to the wishes and intentions of others. Among the many odd things
about him, was a constant preference to travelling on foot, and a great
passion for living abroad, both of which tastes he gratified, although his
size might seem to offer obstacles to the one, and his total ignorance of
every continental language, would appear to preclude the other; with a
great liking for tobacco, which he smoked all day—a fondness for
whist and malt liquors—his antipathies were few; so that except when
called upon to shave more than once in the week, or wash his hands twice
on the same day, it was difficult to disconcert him. His fortune was very
ample; but although his mode of living was neither very ostentatious nor
costly, he contrived always to spend his income. Such was the gentleman I
now presented to my friends, who, I must confess, appeared strangely
puzzled by his manner and appearance. This feeling, however, soon wore
off; and before he had spent the morning in their company, he had made
more way in their good graces, and gone farther to establish intimacy,
than many a more accomplished person, with an unexceptionable coat and
accurate whisker might have effected in a fortnight. What were his gifts
in this way, I am, alas, most deplorably ignorant of; it was not, heaven
knows, that he possessed any conversational talent—of successful
flattery he knew as much as a negro does of the national debt—and
yet the "bon-hommie" of his character seemed to tell at once; and I never
knew him fail in any one instance to establish an interest for himself
before he had completed the ordinary period of a visit.
</p>
<p>
I think it is Washington Irving who has so admirably depicted the
mortification of a dandy angler, who, with his beaver garnished with brown
hackles, his well-posed rod, polished gaff, and handsome landing-net, with
every thing befitting, spends his long summer day whipping a trout stream
without a rise or even a ripple to reward him, while a ragged urchin, with
a willow wand, and a bent pin, not ten yards distant, is covering the
greensward with myriads of speckled and scaly backs, from one pound weight
to four; so it is in every thing—"the race is not to the swift;" the
elements of success in life, whatever be the object of pursuit, are very,
very different from what we think them at first sight, and so it was with
Mr. O'Leary, and I have more than once witnessed the triumph of his homely
manner and blunt humour over the more polished and well-bred taste of his
competitors for favour; and what might have been the limit to such
success, heaven alone can tell, if it were not that he laboured under a
counter-balancing infirmity, sufficient to have swamped a line-of-battle
ship itself. It was simply this—a most unfortunate propensity to
talk of the wrong place, person, or time, in any society he found himself;
and this taste for the mal apropos, extended so far, that no one ever
ventured into company with him as his friend, without trembling for the
result; but even this, I believe his only fault, resulted from the natural
goodness of his character and intentions; for, believing as he did, in his
honest simplicity, that the arbitrary distinctions of class and rank were
held as cheaply by others as himself, he felt small scruple at recounting
to a duchess a scene in a cabaret, and with as little hesitation would he,
if asked, have sung the "Cruiskeen lawn," or the "Jug of Punch," after
Lablanche had finished the "Al Idea," from Figaro. 'Mauvaise honte,' he
had none; indeed I am not sure that he had any kind of shame whatever,
except possibly when detected with a coat that bore any appearance of
newness, or if overpersuaded to wear gloves, which he ever considered as a
special effeminacy.
</p>
<p>
Such, in a few words, was the gentleman I now presented to my friends, and
how far he insinuated himself into their good graces, let the fact tell,
that on my return to the breakfast-room, after about an hour's absence, I
heard him detailing the particulars of a route they were to take by his
advice, and also learned that he had been offered and had accepted a seat
in their carriage to Paris.
</p>
<p>
"Then I'll do myself the pleasure of joining your party, Mrs. Bingham,"
said he. "Bingham, I think, madam, is your name."
</p>
<p>
"Yes, Sir."
</p>
<p>
"Any relation, may I ask, of a most dear friend of mine, of the same name,
from Currynaslattery, in the county Wexford?"
</p>
<p>
"I am really not aware," said Mrs. Bingham. "My husband's family are, I
believe, many of them from that county."
</p>
<p>
"Ah, what a pleasant fellow was Tom!" said Mr. O'Leary musingly, and with
that peculiar tone which made me tremble, for I knew well that a
reminiscence was coming. "A pleasant fellow indeed."
</p>
<p>
"Is he alive, sir, now?"
</p>
<p>
"I believe so, ma'am; but I hear the climate does not agree with him."
</p>
<p>
"Ah, then, he's abroad! In Italy probably?"
</p>
<p>
"No, ma'am, in Botany Bay. His brother, they say, might have saved him,
but he left poor Tom to his fate, for he was just then paying court to a
Miss Crow, I think, with a large fortune. Oh, Lord, what have I said, it's
always the luck of me!" The latter exclamation was the result of a heavy
saugh upon the floor, Mrs. Bingham having fallen in a faint—she
being the identical lady alluded to, and her husband the brother of
pleasant Tom Bingham.
</p>
<p>
To hurl Mr. O'Leary out of the room by one hand, and ring the bell with
the other, was the work of a moment; and with proper care, and in due
time, Mrs. Bingham was brought to herself, when most fortunately, she
entirely forgot the cause of her sudden indisposition; and, of course,
neither her daughter nor myself suffered any clue to escape us which might
lead to its discovery.
</p>
<p>
When we were once more upon the road, to efface if it might be necessary
any unpleasant recurrence to the late scene, I proceeded to give Mrs.
Bingham an account of my adventure at Chantraine, in which, of course, I
endeavoured to render my friend O'Leary all the honours of being laughed
at in preference to myself, laying little stress upon my masquerading in
the jack-boots.
</p>
<p>
"You are quite right," said O'Leary, joining in the hearty laugh against
him, "quite right, I was always a very heavy sleeper—indeed if I
wasn't I wouldn't be here now, travelling about en garcon, free as air;"
here he heaved a sigh, which from its incongruity with his jovial look and
happy expression, threw us all into renewed laughter.
</p>
<p>
"But why, Mr. O'Leary—what can your sleepiness have to do with such
tender recollections, for such, I am sure, that sigh bespeaks them?"
</p>
<p>
"Ah! ma'am, it may seem strange, but it is nevertheless true, if it were
not for that unfortunate tendency, I should now be the happy possessor of
a most accomplished and amiable lady, and eight hundred per annum three
and a half per cent. stock."
</p>
<p>
"You overslept yourself on the wedding-day, I suppose."
</p>
<p>
"You shall hear, ma'am, the story is a very short one: It is now about
eight years ago, I was rambling through the south of France, and had just
reached Lyons, where the confounded pavement, that sticks up like pears,
with the point upwards, had compelled me to rest some days and recruit;
for this purpose I installed myself in the pension of Madame Gourgead, Rue
de Petits Carmes, a quiet house—where we dined at twelve, ten in
number, upon about two pounds of stewed beef, with garlic and carrots—a
light soup, being the water which accompanied the same to render it tender
in stewing—some preserved cherries, and an omelette, with a pint
bottle of Beaune, 6me qualite, I believe—a species of pyroligneous
wine made from the vine stalks, but pleasant in summer with your salad;
then we played dominos in the evening, or whist for sous points, leading
altogether a very quiet and virtuous existence, or as Madame herself
expressed it, 'une vie tout-a-fait patriarchale;' of this I cannot myself
affirm how far she was right in supposing the patriarchs did exactly like
us. But to proceed, in the same establishment there lived a widow whose
late husband had been a wine merchant at Dijon—he had also, I
suppose from residing in that country, been imitating the patriarchs, for
he died one day. Well, the lady was delayed at Lyons for some law
business, and thus it came about, that her husband's testament and the
sharp paving stones in the streets determined we should be acquainted. I
cannot express to you the delight of my fair countrywoman at finding that
a person who spoke English had arrived at the 'pension'—a feeling I
myself somewhat participated in; for to say truth, I was not at that time
a very great proficient in French. We soon became intimate, in less time
probably than it could otherwise have happened, for from the ignorance of
all the others of one word of English, I was enabled during dinner to say
many soft and tender things, which one does not usually venture on in
company.
</p>
<p>
"I recounted my travels, and told various adventures of my wanderings,
till at last, from being merely amused, I found that my fair friend began
to be interested in my narratives; and frequently when passing the
bouillon to her, I have seen a tear in the corner of her eye: in a word,
'she loved me for the dangers I had passed,' as Othello says. Well, laugh
away if you like, but it's truth I am telling you." At this part of Mr.
O'Leary's story we all found it impossible to withstand the ludicrous mock
heroic of his face and tone, and laughed loud and long. When we at length
became silent he resumed—"Before three weeks had passed over, I had
proposed and was accepted, just your own way, Mr. Lorrequer, taking the
ball at the hop, the very same way you did at Cheltenham, the time the
lady jilted you, and ran off with your friend Mr. Waller; I read it all in
the news, though I was then in Norway fishing." Here there was another
interruption by a laugh, not, however, at Mr. O'Leary's expense. I gave
him a most menacing look, while he continued—"the settlements were
soon drawn up, and consisted, like all great diplomatic documents, of a
series of 'gains and compensations;' thus, she was not to taste any thing
stronger than kirsch wasser, or Nantz brandy; and I limited myself to a
pound of short-cut weekly, and so on: but to proceed, the lady being a
good Catholic, insisted upon being married by a priest of her own
persuasion, before the performance of the ceremony at the British embassy
in Paris; to this I could offer no objection, and we were accordingly
united in the holy bonds the same morning, after signing the law papers."
</p>
<p>
"Then, Mr. O'Leary, you are really a married man."
</p>
<p>
"That's the very point I'm coming to, ma'am; for I've consulted all the
jurists upon the subject, and they never can agree. But you shall hear. I
despatched a polite note to Bishop Luscombe, and made every arrangement
for the approaching ceremony, took a quartier in the Rue Helder, near the
Estaminet, and looked forward with anxiety for the day which was to make
my happy; for our marriage in Lyons was only a kind of betrothal. Now, my
fair friend had but one difficulty remaining, poor dear soul—I
refrain from mentioning her name for delicacy sake; but poor dear Mrs. Ram
could not bear the notion of our going up to Paris in the same conveyance,
for long as she had lived abroad, she had avoided every thing French, even
the language, so she proposed that I should go in the early 'Diligence,'
which starts at four-o'clock in the morning, while she took her departure
at nine; thus I should be some hours sooner in Paris, and ready to receive
her on her arriving; besides sparing her bashfulness all reproach of our
travelling together. It was no use my telling her that I always travelled
on foot, and hated a 'Diligence;' she coolly replied that at our time of
life we could not spare the time necessary for a pilgrimage to Jerusalem,
for so she supposed the journey from Lyons to Paris to be; so fearing lest
any doubt might be thrown upon the ardour of my attachment, I yielded at
once, remembering at the moment what my poor friend Tom Bing—Oh
Lord, I'm at it again!"
</p>
<p>
"Sir, I did not hear."
</p>
<p>
"Nothing, ma'am, I was just going to observe, that ladies of a certain
time of life, and widows especially, like a lover that seems a little
ardent or so, all the better." Here Mrs. Bingham blushed, her daughter
bridled, and I nearly suffocated with shame and suppressed laughter.
</p>
<p>
"After a most tender farewell of my bride or wife, I don't know which, I
retired for the night with a mind vacillating between my hopes of
happiness and my fears for the result of a journey so foreign to all my
habits of travelling, and in which I could not but tremble at the many
casualties my habitual laziness and dislike to any hours but of my own
choosing might involve me in.
</p>
<p>
"I had scarcely lain down in bed, ere these thoughts took such possession
of me, that sleep for once in my life was out of the question; and then
the misery of getting up at four in the morning—putting on your
clothes by the flickering light of the porter's candle—getting your
boots on the wrong feet, and all that kind of annoyance—I am sure I
fretted myself into the feeling of a downright martyr before an hour was
over. Well at least, thought I, one thing is well done,—I have been
quite right in coming to sleep here at the Messagerie Hotel, where the
diligence starts from, or the chances are ten to one that I never should
wake till the time was past. Now, however, they are sure to call me; so I
may sleep tranquilly till then. Meanwhile I had forgotten to pack my trunk—my
papers, laying all about the room in a state of considerable confusion. I
rose at once with all the despatch I could muster; this took a long time
to effect, and it was nearly two o'clock ere I finished, and sat down to
smoke a solitary pipe,—the last, as I supposed it might be my lot to
enjoy for heaven knows how long, Mrs. R. having expressed, rather late in
our intimacy I confess, strong opinions against tobacco within doors.
</p>
<p>
"When I had finished my little sac of the 'weed,' the clock struck three,
and I started to think how little time I was destined to have in bed. In
bed! why, said I, there is no use thinking of it now, for I shall scarcely
have lain down ere I shall be obliged to get up again. So thinking, I set
about dressing myself for the road; and by the time I had enveloped myself
in a pair of long Hungarian gaiters, and a kurtcha of sheep's wool, with a
brown bear-skin outside, with a Welsh wig, and a pair of large dark glass
goggles to defend the eyes from the snow, I was not only perfectly
impervious to all effects of the weather, but so thoroughly defended from
any influence of sight or sound, that a volcano might be hissing and
thundering within ten yards of me, without attracting my slightest
attention. Now, I thought, instead of remaining here, I'll just step down
to the coach, and get snugly in the diligence, and having secured the
corner of the coupe, resign myself to sleep with the certainty of not
being left behind, and, probably, too, be some miles on my journey before
awaking.
</p>
<p>
"I accordingly went down stairs, and to my surprise found, even at that
early hour, that many of the garcons of the house were stirring and
bustling about, getting all the luggage up in the huge wooden leviathan
that was to convey us on our road. There they stood, like bees around a
hive, clustering and buzzing, and all so engaged that with difficulty
could I get an answer to my question of, What diligence it was? 'La
diligence pour Paris, Monsieur.'
</p>
<p>
"'Ah, all right then,' said I; so watching an opportunity to do so
unobserved, for I supposed they might have laughed at me, I stepped
quietly into the coupe; and amid the creaking of cordage, and the thumping
of feet on the roof, fell as sound asleep as ever I did in my life—these
sounds coming to my muffled ears, soft as the echoes on the Rhine. When it
was that I awoke I cannot say; but as I rubbed my eyes and yawned after a
most refreshing sleep, I perceived that it was still quite dark all
around, and that the diligence was standing before the door of some inn
and not moving. Ah, thought I, this is the first stage; how naturally one
always wakes at the change of horses,—a kind of instinct implanted
by Providence, I suppose, to direct us to a little refreshment on the
road. With these pious feelings I let down the glass, and called out to
the garcon for a glass of brandy and a cigar. While he was bringing them,
I had time to look about, and perceived, to my very great delight, that I
had the whole coupe to myself. 'Are there any passengers coming in here?'
said I, as the waiter came forward with my petit verre. 'I should think
not, sir,' said the fellow with a leer. 'Then I shall have the whole coupe
to myself?' said I. 'Monsieur need have no fear of being disturbed; I can
safely assure him that he will have no one there for the next twenty-four
hours.' This was really pleasant intelligence; so I chucked him a ten sous
piece, and closing up the window as the morning was cold, once more lay
back to sleep with a success that has never failed me. It was to a bright
blue cloudless sky, and the sharp clear air of a fine day in winter, that
I at length opened my eyes. I pulled out my watch, and discovered it was
exactly two o'clock; I next lowered the glass and looked about me, and
very much to my surprise discovered that the diligence was not moving, but
standing very peaceably in a very crowded congregation of other similar
and dissimilar conveyances, all of which seemed, I thought, to labour
under some physical ailment, some wanting a box, others a body, , and in
fact suggesting the idea of an infirmary for old and disabled carriages of
either sex, mails and others. 'Oh, I have it,' cried I, 'we are arrived at
Mt. Geran, and they are all at dinner, and from my being alone in the
coupe, they have forgotten to call me.' I immediately opened the door and
stepped out into the innyard, crowded with conducteurs, grooms, and
ostlers, who, I thought, looked rather surprised at seeing me emerge from
the diligence.
</p>
<p>
"'You did not know I was there,' said I, with a knowing wink at one of
them as I passed.
</p>
<p>
"'Assurement non,' said the fellow with a laugh, that was the signal for
all the others to join in it. 'Is the table d'hote over?' said I,
regardless of the mirth around me. 'Monsieur is just in time,' said the
waiter, who happened to pass with a soup-tureen in his hand. 'Have the
goodness to step this way.' I had barely time to remark the close
resemblance of the waiter to the fellow who presented me with my brandy
and cigar in the morning, when he ushered me into a large room with about
forty persons sitting at a long table, evidently waiting with impatience
for the 'Potage' to begin their dinner. Whether it was they enjoyed the
joke of having neglected to call me, or that they were laughing at my
travelling costume, I cannot say, but the moment I came in, I could
perceive a general titter run through the assembly. 'Not too late, after
all, gentlemen,' said I, marching gravely up the table.
</p>
<p>
"'Monsieur is in excellent time,' said the host, making room for me beside
his chair. Notwithstanding the incumbrance of my weighty habiliments, I
proceeded to do ample justice to the viands before me, apologizing
laughingly to the host, by pleading a traveller's appetite.
</p>
<p>
"'Then you have perhaps come far this morning,' said a gentleman opposite.
</p>
<p>
"'Yes,' said I, 'I have been on the road since four o'clock.'
</p>
<p>
"'And how are the roads?' said another. 'Very bad,' said I, 'the first few
stages from Lyons, afterwards much better.' This was said at a venture, as
I began to be ashamed of being always asleep before my fellow-travellers.
They did not seem, however, to understand me perfectly; and one old fellow
putting down his spectacles from his forehead, leaned over and said: 'And
where, may I ask, has Monsieur come from this morning?'
</p>
<p>
"'From Lyons,' said I, with the proud air of a man who has done a stout
feat, and is not ashamed of the exploit.
</p>
<p>
"'From Lyons!' said one. 'From Lyons!' cried another. 'From Lyons!'
repeated a third.
</p>
<p>
"'Yes,' said I; 'what the devil is so strange in it; travelling is so
quick now-a-days, one thinks nothing of twenty leagues before dinner.'
</p>
<p>
"The infernal shout of laughing that followed my explanation is still in
my ears; from one end of the table to the other there was one continued
ha, ha, ha—from the greasy host to the little hunchbacked waiter,
they were all grinning away.
</p>
<p>
"'And how did Monsieur travel?' said the old gentleman, who seemed to
carry on the prosecution against me.
</p>
<p>
"'By the diligence, the "Aigle noir,"' said I, giving the name with some
pride, that I was not altogether ignorant of the conveyance.
</p>
<p>
"'The you should certainly not complain of the roads,' said the host
chuckling; 'for the only journey that diligence has made this day has been
from the street-door to the inn-yard; for as they found when the luggage
was nearly packed that the axle was almost broken through, they wheeled it
round to the court, and prepared another for the travellers.'
</p>
<p>
"'And where am I now?' said I.
</p>
<p>
"'In Lyons,' said twenty voices, half choked with laughter at my question.
</p>
<p>
"I was thunderstruck at the news at first; but as I proceeded with my
dinner, I joined in the mirth of the party, which certainly was not
diminished on my telling them the object of my intended journey.
</p>
<p>
"'I think, young man,' said the old fellow with the spectacles, 'that you
should take the occurrence as a warning of Providence that marriage will
not suit you.' I began to be of the same opinion;—but then there was
the jointure. To be sure, I was to give up tobacco; and perhaps I should
not be as free to ramble about as when en garcon. So taking all things
into consideration, I ordered in another bottle of burgundy, to drink Mrs.
Ram's health—got my passport vised for Barege—and set out for
the Pyrenees the same evening."
</p>
<p>
"And have you never heard any thing more of the lady?" said Mrs. Bingham.
</p>
<p>
"Oh, yes. She was faithful to the last; for I found out when at Rome last
winter that she had offered a reward for me in the newspapers, and indeed
had commenced a regular pursuit of me through the whole continent. And to
tell the real fact, I should not now fancy turning my steps towards Paris,
if I had not very tolerable information that she is in full cry after me
through the Wengen Alps, I having contrived a paragraph in Galignani, to
seduce her thither, and where, with the blessing of Providence, if the
snow set in early, she must pass the winter."
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
<a name="ch27" id="ch27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.
</h2>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
PARIS.
</h3>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
<a name="Mr._O_Leary_Creating_a_Sensation_at_the_Salon_des_Etranges"
id="Mr._O_Leary_Creating_a_Sensation_at_the_Salon_des_Etranges"> Mr.
O'Leary Creating a Sensation at the Salon des Etranges</a>
</h3>
<p>
<a href="images2/Ch27MrOLearyCreatingSensation.jpg"> <img
alt="Ch 27 Mr O'Leary Creating Sensation.jpg (70K)"
src="images/Ch27MrOLearyCreatingSensation.jpg" height="780"
width="480" /></a> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<p>
Nothing more worthy of recording occurred before our arrival at Meurice on
the third day of our journey. My friend O'Leary had, with his usual good
fortune, become indispensable to his new acquaintance, and it was not
altogether without some little lurking discontent that I perceived how
much less often my services were called in request since his having joined
our party; his information, notwithstanding its very scanty extent, was
continually relied upon, and his very imperfect French everlastingly
called into requisition to interpret a question for the ladies. Yes,
thought I, "Othello's occupation's gone;" one of two things has certainly
happened, either Mrs. Bingham and her daughter have noticed my continued
abstraction of mind, and have attributed it to the real cause, the
pre-occupation of my affections; or thinking, on the other hand, that I am
desperately in love with one or other of them, have thought that a little
show of preference to Mr. O'Leary may stimulate me to a proposal at once.
In either case I resolved to lose no time in taking my leave, which there
could be no difficulty in doing now, as the ladies had reached their
intended destination, and had numerous friends in Paris to advise and
assist them; besides that I had too long neglected the real object of my
trip, and should lose no time in finding out the Callonbys, and at once
learn what prospect of success awaited me in that quarter. Leaving my fair
friends then to refresh themselves after the journey, and consigning Mr.
O'Leary to the enjoyment of his meershaum, through the aid of which he had
rendered his apartment like a Dutch swamp in autumn, the only portion of
his own figure visible through the mist being his short legs and heavy
shoes.
</p>
<p>
On reaching the house in the Rue de la Paix, where the Callonbys had
resided, I learned that they were still at Baden, and were not expected in
Paris for some weeks; that Lord Kilkee had arrived that morning, and was
then dining at the Embassy, having left an invitation for me to dine with
him on the following day, if I happened to call. As I turned from the
door, uncertain whither to turn my steps, I walked on unconsciously
towards the Boulevard, and occupied as I was, thinking over all the
chances before me, did not perceive where I stood till the bright glare of
a large gas lamp over my head apprised me that I was at the door of the
well known Salon des Etrangers, at the corner of the Rue Richelieu;
carriages, citadines, and vigilantes were crowding, crashing, and
clattering on all sides, as the host of fashion and the gaming-table were
hastening to their champ de bataille. Not being a member of the Salon, and
having little disposition to enter, if I had been, I stood for some
minutes looking at the crowd as it continued to press on towards the
splendid and brilliantly lighted stairs, which leads from the very street
to the rooms of the palace, for such, in the magnificence and luxury of
its decorations, it really is. As I was on the very eve of turning away, a
large and very handsome cab-horse turned the corner from the balustrade,
with the most perfect appointment of harness and carriage I had seen for a
long time.
</p>
<p>
While I continued to admire the taste and propriety of the equipage, a
young man in deep mourning sprung from the inside and stood upon the
pavement before me. "A deux heures, Charles," said he to his servant, as
the cab turned slowly around. The voice struck me as well known. I waited
till he approached the lamp, to catch a glimpse of the face; and what was
my surprise to recognise my cousin, Guy Lorrequer of the 10th, whom I had
not met with for six years before. My first impulse was not to make myself
known to him. Our mutual position with regard to Lady Jane was so much a
mystery, as regarded myself, that I feared the result of any meeting,
until I was sufficiently aware of how matters stood, and whether we were
to meet as friends and relations, or rivals, and consequently enemies.
</p>
<p>
Before I had time to take my resolution, Guy had recognised me, and
seizing me by the hand with both his, called, "Harry, my old friend, how
are you? how long have you been here, and never to call on me? Why man,
what is the meaning of this?" Before I had time to say that I was only a
few hours in Paris, he again interrupted me by saying: "And how comes it
that you are not in mourning? You must surely have heard it."
</p>
<p>
"Heard what?" I cried, nearly hoarse from agitation. "Our poor old friend,
Sir Guy, didn't you know, is dead." Only those who have felt how strong
the ties of kindred are, as they decrease in number, can tell how this
news fell upon my heart. All my poor uncle's kindnesses came one by one
full upon my memory; his affectionate letters of advice; his well-meant
chidings, too, even dearer to me than his praise and approval, completely
unmanned me; and I stood speechless and powerless before my cousin as he
continued to detail to me the rapid progress of Sir Guy's malady, and
attack of gout in the head, which carried him off in three days. Letters
had been sent to me in different places, but none reached; and at the very
moment the clerk of my uncle's lawyer was in pursuit of me through the
highlands, where some mistaken information had induced him to follow me.
</p>
<p>
"You are, therefore," continued Guy, "unaware that our uncle has dealt so
fairly by you, and indeed by both of us; I have got the Somersetshire
estates, which go with the baronetcy; but the Cumberland property is all
yours; and I heartily wish you joy of having nearly eight thousand per
annum, and one of the sweetest villas that ever man fancied on
Derwentwater. But come along here," continued he, and he led me through
the crowded corridor and up the wide stair. "I have much to tell you, and
we can be perfectly alone here; no one will trouble themselves with us."
Unconscious of all around me, I followed Guy along the gilded and
glittering lobby, which led to the Salon, and it was only as the servant
in rich livery came forward to take my hat and cane that I remembered
where I was. Then the full sense of all I had been listening to rushed
upon me, and the unfitness, and indeed the indecency of the place for such
communications as we were engaged in, came most forcibly before me. Sir
Guy, it is true, had always preferred my cousin to me; he it was who was
always destined to succeed both to his title and his estates, and his
wildness and extravagance had ever met with a milder rebuke and weaker
chastisement than my follies and my misfortunes. Yet still he was my last
remaining relative; the only one I possessed in all the world to whom in
any difficulty or trial I had to look up; and I felt, in the very midst of
my newly acquired wealth and riches, poorer and more alone than ever I had
done in my lifetime. I followed Guy to a small and dimly lighted cabinet
off the great salon, where, having seated ourselves, he proceeded to
detail to me the various events which a few short weeks had accomplished.
Of himself he spoke but little, and never once alluded to the Callonbys at
all; indeed all I could learn was that he had left the army, and purposed
remaining for the winter at Paris, where he appeared to have entered into
all its gaiety and dissipation at once.
</p>
<p>
"Of course," said he, "you will give up 'sodgering' now; at the best it is
but poor sport after five and twenty, and is perfectly unendurable when a
man has the means of pushing himself in the gay world; and now, Harry, let
us mix a little among the mob here; for Messieurs les Banquiers don't hold
people in estimation who come here only for the 'chapons au riz.' and the
champagne glacee, as we should seem to do were we to stay here much
longer."
</p>
<p>
Such was the whirl of my thoughts, and so great the confusion in my ideas
from all I had just heard, that I felt myself implicitly following every
direction of my cousin with a child-like obedience, of the full extent of
which I became only conscious when I found myself seated at the table of
the Salon, between my cousin Guy and an old, hard-visaged,
pale-countenanced man, who he told me in a whisper was Vilelle the
Minister.
</p>
<p>
What a study for the man who would watch the passions and emotions of his
fellow-men, would the table of a rouge et noir gambling-house present—the
skill and dexterity which games of other kinds require, being here
wanting, leave the player free to the full abandonment of the passion. The
interest is not a gradually increasing or vacillating one, as fortune and
knowledge of the game favour; the result is uninfluenced by any thing of
his doing; with the last turned card of the croupier is he rich or ruined;
and thus in the very abstraction of the anxiety is this the most painfully
exciting of all gambling whatever; the very rattle of the dice-box to the
hazard player is a relief; and the thought that he is in some way
instrumental in his good or bad fortune gives a turn to his thoughts.
There is something so like the inevitable character of fate associated
with the result of a chance, which you can in no way affect or avert, that
I have, notwithstanding a strong bias for play, ever dreaded and avoided
the rouge et noir table; hitherto prudential motives had their share in
the resolve; a small loss at play becomes a matter of importance to a sub
in a marching regiment; and therefore I was firm in my determination to
avoid the gambling-table. Now my fortunes were altered; and as I looked at
the heap of shining louis d'or, which Guy pushed before me in exchange for
a billet de banque of large amount, I felt the full importance of my
altered position, mingling with the old and long practised prejudices
which years had been accumulating to fix. There is besides some wonderful
fascination to most men in the very aspect of high play: to pit your
fortune against that of another—to see whether or not your luck
shall not exceed some others—are feelings that have a place in most
bosoms, and are certainly, if not naturally existing, most easily
generated in the bustle and excitement of the gambling-house. The
splendour of the decorations; the rich profusion of gilded ornaments; the
large and gorgeously framed mirrors; the sparkling lustres; mingling their
effect with the perfumed air of the apartment, filled with orange trees
and other aromatic shrubs; the dress of the company, among whom were many
ladies in costumes not inferior to those of a court; the glitter of
diamonds; the sparkle of stars and decorations, rendered more magical by
knowing that the wearers were names in history. There, with his round but
ample shoulder, and large massive head, covered with long snow-white hair,
stands Talleyrand, the maker and unmaker of kings, watching with a look of
ill-concealed anxiety the progress of his game. Here is Soult, with his
dogged look and beetled brow; there stands Balzac the author, his gains
here are less derived from the betting than the bettors; he is evidently
making his own of some of them, while in the seeming bon hommie of his
careless manners and easy abandon, they scruple not to trust him with
anecdotes and traits, that from the crucible of his fiery imagination come
forth, like the purified gold from the furnace. And there, look at that
old and weather-beaten man, with grey eyebrows, and moustaches, who throws
from the breast-pocket of his frock ever and anon, a handful of gold
pieces upon the table; he evidently neither knows nor cares for the
amount, for the banker himself is obliged to count over the stake for him—that
is Blucher, the never-wanting attendant at the Salon; he has been an
immense loser, but plays on with the same stern perseverance with which he
would pour his bold cavalry through a ravine torn by artillery; he stands
by the still waning chance with a courage that never falters.
</p>
<p>
One strong feature of the levelling character of a taste for play has
never ceased to impress me most forcibly—not only do the individual
peculiarities of the man give way before the all-absorbing passion—but
stranger still, the very boldest traits of nationality even fade and
disappear before it; and man seems, under the high-pressure power of this
greatest of all stimulants, resolved into a most abstract state.
</p>
<p>
Among all the traits which distinguish Frenchmen from natives of every
country, none is more prominent than a kind of never-failing elasticity of
temperament, which seems almost to defy all the power of misfortune to
depress. Let what will happen, the Frenchman seems to possess some strong
resource within himself, in his ardent temperament, upon which he can draw
at will; and whether on the day after a defeat, the moment of being
deceived in his strongest hopes of returned affection—the overthrow
of some long-cherished wish—it matters not—he never gives way
entirely; but see him at the gaming-table—watch the intense, the
aching anxiety with which his eye follows every card as it falls from the
hand of the croupier—behold the look of cold despair that tracks his
stake as the banker rakes it in among his gains—and you will at once
perceive that here, at least, his wonted powers fail him. No jest escapes
the lips of one, that would badinet upon the steps of the guillotine. The
mocker who would jeer at the torments of revolution, stands like a coward
quailing before the impassive eye and pale cheek of a croupier. While I
continued to occupy myself by observing the different groups about me, I
had been almost mechanically following the game, placing at each deal some
gold upon the table; the result however had interested me so slightly,
that it was only by remarking the attention my game had excited in others,
that my own was drawn towards it. I then perceived that I had permitted my
winnings to accumulate upon the board, and that in the very deal then
commencing, I had a stake of nearly five hundred pounds upon the deal.
</p>
<p>
"Faites votre jeu, le jeu est fait," said the croupier, "trente deux."
</p>
<p>
"You have lost, by Jove," said Guy, in a low whisper, in which I could
detect some trait of agitation.
</p>
<p>
"Trente et une," added the croupier. "Rouge perd, et couleur."
</p>
<p>
There was a regular buz of wonder through the room at my extraordinary
luck, for thus, with every chance against me, I had won again.
</p>
<p>
As the croupier placed the billets de banque upon the table, I overheard
the muttered commendations of an old veteran behind me, upon the coolness
and judgment of my play; so much for fortune, thought I, my judgment
consists in a perfect ignorance of the chances, and my coolness is merely
a thorough indifference to success; whether it was now that the flattery
had its effect upon me, or that the passion for play, so long dormant, had
suddenly seized hold upon me, I know not, but my attention became from
that moment rivetted upon the game, and I played every deal. Guy, who had
been from the first betting with the indifferent success which I have so
often observed to attend upon the calculations of old and experienced
gamblers, now gave up, and employed himself merely in watching my game.
</p>
<p>
"Harry," said he at last, "I am completely puzzled as to whether you are
merely throwing down your louis at hazard, or are not the deepest player I
have ever met with."
</p>
<p>
"You shall see," said I, as I stooped over towards the banker, and
whispered, "how far is the betting permitted?"
</p>
<p>
"Fifteen thousand francs," said the croupier, with a look of surprise.
</p>
<p>
"Then be it," said I; "quinze mille francs, rouge."
</p>
<p>
In a moment the rouge won, and the second deal I repeated the bet, and so
continuing on with the like success; when I was preparing my rouleau for
the fifth, the banquier rose, and saying—
</p>
<p>
"Messiers, la banque est fermee pour ce soir," proceeded to lock his
casette, and close the table.
</p>
<p>
"You are satisfied now," said Guy, rising, "you see you have broke the
banque, and a very pretty incident to commence with your first
introduction to a campaign in Paris."
</p>
<p>
Having changed my gold for notes, I stuffed them, with an air of
well-affected carelessness, into my pocket, and strolled through the
Salon, where I had now become an object of considerably more interest than
all the marshals and ministers about me.
</p>
<p>
"Now, Hal," said Guy, "I'll just order our supper in the cabinet, and join
you in a moment."
</p>
<p>
As I remained for some minutes awaiting Guy's return, my attention was
drawn towards a crowd, in a smaller salon, among whom the usual silent
decorum of the play-table seemed held in but small respect, for every
instant some burst of hearty laughter, or some open expression of joy or
anger burst forth, by which I immediately perceived that they were the
votaries of the roulette table, a game at which the strict propriety and
etiquette ever maintained at rouge et noir, are never exacted. As I
pressed nearer, to discover the cause of the mirth, which every moment
seemed to augment, guess my surprise to perceive among the foremost rank
of the players, my acquaintance, Mr. O'Leary, whom I at that moment
believed to be solacing himself with his meershaum at Meurice. My
astonishment at how he obtained admission to the Salon was even less than
my fear of his recognising me. At no time is it agreeable to find that the
man who is regarded as the buffo of a party turns out to be your friend,
but still less is this so, when the individual claiming acquaintance with
you presents any striking absurdity in his dress or manner, strongly at
contrast with the persons and things about him; and thus it now happened—Mr.
O'Leary's external man, as we met him on the Calais road, with its various
accompaniments of blouse-cap, spectacles, and tobacco-pipe, were nothing
very outre or remarkable, but when the same figure presented itself among
the elegans of the Parisian world, redolent of eau de Portugal, and superb
in the glories of brocade waistcoats and velvet coats, the thing was too
absurd, and I longed to steal away before any chance should present itself
of a recognition. This, however, was impossible, as the crowd from the
other table were all gathered round us, and I was obliged to stand fast,
and trust that the excitement of the game, in which he appeared to be
thoroughly occupied, might keep his eye fixed on another quarter; I now
observed that the same scene in which I had so lately been occupied at the
rouge et noir table, was enacting here, under rather different
circumstances. Mr. O'Leary was the only player, as I had just been—not,
however, because his success absorbed all the interest of the bystanders,
but that, unfortunately, his constant want of it elicited some strong
expression of discontent and mistrust from him, which excited the loud
laughter of the others; but of which, from his great anxiety in his game,
he seemed totally unconscious.
</p>
<p>
"Faites votre jeu, Messieurs," said the croupier.
</p>
<p>
"Wait a bit till I change this," said Mr. O'Leary, producing an English
sovereign; the action interpreted his wishes, and the money was converted
into coupons de jeu.
</p>
<p>
I now discovered one great cause of the mirth of the bystanders, at least
the English portion of them. Mr. O'Leary, when placing his money upon the
table, observed the singular practice of announcing aloud the amount of
his bet, which, for his own information, he not only reduced to English
but also Irish currency; thus the stillness of the room was every instant
broken by a strong Irish accent pronouncing something of this sort—"five
francs," "four and a penny"—"ten francs," "eight and three
ha'pence." The amusement thus caused was increased by the excitement his
losses threw him into. He now ceased to play for several times, when at
last, he made an offering of his usual stake.
</p>
<p>
"Perd," said the croupier, raking in the piece with a contemptuous air at
the smallness of the bet, and in no way pleased that the interest Mr.
O'Leary excited should prevent the other players from betting.
</p>
<p>
"Perd," said O'Leary, "again. Divil another song you sing than 'perd,' and
I'm not quite clear you're not cheating all the while—only, God help
you if you are!"
</p>
<p>
As he so said, the head of a huge black-thorn stick was half protruded
across the table, causing renewed mirth; for, among other regulations,
every cane, however trifling, is always demanded at the door; and thus a
new subject of astonishment arose as to how he had succeeded in carrying
it with him into the salon.
</p>
<p>
"Here's at you again," said O'Leary, regardless of the laughter, and
covering three or four numbers with his jetons.
</p>
<p>
Round went the ball once more, and once more he lost.
</p>
<p>
"Look now, divil a lie in it, he makes them go wherever he pleases. I'll
take a turn now at the tables; fair play's a jewel—and we'll see how
you'll get on."
</p>
<p>
So saying, he proceeded to insinuate himself into the chair of the
croupier, whom he proposed to supersede by no very gentle means. This was
of course resisted, and as the loud mirth of the bystanders grew more and
more boisterous, the cries of "a la porte, a la porte," from the friends
of the bank, rung through the crowd.
</p>
<p>
"Go it, Pat—go it, Pat," said Guy, over my shoulder, who seemed to
take a prodigious interest in the proceedings.
</p>
<p>
At this unexpected recognition of his nativity, for Mr. O'Leary never
suspected he could be discovered by his accent; he looked across the
table, and caught my eye at once.
</p>
<p>
"Oh, I'm safe now! stand by me, Mr. Lorrequer, and we'll clear the room."
</p>
<p>
So saying, and without any further provocation, he upset the croupier,
chair and all, with one sudden jerk upon the floor, and giving a
tremendous kick to the casette, sent all the five-franc pieces flying over
him; he then jumped upon the table, and brandishing his black-thorn
through the ormolu lustre, scattered the wax-lights on all sides,
accompanying the exploit by a yell that would have called up all Connemara
at midnight, if it had only been heard there; in an instant, the gens
d'armes, always sufficiently near to be called in if required, came
pouring into the room, and supposing the whole affair had been a
preconcerted thing to obtain possession of the money in the bank,
commenced capturing different members of the company who appeared, by
enjoying the confusion, to be favouring and assisting it. My cousin Guy
was one of the first so treated—a proceeding to which he responded
by an appeal rather in favour with most Englishmen, and at once knocked
down the gen d'arme; this was the signal for a general engagement, and
accordingly, before an explanation could possibly be attempted, a most
terrific combat ensued. The Frenchmen in the room siding with the gen
d'armerie, and making common cause against the English; who, although
greatly inferior in number, possessed considerable advantage, from long
habit in street-rows and boxing encounters. As for myself, I had the good
fortune to be pitted against a very pursy and unwieldy Frenchman, who
sacre'd to admiration, but never put in a single blow at me; while,
therefore, I amused myself practising what old Cribb called "the one,
two," upon his fat carcase, I had abundant time and opportunity to watch
all that was doing about me, and truly a more ludicrous affair I never
beheld. Imagine about fifteen or sixteen young Englishmen, most of them
powerful, athletic fellows, driving an indiscriminate mob of about five
times their number before them, who, with courage enough to resist, were
yet so totally ignorant of the boxing art, that they retreated, pell-mell,
before the battering phalanx of their sturdy opponents—the most
ludicrous figure of all being Mr. O'Leary himself, who, standing upon the
table, laid about him with a brass lustre that he had unstrung, and did
considerable mischief with this novel instrument of warfare, crying out
the entire time, "murder every mother's son of them," "give them another
taste of Waterloo." Just as he had uttered the last patriotic sentiment,
he received a slight admonition from behind, by the point of a gen
d'arme's sword, which made him leap from the table with the alacrity of a
harlequin, and come plump down among the thickest of the fray. My
attention was now directed elsewhere, for above all the din and "tapage"
of the encounter I could plainly hear the row-dow-dow of the drums, and
the measured tread of troops approaching, and at once guessed that a
reinforcement of the gen d'armerie were coming up. Behind me there was a
large window, with a heavy scarlet curtain before it; my resolution was at
once taken, I floored my antagonist, whom I had till now treated with the
most merciful forbearance, and immediately sprung behind the curtain. A
second's consideration showed that in the search that must ensue this
would afford no refuge, so I at once opened the sash, and endeavoured to
ascertain at what height I was above the ground beneath me; the night was
so dark that I could see nothing, but judging from the leaves and twigs
that reached to the window, that it was a garden beneath, and auguring
from the perfumed smell of the shrubs, that they could not be tall trees,
I resolved to leap, a resolve I had little time to come to, for the step
of the soldiers was already heard upon the stair. Fixing my hat then down
upon my brows, and buttoning my coat tightly, I let myself down from the
window-stool by my hands, and fell upon my legs in the soft earth of the
garden, safe and unhurt. From the increased clamour and din overhead, I
could learn the affray was at its height, and had little difficulty in
detecting the sonorous accent and wild threats of my friend Mr. O'Leary,
high above all the other sounds around him. I did not wait long, however,
to enjoy them; but at once set about securing my escape from my present
bondage. In this I had little difficulty, for I was directed by a light to
a small door, which, as I approached, found that it led into the den of
the Concierge, and also communicated by another door with the street. I
opened it, therefore, at once, and was in the act of opening the second,
when I felt myself seized by the collar by a strong hand; and on turning
round saw the sturdy figure of the Concierge himself, with a drawn bayonet
within a few inches of my throat, "Tenez, mon ami," said I quietly, and
placing half a dozen louis, some of my recent spoils, in his hand, at once
satisfied him that, even if I were a robber, I was at least one that
understood and respected the conveniences of society. He at once
relinquished his hold and dropped his weapon, and pulling off his cap with
one hand, to draw the cord which opened the Porte Cochere with the other,
bowed me politely to the street. I had scarcely had time to insinuate
myself into the dense mass of people whom the noise and confusion within
had assembled around the house, when the double door of the building
opened, and a file of gens d'armerie came forth, leading between them my
friend Mr. O'Leary and some others of the rioters—among whom I
rejoiced to find my cousin did not figure. If I were to judge from his
disordered habiliments and scarred visage, Mr. O'Leary's resistance to the
constituted authorities must have been a vigorous one, and the drollery of
his appearance was certainly not decreased by his having lost the entire
brim of his hat—the covering of his head bearing, under these
distressing circumstances, a strong resemblance to a saucepan.
</p>
<p>
As I could not at that moment contribute in any way to his rescue, I
determined on the following day to be present at his examination, and
render him all the assistance in my power. Meanwhile, I returned to
Meurice, thinking of every adventure of the evening much more than of my
own changed condition and altered fortunes.
</p>
<hr />
<p>
<br /> <br /> <br /> <br />
</p>
<h2>
<a name="ch28" id="ch28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.
</h2>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<h3>
PARIS.
</h3>
<p>
<br /> <br />
</p>
<p>
The first thing which met my eye, when waking in the morning, after the
affair at the salon, was the rouleau of billets de banque which I had won
at play; and it took several minutes before I could persuade myself that
the entire recollection of the evening had any more solid foundation than
a heated brain and fevered imagination. The sudden spring, from being a
subaltern in the __th, with a few hundreds per annum—"pour tout
potage," to becoming the veritable proprietor of several thousands, with a
handsome house in Cumberland, was a consideration which I could scarcely
admit into my mind—so fearful was I, that the very first occurrence
of the day should dispel the illusion, and throw me back into the dull
reality which I was hoping to escape from.
</p>
<p>
There is no adage more true than the old Latin one—"that what we
wish, we readily believe;" so, I had little difficulty in convincing
myself that all was as I desired—although, certainly, my confused
memory of the past evening contributed little to that conviction. It was,
then, amid a very whirl of anticipated pleasures, and new schemes for
enjoying life, that I sat down to a breakfast, at which, that I might lose
no time in commencing my race, I had ordered the most recherche viands
which even French cookery can accomplish for the occasion.
</p>
<p>
My plans were soon decided upon. I resolved to remain only long enough in
Paris to provide myself with a comfortable travelling carriage—secure
a good courier—and start for Baden; when I trusted that my
pretensions, whatever favour they might have been once received with,
would certainly now, at least, be listened to with more prospect of being
successful.
</p>
<p>
I opened the Galignani's paper of the day, to direct me in my search, and
had scarcely read a few lines before a paragraph caught my eye, which not
a little amused me; it was headed—Serious riot at the Salon des
Etrangers, and attempt to rob the Bank:—
</p>
<p>
"Last evening, among the persons who presented themselves at the table of
this fashionable resort, were certain individuals, who, by their names and
dress bespoke any thing rather than the rank and condition of those who
usually resort there, and whose admission is still unexplained,
notwithstanding the efforts of the police to unravel the mystery. The
proprietors of the bank did not fail to remark these persons; but
scrupled, from fear of disturbing the propriety of the salon, to take the
necessary steps for their exclusion—reserving their attention to the
adoption of precautions against such intrusion in future—unfortunately,
as it turned out eventually, for, towards eleven o'clock, one of these
individuals, having lost a considerable sum at play, proceeded in a very
violent and outrageous manner to denounce the bank, and went so far as to
accuse the croupier of cheating. This language having failed to excite the
disturbance it was evidently intended to promote, was soon followed up by
a most dreadful personal attack upon the banquier, in which he was thrown
from his seat, and the cassette, containing several thousand francs in
gold and notes, immediately laid hold of. The confusion now became
considerable, and it was apparent, that the whole had been a pre-concerted
scheme. Several persons, leaping upon the table, attempted to extinguish
the great lustre of the salon, in which bold attempt, they were most
spiritedly resisted by some of the other players and the gens-d'arme, who
had by this time arrived in force. The riot was quelled after a prolonged
and desperate resistance, and the rioters, with the exception of two, were
captured, and conveyed to prison, where they await the result of a
judicial investigation—of which we shall not fail to lay the
particulars before our readers.
</p>
<p>
"Since our going to press, we have learned that one of the ringleaders in
this vile scheme is a noted English escroc—a swindler, who was
already arrest at C____ for travelling with a false passport; but who
contrives, by some collusion with another of the gang, to evade the local
authorities. If this be the case, we trust he will speedily be detected
and brought to punishment."
</p>
<p>
Whatever amusement I had found in reading the commencing portion of this
ridiculous misstatement, the allusion in the latter part by no means
afforded me equal pleasure; and I saw, in one rapid glance, how much
annoyance, and how many delays and impediments—a charge even of this
ridiculous nature, might give rise to in my present circumstances. My
passport, however, will settle all—thought I—as I thrust my
hand towards my pocket, in which I had placed it along with some letters.
</p>
<p>
Guess my misery, to discover that the whole of the pocket had been cut
away, probably in the hope of obtaining the billets de banque I had won at
play, but which I had changed from that pocket to a breast one on leaving
the table. This at once led me to suspect that there might be some truth
in the suspicion of the newspaper writer of a pre-concerted scheme, and at
once explained to me what had much puzzled me before—the extreme
rapidity with which the elements of discord were propagated, for the whole
affair was the work of a few seconds. While I continued to meditate on
these matters, the waiter entered with a small note in an envelope, which
a commissionaire had just left at the hotel for me, and went away, saying
there was no answer. I opened it hastily, and read:—
</p>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<p>
"Dear H.—The confounded affair of last night has induced me to
leave this for a few days; besides that I have obtained a most
excellent reason for absenting myself in the presence of a black eye,
which will prevent my appearance in public for a week to come. As you
are a stranger here, you need not fear being detected. With all its
desagremens, I can't help laughing at the adventure, and I am heartily
glad to have had the opportunity of displaying old Jackson's science
upon those wretched gens-d'arme.
</p>
<p>
"Your, truly,<br /> "G.L."
</p>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<p>
This, certainly, thought I, improves my position. Here is my cousin Guy
—the only one to whom, in any doubt or difficulty here, I could
refer—here he is—flown, without letting me know where to
address him or find him out. I rung my bell hastily, and having written a
line on my card, requesting Lord Kilkee to come to me as soon as he could,
despatched it to the Rue de la Paix. The messenger soon returned with an
answer, that Lord Kilkee had been obliged to leave Paris late the evening
before, having received some important letters from Baden. My anxiety now
became greater. I did not know but that the moment I ventured to leave the
hotel I should be recognised by some of the witnesses of the evening's
fray; and all thoughts of succouring poor O'Leary were completely
forgotten in my fear for the annoyances the whole of this ridiculous
affair might involve me in. Without any decision as to my future steps, I
dressed myself, and proceeded to pay my respects to Mrs. Bingham and her
daughter, who were in the same hotel, and whom I had not seen since our
arrival.
</p>
<p>
As I entered the drawing-room, I was surprised to find Miss Bingham alone.
She appeared to have been weeping—at least the efforts she made to
appear easy and in good spirits contrasted a good deal with the expression
of her features as I came in. To my inquiries for Mrs. Bingham, I received
for answer that the friends Mrs. Bingham had expected having left a few
days before for Baden, she had resolved on following them, and had now
merely driven out to make a few purchases before her departure, which was
to take place in the morning.
</p>
<p>
There is something so sad in the thought of being deserted and left by
one's friends under any circumstances, that I cannot express how much this
intelligence affected me. It seemed, too, like the last stroke of bad news
filling up the full measure, that I was to be suddenly deprived of the
society of the very few friends about me, just as I stood most in need of
them.
</p>
<p>
Whether or not Miss Bingham noticed my embarrassment, I cannot say; but
certainly she seemed not displeased, and there was in the half-encouraging
tone of her manner something which led me to suspect that she was not
dissatisfied with the impression her news seemed to produce upon me.
</p>
<p>
Without at all alluding to my own improved fortune, or to the events of
the preceding night, I began to talk over the coming journey, and
expressed my sincere regret that, having lost my passport under
circumstances which might create some delay in retrieving it, I could not
join their party as I should otherwise have done.
</p>
<p>
Miss Bingham heard this speech with rather more emotion than so simple a
declaration was calculated to produce; and, while she threw down her eyes
beneath their long dark lashes, and coloured slightly, asked—
</p>
<p>
"And did you really wish to come with us?"
</p>
<p>
"Undoubtedly," said I.
</p>
<p>
"And is there no other objection than the passport?"
</p>
<p>
"None whatever," said I, warming as I spoke, for the interest she appeared
to take in me completely upset all my calculations, besides that I had
never seen her looking so handsome, and that, as the French wisely remark,
"vaut toujours quelque chose."
</p>
<p>
"Oh, then, pray come with us, which you can do, for mamma has just got her
passport for her nephew along with her own; and as we really don't want
him, nor he us, we shall both be better pleased to be free of each other,
and you can easily afterwards have your own forwarded to Baden by post."
</p>
<p>
"Ah, but," said I, "how shall I be certain, if I take so flattering an
offer, that you will forgive me for filling up the place of the dear
cousin; for, if I conjecture aright, it is 'Le Cher Edouard' that purposes
to be your companion."
</p>
<p>
"Yes, you have guessed quite correctly; but you must not tax me with
inconsistency, but really I have grown quite tired of my poor cousin,
since I saw him last night."
</p>
<p>
"And you used to admire him prodigiously."
</p>
<p>
"Well, well, that is all true, but I do so no longer."
</p>
<p>
"Eh! perche," said I, looking cunningly in her eye.
</p>
<p>
"For reasons that Mr. Lorrequer shall never know if he has to ask them,"
said the poor girl, covering her eyes with her hands, and sobbing
bitterly.
</p>
<p>
What I thought, said, or did upon this occasion, with all my most sincere
desire to make a "clean breast of it in these confessions," I know not;
but this I do know, that two hours after, I found myself still sitting
upon the sofa beside Miss Bingham, whom I had been calling Emily all the
while, and talking more of personal matters and my own circumstances than
is ever safe or prudent for a young man to do with any lady under the age
of his mother.
</p>
<p>
All that I can now remember of this interview, is the fact of having
arranged my departure in the manner proposed by Miss Bingham—a
proposition to which I acceded with an affectation of satisfaction that I
fear went very far to deceive my fair friend. Not that the pleasure I felt
in the prospect was altogether feigned; but certainly the habit of being
led away by the whim and temper of the moment had so much become part of
my nature, that I had long since despaired of ever guarding myself against
the propensity I had acquired, of following every lead which any one might
throw out for me. And thus, as poor Harry Lorrequer was ever the first man
to get into a row at the suggestion of a friend, so he only waited the
least possible pressing on any occasion, to involve himself in any scrape
or misfortune that presented itself, provided there was only some one good
enough to advise him to do so.
</p>
<p>
As I entered my own room, to make preparations for my departure, I could
not help thinking over all the events thus crowded into the space of a few
hours. My sudden possession of wealth—my prospects at Callonby still
undecided—my scrape at the Salon—my late interview with Miss
Bingham, in which I had only stopped short of a proposal to marry, were
almost sufficient to occupy any reasonable mind; and so I was beginning to
suspect, when the waiter informed me that the Commissaire of Police was in
waiting below, and wished to speak to me. Affecting some surprise at the
request which I at once perceived the object of, I desired him to be
introduced. I was quite correct in my guess. The information of my being
concerned in the affair at the Salon had been communicated to the
authorities, and the Commissaire had orders to obtain bail for my
appearance at the Tribunal de Justice, on that day week, or commit me at
once to prison. The Commissaire politely gave me till evening to procure
the required bail, satisfying himself that he could adopt measures to
prevent my escape, and took his leave. He had scarcely gone when Mr.
Edward Bingham was announced—the reason for this visit I could not
so easily divine; but I had little time allowed for my conjectures, as the
same instant a very smart, dapper little gentleman presented himself,
dressed in all the extravagance of French mode. His hair, which was
permitted to curl upon his shoulders, was divided along the middle of the
head; his moustaches were slightly upturned and carefully waxed, and his
small chin-tuft or Henri-quatre most gracefully pointed; he wore three
most happily contrasting coloured waistcoats, and spurs of glittering
brass. His visit was of scarcely five minutes' duration; but was evidently
the opening of a breaching battery by the Bingham family in all form—the
object of which I could at least guess at.
</p>
<p>
My embarrassments were not destined to end here; for scarcely had I
returned Mr. Bingham's eighth salutation at the head of the staircase,
when another individual presented himself before me. This figure was in
every respect the opposite of my last visitor. Although framed perfectly
upon the late Parisian school of dandyism, his, however, was the "ecole
militaire." Le Capitaine Eugene de Joncourt, for so he introduced himself,
was a portly personage, of about five-and-thirty or forty years of age,
with that mixture of bon hommie and ferocity in his features which the
soldiers of Napoleon's army either affected or possessed naturally. His
features, which were handsome, and the expression of which was pleasing,
were, as it seemed, perverted, by the warlike turn of a most terrific pair
of whiskers and moustaches, from their naturally good-humoured bent; and
the practised frown and quick turn of his dark eye were evidently only the
acquired advantages of his military career; a handsome mouth, with
singularly regular and good teeth, took much away from the farouche look
of the upper part of his face; and contributed, with the aid of a most
pleasing voice, to impress you in his favour; his dress was a blue braided
frock, decorated with the cordon of the legion; but neither these, nor the
clink of his long cavalry spurs, were necessary to convince you that the
man was a soldier; besides that, there was that mixture of urbanity and
aplomb in his manner which showed him to be perfectly accustomed to the
usages of the best society.
</p>
<p>
"May I beg to know," said he, as he seated himself slowly, "if this card
contains your name and address," handing me at the same moment one of my
visiting cards. I immediately replied in the affirmative.
</p>
<p>
"You are then in the English service?"
</p>
<p>
"Yes."
</p>
<p>
"Then, may I entreat your pardon for the trouble of these questions, and
explain the reason of my visit. I am the friend of Le Baron D'Haulpenne,
with whom you had the altercation last night in the Salon, and in whose
name I have come to request the address of a friend on your part."
</p>
<p>
Ho, ho, thought I, the Baron is then the stout gentleman that I pummelled
so unmercifully near the window; but how came he by my card; and besides,
in a row of that kind, I am not aware how far the matter can be conceived
to go farther, than what happens at the moment. These were the thoughts of
a second of time, and before I could reply any thing, the captain resumed.
</p>
<p>
"You seem to have forgotten the circumstance, and so indeed should I like
to do; but unfortunately D'Haulpenne says that you struck him with your
walking-cane, so you know, under such a state of things, there is but one
course."
</p>
<p>
"But gently," added I, "I had no cane whatever the last evening."
</p>
<p>
"Oh! I beg pardon," interrupted he; "but my friend is most positive in his
account, and describes the altercation as having continued from the Salon
to the street, when you struck him, and at the same time threw him your
card. Two of our officers were also present; and although, as it appears
from your present forgetfulness, that the thing took place in the heat and
excitement of the moment, still—"
</p>
<p>
"But still," said I, catching up his last words, "I never did strike the
gentleman as you describe—never had any altercation in the street—and—"
</p>
<p>
"Is that your address?" said the Frenchman, with a slight bow.
</p>
<p>
"Yes, certainly it is."
</p>
<p>
"Why then," said he, with a slight curl of his upper lip—half smile,
half derision—
</p>
<p>
"Oh! make yourself perfectly easy," I replied. "If any one has by an
accident made use of my name, it shall not suffer by such a mistake. I
shall be quite at your service, the moment I can find out a friend to
refer you to."
</p>
<p>
I had much difficulty to utter these few words with a suitable degree of
temper, so stung was I by the insolent demeanour of the Frenchman, whose
coolness and urbanity seemed only to increase every moment.
</p>
<p>
"Then I have the honour to salute you," said he, rising with great
mildness in his voice; "and shall take the liberty to leave my card for
the information of your friend."
</p>
<p>
So saying, he placed his card upon the table—"Le Capitaine Eugene de
Joncourt, Cuirassiers de la Garde."
</p>
<p>
"I need not press upon Monsieur the value of despatch."
</p>
<p>
"I shall not lose a moment," said I, as he clattered down the stairs of
the hotel, with that perfect swaggering nonchalance which a Frenchman is
always an adept in; and I returned to my room, to meditate upon my
numerous embarrassments, and think over the difficulties which every
moment was contributing to increase the number of.
</p>
<p>
"The indictment has certainly many counts," thought I.
</p>
<p>
Imprimis—A half-implied, but fully comprehended promise to marry a
young lady, with whom, I confess, I only intend to journey this life—as
far as Baden.
</p>
<p>
Secondly, a charge of swindling—for such the imputation goes to—at
the Salon.
</p>
<p>
Thirdly, another unaccountable delay in joining the Callonbys, with whom I
am every hour in the risque of being "compromis;" and lastly, a duel in
perspective with some confounded Frenchman, who is at this very moment
practising at a pistol gallery.
</p>
<p>
Such were the heads of my reflections, and such the agreeable impressions
my visit to Paris was destined to open with; how they were to be followed
up I reserve for another chapter. <br />
</p>
<hr />
<pre xml:space="preserve">
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer,
Vol. 4, by Charles James Lever (1806-1872)
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARRY LORREQUER, VOL. 4 ***
***** This file should be named 5237-h.htm or 5237-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
https://www.gutenberg.org/5/2/3/5237/
Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).
Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works
1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.
1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.
1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.
1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is
owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments
must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License. You must require such a user to return or
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
Project Gutenberg-tm works.
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
1.F.
1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
gbnewby@pglaf.org
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation
Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.
Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed.
VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
new filenames and etext numbers.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
https://www.gutenberg.org
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to
download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
download by the etext year.
https://www.gutenberg.org/etext06
(Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part
of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is
identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single
digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For
example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/2/3/10234
or filename 24689 would be found at:
https://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/6/8/24689
An alternative method of locating eBooks:
https://www.gutenberg.org/GUTINDEX.ALL
</pre>
</body>
</html>
|
