by R S Surtees
It was clear that Jasper had been grievously imposed upon, and it was bad to part with so much money. If it had been hundreds he might perhaps have got over it, but thousands — thousands, were awkward counting. Then to dispute the thing on the ground of its being a gambling transaction, and having the holder coming into court to swear that he was ignorant of the facts and had given full value for the bill, on the strength of Jasper’s most respectable name, would be like throwing cold water on the Bank, already sufficiently damaged by Dibworth’s impudent clerk’s talking about it, as if he was going to stop payment. Indeed he almost feared they might make a run upon it as it was, for there is nothing so ticklish as the fame of a bank. At last he made up his mind to pay and be done with it, but only on the express condition that Jasper eschewed cards, and above all promised him never to have anything to do with the Bag and Famish Club. “Promise me, promise me faithfully, Jasper,” said he, with tears in his eyes, “never to have anything to do with that terrible club! I dread the very name — it must be a shocking, a frightful place — a place where they would very likely cut you up into quarters and drop you quietly over Blackfriars Bridge in the dead of the night, or shoot you through the head and bury you in the back kitchen, as somebody did Mr. Manning or Mr. Manning did somebody, I forget which way it was.”
And Jasper, who had no more taste for losing his cash than his father, and thought he saw his way to great wealth on the turf, readily promised all that was asked.
And so, what with fear of Dibworth and the fame of their most respectable bank — above all, of the Rag and Famish Club — the beloved cash at length retired the worthless piece of paper. So far, however, as the latter influence was concerned, the worthy man might have saved his money, for it turns out on inquiry that Mr. O’Dicey does not belong to the Rag.
And now, having floundered so long in the muddy waters of impurity, let us expand our wings and mount into the lofty regions of high life
CHAPTER L.
PRINCE PIROUETTEZA
THE SAME COMET year that showered such blessings on the country was not unmindful of the town, for that auspicious spring produced the elegant Prince Pirouetteza, whose easy impudence and delightful dancing caused such sensation among the angels in the mundane heaven of high life. The Prince, we believe, was not regularly accredited to our court, but being on easy terms with his tailor, his swarthy face and jet black beard were soon revolving with the crinoline, to the great disgust of the native circlers, who stood frowning and biting their lips and wondering what the deuce the women could see in the foreigner. Still the Prince persevered assiduously, and the ladies seemed to take a pleasure in announcing, without reference to their cards, that they were engaged to dance the sought-for dance with Prince Pirouetteza; and presently His Highness would spin them about in a way that could only be likened to the movement of a large tetotum. So he rose rapidly in request; and as the capering season drew to a close, and luggage vans began to usurp the place of dashing equipages, there was a great run upon the Prince for the autumn sports and the adornment of country houses in the winter. Foremost in this lion hunt was the Duchess of Tergiversation, who, though a well-bred woman, was as inveterate a tuft-hunter as could well be imagined, and who was always scheming to outwit some one else in the same line. The Duchess, indeed, was a woman of excellent faith, whom no amount of exposures would shake; and sham counts and sham barons and sham marquises and sham dukes only made her more confident in the integrity of the next corner. “They couldn’t be all shams,” she said, so she would take up with the last man as eagerly as she did with the first.
It would indeed be an evil day if a continental “Burke” or “Hardwicke” were to arise to dispel the pleasing delusions of the English fair, by publishing the “Who’s who” of all the distinguished foreigners who honour our shores with their presence. We fear there would be sad mortification sometimes, and that even our Prince would not have fared quite so well had it been known that he was only the son of an impudent dancing-master at Florence. Hence his agility with his toes. Indeed he would have made a fortune if he had followed the paternal profession, for he was a natural dancer, rather above than below the middle height, with a well set-up figure, and an easy supple elasticity in every limb; but being just in the morning of life, with a little money left him by an uncle, he thought it would be far better to dance on terms of equality, and take whatever good the gods might provide. So he dubbed himself a Prince, and proceeded to enact the part.
“Prince” is a grand travelling title anywhere — magnificent in England. “He lives like a prince” is supposed to be the highest eulogium that can be passed on an establishment. We always thought our excellent Commander-in-Chief rather lost caste when he changed from a Prince into a Duke. Every county has its duke, but a prince is not seen every day. We associate the title with pomp and immense profusion, trumpets and a sovereign-for-a-sandwich sort of work. To be sure, railways have rather mitigated the severity of magnificence, but that is all in favour of the party sustaining the character, and also enables him to exercise the condescending amenities so acceptable from exalted rank. The great man in a train is always known before he gets to the end of his journey.
“His Highness,” as he called himself on his luggage labels, though in good demand in fairish circles, had no such grand invitation as that of the Duke, or rather the Duchess, of Tergiversation, of whom, of course, he made the most during his peregrinations, taking care to time himself for its fulfilment. So he passed from house to hall, and from hall to park, and from park to place, eating and drinking and dancing and making extremely merry.
It is a hard life that of an itinerant eater, drinker, and bed-airer — always expected to be lively and gay, always eating and drinking more than is good for one — never to have a quiet evening alone to set matters right, so as to rise for once with an unheated head. To be sure, a Prince has the advantage over other people of being consulted as to his wishes, and there is such a taste for practical courtiership in this country, that the more unreasonable he was, the better some people would like him, and the more flattered they would be by his presence; but His Highness was an accommodating man, and chimed into the habits of each house just as if he belonged to it, by which means he prolonged his stay, and was not unfrequently asked to return. Then as he moved about, the country papers chronicled his whereabouts; as for instance —
“His Highness Prince Pirouetteza, after a prolonged visit to our noble neighbour, the Right Hon. Lord Lumbago, at Lumbago Castle, has proceeded to Sir George Drearynut’s, at Turnabout Tower, where a select circle are invited to meet him;” and then, when he left Drearynut’s, there was another paragraph noticing the adjournment; so that what with prince in public, prince in private, prince in the papers, our friend felt himself a prince in reality. If the old skipper could have seen him, fêted, bowed, and bended, how he would indeed have laughed at the credulity of the English.
At length the Tergiversation visit became due, and with duplicate directions of Rock’s largest sized adhesive luggage labels on the numerous packages containing the comprehensive wardrobe, our great man and his valet left Major Lobster’s at Hards tuff Hill, where they had been sojourning for a couple of days, for the little railway station of Rattenford-pool, to catch one of the few trains that condescend to stop there. Adopting Lord Brougham’s excellent maxim, that it is better to be a quarter of an hour too soon than half a minute too late, our magnifico drove up in such capital time, that Tommy Ratter, the isolated station-master, who lived there like Robinson Crusoe with nobody but a man Friday of a porter to converse with, thought to get a little gossip with the arrivers before the train came up; but finding whom he had got, he was completely overpowered, and could hardly direct Friday what to do. The valet being a tall man, of course Tommy took him for His Highness, and bowed and humbled himself accordingly. It was not until he was saluted with a “Go along you old fool,” that he was sensible of his mistake. He then turned the steam of his politeness o
n the Prince, pending which ingratiation, the shrill whistle of the engine announced the approach of the train, and the “Meteor” came tearing along at a pace that looked very unlike stopping. And it did shoot past a good way, as if calling at such an untraffic-like place was not only a sham but a degradation, and the guard seemed half incredulous when Robinson Crusoe proclaimed he had passengers to go.
But when the man Friday came tottering along under the oppression of luggage, and the imposing directions caught the guard’s eye, he thought it was lucky they hadn’t shot past, and inwardly settled that there was no saying where people might come from. He then ran the contents of the carriages through his mind to decide where ho should put the distinguished stranger. Mr and Mrs. Daniel Dotchin and family were in number twenty-nine, some gents were smoking in thirty, there was a child in arms in thirty-one, thirty-two had two invalid ladies with a black nurse — but thirty-three had only Mrs and Miss Meredith, who he thought would be glad of a little company. So he hastily opened the door — the ladies whipt up their legs, and their kerchiefs, while His Highness came headforemost in, followed by caps, comforters, cloaks, furs, foot-warmer, everything calculated to make a Prince comfortable. He then soused himself into a seat, with his back to the engine, and having broken the ice of conversation by placing the window at the disposal of the ladies, a whistle and a waive of the hand from the guard, set the engine to her collar: a jerk, and a jolt, and they are again on the wing. Getting into a railway-train, and shooting away, after a long cross-country trail over woolly roads with weak washy horses, feels like the rapid descent of a Montagne Russe after a walk, so quickly does a traveller get to the end of his journey. He has gone ten miles before he gets settled into his seat, and ten more before he is familiar with the new sensation.
Ladies are generally much more conversable in railway carriages than gentlemen, and Miss Meredith, who had been educated at one of those highly polished seminaries where they first charge for everything in a lump, and then in detail afterwards, finding herself in company with a foreigner, availed herself of the opportunity for airing her Kensal Green French, while His Highness reciprocated his English, as they shot along the smoothly gliding plains through which their route lay. Meanwhile Mamma sat complacently by, well pleased to find that her daughter had got so much learning for her money. At length the pace began to slacken, and the train finally drew up at a more imposing-looking station, on the wooden wings of which were painted in large red letters on a salmon-coloured ground, “Straw Hill Station for Tansey Hill and Tergiversation Castle.”
“Tare — gi — vare — sation Castle,” said His Highness, spelling it. “Ah, this shall be my station,” and just as he said it, the guard appeared at the door to release him, while a long line of heads protruded at the windows to see for whom the Duke’s carriage with the four grays was waiting. Presently a tall footman with a lace-oppressed hat was seen piloting the great man across the platform to the exit door, and the hurrying guard, in reply to the numerous inquiries who it was, exclaimed. “Prince Piper Something!” as he gave a shrill whistle, and the engine again set off with a snort and a tug. Then the curious travellers wished they had known before, and were sorry they had not taken a good look at him.
Meanwhile, the Prince having entered the ducal carriage, was whisked away as fast as four horses could lay legs to the ground, and as the last rays of a setting sun burnished up the landscape, the easy swing of the well-built carriage landed him on the wood-pavement of the noble portico. Here he was received by the stately Mr. Cucumber in all the splendour of silk calves, and varnished shoes with many men out of livery, and many more in livery, hovering on his margin to dismantle the arriver, which being accomplished, Mr. Cucumber backing through outer and inner hall, brought the great man up in excellent form to the foot of the grand staircase, where he was received by no less a personage than the Duke of Tergiversation himself.
Mutual salutations over (the Prince wanted to kiss the Duke, but his Grace declined that), the crowd of servants slowly retired, and the Duke proceeded to conduct his distinguished guest up-stairs, amid expressions of his gratitude to him for his condescension in thus coming to visit them in their humble abode, for the Duke could condescend when it suited his purpose, though riding the high horse was more in his way. With speeches such as these he ushered His Highness into the Duchess’s beautiful boudoir, where sat her Grace, with her widowed sister, the Lady Cassandra Milicent Honoria Hopkins, the latter with every disposition to change her name again. Here he was again most cordially greeted, and invited to partake of the ladies’ hospitality of tea, a request that he very complacently complied with, and the Duke having now performed his part of the ceremony, quietly withdrew leaving the ladies to pursue their designs at their leisure, aided by the influence of a long winter’s evening.
And when at last they retired to their rooms to dress for an eight o’clock dinner, the Prince settled that Lady Honoria wouldn’t be bad looking if she didn’t squint, while her Ladyship thought his Highness was a most agreeable man, and greatly superior to Hopkins.
CHAPTER LI.
OLD AND NEW SQUIRES.
WHEN A STONE-BREAKER begins to ply his useful labours on the road, he generally selects a large stone wherewith to form the foundation of his heap, and so his Grace the Duke of Tergiversation used to establish his parties on the foundation of some such attractive centre as a Prince. Having thus laid the foundation of his heap, he investigated his position in the country; thought who were steady — who were beginning to jib, who it would be useful to cajole, and forthwith invitations used to issue, déjeûnera to the tractable, dinners to the docile, fetes to the froward. A person may be brought to the neutral ground of a fête who might shy at the apparent downright committal of a dinner.
The Duke weighed everything well before he did it, and never took any step without a motive.
Time was — before the establishment of railways — that the Squires used to respond to the call of their chiefs with the greatest alacrity, but the whistle of the engine has somewhat dispelled the authority of the leaders, and made men think more for themselves than they did. In truth, there is perhaps no class of Her Majesty’s subjects more benefited by the introduction of railways than the country gentlemen generally, who too often, after what used to be called the “Grand Tour,” buried themselves and their usually good educations in remote country places, there to marry “neighbours’ bairns,” and perpetuate the practice. Now they fly about the world, here and there and everywhere, importing ladies from all parts, making the whole kingdom but as one county, while the lists of members of the various Clubs show that they are not indifferent to the attractions of the capital. The very thing has come to pass that was predicted when stage-coaches were first established some two hundred years ago, namely, that “country gentlemen and their wives would get easily and cheaply conveyed to London,” without the remainder of the prophecy, however, being fulfilled, namely, “that they would not settle quietly at their homes in the country afterwards,” for whole families whisk about in all directions, and feel all the better for the change, enjoying their spacious homes the more from having perhaps put up with contracted quarters elsewhere.
Heaven help the parties’ ideas of ease who attributed anything of the sort to even the latest and best of the old stage-coaches, let alone the ponderous, unwieldy vehicles that first ploughed the bottomless roads, turning up the great boulder-stones like flitches of bacon, and taking the liberal allowance of from twelve to sixteen days in performing the journey between London and Edinburgh! Dr. Johnson, we make no doubt, described very accurately what they were in his time, when he boasted that he had travelled from London to Salisbury in a day by the common stage, “hung high and rough.” The doctor’s observation, that a postchaise had jolted many an intimacy to death, was doubtless very correct also. Who hasn’t a lively recollection of the musty old horrors? Talking of travelling, there is or was a notice in the coffee-room of the Black Swan Hotel at York, sta
ting that a four days’ stage-coach would begin to run (crawl, would perhaps have been a more proper expression), on Friday the 12th of April, 1706.
“All that are desirous to pass from London to York,” continues the advertisement, “or from York to London, or any other place on that road, let them repair to the Black Swan in Holborn, in London, or to the Black Swan in Coney Street, in York, “At both which places they may be received in a stage-coach every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, which performs the whole journey in four days (if God permits). And sets forth at five in the morning. And returns from York to Stamford in two days, and from Stamford by Huntingdon to London in two days more. And the like stages on their return. Allowing each passenger 14 lbs weight, and all above 3d a-pound.”
Rather a diminutive allowance for a modern exquisite’s luggage.
As time advanced, the pace certainly improved, but even up to the last of the coaches, they were five times as long as the rail.
In truth, the country gentlemen were a land-locked, leg-tied tribe, before the introduction of railways — coaching was uncomfortable, and posting expensive, besides which a journey took such a time. There was no running up to town for a week in those days. It took the best part of a week coming from a remote country to make the journey, and recover from the effects of it. No wonder the gentry did not make them very often, and contented themselves with their country towns instead of the capital. They were somebody in them, but nobody when they got into London. It seems rather strange, though, that even in those days, when transit was so slow and expensive, and men had to live so long on the road, that there were always plenty of country gentlemen ready to contest their respective counties, though the cost was frightful, and the poll as lingering as the coaches.
