And first, then, with regard to the city of Paris, it is to be remarked, that in that metropolis2 flourish a greater number of native and exotic swindlers than are to be found in any other European nursery. What young Englishman that visits it, but has not determined3, in his heart, to have a little share of the gayeties that go on — just for once, just to see what they are like? How many, when the horrible gambling4 dens5 were open, did resist a sight of them? — nay6, was not a young fellow rather flattered by a dinner invitation from the Salon7, whither he went, fondly pretending that he should see “French society,” in the persons of certain Dukes and Counts who used to frequent the place?
My friend Pogson is a young fellow, not much worse, although perhaps a little weaker and simpler than his neighbors; and coming to Paris with exactly the same notions that bring many others of the British youth to that capital, events befell him there, last winter, which are strictly8 true, and shall here be narrated10, by way of warning to all.
Pog, it must be premised, is a city man, who travels in drugs for a couple of the best London houses, blows the flute11, has an album, drives his own gig, and is considered, both on the road and in the metropolis, a remarkably12 nice, intelligent, thriving young man. Pogson’s only fault is too great an attachment13 to the fair:—“the sex,” as he says often “will be his ruin:” the fact is, that Pog never travels without a “Don Juan” under his driving-cushion, and is a pretty-looking young fellow enough.
Sam Pogson had occasion to visit Paris, last October; and it was in that city that his love of the sex had liked to have cost him dear. He worked his way down to Dover; placing, right and left, at the towns on his route, rhubarb, sodas14, and other such delectable15 wares16 as his masters dealt in (“the sweetest sample of castor oil, smelt17 like a nosegay — went off like wildfire — hogshead and a half at Rochester, eight-and twenty gallons at Canterbury,” and so on), and crossed to Calais, and thence voyaged to Paris in the coupé of the Diligence. He paid for two places, too, although a single man, and the reason shall now be made known.
Dining at the table-d’h?te at “Quillacq’s”— it is the best inn on the Continent of Europe — our little traveller had the happiness to be placed next to a lady, who was, he saw at a glance, one of the extreme pink of the nobility. A large lady, in black satin, with eyes and hair as black as sloes, with gold chains, scent-bottles, sable18 tippet, worked pocket-handkerchief, and four twinkling rings on each of her plump white fingers. Her cheeks were as pink as the finest Chinese rouge19 could make them. Pog knew the article: he travelled in it. Her lips were as red as the ruby20 lip salve: she used the very best, that was clear.
She was a fine-looking woman, certainly (holding down her eyes, and talking perpetually of “mes trente-deux ans”); and Pogson, the wicked young dog, who professed21 not to care for young misses, saying they smelt so of bread-and-butter, declared, at once, that the lady was one of HIS beauties; in fact, when he spoke22 to us about her, he said, “She’s a slap-up thing, I tell you; a reg’lar good one; ONE OF MY SORT!” And such was Pogson’s credit in all commercial rooms, that one of HIS sort was considered to surpass all other sorts.
During dinner-time, Mr. Pogson was profoundly polite and attentive24 to the lady at his side, and kindly25 communicated to her, as is the way with the best-bred English on their first arrival “on the Continent,” all his impressions regarding the sights and persons he had seen. Such remarks having been made during half an hour’s ramble26 about the ramparts and town, and in the course of a walk down to the custom-house, and a confidential27 communication with the commissionaire, must be, doubtless, very valuable to Frenchmen in their own country; and the lady listened to Pogson’s opinions: not only with benevolent28 attention, but actually, she said, with pleasure and delight. Mr. Pogson said that there was no such thing as good meat in France, and that’s why they cooked their victuals29 in this queer way; he had seen many soldiers parading about the place, and expressed a true Englishman’s abhorrence30 of an armed force; not that he feared such fellows as these — little whipper-snappers — our men would eat them. Hereupon the lady admitted that our Guards were angels, but that Monsieur must not be too hard upon the French; “her father was a General of the Emperor.”
Pogson felt a tremendous respect for himself at the notion that he was dining with a General’s daughter, and instantly ordered a bottle of champagne31 to keep up his consequence.
“Mrs. Bironn, ma’am,” said he, for he had heard the waiter call her by some such name, “if you WILL accept a glass of champagne, ma’am, you’ll do me, I’m sure, great honor: they say it’s very good, and a precious sight cheaper than it is on our side of the way, too — not that I care for money. Mrs. Bironn, ma’am, your health, ma’am.”
The lady smiled very graciously, and drank the wine.
“Har you any relation, ma’am, if I may make so bold; har you anyways connected with the family of our immortal32 bard33?”
“Sir, I beg your pardon.”
“Don’t mention it, ma’am: but BiRONN and BYron are hevidently the same names, only you pronounce in the French way; and I thought you might be related to his lordship: his horigin, ma’am, was of French extraction:” and here Pogson began to repeat —
“Hare thy heyes like thy mother’s, my fair child,
Hada! sole daughter of my ’ouse and ‘art?”
“Oh!” said the lady, laughing, “you speak of LOR Byron?
“Hauthor of ‘Don Juan,’ ‘Child ‘Arold,’ and ‘Cain, a Mystery,’” said Pogson:—“I do; and hearing the waiter calling you Madam la Bironn, took the liberty of hasking whether you were connected with his lordship; that’s hall:” and my friend here grew dreadfully red, and began twiddling his long ringlets in his fingers, and examining very eagerly the contents of his plate.
“Oh, no: Madame la Baronne means Mistress Baroness35; my husband was Baron34, and I am Baroness.”
“What! ‘ave I the honor — I beg your pardon, ma’am — is your ladyship a Baroness, and I not know it? pray excuse me for calling you ma’am.”
The Baroness smiled most graciously — with such a look as Juno cast upon unfortunate Jupiter when she wished to gain her wicked ends upon him — the Baroness smiled; and, stealing her hand into a black velvet36 bag, drew from it an ivory card-case, and from the ivory card-case extracted a glazed37 card, printed in gold; on it was engraved38 a coronet, and under the coronet the words
BARONNE DE FLORVAL-DELVAL,
NéE DE MELVAL-NORVAL.
Rue9 Taitbout.
The grand Pitt diamond — the Queen’s own star of the garter — a sample of otto-of-roses at a guinea a drop, would not be handled more curiously39, or more respectfully, than this porcelain40 card of the Baroness. Trembling he put it into his little Russia-leather pocket-book: and when he ventured to look up, and saw the eyes of the Baroness de Florval-Delval, née de Melval-Norval, gazing upon him with friendly and serene41 glances, a thrill of pride tingled42 through Pogson’s blood: he felt himself to be the very happiest fellow “on the Continent.”
But Pogson did not, for some time, venture to resume that sprightly43 and elegant familiarity which generally forms the great charm of his conversation: he was too much frightened at the presence he was in, and contented44 himself by graceful45 and solemn bows, deep attention, and ejaculations of “Yes, my lady,” and “No, your ladyship,” for some minutes after the discovery had been made. Pogson piqued46 himself on his breeding: “I hate the aristocracy,” he said, “but that’s no reason why I shouldn’t behave like a gentleman.”
A surly, silent little gentleman, who had been the third at the ordinary, and would take no part either in the conversation or in Pogson’s champagne, now took up his hat, and, grunting47, left the room, when the happy bagman had the delight of a tête-à-tête. The Baroness did not appear inclined to move: it was cold; a fire was comfortable, and she had ordered none in her apartment. Might Pogson give her one more glass of champagne, or would her ladyship prefer “something hot.” Her ladyship gravely said, she never took ANYTHING hot. “Some champagne, then; a leetle drop?” She would! she would! O gods! how Pogson’s hand shook as he filled and offered her the glass!
What took place during the rest of the evening had better be described by Mr. Pogson himself, who has given us permission to publish his letter.
“QUILLACQ’S HOTEL (pronounced KILLYAX), CALAIS.
“DEAR TIT — I arrived at Cally, as they call it, this day, or, rather, yesterday; for it is past midnight, as I sit thinking of a wonderful adventure that has just befallen me. A woman in course; that’s always the case with ME, you know: but oh, Tit! if you COULD but see her! Of the first family in France, the Florval-Delvals, beautiful as an angel, and no more caring for money than I do for split peas.
“I’ll tell you how it occurred. Everybody in France, you know, dines at the ordinary — it’s quite distangy to do so. There was only three of us today, however — the Baroness, me, and a gent, who never spoke a word; and we didn’t want him to, neither: do you mark that?
“You know my way with the women: champagne’s the thing; make ’em drink, make ’em talk; — make ’em talk, make ’em do anything. So I orders a bottle, as if for myself; and, ‘Ma’am,’ says I, ‘will you take a glass of Sham48 — just one?’ Take it she did — for you know it’s quite distangy here: everybody dines at the table de h?te, and everybody accepts everybody’s wine. Bob Irons, who travels in linen49 on our circuit, told me that he had made some slap-up acquaintances among the genteelest people at Paris, nothing but by offering them Sham.
“Well, my Baroness takes one glass, two glasses, three glasses — the old fellow goes — we have a deal of chat (she took me for a military man, she said: is it not singular that so many people should?), and by ten o’clock we had grown so intimate, that I had from her her whole history, knew where she came from, and where she was going. Leave me alone with ’em: I can find out any woman’s history in half an hour.
“And where do you think she IS going? to Paris to be sure: she has her seat in what they call the coopy (though you’re not near so cooped in it as in our coaches. I’ve been to the office and seen one of ’em). She has her place in the coopy, and the coopy holds THREE; so what does Sam Pogson do? — he goes and takes the other two. Ain’t I up to a thing or two? Oh, no, not the least; but I shall have her to myself the whole of the way.
“We shall be in the French metropolis the day after this reaches you: please look out for a handsome lodging50 for me, and never mind the expense. And I say, if you could, in her hearing, when you came down to the coach, call me Captain Pogson, I wish you would — it sounds well travelling, you know; and when she asked me if I was not an officer, I couldn’t say no. Adieu, then, my dear fellow, till Monday, and vive le joy, as they say. The Baroness says I speak French charmingly, she talks English as well as you or I.
“Your affectionate friend,
“S. Pogson.”
This letter reached us duly, in our garrets, and we engaged such an apartment for Mr. Pogson, as beseemed a gentleman of his rank in the world and the army. At the appointed hour, too, we repaired to the Diligence office, and there beheld51 the arrival of the machine which contained him and his lovely Baroness.
Those who have much frequented the society of gentlemen of his profession (and what more delightful52?) must be aware, that, when all the rest of mankind look hideous53, dirty, peevish54, wretched, after a forty hours’ coach-journey, a bagman appears as gay and spruce as when he started; having within himself a thousand little conveniences for the voyage, which common travellers neglect. Pogson had a little portable toilet, of which he had not failed to take advantage, and with his long, curling, flaxen hair, flowing under a seal-skin cap, with a gold tassel55, with a blue and gold satin handkerchief, a crimson56 velvet waistcoat, a light green cut-away coat, a pair of barred brickdust-colored pantaloons, and a neat mackintosh, presented, altogether, as elegant and distingué an appearance as any one could desire. He had put on a clean collar at breakfast, and a pair of white kids as he entered the barrier, and looked, as he rushed into my arms, more like a man stepping out of a band-box, than one descending58 from a vehicle that has just performed one of the laziest, dullest, flattest, stalest, dirtiest journeys in Europe.
To my surprise, there were TWO ladies in the coach with my friend, and not ONE, as I had expected. One of these, a stout59 female, carrying sundry60 baskets, bags, umbrellas, and woman’s wraps, was evidently a maid-servant: the other, in black, was Pogson’s fair one, evidently. I could see a gleam of curl-papers over a sallow face — of a dusky nightcap flapping over the curl-papers — but these were hidden by a lace veil and a huge velvet bonnet61, of which the crowning birds-of-paradise were evidently in a moulting state. She was encased in many shawls and wrappers; she put, hesitatingly, a pretty little foot out of the carriage — Pogson was by her side in an instant, and, gallantly62 putting one of his white kids round her waist, aided this interesting creature to descend57. I saw, by her walk, that she was five-and-forty, and that my little Pogson was a lost man.
After some brief parley63 between them — in which it was charming to hear how my friend Samuel WOULD speak, what he called French, to a lady who could not understand one syllable64 of his jargon65 — the mutual66 hackney-coaches drew up; Madame la Baronne waved to the Captain a graceful French curtsy. “Adyou!” said Samuel, and waved his lily hand. “Adyou-addimang.”
A brisk little gentleman, who had made the journey in the same coach with Pogson, but had more modestly taken a seat in the Imperial, here passed us, and greeted me with a “How d’ye do?” He had shouldered his own little valise, and was trudging67 off, scattering68 a cloud of commissionaires, who would fain have spared him the trouble.
“Do you know that chap?” says Pogson; “surly fellow, ain’t he?”
“The kindest man in existence,” answered I; “all the world knows little Major British.”
“He’s a Major, is he? — why, that’s the fellow that dined with us at Killyax’s; it’s lucky I did not call myself Captain before him, he mightn’t have liked it, you know:” and then Sam fell into a reverie; — what was the subject of his thoughts soon appeared.
“Did you ever SEE such a foot and ankle?” said Sam, after sitting for some time, regardless of the novelty of the scene, his hands in his pockets, plunged69 in the deepest thought.
“ISN’T she a slap-up woman, eh, now?” pursued he; and began enumerating70 her attractions, as a horse-jockey would the points of a favorite animal.
“You seem to have gone a pretty length already,” said I, “by promising71 to visit her tomorrow.”
“A good length? — I believe you. Leave ME alone for that.”
“But I thought you were only to be two in the coupé, you wicked rogue72.”
“Two in the coopy? Oh! ah! yes, you know — why, that is, I didn’t know she had her maid with her (what an ass23 I was to think of a noblewoman travelling without one!) and couldn’t, in course, refuse, when she asked me to let the maid in.”
“Of course not.”
“Couldn’t, you know, as a man of honor; but I made up for all that,” said Pogson, winking73 slyly, and putting his hand to his little bunch of a nose, in a very knowing way.
“You did, and how?”
“Why, you dog, I sat next to her; sat in the middle the whole way, and my back’s half broke, I can tell you:” and thus, having depicted74 his happiness, we soon reached the inn where this back-broken young man was to lodge75 during his stay in Paris.
The next day at five we met; Mr. Pogson had seen his Baroness, and described her lodgings76, in his own expressive77 way, as “slap-up.” She had received him quite like an old friend; treated him to eau sucrée, of which beverage78 he expressed himself a great admirer; and actually asked him to dine the next day. But there was a cloud over the ingenuous79 youth’s brow, and I inquired still farther.
“Why,” said he, with a sigh, “I thought she was a widow; and, hang it! who should come in but her husband the Baron: a big fellow, sir, with a blue coat, a red ribbing, and SUCH a pair of mustachios!”
“Well,” said I, “he didn’t turn you out, I suppose?”
“Oh, no! on the contrary, as kind as possible; his lordship said that he respected the English army; asked me what corps80 I was in — said he had fought in Spain against us — and made me welcome.”
“What could you want more?”
Mr. Pogson at this only whistled; and if some very profound observer of human nature had been there to read into this little bagman’s heart, it would, perhaps, have been manifest, that the appearance of a whiskered soldier of a husband had counteracted81 some plans that the young scoundrel was concocting82.
I live up a hundred and thirty-seven steps in the remote quarter of the Luxembourg, and it is not to be expected that such a fashionable fellow as Sam Pogson, with his pockets full of money, and a new city to see, should be always wandering to my dull quarters; so that, although he did not make his appearance for some time, he must not be accused of any luke-warmness of friendship on that score.
He was out, too, when I called at his hotel; but once, I had the good fortune to see him, with his hat curiously on one side, looking as pleased as Punch, and being driven, in an open cab, in the Champs Elysées. “That’s ANOTHER tip-top chap,” said he, when we met, at length. “What do you think of an Earl’s son, my boy? Honorable Tom Ringwood, son of the Earl of Cinqbars: what do you think of that, eh?”
I thought he was getting into very good society. Sam was a dashing fellow, and was always above his own line of life; he had met Mr. Ringwood at the Baron’s, and they’d been to the play together; and the honorable gent, as Sam called him, had joked with him about being well to do IN A CERTAIN QUARTER; and he had had a game of billiards83 with the Baron, at the Estaminy, “a very distangy place, where you smoke,” said Sam; “quite select, and frequented by the tip-top nobility;” and they were as thick as peas in a shell; and they were to dine that day at Ringwood’s, and sup, the next night, with the Baroness.
“I think the chaps down the road will stare,” said Sam, “when they hear how I’ve been coming it.” And stare, no doubt, they would; for it is certain that very few commercial gentlemen have had Mr. Pogson’s advantages.
The next morning we had made an arrangement to go out shopping together, and to purchase some articles of female gear, that Sam intended to bestow84 on his relations when he returned. Seven needle-books, for his sisters; a gilt85 buckle86, for his mamma; a handsome French cashmere shawl and bonnet, for his aunt (the old lady keeps an inn in the Borough88, and has plenty of money, and no heirs); and a toothpick case, for his father. Sam is a good fellow to all his relations, and as for his aunt, he adores her. Well, we were to go and make these purchases, and I arrived punctually at my time; but Sam was stretched on a sofa, very pale and dismal89.
I saw how it had been. —“A little too much of Mr. Ringwood’s claret, I suppose?”
He only gave a sickly stare.
“Where does the Honorable Tom live?” says I.
“HONORABLE!” says Sam, with a hollow, horrid90 laugh; “I tell you, Tit, he’s no more Honorable than you are.”
“What, an impostor?”
“No, no; not that. He is a real Honorable, only —”
“Oh, ho! I smell a rat — a little jealous, eh?”
“Jealousy be hanged! I tell you he’s a thief; and the Baron’s a thief; and, hang me, if I think his wife is any better. Eight-and-thirty pounds he won of me before supper; and made me drunk, and sent me home:— is THAT honorable? How can I afford to lose forty pounds? It’s took me two years to save it up — if my old aunt gets wind of it, she’ll cut me off with a shilling: hang me!”— and here Sam, in an agony, tore his fair hair.
While bewailing his lot in this lamentable91 strain, his bell was rung, which signal being answered by a surly “Come in,” a tall, very fashionable gentleman, with a fur coat, and a fierce tuft to his chin, entered the room. “Pogson my buck87, how goes it?” said he, familiarly, and gave a stare at me: I was making for my hat.
“Don’t go,” said Sam, rather eagerly; and I sat down again.
The Honorable Mr. Ringwood hummed and ha’d: and, at last, said he wished to speak to Mr. Pogson on business, in private, if possible.
“There’s no secrets betwixt me and my friend,” cried Sam.
Mr. Ringwood paused a little:—“An awkward business that of last night,” at length exclaimed he.
“I believe it WAS an awkward business,” said Sam, dryly.
“I really am very sorry for your losses.”
“Thank you: and so am I, I can tell you,” said Sam.
“You must mind, my good fellow, and not drink; for, when you drink, you WILL play high: by Gad92, you led US in, and not we you.”
“I dare say,” answered Sam, with something of peevishness93; “losses is losses: there’s no use talking about ’em when they’re over and paid.”
“And paid?” here wonderingly spoke Mr. Ringwood; “why, my dear fel — what the deuce — has Florval been with you?”
“D—— Florval!” growled94 Sam, “I’ve never set eyes on his face since last night; and never wish to see him again.”
“Come, come, enough of this talk; how do you intend to settle the bills which you gave him last night?”
“Bills I what do you mean?”
“I mean, sir, these bills,” said the Honorable Tom, producing two out of his pocket-book, and looking as stern as a lion. “‘I promise to pay, on demand, to the Baron de Florval, the sum of four hundred pounds. October 20, 1838.’ ‘Ten days after date I promise to pay the Baron de et caetera et caetera, one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. Samuel Pogson.’ You didn’t say what regiment95 you were in.”
“WHAT!” shouted poor Sam, as from a dream, starting up and looking preternaturally pale and hideous.
“D—— it, sir, you don’t affect ignorance: you don’t pretend not to remember that you signed these bills, for money lost in my rooms: money LENT to you, by Madame de Florval, at your own request, and lost to her husband? You don’t suppose, sir, that I shall be such an infernal idiot as to believe you, or such a coward as to put up with a mean subterfuge96 of this sort. Will you, or will you not, pay the money, sir?”
“I will not,” said Sam, stoutly97; “it’s a d —— d swin —”
Here Mr. Ringwood sprung up, clenching98 his riding-whip, and looking so fierce that Sam and I bounded back to the other end of the room. “Utter that word again, and, by heaven, I’ll murder you!” shouted Mr. Ringwood, and looked as if he would, too: “once more, will you, or will you not, pay this money?”
“I can’t,” said Sam faintly.
“I’ll call again, Captain Pogson,” said Mr. Ringwood, “I’ll call again in one hour; and, unless you come to some arrangement, you must meet my friend, the Baron de Florval, or I’ll post you for a swindler and a coward.” With this he went out: the door thundered to after him, and when the clink of his steps departing had subsided99, I was enabled to look round at Pog. The poor little man had his elbows on the marble table, his head between his hands, and looked, as one has seen gentlemen look over a steam-vessel off Ramsgate, the wind blowing remarkably fresh: at last he fairly burst out crying.
“If Mrs. Pogson heard of this,” said I, “what would become of the ‘Three Tuns?’” (for I wished to give him a lesson). “If your Ma, who took you every Sunday to meeting, should know that her boy was paying attention to married women; — if Drench100, Glauber and Co., your employers, were to know that their confidential agent was a gambler, and unfit to be trusted with their money, how long do you think your connection would last with them, and who would afterwards employ you?”
To this poor Pog had not a word of answer; but sat on his sofa whimpering so bitterly, that the sternest of moralists would have relented towards him, and would have been touched by the little wretch’s tears. Everything, too, must be pleaded in excuse for this unfortunate bagman: who, if he wished to pass for a captain, had only done so because he had an intense respect and longing101 for rank: if he had made love to the Baroness, had only done so because he was given to understand by Lord Byron’s “Don Juan” that making love was a very correct, natty102 thing: and if he had gambled, had only been induced to do so by the bright eyes and example of the Baron and the Baroness. O ye Barons103 and Baronesses104 of England! if ye knew what a number of small commoners are daily occupied in studying your lives, and imitating your aristocratic ways, how careful would ye be of your morals, manners, and conversation!
My soul was filled, then, with a gentle yearning105 pity for Pogson, and revolved106 many plans for his rescue: none of these seeming to be practicable, at last we hit on the very wisest of all, and determined to apply for counsel to no less a person than Major British.
A blessing107 it is to be acquainted with my worthy108 friend, little Major British; and heaven, sure, it was that put the Major into my head, when I heard of this awkward scrape of poor Fog’s. The Major is on half-pay, and occupies a modest apartment au quatrième, in the very hotel which Pogson had patronized at my suggestion; indeed, I had chosen it from Major British’s own peculiar109 recommendation.
There is no better guide to follow than such a character as the honest Major, of whom there are many likenesses now scattered110 over the Continent of Europe: men who love to live well, and are forced to live cheaply, and who find the English abroad a thousand times easier, merrier, and more hospitable111 than the same persons at home. I, for my part, never landed on Calais pier112 without feeling that a load of sorrows was left on the other side of the water; and have always fancied that black care stepped on board the steamer, along with the custom-house officers at Gravesend, and accompanied one to yonder black louring towers of London — so busy, so dismal, and so vast.
British would have cut any foreigner’s throat who ventured to say so much, but entertained, no doubt, private sentiments of this nature; for he passed eight months of the year, regularly, abroad, with headquarters at Paris (the garrets before alluded113 to), and only went to England for the month’s shooting, on the grounds of his old colonel, now an old lord, of whose acquaintance the Major was passably inclined to boast.
He loved and respected, like a good staunch Tory as he is, every one of the English nobility; gave himself certain little airs of a man of fashion, that were by no means disagreeable; and was, indeed, kindly regarded by such English aristocracy as he met, in his little annual tours among the German courts, in Italy or in Paris, where he never missed an ambassador’s night: he retailed114 to us, who didn’t go, but were delighted to know all that had taken place, accurate accounts of the dishes, the dresses, and the scandal which had there fallen under his observation.
He is, moreover, one of the most useful persons in society that can possibly be; for besides being incorrigibly115 duelsome on his own account, he is, for others, the most acute and peaceable counsellor in the world, and has carried more friends through scrapes and prevented more deaths than any member of the Humane116 Society. British never bought a single step in the army, as is well known. In ‘14 he killed a celebrated117 French fire-eater,, who had slain118 a young friend of his, and living, as he does, a great deal with young men of pleasure, and good old sober family people, he is loved by them both and has as welcome a place made for him at a roaring bachelor’s supper at the “Café Anglais,” as at a staid dowager’s dinner-table in the Faubourg St. Honoré. Such pleasant old boys are very profitable acquaintances, let me tell you; and lucky is the young man who has one or two such friends in his list.
Hurrying on Fogson in his dress, I conducted him, panting, up to the Major’s quatrième, where we were cheerfully bidden to come in. The little gentleman was in his travelling jacket, and occupied in painting, elegantly, one of those natty pairs of boots in which he daily promenaded119 the Boulevards. A couple of pairs of tough buff gloves had been undergoing some pipe-claying operation under his hands; no man stepped out so spick and span, with a hat so nicely brushed, with a stiff cravat120 tied so neatly121 under a fat little red face, with a blue frock-coat so scrupulously122 fitted to a punchy little person, as Major British, about whom we have written these two pages. He stared rather hardly at my companion, but gave me a kind shake of the hand, and we proceeded at once to business. “Major British,” said I, “we want your advice in regard to an unpleasant affair which has just occurred to my friend Pogson.”
“Pogson, take a chair.”
“You must know, sir, that Mr. Pogson, coming from Calais the other day, encountered, in the diligence, a very handsome woman.”
British winked123 at Pogson, who, wretched as he was, could not help feeling pleased.
“Mr. Pogson was not more pleased with this lovely creature than was she with him; for, it appears, she gave him her card, invited him to her house, where he has been constantly, and has been received with much kindness.”
“I see,” says British.
“Her husband the Baron —”
“NOW it’s coming,” said the Major, with a grin: “her husband is jealous, I suppose, and there is a talk of the Bois de Boulogne: my dear sir, you can’t refuse — can’t refuse.”
“It’s not that,” said Pogson, wagging his head passionately124.
“Her husband the Baron seemed quite as much taken with Pogson as his lady was, and has introduced him to some very distingué friends of his own set. Last night one of the Baron’s friends gave a party in honor of my friend Pogson, who lost forty-eight pounds at cards BEFORE he was made drunk, and heaven knows how much after.”
“Not a shilling, by sacred heaven! — not a shilling!” yelled out Pogson. “After the supper I ‘ad such an ‘eadach’, I couldn’t do anything but fall asleep on the sofa.”
“You ‘ad such an ‘eadach’, sir,” says British, sternly, who piques125 himself on his grammar and pronunciation, and scorns a cockney.
Such a H-eadache, sir,” replied Pogson, with much meekness126.
“The unfortunate man is brought home at two o’clock, as tipsy as possible, dragged up stairs, senseless, to bed, and, on waking, receives a visit from his entertainer of the night before — a lord’s son, Major, a tip-top fellow — who brings a couple of bills that my friend Pogson is said to have signed.”
“Well, my dear fellow, the thing’s quite simple — he must pay them.”
“I can’t pay them.”
“He can’t pay them,” said we both in a breath: “Pogson is a commercial traveller, with thirty shillings a week, and how the deuce is he to pay five hundred pounds?”
“A bagman, sir! and what right has a bagman to gamble? Gentlemen gamble, sir; tradesmen, sir, have no business with the amusements of the gentry127. What business had you with barons and lords’ sons, sir? — serve you right, sir.”
“Sir,” says Pogson, with some dignity, “merit, and not birth, is the criterion of a man: I despise an hereditary128 aristocracy, and admire only Nature’s gentlemen. For my part, I think that a British merch —”
“Hold your tongue, sir,” bounced out the Major, “and don’t lecture me; don’t come to me, sir, with your slang about Nature’s gentlemen — Nature’s tomfools, sir! Did Nature open a cash account for you at a banker’s, sir? Did Nature give you an education, sir? What do you mean by competing with people to whom Nature has given all these things? Stick to your bags, Mr. Pogson, and your bagmen, and leave barons and their like to their own ways.”
“Yes, but, Major,” here cried that faithful friend, who has always stood by Pogson; “they won’t leave him alone.”
“The honorable gent says I must fight if I don’t pay,” whimpered Sam.
“What! fight YOU? Do you mean that the honorable gent, as you call him, will go out with a bagman?”
“He doesn’t know I’m a — I’m a commercial man,” blushingly said Sam: “he fancies I’m a military gent.”
The Major’s gravity was quite upset at this absurd notion; and he laughed outrageously129. “Why, the fact is, sir,” said I, “that my friend Pogson, knowing the value of the title of Captain, and being complimented by the Baroness on his warlike appearance, said, boldly, he was in the army. He only assumed the rank in order to dazzle her weak imagination, never fancying that there was a husband, and a circle of friends, with whom he was afterwards to make an acquaintance; and then, you know, it was too late to withdraw.”
“A pretty pickle130 you have put yourself in, Mr. Pogson, by making love to other men’s wives, and calling yourself names,” said the Major, who was restored to good humor. “And pray, who is the honorable gent?”
“The Earl of Cinqbars’ son,” says Pogson, “the Honorable Tom Ringwood.”
“I thought it was some such character; and the Baron is the Baron de Florval-Delval?”
“The very same.”
“And his wife a black-haired woman, with a pretty foot and ankle; calls herself Athenais; and is always talking about her trente-deux ans? Why, sir, that woman was an actress on the Boulevard, when we were here in ‘15. She’s no more his wife than I am. Delval’s name is Chicot. The woman is always travelling between London and Paris: I saw she was hooking you at Calais; she has hooked ten men, in the course of the last two years, in this very way. She lent you money, didn’t she?” “Yes.” “And she leans on your shoulder, and whispers, ‘Play half for me,’ and somebody wins it, and the poor thing is as sorry as you are, and her husband storms and rages, and insists on double stakes; and she leans over your shoulder again, and tells every card in your hand to your adversary131, and that’s the way it’s done, Mr. Pogson.”
“I’ve been ‘AD, I see I ‘ave,” said Pogson, very humbly132.
“Well, sir,” said the Major, “in consideration, not of you, sir — for, give me leave to tell you, Mr. Pogson, that you are a pitiful little scoundrel — in consideration for my Lord Cinqbars, sir, with whom, I am proud to say, I am intimate,” (the Major dearly loved a lord, and was, by his own showing, acquainted with half the peerage,) “I will aid you in this affair. Your cursed vanity, sir, and want of principle, has set you, in the first place, intriguing133 with other men’s wives; and if you had been shot for your pains, a bullet would have only served you right, sir. You must go about as an impostor, sir, in society; and you pay richly for your swindling, sir, by being swindled yourself: but, as I think your punishment has been already pretty severe, I shall do my best, out of regard for my friend, Lord Cinqbars, to prevent the matter going any farther; and I recommend you to leave Paris without delay. Now let me wish you a good morning.”— Wherewith British made a majestic134 bow, and began giving the last touch to his varnished135 boots.
We departed: poor Sam perfectly136 silent and chapfallen; and I meditating137 on the wisdom of the half-pay philosopher, and wondering what means he would employ to rescue Pogson from his fate.
What these means were I know not; but Mr. Ringwood did NOT make his appearance at six; and, at eight, a letter arrived for “Mr. Pogson, commercial traveller,” &c. &c. It was blank inside, but contained his two bills. Mr. Ringwood left town, almost immediately, for Vienna; nor did the Major explain the circumstances which caused his departure; but he muttered something about “knew some of his old tricks,” “threatened police, and made him disgorge directly.”
Mr. Ringwood is, as yet, young at his trade; and I have often thought it was very green of him to give up the bills to the Major, who, certainly, would never have pressed the matter before the police, out of respect for his friend, Lord Cinqbars.
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1
snares
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| n.陷阱( snare的名词复数 )；圈套；诱人遭受失败（丢脸、损失等）的东西；诱惑物v.用罗网捕捉，诱陷，陷害( snare的第三人称单数 ) | |
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metropolis
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| n.首府；大城市 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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gambling
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| n.赌博；投机 | |
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dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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10
narrated
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| v.故事( narrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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11
flute
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| n.长笛；v.吹笛 | |
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12
remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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13
attachment
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| n.附属物，附件；依恋；依附 | |
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14
sodas
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| n.苏打( soda的名词复数 )；碱；苏打水；汽水 | |
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15
delectable
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| adj.使人愉快的；美味的 | |
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16
wares
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| n. 货物, 商品 | |
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17
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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18
sable
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| n.黑貂；adj.黑色的 | |
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19
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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21
professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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22
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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23
ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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24
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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25
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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26
ramble
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| v.漫步，漫谈，漫游；n.漫步，闲谈，蔓延 | |
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27
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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28
benevolent
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| adj.仁慈的，乐善好施的 | |
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29
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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30
abhorrence
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| n.憎恶；可憎恶的事 | |
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31
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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32
immortal
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| adj.不朽的；永生的，不死的；神的 | |
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33
bard
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| n.吟游诗人 | |
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34
baron
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| n.男爵；(商业界等)巨头，大王 | |
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35
baroness
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| n.男爵夫人，女男爵 | |
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36
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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37
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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38
engraved
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| v.在（硬物）上雕刻（字，画等）( engrave的过去式和过去分词 )；将某事物深深印在（记忆或头脑中） | |
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39
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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40
porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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41
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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42
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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44
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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45
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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46
piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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47
grunting
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| 咕哝的，呼噜的 | |
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48
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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49
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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50
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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51
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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52
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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53
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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54
peevish
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| adj.易怒的，坏脾气的 | |
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55
tassel
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| n.流苏，穗；v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须 | |
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56
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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57
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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58
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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60
sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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61
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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62
gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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63
parley
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| n.谈判 | |
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64
syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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65
jargon
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| n.术语，行话 | |
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66
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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67
trudging
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| vt.& vi.跋涉，吃力地走（trudge的现在分词形式） | |
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68
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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69
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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70
enumerating
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| v.列举，枚举，数( enumerate的现在分词 ) | |
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71
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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72
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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73
winking
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| n.瞬眼，目语v.使眼色( wink的现在分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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74
depicted
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| 描绘，描画( depict的过去式和过去分词 )； 描述 | |
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75
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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76
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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77
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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78
beverage
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| n.(水，酒等之外的)饮料 | |
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79
ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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80
corps
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| n.(通信等兵种的)部队；(同类作的)一组 | |
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81
counteracted
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| 对抗，抵消( counteract的过去式 ) | |
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82
concocting
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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83
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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84
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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85
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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86
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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87
buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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88
borough
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| n.享有自治权的市镇；(英)自治市镇 | |
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89
dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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90
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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91
lamentable
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| adj.令人惋惜的，悔恨的 | |
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92
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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93
peevishness
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| 脾气不好；爱发牢骚 | |
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94
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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95
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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96
subterfuge
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| n.诡计；藉口 | |
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97
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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98
clenching
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的现在分词 ) | |
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99
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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100
drench
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| v.使淋透，使湿透 | |
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101
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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102
natty
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| adj.整洁的，漂亮的 | |
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103
barons
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| 男爵( baron的名词复数 )； 巨头； 大王； 大亨 | |
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baronesses
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| n.女男爵( baroness的名词复数 )；男爵夫人[寡妇] | |
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yearning
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| a.渴望的；向往的；怀念的 | |
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revolved
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| v.（使）旋转( revolve的过去式和过去分词 )；细想 | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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pier
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| n.码头；桥墩，桥柱；[建]窗间壁，支柱 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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incorrigibly
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| adv.无法矫正地；屡教不改地；无可救药地；不能矫正地 | |
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humane
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| adj.人道的，富有同情心的 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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slain
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的过去分词 )； (slay的过去分词) | |
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promenaded
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| v.兜风( promenade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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cravat
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| n.领巾，领结；v.使穿有领结的服装，使结领结 | |
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neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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piques
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的第三人称单数 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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hereditary
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| adj.遗传的，遗传性的，可继承的，世袭的 | |
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outrageously
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| 凶残地； 肆无忌惮地； 令人不能容忍地； 不寻常地 | |
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pickle
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| n.腌汁，泡菜；v.腌，泡 | |
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adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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intriguing
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| adj.有趣的；迷人的v.搞阴谋诡计(intrigue的现在分词)；激起…的好奇心 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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varnished
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| 浸渍过的，涂漆的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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