I
If it had not been for those two mettlesome tits, and that madcap of a postillion who drove them from Stilton to Stamford, the thought had never entered my head. He flew like lightningвБ†вЄЇвБ†there was a slope of three miles and a halfвБ†вЄЇвБ†we scarce touched the groundвБ†вЄЇвБ†the motion was most rapidвБ†вЄЇвБ†most impetuousвБ†вЄївАЩtwas communicated to my brainвБ†вАФmy heart partook of itвБ†вЄЇвАЬBy the great God of day,вАЭ said I, looking towards the sun, and thrusting my arm out of the fore-window of the chaise, as I made my vow, вАЬI will lock up my study-door the moment I get home, and throw the key of it ninety feet below the surface of the earth, into the draw-well at the back of my house.вАЭ
The London wagon confirmed me in my resolution; it hung tottering upon the hill, scarce progressive, dragвАЩdвБ†вАФdragвАЩd up by eight heavy beastsвБ†вАФвАЬby main strength!вБ†вЄЇвБ†quoth I, noddingвБ†вЄЇвБ†but your betters draw the same wayвБ†вЄЇвБ†and something of everybodyвАЩs!вБ†вЄЇвБ†O rare!вАЭ
Tell me, ye learned, shall we forever be adding so much to the bulkвБ†вАФso little to the stock?
Shall we forever make new books, as apothecaries make new mixtures, by pouring only out of one vessel into another?
Are we forever to be twisting, and untwisting the same rope? forever in the same trackвБ†вАФforever at the same pace?
Shall we be destined to the days of eternity, on holy-days, as well as working-days, to be showing the relicks of learning, as monks do the relicks of their saintsвБ†вАФwithout working oneвБ†вАФone single miracle with them?
Who made Man, with powers which dart him from earth to heaven in a momentвБ†вАФthat great, that most excellent, and most noble creature of the worldвБ†вАФthe miracle of nature, as Zoroaster in his book ѕАќµѕБќє ѕЖѕНѕГќµѕЙѕВ called himвБ†вАФthe Shekinah of the divine presence, as ChrysostomвБ†вЄЇвБ†the image of God, as MosesвБ†вЄЇвБ†the ray of divinity, as PlatoвБ†вАФthe marvel of marvels, as AristotleвБ†вАФto go sneaking on at this pitifulвБ†вАФpimpingвБ†вАФpettifogging rate?
I scorn to be as abusive as Horace upon the occasionвБ†вЄїbut if there is no catachresis in the wish, and no sin in it, I wish from my soul, that every imitator in Great Britain, France, and Ireland, had the farcy for his pains; and that there was a good farcical house, large enough to holdвБ†вАФayeвБ†вАФand sublimate them, shag rag and bobtail, male and female, all together: and this leads me to the affair of WhiskersвБ†вЄЇвБ†but, by what chain of ideasвБ†вАФI leave as a legacy in mortmain to Prudes and Tartufs, to enjoy and make the most of.
Upon Whiskers
IвАЩm sorry I made itвБ†вЄЇвАЩtwas as inconsiderate a promise as ever entered a manвАЩs headвБ†вЄЇвБ†A chapter upon whiskers! alas! the world will not bear itвБ†вАФвАЩtis a delicate worldвБ†вЄЇвБ†but I knew not of what mettle it was madeвБ†вАФnor had I ever seen the underwritten fragment; otherwise, as surely as noses are noses, and whiskers are whiskers still (let the world say what it will to the contrary); so surely would I have steered clear of this dangerous chapter.
The Fragment
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *вБ†вЄїYou are half asleep, my good lady, said the old gentleman, taking hold of the old ladyвАЩs hand, and giving it a gentle squeeze, as he pronounced the word WhiskersвБ†вЄЇвБ†shall we change the subject? By no means, replied the old ladyвБ†вАФI like your account of those matters; so throwing a thin gauze handkerchief over her head, and leaning it back upon the chair with her face turned towards him, and advancing her two feet as she reclined herselfвБ†вЄЇвБ†I desire, continued she, you will go on.
The old gentleman went on as follows:вБ†вЄїWhiskers! cried the queen of Navarre, dropping her knotting ball, as La Fosseuse uttered the wordвБ†вЄЇвБ†Whiskers, madam, said La Fosseuse, pinning the ball to the queenвАЩs apron, and making a courtesy as she repeated it.
La FosseuseвАЩs voice was naturally soft and low, yet вАЩtwas an articulate voice: and every letter of the word Whiskers fell distinctly upon the queen of NavarreвАЩs earвБ†вАФWhiskers! cried the queen, laying a greater stress upon the word, and as if she had still distrusted her earsвБ†вЄЇвБ†Whiskers! replied La Fosseuse, repeating the word a third timeвБ†вЄЇвБ†There is not a cavalier, madam, of his age in Navarre, continued the maid of honour, pressing the pageвАЩs interest upon the queen, that has so gallant a pairвБ†вЄЇвБ†Of what? cried Margaret, smilingвБ†вАФOf whiskers, said La Fosseuse, with infinite modesty.
The word Whiskers still stood its ground, and continued to be made use of in most of the best companies throughout the little kingdom of Navarre, notwithstanding the indiscreet use which La Fosseuse had made of it: the truth was, La Fosseuse had pronounced the word, not only before the queen, but upon sundry other occasions at court, with an accent which always implied something of a mysteryвБ†вАФAnd as the court of Margaret, as all the world knows, was at that time a mixture of gallantry and devotionвБ†вЄЇвБ†and whiskers being as applicable to the one, as the other, the word naturally stood its groundвБ†вЄЇвБ†it gainвАЩd full as much as it lost; that is, the clergy were for itвБ†вЄЇвБ†the laity were against itвБ†вЄЇвБ†and for the women,вБ†вЄЇвБ†they were divided.
The excellency of the figure and mien of the young Sieur De Croix, was at that time beginning to draw the attention of the maids of honour towards the terrace before the palace gate, where the guard was mounted. The lady De Baussiere fell deeply in love with him,вБ†вЄЇвБ†La Battarelle did the sameвБ†вАФit was the finest weather for it, that ever was remembered in NavarreвБ†вЄЇвБ†La Guyol, La Maronette, La Sabatiere, fell in love with the Sieur De Croix alsoвБ†вЄЇвБ†La Rebours and La Fosseuse knew betterвБ†вЄЇвБ†De Croix had failed in an attempt to recommend himself to La Rebours; and La Rebours and La Fosseuse were inseparable.
The queen of Navarre was sitting with her ladies in the painted bow-window, facing the gate of the second court, as De Croix passed through itвБ†вАФHe is handsome, said the Lady Baussiere.вБ†вЄЇвБ†He has a good mien, said La BattarelleвБ†вЄЇвБ†He is finely shaped, said La GuyolвБ†вАФI never saw an officer of the horse-guards in my life, said La Maronette, with two such legsвБ†вЄЇвБ†Or who stood so well upon them, said La SabatiereвБ†вЄїBut he has no whiskers, cried La FosseuseвБ†вЄЇвБ†Not a pile, said La Rebours.
The queen went directly to her oratory, musing all the way, as she walked through the gallery, upon the subject; turning it this way and that way in her fancyвБ†вАФAve Maria!вБ†вЄїwhat can La Fosseuse mean? said she, kneeling down upon the cushion.
La Guyol, La Battarelle, La Maronette, La Sabatiere, retired instantly to their chambersвБ†вЄїWhiskers! said all four of them to themselves, as they bolted their doors on the inside.
The Lady Carnavallette was counting her beads with both hands, unsuspected, under her farthingalвБ†вЄЇвБ†from St.¬†Antony down to St.¬†Ursula inclusive, not a saint passed through her fingers without whiskers; St.¬†Francis, St.¬†Dominick, St.¬†Bennet, St.¬†Basil, St.¬†Bridget, had all whiskers.
The Lady Baussiere had got into a wilderness of conceits, with moralizing too intricately upon La FosseuseвАЩs textвБ†вЄЇвБ†She mounted her palfrey, her page followed herвБ†вЄЇвБ†the host passed byвБ†вАФthe Lady Baussiere rode on.
One denier, cried the order of mercyвБ†вАФone single denier, in behalf of a thousand patient captives, whose eyes look towards heaven and you for their redemption.
вЄЇвБ†The Lady Baussiere rode on.
Pity the unhappy, said a devout, venerable, hoary-headed man, meekly holding up a box, begirt with iron, in his withered handsвБ†вЄЇвБ†I beg for the unfortunateвБ†вАФgood my Lady, вАЩtis for a prisonвБ†вАФfor an hospitalвБ†вАФвАЩtis for an old manвБ†вАФa poor man undone by shipwreck, by suretyship, by fireвБ†вЄЇвБ†I call God and all his angels to witnessвБ†вЄЇвАЩtis to clothe the nakedвБ†вЄЇвБ†to feed the hungryвБ†вЄЇвАЩtis to comfort the sick and the brokenhearted.
The Lady Baussiere rode on.
A decayed kinsman bowed himself to the ground.
вЄЇвБ†The Lady Baussiere rode on.
He ran begging bareheaded on one side of her palfrey, conjuring her by the former bonds of friendship, alliance, consanguinity, etc.вБ†вЄЇвБ†Cousin, aunt, sister, mother,вБ†вЄЇвБ†for virtueвАЩs sake, for your own, for mine, for ChristвАЩs sake, remember meвБ†вЄЇвБ†pity me.
вЄЇвБ†The Lady Baussiere rode on.
Take hold of my whiskers, said the Lady BaussiereвБ†вЄЇвБ†The page took hold of her palfrey. She dismounted at the end of the terrace.
There are some trains of certain ideas which leave prints of themselves about our eyes and eyebrows; and there is a consciousness of it, somewhere about the heart, which serves but to make these etchings the strongerвБ†вАФwe see, spell, and put them together without a dictionary.
Ha, ha! he, hee! cried La Guyol and La Sabatiere, looking close at each otherвАЩs printsвБ†вЄЇвБ†Ho, ho! cried La Battarelle and Maronette, doing the same:вБ†вАФWhist! cried oneвБ†вАФst, st,вБ†вАФsaid a secondвБ†вАФhush, quoth a thirdвБ†вАФpoo, poo, replied a fourthвБ†вАФgramercy! cried the Lady Carnavallette;вБ†вЄЇвАЩtwas she who bewhiskerвАЩd St.¬†Bridget.
La Fosseuse drew her bodkin from the knot of her hair, and having traced the outline of a small whisker, with the blunt end of it, upon one side of her upper lip, put it into La ReboursвАЩ handвБ†вАФLa Rebours shook her head.
The Lady Baussiere coughed thrice into the inside of her muffвБ†вАФLa Guyol smiledвБ†вАФFy, said the Lady Baussiere. The queen of Navarre touched her eye with the tip of her forefingerвБ†вАФas much as to say, I understand you all.
вАЩTwas plain to the whole court the word was ruined: La Fosseuse had given it a wound, and it was not the better for passing through all these defilesвБ†вЄЇвБ†It made a faint stand, however, for a few months, by the expiration of which, the Sieur De Croix, finding it high time to leave Navarre for want of whiskersвБ†вЄЇвБ†the word in course became indecent, and (after a few efforts) absolutely unfit for use.
The best word, in the best language of the best world, must have suffered under such combinations.вБ†вЄїThe curate of dвАЩEstella wrote a book against them, setting forth the dangers of accessory ideas, and warning the Navarois against them.
Does not all the world know, said the curate dвАЩEstella at the conclusion of his work, that Noses ran the same fate some centuries ago in most parts of Europe, which Whiskers have now done in the kingdom of Navarre?вБ†вАФThe evil indeed spread no farther thenвБ†вАФbut have not beds and bolsters, and nightcaps and chamberpots stood upon the brink of destruction ever since? Are not trouse, and placket-holes, and pump-handlesвБ†вАФand spigots and faucets, in danger still from the same association?вБ†вЄЇвБ†Chastity, by nature, the gentlest of all affectionsвБ†вАФgive it but its headвБ†вЄЇвАЩtis like a ramping and a roaring lion.
The drift of the curate dвАЩEstellaвАЩs argument was not understood.вБ†вАФThey ran the scent the wrong way.вБ†вАФThe world bridled his ass at the tail.вБ†вАФAnd when the extremes of delicacy, and the beginnings of concupiscence, hold their next provincial chapter together, they may decree that bawdy also.