nine inches; and so notoriously timid, selfish, and stingy, that
there was a kind of shame in receiving his addresses openly; and
what encouragement Mrs. Catherine gave him could only be in secret.
But no mortal is wise at all times: and the fact was, that Hayes,
who cared for himself intensely, had set his heart upon winning
Catherine; and loved her with a desperate greedy eagerness and
desire of possession, which makes passions for women often so fierce
and unreasonable among very cold and selfish men. His parents
(whose frugality he had inherited) had tried in vain to wean him
from this passion, and had made many fruitless attempts to engage
him with women who possessed money and desired husbands; but Hayes
was, for a wonder, quite proof against their attractions; and,
though quite ready to acknowledge the absurdity of his love for a
penniless alehouse servant-girl, nevertheless persisted in it
doggedly. "I know I'm a fool," said he; "and what's more, the girl
does not care for me; but marry her I must, or I think I shall just
die: and marry her I will." For very much to the credit of Miss
Catherine's modesty, she had declared that marriage was with her a
sine qua non, and had dismissed, with the loudest scorn and
indignation, all propositions of a less proper nature.
Poor Thomas Bullock was another of her admirers, and had offered to
marry her; but three shillings a week and a puddn was not to the
girl's taste, and Thomas had been scornfully rejected. Hayes had
also made her a direct proposal. Catherine did not say no: she was
too prudent: but she was young and could wait; she did not care for
Mr. Hayes yet enough to marry him--(it did not seem, indeed, in the
young woman's nature to care for anybody)--and she gave her adorer
flatteringly to understand that, if nobody better appeared in the
course of a few years, she might be induced to become Mrs. Hayes.
It was a dismal prospect for the poor fellow to live upon the hope
of being one day Mrs. Catherine's pis-aller.
In the meantime she considered herself free as the wind, and
permitted herself all the innocent gaieties which that "chartered
libertine," a coquette, can take. She flirted with all the
bachelors, widowers, and married men, in a manner which did
extraordinary credit to her years: and let not the reader fancy
such pastimes unnatural at her early age. The ladies--Heaven bless
them!--are, as a general rule, coquettes from babyhood upwards.
Little SHE'S of three years old play little airs and graces upon
small heroes of five; simpering misses of nine make attacks upon
young gentlemen of twelve; and at sixteen, a well-grown girl, under
encouraging circumstances--say, she is pretty, in a family of ugly
elder sisters, or an only child and heiress, or a humble wench at a
country inn, like our fair Catherine--is at the very pink and prime
of her coquetry: they will jilt you at that age with an ease and
arch infantine simplicity that never can be surpassed in maturer
years.
Miss Catherine, then, was a franche coquette, and Mr. John Hayes was
miserable. His life was passed in a storm of mean passions and
bitter jealousies, and desperate attacks upon the indifference-rock
of Mrs. Catherine's heart, which not all his tempest of love could
beat down. O cruel cruel pangs of love unrequited! Mean rogues
feel them as well as great heroes. Lives there the man in Europe
who has not felt them many times?--who has not knelt, and fawned,
and supplicated, and wept, and cursed, and raved, all in vain; and
passed long wakeful nights with ghosts of dead hopes for company;
shadows of buried remembrances that glide out of their graves of
nights, and whisper, "We are dead now, but we WERE once; and we made
you happy, and we come now to mock you:--despair, O lover, despair,
and die"?--O cruel pangs!--dismal nights!--Now a sly demon creeps
under your nightcap, and drops into your ear those soft
hope-breathing sweet words, uttered on the well-remembered evening:
there, in the drawer of your dressing-table (along with the razors,
and Macassar oil), lies the dead flower that Lady Amelia Wilhelmina
wore in her bosom on the night of a certain ball--the corpse of a
glorious hope that seemed once as if it would live for ever, so
strong was it, so full of joy and sunshine: there, in your
writing-desk, among a crowd of unpaid bills, is the dirty scrap of
paper, thimble-sealed, which came in company with a pair of
muffetees of her knitting (she was a butcher's daughter, and did all
she could, poor thing!), begging "you would ware them at collidge,
and think of her who"--married a public-house three weeks
afterwards, and cares for you no more now than she does for the
pot-boy. But why multiply instances, or seek to depict the agony of
poor mean-spirited John Hayes? No mistake can be greater than that
of fancying such great emotions of love are only felt by virtuous or
exalted men: depend upon it, Love, like Death, plays havoc among
the pauperum tabernas, and sports with rich and poor, wicked and
virtuous, alike. I have often fancied, for instance, on seeing the
haggard pale young old-clothesman, who wakes the echoes of our
street with his nasal cry of "Clo'!"--I have often, I said, fancied
that, besides the load of exuvial coats and breeches under which he
staggers, there is another weight on him--an atrior cura at his
tail--and while his unshorn lips and nose together are performing
that mocking, boisterous, Jack-indifferent cry of "Clo', clo'!" who
knows what woeful utterances are crying from the heart within?
There he is, chaffering with the footman at No. 7 about an old
dressing-gown: you think his whole soul is bent only on the contest
about the garment. Psha! there is, perhaps, some faithless girl in
Holywell Street who fills up his heart; and that desultory Jew-boy
is a peripatetic hell! Take another instance:--take the man in the
beef-shop in Saint Martin's Court. There he is, to all appearances
quite calm: before the same round of beef--from morning till
sundown--for hundreds of years very likely. Perhaps when the
shutters are closed, and all the world tired and silent, there is HE
silent, but untired--cutting, cutting, cutting. You enter, you get
your meat to your liking, you depart; and, quite unmoved, on, on he
goes, reaping ceaselessly the Great Harvest of Beef. You would
fancy that if Passion ever failed to conquer, it had in vain
assailed the calm bosom of THAT MAN. I doubt it, and would give
much to know his history.
Who knows what furious Aetna-flames are raging underneath the
surface of that calm flesh-mountain--who can tell me that that
calmness itself is not DESPAIR?
* * *
The reader, if he does not now understand why it was that Mr. Hayes
agreed to drink the Corporal's proffered beer, had better just read
the foregoing remarks over again, and if he does not understand
THEN, why, small praise to his brains
. Hayes could not bear that
Mr. Bullock should have a chance of seeing, and perhaps making love
to Mrs. Catherine in his absence; and though the young woman never
diminished her coquetries, but, on the contrary, rather increased
them in his presence, it was still a kind of dismal satisfaction to
be miserable in her company.
On this occasion, the disconsolate lover could be wretched to his
heart's content; for Catherine had not a word or a look for him, but
bestowed all her smiles upon the handsome stranger who owned the
black horse. As for poor Tummas Bullock, his passion was never
violent; and he was content in the present instance to sigh and
drink beer. He sighed and drank, sighed and drank, and drank again,
until he had swallowed so much of the Corporal's liquor, as to be
induced to accept a guinea from his purse also; and found himself,
on returning to reason and sobriety, a soldier of Queen Anne's.
But oh! fancy the agonies of Mr. Hayes when, seated with the
Corporal's friends at one end of the kitchen, he saw the Captain at
the place of honour, and the smiles which the fair maid bestowed
upon him; when, as she lightly whisked past him with the Captain's
supper, she, pointing to the locket that once reposed on the breast
of the Dutch lady at the Brill, looked archly on Hayes and said,
"See, John, what his Lordship has given me;" and when John's face
became green and purple with rage and jealousy, Mrs. Catherine
laughed ten times louder, and cried "Coming, my Lord," in a voice of
shrill triumph, that bored through the soul of Mr. John Hayes and
left him gasping for breath.
On Catherine's other lover, Mr. Thomas, this coquetry had no effect:
he, and two comrades of his, had by this time quite fallen under the
spell of the Corporal; and hope, glory, strong beer, Prince Eugene,
pair of colours, more strong beer, her blessed Majesty, plenty more
strong beer, and such subjects, martial and bacchic, whirled through
their dizzy brains at a railroad pace.
And now, if there had been a couple of experienced reporters present
at the "Bugle Inn," they might have taken down a conversation on
love and war--the two themes discussed by the two parties occupying
the kitchen--which, as the parts were sung together, duetwise,
formed together some very curious harmonies. Thus, while the
Captain was whispering the softest nothings, the Corporal was
shouting the fiercest combats of the war; and, like the gentleman at
Penelope's table, on it exiguo pinxit praelia tota bero. For
example:
CAPTAIN. What do you say to a silver trimming, pretty Catherine?
Don't you think a scarlet riding-cloak, handsomely laced, would
become you wonderfully well?--and a grey hat with a blue feather--
and a pretty nag to ride on--and all the soldiers to present arms as
you pass, and say, "There goes the Captain's lady"? What do you
think of a side-box at Lincoln's Inn playhouse, or of standing up to
a minuet with my Lord Marquis at--?
CORPORAL. The ball, sir, ran right up his elbow, and was found the
next day by Surgeon Splinter of ours,--where do you think, sir?--
upon my honour as a gentleman it came out of the nape of his--
CAPTAIN. Necklace--and a sweet pair of diamond earrings,
mayhap--and a little shower of patches, which ornament a lady's face
wondrously--and a leetle rouge--though, egad! such peach-cheeks as
yours don't want it;--fie! Mrs. Catherine, I should think the birds
must come and peck at them as if they were fruit--
CORPORAL. Over the wall; and three-and-twenty of our fellows jumped
after me. By the Pope of Rome, friend Tummas, that was a day!--Had
you seen how the Mounseers looked when four-and-twenty rampaging
he-devils, sword and pistol, cut and thrust, pell-mell came tumbling
into the redoubt! Why, sir, we left in three minutes as many
artillerymen's heads as there were cannon-balls. It was, "Ah
sacre!" "D----- you, take that!" "O mon Dieu!" "Run him through!"
"Ventrebleu!" and it WAS ventrebleu with him, I warrant you; for
bleu, in the French language, means "through;" and ventre--why, you
see, ventre means--
CAPTAIN. Waists, which are worn now excessive long; and for the
hoops, if you COULD but see them--stap my vitals, my dear, but there
was a lady at Warwick's Assembly (she came in one of my Lord's
coaches) who had a hoop as big as a tent: you might have dined
under it comfortably;--ha! ha! 'pon my faith, now--
CORPORAL. And there we found the Duke of Marlborough seated along
with Marshal Tallard, who was endeavouring to drown his sorrow over
a cup of Johannisberger wine; and a good drink too, my lads, only
not to compare to Warwick beer. "Who was the man who has done
this?" said our noble General. I stepped up. "How many heads was
it," says he, "that you cut off?" "Nineteen," says I, "besides
wounding several." When he heard it (Mr. Hayes, you don't drink) I'm
blest if he didn't burst into tears! "Noble noble fellow," says he.
"Marshal, you must excuse me if I am pleased to hear of the
destruction of your countrymen. Noble noble fellow!--here's a
hundred guineas for you." Which sum he placed in my hand. "Nay,"
says the Marshal "the man has done his duty:" and, pulling out a
magnificent gold diamond-hilted snuff-box, he gave me--
MR. BULLOCK. What, a goold snuff-box? Wauns, but thee WAST in
luck, Corporal!
CORPORAL. No, not the snuff-box, but--A PINCH OF SNUFF,--ha!
ha!--run me through the body if he didn't. Could you but have seen
the smile on Jack Churchill's grave face at this piece of
generosity! So, beckoning Colonel Cadogan up to him, he pinched his
Ear and whispered--
CAPTAIN. "May I have the honour to dance a minuet with your
Ladyship?" The whole room was in titters at Jack's blunder; for, as
you know very well, poor Lady Susan HAS A WOODEN LEG. Ha! ha! fancy
a minuet and a wooden leg, hey, my dear?--
MRS. CATHERINE. Giggle--giggle--giggle: he! he! he! Oh, Captain,
you rogue, you--
SECOND TABLE. Haw! haw! haw! Well you be a foony mon, Sergeant,
zure enoff.
* * *
This little specimen of the conversation must be sufficient. It
will show pretty clearly that EACH of the two military commanders
was conducting his operations with perfect success. Three of the
detachment of five attacked by the Corporal surrendered to him: Mr.
Bullock, namely, who gave in at a very early stage of the evening,
and ignominiously laid down his arms under the table, after standing
not more than a dozen volleys of beer; Mr. Blacksmith's boy, and a
labourer whose name we have not been able to learn. Mr. Butcher
himself was on the point of yielding, when he was rescued by the
furious charge of a detachment that marched to his relief: his wife
namely, who, with two squalling children, rushed into the "Bugle,"
boxed Butcher's ears, and kept up such a tremendous fire of oaths
and screams upon the Corpo
ral, that he was obliged to retreat.
Fixing then her claws into Mr. Butcher's hair, she proceeded to drag
him out of the premises; and thus Mr. Brock was overcome. His
attack upon John Hayes was a still greater failure; for that young
man seemed to be invincible by drink, if not by love: and at the
end of the drinking-bout was a great deal more cool than the
Corporal himself; to whom he wished a very polite good-evening, as
calmly he took his hat to depart. He turned to look at Catherine,
to be sure, and then he was not quite so calm: but Catherine did
not give any reply to his good-night. She was seated at the
Captain's table playing at cribbage with him; and though Count
Gustavus Maximilian lost every game, he won more than he lost,--sly
fellow!--and Mrs. Catherine was no match for him.
It is to be presumed that Hayes gave some information to Mrs. Score,
the landlady: for, on leaving the kitchen, he was seen to linger
for a moment in the bar; and very soon after Mrs. Catherine was
called away from her attendance on the Count, who, when he asked for
a sack and toast, was furnished with those articles by the landlady
herself: and, during the half-hour in which he was employed in
consuming this drink, Monsieur de Galgenstein looked very much
disturbed and out of humour, and cast his eyes to the door
perpetually; but no Catherine came. At last, very sulkily, he
desired to be shown to bed, and walked as well as he could (for, to
say truth, the noble Count was by this time somewhat unsteady on his
legs) to his chamber. It was Mrs. Score who showed him to it, and
closed the curtains, and pointed triumphantly to the whiteness of
the sheets.
"It's a very comfortable room," said she, "though not the best in
the house; which belong of right to your Lordship's worship; but our
best room has two beds, and Mr. Corporal is in that, locked and
double-locked, with his three tipsy recruits. But your honour will
find this here bed comfortable and well-aired; I've slept in it
myself this eighteen years."
"What, my good woman, you are going to sit up, eh? It's cruel hard
on you, madam."
"Sit up, my Lord? bless you, no! I shall have half of our Cat's
bed; as I always do when there's company." And with this Mrs. Score
curtseyed and retired.
Very early the next morning the active landlady and her bustling
attendant had prepared the ale and bacon for the Corporal and his
three converts, and had set a nice white cloth for the Captain's
breakfast. The young blacksmith did not eat with much satisfaction;
but Mr. Bullock and his friend betrayed no sign of discontent,
except such as may be consequent upon an evening's carouse. They
walked very contentedly to be registered before Doctor Dobbs, who
was also justice of the peace, and went in search of their slender
bundles, and took leave of their few acquaintances without much
regret: for the gentlemen had been bred in the workhouse, and had
not, therefore, a large circle of friends.
It wanted only an hour of noon, and the noble Count had not
descended. The men were waiting for him, and spent much of the
Queen's money (earned by the sale of their bodies overnight) while
thus expecting him. Perhaps Mrs. Catherine expected him too, for
she had offered many times to run up--with my Lord's boots--with the
hot water--to show Mr. Brock the way; who sometimes condescended to
officiate as barber. But on all these occasions Mrs. Score had
prevented her; not scolding, but with much gentleness and smiling.
At last, more gentle and smiling than ever, she came downstairs and
said, "Catherine darling, his honour the Count is mighty hungry this
morning, and vows he could pick the wing of a fowl. Run down,
child, to Farmer Brigg's and get one: pluck it before you bring it,
you know, and we will make his Lordship a pretty breakfast."
Catherine took up her basket, and away she went by the back-yard,
through the stables. There she heard the little horse-boy whistling