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Devereux — Complete. Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон
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Автор произведения Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон
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“Dame de la what?—in the name of long words who is she?”
“Oh! Learning made libidinous: one who reads Catullus and profits by it.”
“Bah, no, we will not leave the gentle Abigail for her. I have promised to meet St. John, too, at the Mashams’.”
“As you like. We shall get some wine at Abigail’s, which we should never do at the house of her cousin of Marlborough.”
And, comforting himself with this belief, Tarleton peaceably accompanied me to that celebrated woman, who did the Tories such notable service, at the expense of being termed by the Whigs one great want divided into two parts; namely, a great want of every shilling belonging to other people, and a great want of every virtue that should have belonged to herself. As we mounted the staircase, a door to the left (a private apartment) was opened, and I saw the favourite dismiss, with the most flattering air of respect, my old preceptor, the Abbe Montreuil. He received her attentions as his due, and, descending the stairs, came full upon me. He drew back, changed neither hue nor muscle, bowed civilly enough, and disappeared. I had not much opportunity to muse over this circumstance, for St. John and Mr. Domville—excellent companions both—joined us; and the party being small, we had the unwonted felicity of talking, as well as bowing, to each other. It was impossible to think of any one else when St. John chose to exert himself; and so even the Abbe Montreuil glided out of my brain as St. John’s wit glided into it. We were all of the same way of thinking on politics, and therefore were witty without being quarrelsome,—a rare thing. The trusty Abigail told us stories of the good Queen, and we added bons mots by way of corollary. Wine, too, wine that even Tarleton approved, lit up our intellects, and we spent altogether an evening such as gentlemen and Tories very seldom have the sense to enjoy.
O Apollo! I wonder whether Tories of the next century will be such clever, charming, well-informed fellows as we were!
CHAPTER IV
A LITTLE affected by the vinous potations which had been so much an object of anticipation with my companion, Tarleton and I were strolling homeward when we perceived a remarkably tall man engaged in a contest with a couple of watchmen. Watchmen were in all cases the especial and natural enemies of the gallants in my young days; and no sooner did we see the unequal contest than, drawing our swords with that true English valour which makes all the quarrels of other people its own, we hastened to the relief of the weaker party.
“Gentlemen,” said the elder watchman, drawing back, “this is no common brawl; we have been shamefully beaten by this here madman, and for no earthly cause.”
“Who ever did beat a watchman for any earthly cause, you rascal?” cried the accused party, swinging his walking cane over the complainant’s head with a menacing air.
“Very true,” cried Tarleton, coolly. “Seigneurs of the watch, you are both made and paid to be beaten; ergo—you have no right to complain. Release this worthy cavalier, and depart elsewhere to make night hideous with your voices.”
“Come, come,” quoth the younger Dogberry, who perceived a reinforcement approaching, “move on, good people, and let us do our duty.”
“Which,” interrupted the elder watchman, “consists in taking this hulking swaggerer to the watchhouse.”
“Thou speakest wisely, man of peace,” said Tarleton; “defend thyself;” and without adding another word he ran the watchman through—not the body but the coat; avoiding with great dexterity the corporeal substance of the attacked party, and yet approaching it so closely as to give the guardian of the streets very reasonable ground for apprehension. No sooner did the watchman find the hilt strike against his breast, than he uttered a dismal cry and fell upon the pavement as if he had been shot.
“Now for thee, varlet,” cried Tarleton, brandishing his rapier before the eyes of the other watchman, “tremble at the sword of Gideon.”
“O Lord, O Lord!” ejaculated the terrified comrade of the fallen man, dropping on his knees, “for Heaven’s sake, sir, have a care.”
“What argument canst thou allege, thou screech-owl of the metropolis, that thou shouldst not share the same fate as thy brother owl?”
“Oh, sir!” cried the craven night-bird (a bit of a humourist in its way), “because I have a nest and seven little owlets at home, and t’ other owl is only a bachelor.”
“Thou art an impudent thing to jest at us,” said Tarleton; “but thy wit has saved thee; rise.”
At this moment two other watchmen came up.
“Gentlemen,” said the tall stranger whom we had rescued, “we had better fly.”
Tarleton cast at him a contemptuous look, and placed himself in a posture of offence.
“Hark ye,” said I, “let us effect an honourable peace. Messieurs the watch, be it lawful for you to carry off the slain, and for us to claim the prisoners.”
But our new foes understood not a jest, and advanced upon us with a ferocity which might really have terminated in a serious engagement, had not the tall stranger thrust his bulky form in front of the approaching battalion, and cried out with a loud voice, “Zounds, my good fellows, what’s all this for? If you take us up you will get broken heads to-night, and a few shillings perhaps to-morrow. If you leave us alone, you will have whole heads, and a guinea between you. Now, what say you?”
Well spoke Phaedra against the dangers of eloquence. The watchmen looked at each other. “Why really, sir,” said one, “what you say alters the case very much; and if Dick here is not much hurt, I don’t know what we may say to the offer.”
So saying, they raised the fallen watchman, who, after three or four grunts, began slowly to recover himself.
“Are you dead, Dick?” said the owl with seven owlets.
“I think I am,” answered the other, groaning.
“Are you able to drink a pot of ale, Dick?” cried the tall stranger.
“I think I am,” reiterated the dead man, very lack-a-daisically. And this answer satisfying his comrades, the articles of peace were subscribed to.
Now, then, the tall stranger began searching his pockets with a most consequential air.
“Gad, so!” said he at last; “not in my breeches pocket!—well, it must be in my waistcoat. No. Well, ‘tis a strange thing—demme it is! Gentlemen, I have had the misfortune to leave my purse behind me: add to your other favours by lending me wherewithal to satisfy these honest men.”
And Tarleton lent him the guinea. The watchmen now retired, and we were left alone with our portly ally.
Placing his hand to his heart he made us half-a-dozen profound bows, returned us thanks for our assistance in some very courtly phrases, and requested us to allow him to make our acquaintance. We exchanged cards and departed on our several ways.
“I have met that gentleman before,” said Tarleton. “Let us see what name he pretends to. ‘Fielding—Fielding;’ ah, by the Lord, it is no less a person! It is the great Fielding himself.”
“Is Mr. Fielding, then, as elevated in fame as in stature?”
“What, is it possible that you have not yet heard of Beau Fielding, who bared his bosom at the theatre in order to attract the admiring compassion of the female part of the audience?”
“What!” I cried, “the Duchess of Cleveland’s Fielding?”
“The same;