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twg_000000044200 | the wall are some handsome gold-framed mirrors, and from the ceiling costly chandeliers with two hundred and twenty lights. The mantel is exquisitely carved marble, with an ormolu frieze. On one side you will note a small piano; it is a French one, of very clear and fine tone, and beautifully finished in every respect. In this room Her Majesty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044201 | the Queen may be imagined enjoying the balls given to the youthful aristocracy, something different to the State dances in the larger room; and, doubtless, by a long way, much more enjoyable. By the time the Queen can command the State balls, she will have commenced to feel the cares of her position; and will look back with real regret | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044202 | to the assemblies here, when she had merely to enjoy herself, a devoted mother observing the graver duties, her own greatest trouble, perhaps, being the acquirement of the tasks assigned by the governess and masters. [Illustration: THE LARGE DINING-ROOM. _From a Photo by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] The large dining-room has some fine family portraits on its walls. The first | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044203 | you will notice is that of William II., on horseback, leading an attack; the artist (Keirzer) has produced a first-rate work of both man and horse. Underneath this picture stands the favourite horse of William II., one which carried him through numerous engagements, and earned from his Royal master a gratitude and affection that caused him to wish for his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044204 | preservation in a position where he would constantly be reminded of him. [Illustration: FAVOURITE HORSE OF WILLIAM II. _From a Photo. by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] The ceiling of this room shows some beautiful relief carving of fruit and flowers, also some fine fresco work; the chandeliers here are massive, as is the furniture and other appointments. The room is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044205 | long and of not much width, but lofty and well-lighted. The buffet adjoining the dining-room has some very costly and, at the same time, some very interesting contents. The Empire furniture is draped in rich crimson silk, the walls being covered with silk brocade of the same colour. The chimney-piece of sculptured marble, with an ormolu frieze, holds some choice | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044206 | antique porcelain vases and a valuable Roman timepiece. A massive chandelier hangs from the centre of a ceiling wrought with the arms of the house--this chandelier being solid silver. It was presented by the inhabitants of Amsterdam, while two silver lustres at the sides of the fireplace were presented by Rotterdam. Two exquisite statues stand in front of the windows, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044207 | one of Venus, the other Diana, midway between which is an immense porcelain vase on a pedestal. This you will note in the view given of the room. It has special interest just now, as it was given by Marshal MacMahon, whose death recently occurred, and whose funeral--a State military one--I had the opportunity of witnessing a few weeks ago | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044208 | in Paris. [Illustration: THE CRYSTAL ROOM. _From a Photo. by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] The windows are of very fine stained glass, the different panes giving portraits of Kings and Princes, under each being depicted battles they had fought. Note this rare Florentine mosaic table with pedestal of ormolu; then we will pass on to the crystal room, an ante-room | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044209 | to the ball-room. Some immense candelabra of purest crystal at once attracted my attention; not only were they of the largest I had ever seen, but they were absolutely unique in composition: the pedestals in support were ormolu and marble. [Illustration: SIDEBOARD AND MINIATURES IN SMALL DINING-ROOM. _From a Photo by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] The appointments here are again | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044210 | in the First Empire style. The view here shown is looking into the small dining-room, the private dining-room of their Majesties. In it there is to be seen a costly collection of miniatures, nearly a hundred and twenty in number, every one of them from the hand of Dutch masters. They are all beautifully framed in groups. In the photograph | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044211 | you will observe a finely carved side-board with some of these miniatures showing on either side. Also in this room you will find several specimens of engraving on brass and some Russian productions in malachite. [Illustration: THE STATE BALL-ROOM. _From a Photo by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] Now to the State ball-room--a nobly proportioned room, but of somewhat severe aspect | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044212 | Some good relief carving is shown and a splendid parquetry floor; also some costly furniture, over-burnished and upholstered in crimson with floral devices. No doubt it has a very imposing and gay appearance when lighted up and filled with guests. Nearly seven hundred lights are displayed, which would naturally cause a most brilliant effect. Somehow ball-rooms are never satisfactory when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044213 | viewed in the day-time, unless you have an eye for proportions only; in that case this one could not fail to please, as it cannot be less than 90ft. long and is of magnificent height, added to by a glass concave roof. [Illustration: THE QUEEN'S RECEPTION-ROOM. _From a Photo by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] The Queen's reception-room is prettily hung | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044214 | in crimson with designs depicting art and music; the furniture bright and handsome in crimson and cream. On either side of the fireplace stand some crimson velvet screens in burnished frames, the crown and arms worked on the velvet in characters of gold. In the accompanying view you will observe a large album on a stand; this was given to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044215 | the Queen-Regent by the ladies of Holland. It is of leather, with ormolu mounts, on the covers being painted panels and flowers worked in silk, these flowers being surrounded with rubies and pearls; and at either corner is a large sapphire. The interior shows pages of vellum, with names of subscribers beautifully inscribed. This room will, of course, be the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044216 | one where the young Queen will receive when she commences to reign. From here I went to view a suite of apartments, formerly the property of Queen Sophia, the first Consort of the late King. These rooms are still in the same condition as when Her Majesty died; they are very fine rooms, and contain a vast number of curios | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044217 | of every description. They are lined entirely from floor to ceiling with mahogany; the furniture, which is massive, antique, and beautifully carved, being also of mahogany and tulip wood. I find one of Erard's grand pianos standing in the boudoir, and am told that it was a favourite instrument of the late Queen. There are some fine specimens of vases: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044218 | one an "Adam and Eve," some of Swiss make, and others of Dresden. Also I note an exquisite model of a ship, an inlaid Empire mirror, and other treasures too numerous to particularize. [Illustration: OVER-MANTEL IN TEA-ROOM. _From a Photo by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] The tea-room is another that I must make brief mention of. It contains some valuable | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044219 | souvenirs in the form of vases, some from the Emperor Napoleon (these are jewelled), some from William IV. of Germany, and some from the Emperor Frederick. Then there are others from Berlin and Potsdam, and still others of Svres. On the marble mantel is a very intricate French timepiece, and over it an exquisite silver-framed mirror. An inlaid mosaic table | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044220 | is a feature here. The worth of it must be fabulous; the design is marvellously executed. Pope Pius IX. was the donor. This room is really the tea-room for the Royal ladies when in residence. Music is again to the fore, and here Steinway is the favourite, one of his grand pianos occupying the place of honour. Now I go | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044221 | downstairs for a brief survey of the private apartments of the late King. I shall not attempt to describe them in detail, but content myself with mention of one or two things I specially noticed. I started with the billiard-room, a good-sized room and well fitted; but obscured by the covers denoting non-usage. One curious article I must note. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044222 | is a clock and musical-box combined, giving out a variety of twenty-seven tunes. The visible part of it is a pure alabaster representation of the tomb of our Henry II, supported by lions couchant. Rather a strange model for a musical-box containing lively airs, is it not? [Illustration: THE LATE KING'S SITTING-ROOM. _From a Photo. by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044223 | Then I pass on through the King's dining-room, a stately and richly-appointed apartment. On through the Ministers' room, and so into His Majesty's private sitting-room. Here I cannot but linger, there are so many treasures rich and rare, the chief of which consists in the elaborate cabinets and other furniture, all of tortoiseshell and silver, quite the best I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044224 | seen of its kind. Some of it looks as though crammed with secret drawers, and I stand before it wondering whether Queen Wilhelmina will be as anxious to discover and overhaul them as _I_ should be. I could tell you a deal more of what I saw at this Palace at Den Haag, but, doubtless, have said enough to show | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044225 | you something of its wealth of appointments and costly treasures. One cannot help thinking what a sum all this has cost, and what it must take to keep up so many places; but the Royal Family of the Netherlands have well-lined coffers, as it is not only their own country that owns their supremacy, but they have also many dependencies | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044226 | in the Indies, bringing in enormous revenues. [Illustration: "T'HUIS IN'T BOSCH," NEAR DEN HAAG. _From a Photo. by Gunn & Stuart, Richmond._] I have mentioned three Palaces; I know of five; but will close with just a few words respecting a fourth, and a view of the same, which is charmingly pretty. This Palace is called "T'Huis in't Bosch," and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044227 | is just a nice carriage drive from the town of Den Haag. It stands right in the midst of a beautiful park, with herds of deer and hundreds of gay-plumaged birds--a park that far and away surpasses even our vaunted Richmond Park--magnificent timber, dense undergrowth, wild flowers in profusion, and now and again winding lakes and streams, crossed by rustic | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044228 | bridges, and such views over hill and dale as would delight either an artist or an admirer of Nature. The above view of the house will give a good idea of its outside appearance. I have no time for interiors, or should be tempted to prolong this indefinitely. We have had a peep at the Palaces of Holland, and many | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044229 | of us will know more of the country and its reigning family for the visit. Holland, with its youthful Queen, has a future we cannot wot of, but we all hope it is a prosperous and bright one, and we all agree in thanking Her Majesty the Queen-Regent for the opportunity of gaining this information, and wish for her daughter | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044230 | all the happiness and wisdom that she--the Royal mother--could desire for her. * * * * * [_The Illustrated Interviews will be continued as usual next month_.] * * * * * _Zig-Zags at the Zoo._ XIX. ZIG-ZAG BATRACHIAN. [Illustration] The frog and the toad suffer, in this world of injustice, from a deprival of the respect and esteem that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044231 | is certainly their due. In the case of the frog this may be due largely to the animal's headlong and harlequin-like character, but the toad is a steady personage, whose solemnity of deportment, not to speak of his stoutness, entitles him to high consideration in a world where grave dulness and personal circumference always attract reverence. The opening lines of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044232 | a certain famous poem have without a doubt done much to damage the dignity of the frog. "The frog he would a-wooing go" is not, perhaps, disrespectful, although flippant; but "whether his mother would let him or no" is a gross insult. Of course, it is a matter upon which no self-respecting frog ever consults his mother; but the absurd | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044233 | jingle is immortal, and the frog's dignity suffers by it. Then there is a certain pot-bellied smugness of appearance about the frog that provokes a smile in the irreverent. Still, the frog has received some consideration in his time. The great Homer himself did not disdain to sing the mighty battle of the frogs and mice; and Aristophanes gave the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044234 | frogs a most important chorus in one of his comedies; moreover, calling the whole comedy "The Frogs," although he had his choice of title-names among many very notable characters--schylus, Euripides, Bacchus, Pluto, Proserpine, and other leaders of society. Still, in every way the frog and the toad are underesteemed--as though such a thing as a worthy family frog or an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044235 | honourable toad of business were in Nature impossible. It is not as though they were useless. The frog's hind legs make an excellent dish for those who like it, as well as a joke for those who don't. Powdered toad held in the palm is a fine thing to stop the nose bleeding--or, at any rate, it was a couple | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044236 | of hundred years ago, according to a dear old almanac I have. On the same unimpeachable authority I may fearlessly affirm a smashed frog--smashed on the proper saint's day--in conjunction with hair taken from a ram's forehead and a nail stolen from a piebald mare's shoe, to be a certain remedy for ague, worn in a little leather bag. If | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044237 | it fails it will be because the moon was in the wrong quarter, or the mare was not sufficiently piebald, or the nail was not stolen with sufficient dishonesty, or some mistake of that sort. [Illustration: A SMALL LUNCH.] Personally, I am rather fond of frogs and toads. This, of course, in a strictly platonic sense, and entirely apart from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044238 | dinner. A toad I admire even more than a frog, because of his gentlemanly calm. He never rushes at his food ravenously, as do so many other creatures. Place a worm near him and you will see. He inspects the worm casually, first with one eye and then with the other, as who would say: "Luncheon? Certainly. Delighted, I'm sure." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044239 | Then he sits placidly awhile, as though thinking of something else altogether. Presently he rises slightly on his feet and looks a little--very little--more attentively at the worm. "Oh, yes," he is saying--"luncheon, of course. Whenever you like, you know." And he becomes placid again, as though interested in the general conversation. After a little he suddenly straightens his hind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044240 | legs and bends down over the worm, like a man saying, "Ah, and what have we got here now? Oh, worm--_ver au naturel_--capital, capital!" After this there is nothing to do but to eat, and this the toad does without the smallest delay. For leisurely indifference, followed by a business-like grab, nothing can beat a toad. Almost before the cover | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044241 | is lifted, figuratively speaking, the worm's head and tail are wriggling, like a lively moustache, out of the sides of the toad's mouth. The head and tail he gently pats in with his hands, and there is no longer any worm; after which the toad smiles affably and comfortably, possibly meditating a liqueur. I have an especial regard for the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044242 | giant toad in one of the cases against the inner wall of the reptile-house lobby. There is a pimpliness of countenance and a comfortable capaciousness of waistcoat about him that always make me wonder what he has done with his churchwarden and pewter. He has a serene, confidential, well-old-pal-how-are-you way of regarding Tyrrell, his keeper. Of late (for some few | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044243 | months, that is) the giant toad has been turning something over in his mind, as one may perceive from his cogitative demeanour. He is thinking, I am convinced, of the new Goliath Beetle. The Goliath Beetle, he is thinking, would make rather a fit supper for the Giant Toad. This because he has never seen the beetle. His mind might | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044244 | be set at rest by an introduction to Goliath, but the acquaintanceship would do no good to the beetle's morals. At present Goliath is a most exemplary vegetarian and tea-drinker, but evil communications with that pimply, dissipated toad would wreck his principles. [Illustration: "THINK I COULD MANAGE THAT BEETLE, TYRRELL?"] [Illustration: EVIL COMMUNICATIONS.] Why one should speak of the Adorned | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044245 | Ceratophrys when the thing might just as well be called the Barking Frog, I don't know. Let us compromise and call him the Adorned C., in the manner of Mr. Wemmick. I respect the Adorned C. almost as much as if he were a toad instead of a frog, but chiefly I admire his mouth. A crocodile has a very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044246 | respectable mouth--when it separates its jaws it opens its head. But when the Adorned C. smiles he opens out his entire anatomical bag of tricks-- comes as near bisecting himself indeed as may be; opens, in short, like a Gladstone bag. From a fat person, of course, you expect a broad, genial smile; but you are doubly gratified when you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044247 | find it extending all round him. That, you feel, is indeed no end of a smile--and that is the smile of the Adorned C. [Illustration] [Illustration: "DON'T SQUEEZE SO, TYRRELL!"] [Illustration: "WANT ME TO BARK?"] [Illustration: "HE CALLS THIS WINDING ME UP!"] [Illustration: "SHAN'T BARK--"] [Illustration: "SO THERE!"] [Illustration: "STOW THAT, TYRRELL!"] [Illustration: "HE'S ALWAYS DOING THAT."] [Illustration: "I'LL GET | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044248 | SO WILD IN A MINUTE!"] [Illustration: "GUR-R-R-R-."] [Illustration: "WOW, WOW!"] [Illustration: "SNAP! WOW-WOW!"] [Illustration: "WHAT, GOT TO GO BACK?"] [Illustration: "GOOD NIGHT. TYRRELL!"] But, notwithstanding this smile, the Adorned C. is short of temper. Indeed, you may only make him bark by practising upon this fact. Tyrrell's private performance with the Adorned C. is one that irresistibly reminds the spectator | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044249 | of Lieutenant Cole's with his figures, and would scarcely be improved by ventriloquism itself. The Adorned C. prefers biting to barking, and his bite is worse than his bark--bites always are, except in the proverb. This is why Tyrrell holds the Adorned C. pretty tight whenever he touches him. The one aspiration of the Adorned C. is for a quiet | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044250 | life, and he defends his aspiration with bites and barks. Tyrrell touches him gently, cautiously, and repeatedly on the back until the annoyance is no longer to be tolerated, and then the Adorned C. duly barks like a terrier. Now, the most interesting thing about the Adorned C., after his mouth, is his bark, and why he should be reluctant | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044251 | to exhibit it except under pressure of irritation--why he should hide his light under a bushel of ill-temper--I can't conceive. It is as though Patti wouldn't sing till her manager threw an egg at her, or as though Sir Frederick Leighton would only paint a picture after Mr. Whistler had broken his studio windows with a brick. Even the whistling | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044252 | oyster of London tradition would perform without requiring a preliminary insult or personal assault. But let us account everything good if possible; perhaps the Adorned C. only suffers from a modest dislike for vain display; although this is scarcely consistent with the internal exhibition afforded by his smile. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration] With the distinction | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044253 | of residence in the main court of the reptile-house itself, as also with the knowledge of its rarity, the Smooth-clawed Frog sets no small value on himself. He lives in water perpetually, and is always bobbing mysteriously about in it with his four-fingered hands spread out before him. This seems to me to be nothing but a vulgar manifestation of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044254 | the Smooth-clawed Frog's self-appreciation. He is like a coster conducting a Dutch auction, except that it is himself that he puts up for the bids of admiring visitors. With his double bunch of four fingers held eagerly before him he says--or means to say--"'Ere--eight! Ain't that cheap enough? Eight! Going at eight. Who says eight? Now then--eight; for a noble | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044255 | frog like me!" Presently, he wriggles a little in the water, as though vexed at the slackness of offers; then he drops one of the hands and leaves the other outstretched. "'Ere--four! Anythink to do business. Four! Nobody say four? Oh, blow this!" and with a jerk of one long paddle he dives among the weeds. "Them shiny-lookin' swells ain't | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044256 | got no money!" is what I am convinced he reports to his friends. The Smooth-clawed Frog has lately begun to breed here, a thing before unknown; so that his rarity and value are in danger of depreciation. But such is his inordinate conceit of himself that I am convinced he will always begin the bidding with eight. [Illustration] [Illustration] [Illustration: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044257 | "HAPPY?"] [Illustration: "I AM HAPPY."] [Illustration: "WHY SHOULDN'T I BE HAPPY?"] [Illustration: "THE SOCIETY LODGES ME."] [Illustration: "TYRRELL FEEDS ME."] [Illustration: "NO EXPENSE TO ME, YOU KNOW."] [Illustration] [Illustration: "GOOD DAY TO YOU."] If you rejoice in the sight of a really happy, contented frog, you should stand long before White's Green Frog, and study his smile. No other frog | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044258 | has a smile like this; some are wider, perhaps, but that is nothing. A frog is ordained by Nature to smile much, but the smile seems commonly one of hunger merely, though often one of stomach-ache. White's Green Frog smiles broad content and placid felicity. Maintained in comfort, with no necessity to earn his living, this is probably natural; still, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044259 | the bison enjoys the same advantages, although nobody ever saw him smile; but, then, an animal soon to become extinct can scarcely be expected to smile. In the smile of White's Green Frog, however, I fear, a certain smug, Pecksniffian quality is visible. "I am a Numble individual, my Christian friends," he seems to say, "and my wants, which are | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044260 | few and simple, are providentially supplied. Therefore, I am Truly Happy. It is no great merit in my merely batrachian nature that I am Truly Happy; a cheerful countenance, my friends, is a duty imposed on me by an indulgent Providence." White's Green Frog may, however, be in reality a frog of excellent moral worth: and I trust that Green's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044261 | White Frog, if ever he is discovered, will be a moral frog too. [Illustration: "HERE WE ARE!"] [Illustration: "HOW DO? I'M OFF."] [Illustration: "EH?"] [Illustration: "WHAT?"] [Illustration: "WHO'S THAT?"] [Illustration] By-the-bye, some green frogs are blue. That is to say, individuals of the green species have been found of the skyey colour and sold at a good price as rarities. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044262 | When it was not easy to find one already blue, the prudent tradesman kept a green frog in a blue glass vase for a few weeks, and brought it out as blue as you might wish. The colour stayed long enough, as a rule, to admit of sale at a decent price, but was liable to fade after. As I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044263 | think I have said, the toad is distinguished by a placid calm denied to the frog; therefore it is singular that the ordinary toad's Latin name should be _Bufo vulgaris_--a name suggestive of nothing so much as a low--disgracefully low--comedian. _Bufo vulgaris_ should be the name of a very inferior, rowdy clown. The frog is a much nearer approximation to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044264 | this character than the toad. The frog comes headlong with a bound, a bunch of legs and arms, with his "Here we are again! Fine day to-morrow, wasn't it?" and goes off with another bound, before the toad, who is gravely analyzing the metaphysical aspect of nothing in particular, can open his eyes to look up. The toad has one | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044265 | comic act, however, of infinitely greater humour than the bouncing buffooneries of the frog. When the toad casts his skin he quietly rolls it up over his back and head, just as a man skins off a close-fitting jersey. Once having drawn it well over his nose, however, he immediately proceeds to cram it down his throat with both hands, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044266 | and so it finally disappears. Now, this is a performance of genuine and grotesque humour, which it is worth keeping a toad to see. * * * * * _The Helmet._ From the French by Ferdinand Beissier. [Illustration] "But, uncle--I love my cousin!" "Get out!" "Give her to me." "Don't bother me!" "It will be my death!" "Nonsense! you'll console | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044267 | yourself with some other girl." "Pray--" My uncle, whose back had been towards me, whirled round, his face red to bursting, and brought his closed fist down upon the counter with a heavy thump. "Never!" he cried; "never: Do you hear what I say?" And as I looked at him beseechingly and with joined hands, he went on:-- "A pretty | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044268 | husband you look like!--without a sou, and dreaming of going into housekeeping! A nice mess I should make of it, by giving you my daughter! It's no use your insisting. You know that when I have said 'No,' nothing under the sun can make me say 'Yes'!" I ceased to make any further appeal. I knew my uncle--about as headstrong | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044269 | an old fellow as could be found in a day's search. I contented myself with giving vent to a deep sigh, and then went on with the furbishing of a big, double-handed sword, rusty from point to hilt. This memorable conversation took place, in fact, in the shop of my maternal uncle, a well-known dealer in antiquities and _objets d'art_, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044270 | No. , Rue des Claquettes, at the sign of the "Maltese Cross"--a perfect museum of curiosities. The walls were hung with Marseilles and old Rouen china, facing ancient cuirasses, sabres, and muskets, and picture frames; below these were ranged old cabinets, coffers of all sorts, and statues of saints, one-armed or one-legged for the most part and dilapidated as to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044271 | their gilding; then, here and there, in glass cases, hermetically closed and locked, there were knick-knacks in infinite variety--lachrymatories, tiny urns, rings, precious stones, fragments of marble, bracelets, crosses, necklaces, medals, and miniature ivory statuettes, the yellow tints of which, in the sun, took momentarily a flesh-like transparency. Time out of mind the shop had belonged to the Cornuberts. It | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044272 | passed regularly from father to son, and my uncle--his neighbours said--could not but be the possessor of a nice little fortune. Held in esteem by all, a Municipal Councillor, impressed by the importance and gravity of his office, short, fat, highly choleric and headstrong, but at bottom not in the least degree an unkind sort of man--such was my uncle | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044273 | Cornubert, my only living male relative, who, as soon as I left school, had elevated me to the dignity of chief and only clerk and shopman of the "Maltese Cross." But my uncle was not only a dealer in antiquities and a Municipal Councillor, he was yet more, and above all, the father of my cousin Rose, with whom I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044274 | was naturally in love. To come back to the point at which I digressed. Without paying any attention to the sighs which exhaled from my bosom while scouring the rust from my long, two-handed sword, my uncle, magnifying glass in hand, was engaged in the examination of a lot of medals which he had purchased that morning. Suddenly he raised | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044275 | his head; five o'clock was striking. "The Council!" he cried. When my uncle pronounced that august word, it made a mouthful; for a pin, he would have saluted it bare-headed. But, this time, after a moment's consideration, he tapped his forehead and added, in a tone of supreme relief:-- "No, the sitting does not take place before to-morrow--and I am | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044276 | forgetting that I have to go to the railway station to get the consignment of which I was advised this morning." Rising from his seat, and laying down his glass, he called out:-- "Rose, give me my cane and hat!" Then, turning towards me, he added, in a lowered tone and speaking very quickly:-- "As to you--don't forget our conversation. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044277 | If you think you can make me say 'yes,' try!--but I don't think you'll succeed. Meanwhile, not a word to Rose, or, by Saint Barthlemy, my patron of happy memory, I'll instantly kick you out of doors!" [Illustration: "AT THAT MOMENT ROSE APPEARED."] At that moment Rose appeared with my uncle's cane and hat, which she handed to him. He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044278 | kissed her on the forehead; then, giving me a last but eloquent look, hurried from the shop. I went on scouring my double-handed sword. Rose came quietly towards me. "What is the matter with my father?" she asked; "he seems to be angry with you." I looked at her--her eyes were so black, her look so kind, her mouth so | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044279 | rosy, and her teeth so white that I told her all--my love, my suit to her father, and his rough refusal. I could not help it--after all, it was _his_ fault! He was not there: I determined to brave his anger. Besides, there is nobody like timid persons for displaying courage under certain circumstances. My cousin said nothing; she only | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044280 | held down her eyes--while her cheeks were as red as those of cherries in May. I checked myself. "Are you angry with me?" I asked, tremblingly. "Are you angry with me, Rose?" She held out to me her hand. On that, my heart seething with audacity, my head on fire, I cried:-- "Rose--I swear it! I will be your husband!" | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044281 | And as she shook her head and looked at me sadly, I added: "Oh! I well know that my uncle is self-willed, but I will be more self-willed still; and, since he must be forced to say 'yes,' I will force him to say it!" "But how?" asked Rose. Ah! how? That was exactly the difficulty. But, no matter; I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044282 | would find a way to surmount it! At that moment a heavy step resounded in the street. Instinctively we moved away from each other; I returned to my double-handed sword, and Rose, to keep herself in countenance, set to dusting, with a corner of her apron, a little statuette in its faded red velvet case. My uncle entered. Surprised at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044283 | finding us together, he stopped short and looked sharply at us, from one to the other. We each of us went on rubbing without raising our heads. "Here, take this," said my uncle, handing me a bulky parcel from under his arm. "A splendid purchase, you'll see." The subject did not interest me in the least. I opened the parcel, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044284 | and from the enveloping paper emerged a steel helmet--but not an ordinary helmet, oh, no!--a superb, a monumental morion, with gorget and pointed visor of strange form. The visor was raised, and I tried to discover what prevented it from being lowered. "It will not go down--the hinges have got out of order," said my uncle; "but it's a superb | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044285 | piece, and, when it has been thoroughly cleaned and touched up, will look well--that shall be your to-morrow's job." "Very good, uncle," I murmured, not daring to raise my eyes to his. That night, on reaching my room, I at once went to bed. I was eager to be alone and able to think at my ease. Night brings counsel, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044286 | it is said; and I had great need that the proverb should prove true. But, after lying awake for an hour without receiving any assistance, I fell off to sleep, and, till next morning, did nothing but dream the oddest dreams. I saw Rose on her way to church in a strange bridal costume, a 14th-century cap, three feet high, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044287 | on her head, but looking prettier than ever; then suddenly the scene changed to moonlight, in which innumerable helmets and pieces of old china were dancing a wild farandola, while my uncle, clad in complete armour and with a formidable halberd in his hand, conducted the bewildering whirl. [Illustration: "MY UNCLE SAT SMOKING HIS PIPE AND WATCHING ME."] The next | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044288 | day--ah, the next day!--I was no nearer. In vain, with clenched teeth, I scoured the immense helmet brought by my uncle the previous evening--scoured it with such fury as almost to break the iron; not an idea came to me. The helmet shone like a sun: my uncle sat smoking his pipe and watching me; but I could think of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044289 | nothing, of no way of forcing him to give me his daughter. At three o'clock Rose went into the country, whence she was not to return until dinner-time, in the evening. On the threshold she could only make a sign to me with her hand; my uncle had not left us alone for a single instant. He was not easy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044290 | in his mind; I could see that by his face. No doubt he had not forgotten our conversation of the previous evening. I went on rubbing at my helmet. "You have made it quite bright enough--put it down," said my uncle. I put it down. The storm was gathering: I could not do better than allow it to blow over. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044291 | But suddenly, as if overtaken by a strange fancy, my uncle took up the enormous morion and turned and examined it on all sides. "A handsome piece of armour, there is no doubt about it; but it must have weighed pretty heavily on its wearer's shoulders," he muttered; and, urged by I know not what demon, he clapped it on | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044292 | his head and latched the gorget-piece about his neck. Struck almost speechless, I watched what he was doing--thinking only how ugly he looked. Suddenly there was a sharp sound--as if a spring had snapped--and--crack!--down fell the visor; and there was my uncle, with his head in an iron cage, gesticulating and swearing like a pagan! I could contain myself no | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044293 | longer, and burst into a roar of laughter; for my uncle, stumpy, fat, and rubicund, presented an irresistibly comic appearance. [Illustration: "THREATENINGLY HE CAME TOWARDS ME."] Threateningly, he came towards me. "The hinges!--the hinges, fool!" he yelled. I could not see his face, but I felt that it was red to bursting. "When you have done laughing, idiot!" he cried. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044294 | But the helmet swayed so oddly on his shoulders, his voice came from out it in such strange tones, that the more he gesticulated, the more he yelled and threatened me, the louder I laughed. At that moment the clock of the Htel-de-Ville, striking five, was heard. "The Municipal Council!" murmured my uncle, in a stifled voice. "Quick! help me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044295 | off with this beast of a machine! We'll settle our business afterwards!" But, suddenly likewise, an idea--a wild, extraordinary idea--came into my head; but then, whoever is madder than a lover? Besides, I had no choice of means. "No!" I replied. My uncle fell back two paces in terror--and again the enormous helmet wobbled on his shoulders. "No," I repeated, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044296 | firmly, "I'll not help you out, unless you give me the hand of my cousin Rose!" From the depths of the strangely elongated visor came, not an angry exclamation, but a veritable roar. I had "done it!"--I had burned my ships! "If you do not consent to do what I ask of you," I added, "not only will I not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044297 | help you off with your helmet, but I will call in all your neighbours, and then go and find the Municipal Council!" "You'll end your days on the scaffold!" cried my uncle. "The hand of Rose!" I repeated. "You told me that it would only be by force that you would be made to say 'yes'--say it, or I will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044298 | call in the neighbours!" The clock was still striking; my uncle raised his arms as if to curse me. "Decide at once," I cried, "somebody is coming!" "Well, then--yes!" murmured my uncle. "But make haste!" "On your word of honour?" "On my word of honour!" The visor gave way, the gorget-piece also, and my uncle's head issued from durance, red | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000044299 | as a poppy. Just in time. The chemist at the corner, a colleague in the Municipal Council, entered the shop. "Are you coming?" he asked; "they will be beginning the business without us." "I'm coming," replied my uncle. And without looking at me, he took up his hat and cane and hurried out. The next moment all my hopes had | 60 | gutenberg |
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