The Relics of General Chasse: A Tale of Antwerp

by Anthony Trollope

then two jet columns of flossy silk. Such was theappearance, on that well-remembered morning, of the Rev. Augustus Horne,as he entered the room in which his breakfast was prepared.

  I could see at a glance that a dark frown contracted his eyebrows, andthat the compressed muscles of his upper lip gave a strange degree ofausterity to his open face. He carried his head proudly on high,determined to be dignified in spite of his misfortunes, and advanced twosteps into the room without a remark, as though he were able to show thatneither red plush nor black cloth could disarrange the equal poise of hismighty mind!

  And after all what are a man’s garments but the outward husks in whichthe fruit is kept, duly tempered from the wind?

  “The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man’s the gowd for a’ that.”

  And is not the tailor’s art as little worthy, as insignificant as that ofthe king who makes

  “A marquis, duke, and a’ that”?

  Who would be content to think that his manly dignity depended on his coatand waistcoat, or his hold on the world’s esteem on any other garment ofusual wear? That no such weakness soiled his mind Mr. Horne wasdetermined to prove; and thus he entered the room with measured tread,and stern dignified demeanour.

  Having advanced two steps his eye caught mine. I do not know whether hewas moved by some unconscious smile on my part;—for in truth Iendeavoured to seem as indifferent as himself to the nature of hisdress;—or whether he was invincibly tickled by some inward fancy of hisown, but suddenly his advancing step ceased, a broad flash of comichumour spread itself over his features, he retreated with his backagainst the wall, and then burst out into an immoderate roar of loudlaughter.

  And I—what else could I then do but laugh? He laughed, and I laughed.He roared, and I roared. He lifted up his vast legs to view till therays of the morning sun shone through the window on the bright hues whichhe displayed; and he did not sit down to his breakfast till he had inevery fantastic attitude shown off to the best advantage the red plush ofwhich he had so recently become proud.

  An Antwerp private cabriolet on that day reached the yard of the Hôtel deBelle Vue at about 4 p.m., and four waiters, in a frenzy of astonishment,saw the Reverend Augustus Horne descend from the vehicle and seek hischamber dressed in the garments which I have described. But I aminclined to think that he never again favoured any of his friends withsuch a sight.

  It was on the next evening after this that I went out to drink tea withtwo maiden ladies, relatives of mine, who kept a seminary for Englishgirls at Brussels. The Misses Macmanus were very worthy women, andearned their bread in an upright, painstaking manner. I would not forworlds have passed through Brussels without paying them this compliment.They were, however, perhaps a little dull, and I was aware that I shouldnot probably meet in their drawing-room many of the fashionableinhabitants of the city. Mr. Horne had declined to accompany me; but indoing so he was good enough to express a warm admiration for thecharacter of my worthy cousins.

  The elder Miss Macmanus, in her little note, had informed me that shewould have the pleasure of introducing me to a few of my “compatriots.”I presumed she meant Englishmen; and as I was in the habit of meetingsuch every day of my life at home, I cannot say that I was peculiarlyelevated by the promise. When, however, I entered the room, there was noEnglishman there;—there was no man of any kind. There were twelve ladiescollected together with the view of making the evening pass agreeably tome, the single virile being among them all. I felt as though I were asort of Mohammed in Paradise; but I certainly felt also that the Paradisewas none of my own choosing.

  In the centre of the amphitheatre which the ladies formed sat the twoMisses Macmanus;—there, at least, they sat when they had completed theprocess of shaking hands with me. To the left of them, making one wingof the semicircle, were arranged the five pupils by attending to whom theMisses Macmanus earned their living; and the other wing consisted of thefive ladies who had furnished themselves with relics of General Chassé.They were my “compatriots.”

  I was introduced to them all, one after the other; but their names didnot abide in my memory one moment. I was thinking too much of thesingularity of the adventure, and could not attend to such minutiæ. Thatthe red-rosed harpy was Miss Grogram, that I remembered;—that, I may say,I shall never forget. But whether the motherly lady with the somewhatblowsy hair was Mrs. Jones, or Mrs. Green, or Mrs. Walker, I cannot nowsay. The dumpy female with the broad back was always called Aunt Sallyby the young ladies.

  Too much sugar spoils one’s tea; I think I have heard that evenprosperity will cloy when it comes in overdoses; and a schoolboy has beenknown to be overdone with jam. I myself have always been peculiarlyattached to ladies’ society, and have avoided bachelor parties as thingsexecrable in their very nature. But on this special occasion I feltmyself to be that schoolboy;—I was literally overdone with jam. My teawas all sugar, so that I could not drink it. I was one among twelve.What could I do or say? The proportion of alloy was too small to haveany effect in changing the nature of the virgin silver, and theconversation became absolutely feminine.

  I must confess also that my previous experience as to these compatriotsof mine had not prejudiced me in their favour. I regarded them with,—Iam ashamed to say so, seeing that they were ladies,—but almost withloathing. When last I had seen them their occupation had reminded me ofsome obscene feast of harpies, or almost of ghouls. They had broughtdown to the verge of desperation the man whom of all men I mostvenerated. On these accounts I was inclined to be taciturn withreference to them;—and then what could I have to say to the MissesMacmanus’s five pupils?

  My cousin at first made an effort or two in my favour, but these effortswere fruitless. I soon died away into utter unrecognised insignificance,and the conversation, as I have before said, became feminine. And indeedthat horrid Miss Grogram, who was, as it were, the princess of theghouls, nearly monopolised the whole of it. Mamma Jones—we will call herJones for the occasion—put in a word now and then, as did also the elderand more energetic Miss Macmanus. The dumpy lady with the broad back atetea-cake incessantly; the two daughters looked scornful, as though theywere above their company with reference to the five pupils; and the fivepupils themselves sat in a row with the utmost propriety, each with herhands crossed on her lap before her.

  Of what they were talking at last I became utterly oblivious. They hadignored me, going into realms of muslin, questions of maid-servants,female rights, and cheap under-clothing; and I therefore had ignoredthem. My mind had gone back to Mr. Horne and his garments. While theyspoke of their rights, I was thinking of his wrongs; when they mentionedthe price of flannel, I thought of that of broadcloth.

  But of a sudden my attention was arrested. Miss Macmanus had saidsomething of the black silks of Antwerp, when Miss Grogram replied thatshe had just returned from that city and had there enjoyed a greatsuccess. My cousin had again asked something about the black silks,thinking, no doubt, that Miss Grogram had achieved some bargain, but thatlady had soon undeceived her.

  “Oh no,” said Miss Grogram, “it was at the castle. We got such beautifulrelics of General Chassé! Didn’t we, Mrs. Jones?”

  “Indeed we did,” said Mrs. Jones, bringing out from beneath the skirts ofher dress and ostensibly displaying a large black bag.

  “And I’ve got such a beautiful needle-case,” said the broad-back,displaying her prize. “I’ve been making it up all the morning.” And shehanded over the article to Miss Macmanus.

  “And only look at this duck of a pen-wiper,” simpered flaxen-hair No. 2.“Only think of wiping one’s pens with relics of General Chassé!” and shehanded it over to the other Miss Macmanus.

  “And mine’s a pin-cushion,” said No. 1, exhibiting the trophy.

  “But that’s nothing to what I’ve got,” said Miss Grogram. “In the firstplace, there’s a pair of slippers,—a beautiful pair;—they’re not made upyet, of course; and then—”

  The two Miss
es Macmanus and their five pupils were sitting open-eared,open-eyed, and open-mouthed. How all these sombre-looking articles couldbe relics of General Chassé did not at first appear clear to them.

  “What are they, Miss Grogram?” said the elder Miss Macmanus, holding theneedle-case in one hand and Mrs. Jones’s bag in the other. Miss Macmanuswas a strong-minded female, and I reverenced my cousin when I saw thedecided way in which she intended to put down the greedy arrogance ofMiss Grogram.

  “They are relics.”

  “But where do they come from, Miss Grogram?”

  “Why, from the castle, to be sure;—from General Chassé’s own rooms.”

  “Did anybody sell them to you?”

  “No.”

  “Or give them to you?”

  “Why, no;—at least not exactly give.”

  “There they were, and she took ’em,” said the broad-back. Oh, what alook Miss Grogram gave her! “Took them! of course I took them. That is,you took them as much as I did. They were things that we found lyingabout.”

  “What things?”