CHAPTER LXII

Am Rhein

The above everyday events had occurred, and a few weeks had passed,

when on one fine morning, Parliament being over, the summer advanced,

and all the good company in London about to quit that city for their

annual tour in search of pleasure or health, the Batavier steamboat

left the Tower-stairs laden with a goodly company of English fugitives.

The quarter-deck awnings were up, and the benches and gangways crowded

with scores of rosy children, bustling nursemaids; ladies in the

prettiest pink bonnets and summer dresses; gentlemen in travelling caps

and linen-jackets, whose mustachios had just begun to sprout for the

ensuing tour; and stout trim old veterans with starched neckcloths and

neat-brushed hats, such as have invaded Europe any time since the

conclusion of the war, and carry the national Goddem into every city of

the Continent. The congregation of hat-boxes, and Bramah desks, and

dressing-cases was prodigious. There were jaunty young Cambridge-men

travelling with their tutor, and going for a reading excursion to

Nonnenwerth or Konigswinter; there were Irish gentlemen, with the most

dashing whiskers and jewellery, talking about horses incessantly, and

prodigiously polite to the young ladies on board, whom, on the

contrary, the Cambridge lads and their pale-faced tutor avoided with

maiden coyness; there were old Pall Mall loungers bound for Ems and

Wiesbaden and a course of waters to clear off the dinners of the

season, and a little roulette and trente-et-quarante to keep the

excitement going; there was old Methuselah, who had married his young

wife, with Captain Papillon of the Guards holding her parasol and

guide-books; there was young May who was carrying off his bride on a

pleasure tour (Mrs. Winter that was, and who had been at school with

May's grandmother); there was Sir John and my Lady with a dozen

children, and corresponding nursemaids; and the great grandee Bareacres

family that sat by themselves near the wheel, stared at everybody, and

spoke to no one. Their carriages, emblazoned with coronets and heaped

with shining imperials, were on the foredeck, locked in with a dozen

more such vehicles: it was difficult to pass in and out amongst them;

and the poor inmates of the fore-cabin had scarcely any space for

locomotion. These consisted of a few magnificently attired gentlemen

from Houndsditch, who brought their own provisions, and could have

bought half the gay people in the grand saloon; a few honest fellows

with mustachios and portfolios, who set to sketching before they had

been half an hour on board; one or two French femmes de chambre who

began to be dreadfully ill by the time the boat had passed Greenwich; a

groom or two who lounged in the neighbourhood of the horse-boxes under

their charge, or leaned over the side by the paddle-wheels, and talked

about who was good for the Leger, and what they stood to win or lose

for the Goodwood cup.

All the couriers, when they had done plunging about the ship and had

settled their various masters in the cabins or on the deck, congregated

together and began to chatter and smoke; the Hebrew gentlemen joining

them and looking at the carriages. There was Sir John's great carriage

that would hold thirteen people; my Lord Methuselah's carriage, my Lord

Bareacres' chariot, britzska, and fourgon, that anybody might pay for

who liked. It was a wonder how my Lord got the ready money to pay for

the expenses of the journey. The Hebrew gentlemen knew how he got it.

They knew what money his Lordship had in his pocket at that instant,

and what interest he paid for it, and who gave it him. Finally there

was a very neat, handsome travelling carriage, about which the

gentlemen speculated.

"A qui cette voiture la?" said one gentleman-courier with a large

morocco money-bag and ear-rings to another with ear-rings and a large

morocco money-bag.

"C'est a Kirsch je bense--je l'ai vu toute a l'heure--qui brenoit des

sangviches dans la voiture," said the courier in a fine German French.

Kirsch emerging presently from the neighbourhood of the hold, where he

had been bellowing instructions intermingled with polyglot oaths to the

ship's men engaged in secreting the passengers' luggage, came to give

an account of himself to his brother interpreters. He informed them

that the carriage belonged to a Nabob from Calcutta and Jamaica

enormously rich, and with whom he was engaged to travel; and at this

moment a young gentleman who had been warned off the bridge between the

paddle-boxes, and who had dropped thence on to the roof of Lord

Methuselah's carriage, from which he made his way over other carriages

and imperials until he had clambered on to his own, descended thence

and through the window into the body of the carriage, to the applause

of the couriers looking on.

"Nous allons avoir une belle traversee, Monsieur George," said the

courier with a grin, as he lifted his gold-laced cap.

"D---- your French," said the young gentleman, "where's the biscuits,

ay?" Whereupon Kirsch answered him in the English language or in such

an imitation of it as he could command--for though he was familiar with

all languages, Mr. Kirsch was not acquainted with a single one, and

spoke all with indifferent volubility and incorrectness.

The imperious young gentleman who gobbled the biscuits (and indeed it

was time to refresh himself, for he had breakfasted at Richmond full

three hours before) was our young friend George Osborne. Uncle Jos and

his mamma were on the quarter-deck with a gentleman of whom they used

to see a good deal, and the four were about to make a summer tour.

Jos was seated at that moment on deck under the awning, and pretty

nearly opposite to the Earl of Bareacres and his family, whose

proceedings absorbed the Bengalee almost entirely. Both the noble

couple looked rather younger than in the eventful year '15, when Jos

remembered to have seen them at Brussels (indeed, he always gave out in

India that he was intimately acquainted with them). Lady Bareacres'

hair, which was then dark, was now a beautiful golden auburn, whereas

Lord Bareacres' whiskers, formerly red, were at present of a rich black

with purple and green reflections in the light. But changed as they

were, the movements of the noble pair occupied Jos's mind entirely.

The presence of a Lord fascinated him, and he could look at nothing

else.

"Those people seem to interest you a good deal," said Dobbin, laughing

and watching him. Amelia too laughed. She was in a straw bonnet with

black ribbons, and otherwise dressed in mourning, but the little bustle

and holiday of the journey pleased and excited her, and she looked

particularly happy.

"What a heavenly day!" Emmy said and added, with great originality, "I

hope we shall have a calm passage."

Jos waved his hand, scornfully glancing at the same time under his

eyelids at the great folks opposite. "If you had made the voyages we

have," he said, "you wouldn't much care about the weather." But

nevertheless, traveller as he was, he passed the night direfully sick

in his carriage, where his courier tended him with brandy-and-water

and every luxury.

In due time this happy party landed at the quays of Rotterdam, whence

they were transported by another steamer to the city of Cologne. Here

the carriage and the family took to the shore, and Jos was not a little

gratified to see his arrival announced in the Cologne newspapers as

"Herr Graf Lord von Sedley nebst Begleitung aus London." He had his

court dress with him; he had insisted that Dobbin should bring his

regimental paraphernalia; he announced that it was his intention to be

presented at some foreign courts, and pay his respects to the

Sovereigns of the countries which he honoured with a visit.

Wherever the party stopped, and an opportunity was offered, Mr. Jos

left his own card and the Major's upon "Our Minister." It was with

great difficulty that he could be restrained from putting on his cocked

hat and tights to wait upon the English consul at the Free City of

Judenstadt, when that hospitable functionary asked our travellers to

dinner. He kept a journal of his voyage and noted elaborately the

defects or excellences of the various inns at which he put up, and of

the wines and dishes of which he partook.

As for Emmy, she was very happy and pleased. Dobbin used to carry

about for her her stool and sketch-book, and admired the drawings of

the good-natured little artist as they never had been admired before.

She sat upon steamers' decks and drew crags and castles, or she mounted

upon donkeys and ascended to ancient robber-towers, attended by her two

aides-de-camp, Georgy and Dobbin. She laughed, and the Major did too,

at his droll figure on donkey-back, with his long legs touching the

ground. He was the interpreter for the party; having a good military

knowledge of the German language, and he and the delighted George

fought the campaigns of the Rhine and the Palatinate. In the course of

a few weeks, and by assiduously conversing with Herr Kirsch on the box

of the carriage, Georgy made prodigious advance in the knowledge of

High Dutch, and could talk to hotel waiters and postilions in a way

that charmed his mother and amused his guardian.

Mr. Jos did not much engage in the afternoon excursions of his

fellow-travellers. He slept a good deal after dinner, or basked in the

arbours of the pleasant inn-gardens. Pleasant Rhine gardens! Fair

scenes of peace and sunshine--noble purple mountains, whose crests are

reflected in the magnificent stream--who has ever seen you that has not

a grateful memory of those scenes of friendly repose and beauty? To lay

down the pen and even to think of that beautiful Rhineland makes one

happy. At this time of summer evening, the cows are trooping down from

the hills, lowing and with their bells tinkling, to the old town, with

its old moats, and gates, and spires, and chestnut-trees, with long

blue shadows stretching over the grass; the sky and the river below

flame in crimson and gold; and the moon is already out, looking pale

towards the sunset. The sun sinks behind the great castle-crested

mountains, the night falls suddenly, the river grows darker and darker,

lights quiver in it from the windows in the old ramparts, and twinkle

peacefully in the villages under the hills on the opposite shore.

So Jos used to go to sleep a good deal with his bandanna over his face

and be very comfortable, and read all the English news, and every word

of Galignani's admirable newspaper (may the blessings of all Englishmen

who have ever been abroad rest on the founders and proprietors of that

piratical print! ) and whether he woke or slept, his friends did not

very much miss him. Yes, they were very happy. They went to the opera

often of evenings--to those snug, unassuming, dear old operas in the

German towns, where the noblesse sits and cries, and knits stockings on

the one side, over against the bourgeoisie on the other; and His

Transparency the Duke and his Transparent family, all very fat and

good-natured, come and occupy the great box in the middle; and the pit

is full of the most elegant slim-waisted officers with straw-coloured

mustachios, and twopence a day on full pay. Here it was that Emmy found

her delight, and was introduced for the first time to the wonders of

Mozart and Cimarosa. The Major's musical taste has been before alluded

to, and his performances on the flute commended. But perhaps the chief

pleasure he had in these operas was in watching Emmy's rapture while

listening to them. A new world of love and beauty broke upon her when

she was introduced to those divine compositions; this lady had the

keenest and finest sensibility, and how could she be indifferent when

she heard Mozart? The tender parts of "Don Juan" awakened in her

raptures so exquisite that she would ask herself when she went to say

her prayers of a night whether it was not wicked to feel so much

delight as that with which "Vedrai Carino" and "Batti Batti" filled her

gentle little bosom? But the Major, whom she consulted upon this head,

as her theological adviser (and who himself had a pious and reverent

soul), said that for his part, every beauty of art or nature made him

thankful as well as happy, and that the pleasure to be had in listening

to fine music, as in looking at the stars in the sky, or at a beautiful

landscape or picture, was a benefit for which we might thank Heaven as

sincerely as for any other worldly blessing. And in reply to some

faint objections of Mrs. Amelia's (taken from certain theological works

like the Washerwoman of Finchley Common and others of that school, with

which Mrs. Osborne had been furnished during her life at Brompton) he

told her an Eastern fable of the Owl who thought that the sunshine was

unbearable for the eyes and that the Nightingale was a most overrated

bird. "It is one's nature to sing and the other's to hoot," he said,

laughing, "and with such a sweet voice as you have yourself, you must

belong to the Bulbul faction."

I like to dwell upon this period of her life and to think that she was

cheerful and happy. You see, she has not had too much of that sort of

existence as yet, and has not fallen in the way of means to educate her

tastes or her intelligence. She has been domineered over hitherto by

vulgar intellects. It is the lot of many a woman. And as every one of

the dear sex is the rival of the rest of her kind, timidity passes for

folly in their charitable judgments; and gentleness for dulness; and

silence--which is but timid denial of the unwelcome assertion of ruling

folks, and tacit protestantism--above all, finds no mercy at the hands

of the female Inquisition. Thus, my dear and civilized reader, if you

and I were to find ourselves this evening in a society of greengrocers,

let us say, it is probable that our conversation would not be

brilliant; if, on the other hand, a greengrocer should find himself at

your refined and polite tea-table, where everybody was saying witty

things, and everybody of fashion and repute tearing her friends to

pieces in the most delightful manner, it is possible that the stranger

would not be very talkative and by no means interesting or interested.

And it must be remembered that this poor lady had never met a gentleman

in her life until this present moment. Perhaps these are rarer

personages than some of us think for. Which of us can point out many

such in his circle--men whose aims are generous, whose truth is

constant, and not only constant in its kind but elevated in its degree;

whose want of meanness makes them simple; who can look the world

honestly in the face with an equal manly sympathy for the great and the

small? We all know a hundred whose coats are very well made, and a

score who have excellent manners, and one or two happy beings who are

what they call in the inner circles, and have shot into the very centre

and bull's-eye of the fashion; but of gentlemen how many? Let us take a

little scrap of paper and each make out his list.

My friend the Major I write, without any doubt, in mine. He had very

long legs, a yellow face, and a slight lisp, which at first was rather

ridiculous. But his thoughts were just, his brains were fairly good,

his life was honest and pure, and his heart warm and humble. He

certainly had very large hands and feet, which the two George Osbornes

used to caricature and laugh at; and their jeers and laughter perhaps

led poor little Emmy astray as to his worth. But have we not all been

misled about our heroes and changed our opinions a hundred times? Emmy,

in this happy time, found that hers underwent a very great change in

respect of the merits of the Major.

Perhaps it was the happiest time of both their lives, indeed, if they

did but know it--and who does? Which of us can point out and say that

was the culmination--that was the summit of human joy? But at all

events, this couple were very decently contented, and enjoyed as

pleasant a summer tour as any pair that left England that year. Georgy

was always present at the play, but it was the Major who put Emmy's

shawl on after the entertainment; and in the walks and excursions the

young lad would be on ahead, and up a tower-stair or a tree, whilst the

soberer couple were below, the Major smoking his cigar with great

placidity and constancy, whilst Emmy sketched the site or the ruin. It

was on this very tour that I, the present writer of a history of which

every word is true, had the pleasure to see them first and to make

their acquaintance.

It was at the little comfortable Ducal town of Pumpernickel (that very

place where Sir Pitt Crawley had been so distinguished as an attache;

but that was in early early days, and before the news of the Battle of

Austerlitz sent all the English diplomatists in Germany to the right

about) that I first saw Colonel Dobbin and his party. They had arrived

with the carriage and courier at the Erbprinz Hotel, the best of the

town, and the whole party dined at the table d'hote. Everybody

remarked the majesty of Jos and the knowing way in which he sipped, or

rather sucked, the Johannisberger, which he ordered for dinner. The

little boy, too, we observed, had a famous appetite, and consumed

schinken, and braten, and kartoffeln, and cranberry jam, and salad, and

pudding, and roast fowls, and sweetmeats, with a gallantry that did

honour to his nation. After about fifteen dishes, he concluded the

repast with dessert, some of which he even carried out of doors, for

some young gentlemen at table, amused with his coolness and gallant

free-and-easy manner, induced him to pocket a handful of macaroons,

which he discussed on his way to the theatre, whither everybody went in

the cheery social little German place. The lady in black, the boy's

mamma, laughed and blushed, and looked exceedingly pleased and shy as

the dinner went on, and at the various feats and instances of

espieglerie on the part of her son. The Colonel--for so he became very

soon afterwards--I remember joked the boy with a great deal of grave

fun, pointing out dishes which he hadn't tried, and entreating him not

to baulk his appetite, but to have a second supply of this or that.

It was what they call a gast-rolle night at the Royal Grand Ducal

Pumpernickelisch Hof--or Court theatre--and Madame Schroeder Devrient,

then in the bloom of her beauty and genius, performed the part of the

heroine in the wonderful opera of Fidelio. From our places in the

stalls we could see our four friends of the table d'hote in the loge

which Schwendler of the Erbprinz kept for his best guests, and I could

not help remarking the effect which the magnificent actress and music

produced upon Mrs. Osborne, for so we heard the stout gentleman in the

mustachios call her. During the astonishing Chorus of the Prisoners,

over which the delightful voice of the actress rose and soared in the

most ravishing harmony, the English lady's face wore such an expression

of wonder and delight that it struck even little Fipps, the blase

attache, who drawled out, as he fixed his glass upon her, "Gayd, it

really does one good to see a woman caypable of that stayt of

excaytement." And in the Prison Scene, where Fidelio, rushing to her

husband, cries, "Nichts, nichts, mein Florestan," she fairly lost

herself and covered her face with her handkerchief. Every woman in the

house was snivelling at the time, but I suppose it was because it was

predestined that I was to write this particular lady's memoirs that I

remarked her.

The next day they gave another piece of Beethoven, Die Schlacht bei

Vittoria. Malbrook is introduced at the beginning of the performance,

as indicative of the brisk advance of the French army. Then come drums,

trumpets, thunders of artillery, and groans of the dying, and at last,

in a grand triumphal swell, "God Save the King" is performed.

There may have been a score of Englishmen in the house, but at the

burst of that beloved and well-known music, every one of them, we young

fellows in the stalls, Sir John and Lady Bullminster (who had taken a

house at Pumpernickel for the education of their nine children), the

fat gentleman with the mustachios, the long Major in white duck

trousers, and the lady with the little boy upon whom he was so sweet,

even Kirsch, the courier in the gallery, stood bolt upright in their

places and proclaimed themselves to be members of the dear old British

nation. As for Tapeworm, the Charge d'Affaires, he rose up in his box

and bowed and simpered, as if he would represent the whole empire.

Tapeworm was nephew and heir of old Marshal Tiptoff, who has been

introduced in this story as General Tiptoff, just before Waterloo, who

was Colonel of the --th regiment in which Major Dobbin served, and who

died in this year full of honours, and of an aspic of plovers' eggs;

when the regiment was graciously given by his Majesty to Colonel Sir

Michael O'Dowd, K.C.B. who had commanded it in many glorious fields.

Tapeworm must have met with Colonel Dobbin at the house of the

Colonel's Colonel, the Marshal, for he recognized him on this night at

the theatre, and with the utmost condescension, his Majesty's minister

came over from his own box and publicly shook hands with his new-found

friend.

"Look at that infernal sly-boots of a Tapeworm," Fipps whispered,

examining his chief from the stalls. "Wherever there's a pretty woman

he always twists himself in." And I wonder what were diplomatists made

for but for that?

"Have I the honour of addressing myself to Mrs. Dobbin?" asked the

Secretary with a most insinuating grin.

Georgy burst out laughing and said, "By Jove, that was a good 'un."

Emmy and the Major blushed: we saw them from the stalls.

"This lady is Mrs. George Osborne," said the Major, "and this is her

brother, Mr. Sedley, a distinguished officer of the Bengal Civil

Service: permit me to introduce him to your lordship."

My lord nearly sent Jos off his legs with the most fascinating smile.

"Are you going to stop in Pumpernickel?" he said. "It is a dull place,

but we want some nice people, and we would try and make it SO agreeable

to you. Mr.--Ahum--Mrs.--Oho. I shall do myself the honour of calling

upon you to-morrow at your inn." And he went away with a Parthian grin

and glance which he thought must finish Mrs. Osborne completely.

The performance over, the young fellows lounged about the lobbies, and

we saw the society take its departure. The Duchess Dowager went off in

her jingling old coach, attended by two faithful and withered old maids

of honour, and a little snuffy spindle-shanked gentleman in waiting, in

a brown jasey and a green coat covered with orders--of which the star

and the grand yellow cordon of the order of St. Michael of Pumpernickel

were most conspicuous. The drums rolled, the guards saluted, and the

old carriage drove away.

Then came his Transparency the Duke and Transparent family, with his

great officers of state and household. He bowed serenely to everybody.

And amid the saluting of the guards and the flaring of the torches of

the running footmen, clad in scarlet, the Transparent carriages drove

away to the old Ducal schloss, with its towers and pinacles standing on

the schlossberg. Everybody in Pumpernickel knew everybody. No sooner

was a foreigner seen there than the Minister of Foreign Affairs, or

some other great or small officer of state, went round to the Erbprinz

and found out the name of the new arrival.

We watched them, too, out of the theatre. Tapeworm had just walked

off, enveloped in his cloak, with which his gigantic chasseur was

always in attendance, and looking as much as possible like Don Juan.

The Prime Minister's lady had just squeezed herself into her sedan, and

her daughter, the charming Ida, had put on her calash and clogs; when

the English party came out, the boy yawning drearily, the Major taking

great pains in keeping the shawl over Mrs. Osborne's head, and Mr.

Sedley looking grand, with a crush opera-hat on one side of his head

and his hand in the stomach of a voluminous white waistcoat. We took

off our hats to our acquaintances of the table d'hote, and the lady, in

return, presented us with a little smile and a curtsey, for which

everybody might be thankful.

The carriage from the inn, under the superintendence of the bustling

Mr. Kirsch, was in waiting to convey the party; but the fat man said he

would walk and smoke his cigar on his way homewards, so the other

three, with nods and smiles to us, went without Mr. Sedley, Kirsch,

with the cigar case, following in his master's wake.

We all walked together and talked to the stout gentleman about the

agremens of the place. It was very agreeable for the English. There

were shooting-parties and battues; there was a plenty of balls and

entertainments at the hospitable Court; the society was generally good;

the theatre excellent; and the living cheap.

"And our Minister seems a most delightful and affable person," our new

friend said. "With such a representative, and--and a good medical man,

I can fancy the place to be most eligible. Good-night, gentlemen." And

Jos creaked up the stairs to bedward, followed by Kirsch with a

flambeau. We rather hoped that nice-looking woman would be induced to

stay some time in the town.