Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil BlasLever, Charles
General
Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
These imaginings, as might be easily imagined, led me to form a very
depreciating estimate of my lords and masters of the "establishment."
Not only their little foibles and weaknesses, their small pretensions
and their petty attempts at fine life, were all palpable to my eyes, but
their humble fortunes and narrow means to support such assumption were
equally so; and there is nothing which a vulgar mind--I _was_ vulgar at
that period--so unhesitatingly seizes on for sarcasm as the endeavor of
a poor man to "do the fine gentleman."
If no man is a hero to his valet, he who has no valet is never a hero at
all,--is nobody. I conceived, then, the most insulting contempt for the
company, on whom I practised a hundred petty devices of annoyance. I
would drop gravy on a fine satin dress, in which the wearer only made
her appearance at festivals, or stain with sauce the "russia ducks"
destined to figure through half a week. Sometimes, by an adroit
change of decanters during dinner, I would produce a scene of almost
irremediable confusion, when the owner of sherry would find himself
taking toast-and-water, he of the last beverage having improved the time
and finished the racier liquid. Such reciprocities, although strictly in
accordance with "free-trade," invariably led to very warm discussions,
that lasted through the remainder of the evening.
Then I removed plates ere the eater was satisfied, and that with an air
of such imposing resolve as to silence remonstrance. When a stingy
guest passed up his decanter to a friend, in a moment of enthusiastic
munificence, I never suffered it to return till it was emptied; while to
the elderly ladies I measured out the wine like laudanum. Every now and
then, too, I would forget to hand the dish to some one or other of the
company, and affect only to discover my error as the last spoonful was
disappearing.
Nor did my liberties end here. I was constantly introducing innovations
in the order of dinner, that produced most ludicrous scenes of
discomfiture,--now insisting on the use of a fork, now of a spoon, under
circumstances where no adroitness could compensate for the implement;
and one day I actually went so far as to introduce soap with the
finger-glasses, averring that "it was always done at Devonshire House on
grand occasions." I thought I should have betrayed myself as I saw the
efforts of the party to perform their parts with suitable dignity; all I
could do was to restrain a burst of open laughter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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