English fiction -- 19th century; Tailors -- Fiction
At that period, when threats of invasion had formerly stirred up the
military fire of us Islanders, the great Mel, as if to show the great
Napoleon what character of being a British shopkeeper really was, had,
by remarkable favour, obtained a lieutenancy of militia dragoons: in the
uniform of which he had revelled, and perhaps, for the only time in his
life, felt that circumstances had suited him with a perfect fit. However
that may be, his solemn final commands to his wife, Henrietta Maria, on
whom he could count for absolute obedience in such matters, had been,
that as soon as the breath had left his body, he should be taken from his
bed, washed, perfumed, powdered, and in that uniform dressed and laid
out; with directions that he should be so buried at the expiration of
three days, that havoc in his features might be hidden from men. In this
array Lady Racial beheld him. The curtains of the bed were drawn aside.
The beams of evening fell soft through the blinds of the room, and cast a
subdued light on the figure of the vanquished warrior. The Presence,
dumb now for evermore, was sadly illumined for its last exhibition. But
one who looked closely might have seen that Time had somewhat spoiled
that perfect fit which had aforetime been his pride; and now that the
lofty spirit had departed, there had been extreme difficulty in
persuading the sullen excess of clay to conform to the dimensions of
those garments. The upper part of the chest alone would bear its
buttons, and across one portion of the lower limbs an ancient seam had
started; recalling an incident to them who had known him in his brief
hour of glory. For one night, as he was riding home from Fallow field,
and just entering the gates of the town, a mounted trooper spurred
furiously past, and slashing out at him, gashed his thigh. Mrs.
Melchisedec found him lying at his door in a not unwonted way; carried
him up-stairs in her arms, as she had done many a time before, and did
not perceive his condition till she saw the blood on her gown. The
cowardly assailant was never discovered; but Mel was both gallant and
had, in his military career, the reputation of being a martinet. Hence,
divers causes were suspected. The wound failed not to mend, the trousers
were repaired: Peace about the same time was made, and the affair passed
over.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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