The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 3Meredith, George
General
The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 3
Meredith, George
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction
According to Temple's description, when the statue moved its head toward
him, a shudder went through the crowd, and a number of forefingers were
levelled at it, and the head moved toward me, marked of them all. Its
voice was answered by a dull puling scream from women, and the men gaped.
When it descended from the saddle, the act was not performed with one
bound, as I fancied, but difficultly; and it walked up to me like a
figure dragging logs at its heels. Half-a-dozen workmen ran to arrest
it; some townswomen fainted. There was a heavy altercation in German
between the statue and the superintendent of the arrangements. The sun
shone brilliantly on our march to the line of carriages where the Prince
of Eppenwelzen was talking to the margravine in a fury, and he dashed
away on his horse, after bellowing certain directions to his foresters
and the workmen, by whom we were surrounded; while the margravine talked
loudly and amiably, as though everything had gone well. Her watch was
out. She acknowledged my father's bow, and overlooked him. She seemed
to have made her courtiers smile. The ladies and gentlemen obeyed the
wave of her hand by quitting the ground; the band headed a long line of
the commoner sort, and a body of foresters gathered the remnants and
joined them to the rear of the procession. A liveried groom led away
Temple's horse and mine. Temple declared he could not sit after seeing
the statue descend from its pedestal.
Her Highness's behaviour roughened as soon as the place was clear of
company. She spoke at my father impetuously, with manifest scorn and
reproach, struck her silver-mounted stick on the carriage panels, again
and again stamped her foot, lifting a most variable emphatic countenance.
Princess Ottilia tried to intercede. The margravine clenched her hands,
and, to one not understanding her speech, appeared literally to blow the
little lady off with the breath of her mouth. Her whole bearing
consisted of volleys of abuse, closed by magisterial interrogations.
Temple compared her Highness's language to the running out of Captain
Welsh's chaincable, and my father's replies to the hauling in: his
sentences were short, they sounded like manful protestations; I barely
noticed them. Temple's version of it went: 'And there was your father
apologizing, and the margravine rating him,' etc. My father, as it
happened, was careful not to open his lips wide on account of the
plaster, or thick coating of paint on his face. No one would have
supposed that he was burning with indignation; the fact being, that to
give vent to it, he would have had to exercise his muscular strength; he
was plastered and painted from head to foot. The fixture of his wig and
hat, too, constrained his skin, so that his looks were no index of his
feelings. I longed gloomily for the moment to come when he would present
himself to me in his natural form. He was not sensible of the touch of
my hand, nor I of his.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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