The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 4 — John Shaqi
The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 4Meredith, George
General
The Adventures of Harry Richmond — Volume 4
Meredith, George
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction
'Then, are you the captain, my good Herr Heilbrunn?' the margravine asked
my father.
He was dressed in cheerful blue, wearing his cheerfullest air, and seemed
strongly inclined for the part of captain, but presented the actual
commander of the schooner-yacht, and helped him through the margravine's
interrogations.
'All is excellent,--excellent for a day's sail,' she said. 'I have no
doubt you could nourish my system for a month, but to deal frankly with
you--prepared meats and cold pies!--to face them once is as much as I am
capable of.'
'Dear Lady Field-Marshal,' returned my father, 'the sons of Neptune would
be of poor account, if they could not furnish you cookery at sea.'
They did, for Alphonse was on board. He and my father had a hot
discussion about the margravine's dishes, Alphonse declaring that it was
against his conscience to season them pungently, and my father preaching
expediency. Alphonse spoke of the artist and his duty to his art, my
father of the wise diplomatist who manipulated individuals without any
sacrifice of principle. They were partly at play, of course, both having
humour.
It ended in the margravine's being enraptured. The delicacy of the
invalid's dishes, was beyond praise. 'So, then, we are absolutely better
housed and accommodated than on shore!' the margravine made her wonder
heard, and from that fell to enthusiasm for the vessel. After a couple
of pleasant smooth-sailing days, she consented to cruise off the coasts
of France and England. Adieu to the sands. Throughout the cruise she
was placable, satisfied with earth and sea, and constantly eulogizing
herself for this novel state of serenity. Cards, and a collection of
tripping French books bound in yellow, danced the gavotte with time,
which made the flying minutes endurable to her: and for relaxation there
was here the view of a shining town dropped between green hills to dip in
sea-water, yonder a ship of merchandise or war to speculate upon,
trawlers, collier-brigs, sea-birds, wave over wave. No cloud on sun and
moon. We had gold and silver in our track, like the believable children
of fairyland.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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