The Case of General Ople and Lady CamperMeredith, George
General
The Case of General Ople and Lady Camper
Meredith, George
English fiction -- 19th century
And at one time, her not condescending to exchange visits with the
obsequious General was a topic fertile in irony. But she did condescend.
Lady Camper came to his gate unexpectedly, rang the bell, and was let in
like an ordinary visitor. It happened that the General was gardening--
not the pretty occupation of pruning--he was digging--and of necessity
his coat was off, and he was hot, dusty, unpresentable. From adoring
earth as the mother of roses, you may pass into a lady's presence without
purification; you cannot (or so the General thought) when you are caught
in the act of adoring the mother of cabbages. And though he himself
loved the cabbage equally with the rose, in his heart respected the
vegetable yet more than he esteemed the flower, for he gloried in his
kitchen garden, this was not a secret for the world to know, and he
almost heeled over on his beam ends when word was brought of the extreme
honour Lady Camper had done him. He worked his arms hurriedly into his
fatigue jacket, trusting to get away to the house and spend a couple of
minutes on his adornment; and with any other visitor it might have been
accomplished, but Lady Camper disliked sitting alone in a room. She was
on the square of lawn as the General stole along the walk. Had she kept
her back to him, he might have rounded her like the shadow of a dial,
undetected. She was frightfully acute of hearing. She turned while he
was in the agony of hesitation, in a queer attitude, one leg on the
march, projected by a frenzied tip-toe of the hinder leg, the very
fatallest moment she could possibly have selected for unveiling him.
Of course there was no choice but to surrender on the spot.
He began to squander his dizzy wits in profuse apologies. Lady Camper
simply spoke of the nice little nest of a garden, smelt the flowers,
accepted a Niel rose and a Rohan, a Cline, a Falcot, and La France.
'A beautiful rose indeed,' she said of the latter, 'only it smells of
macassar oil.'
'Really, it never struck me, I say it never struck me before,' rejoined
the General, smelling it as at a pinch of snuff. 'I was saying, I always
. . .' And he tacitly, with the absurdest of smiles, begged permission
to leave unterminated a sentence not in itself particularly difficult
'I have a nose,' observed Lady Camper.
Like the nobly-bred person she was, according to General Ople's version
of the interview on his estate, when he stood before her in his gardening
costume, she put him at his ease, or she exerted herself to do so; and if
he underwent considerable anguish, it was the fault of his excessive
scrupulousness regarding dress, propriety, appearance.
He conducted her at her request to the kitchen garden and the handful of
paddock, the stables and coach-house, then back to the lawn.
'It is the home for a young couple,' she said.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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