The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 4Lever, Charles
General
The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer — Volume 4
Lever, Charles
Fiction
"Certainly," I replied; "but you will first permit me to resume my own
clothes, I am quite sick of masquerading 'en postillion.'"
"Not so fast, my friend," said the suspicious old follower of Fouche
--"not so fast; it is but right the maire should see you in the disguise
you attempted your escape in. It must be especially mentioned in the
proces verbal."
"Well, this is becoming too ludicrous," said I. "It need not take five
minutes to satisfy you why, how, and where, I put on these confounded
rags--"
"Then tell it to the maire, at the Bureau."
"But for that purpose it is not necessary I should be conducted through
the streets in broad day, to be laughed at. No, positively, I'll not go.
In my own dress I'll accompany you with pleasure."
"Victor, Henri, Guillame," said the gen-d'arme, addressing his
companions, who immediately closed round me. "You see," added he, "there
is no use in resisting."
Need I recount my own shame and ineffable disgrace? Alas! it is too,
too true. Harry Lorrequer--whom Stultze entreated to wear his coats,
the ornament of Hyde Park, the last appeal in dress, fashion, and
equipage--was obliged to parade through the mob of a market-town in
France, with four gens-d'armes for his companions, and he himself habited
in a mongrel character--half postillion, half Delaware Indian. The
incessant yells of laughter--the screams of the children, and the
outpouring of every species of sarcasm and ridicule, at my expense, were
not all--for, as I emerged from the porte-chochere I saw Isabella in the
window: her eyes were red with weeping; but no sooner had she beheld me,
than she broke out into a fit of laughter that was audible even in the
street.
Rage had now taken such a hold upon me, that I forgot my ridiculous
appearance in my thirst for vengeance. I marched on through the grinning
crowd, with the step of a martyr. I suppose my heroic bearing and
warlike deportment must have heightened the drollery of the scene; for
the devils only laughed the more. The bureau of the maire could not
contain one-tenth of the anxious and curious individuals who thronged
the entrance, and for about twenty minutes the whole efforts of the
gens-d'armes were little enough to keep order and maintain silence. At
length the maire made his appearance, and accustomed as he had been for
a long life to scenes of an absurd and extraordinary nature, yet the
ridicule of my look and costume was too much, and he laughed outright.
This was of course the signal for renewed mirth for the crowd, while
those without doors, infected by the example, took up the jest, and I
had the pleasure of a short calculation, a la Babbage, of how many
maxillary jaws were at that same moment wagging at my expense.
However, the examination commenced; and I at length obtained an
opportunity of explaining under what circumstances I had left my room,
and how and why I had been induced to don this confounded cause of all my
misery.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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