The Relics of General Chasse: A Tale of AntwerpTrollope, Anthony
General
The Relics of General Chasse: A Tale of Antwerp
Trollope, Anthony
British -- Belgium -- Fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; Humorous stories; Short stories
As the ladies seemed inclined to linger in the room it became a matter of
importance that the above-named articles should fit, not only for
ornament but for use. It was very cold, and Mr. Horne was altogether
unused to move in a Highland sphere of life. But alas, alas! General
Chassé had not been nurtured in the classical retirement of Ollerton.
The ungiving leather would stretch no point to accommodate the divine,
though it had been willing to minister to the convenience of the soldier.
Mr. Horne was vexed and chilled; and throwing the now hateful garments
into a corner, and protecting himself from the cold as best he might by
standing with his knees together and his body somewhat bent so as to give
the skirts of his coat an opportunity of doing extra duty, he begged me
to see if those jabbering females were not going to leave him in peace to
recover his own property. I accordingly went to the door, and opening it
to a small extent I peeped through.
Who shall describe my horror at the sight which I then saw? The scene,
which had hitherto been tinted with comic effect, was now becoming so
decidedly tragic that I did not dare at once to acquaint my worthy pastor
with that which was occurring,—and, alas! had already occurred.
Five country-women of our own—it was easy to know them by their dress and
general aspect—were standing in the middle of the room; and one of them,
the centre of the group, the senior harpy of the lot, a maiden lady—I
could have sworn to that—with a red nose, held in one hand a huge pair of
scissors, and in the other—the already devoted goods of my most
unfortunate companion! Down from the waistband, through that goodly
expanse, a fell gash had already gone through and through; and in
useless, unbecoming disorder the broadcloth fell pendant from her arm on
this side and on that. At that moment I confess that I had not the
courage to speak to Mr. Horne,—not even to look at him.
I must describe that group. Of the figure next to me I could only see
the back. It was a broad back done up in black silk not of the newest.
The whole figure, one may say, was dumpy. The black silk was not long,
as dresses now are worn, nor wide in its skirts. In every way it was
skimpy, considering the breadth it had to cover; and below the silk I saw
the heels of two thick shoes, and enough to swear by of two woollen
stockings. Above the silk was a red and blue shawl; and above that a
ponderous, elaborate brown bonnet, as to the materials of which I should
not wish to undergo an examination. Over and beyond this I could only
see the backs of her two hands. They were held up as though in wonder at
that which the red-nosed holder of the scissors had dared to do.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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