MR TURBULENT IN A NEW CHARACTER.
Friday, Feb. 16.—The instant I was left alone with Mr. Turbulent he demanded to know my “project for his happiness;” and he made his claim in a tone so determined, that I saw it would be fruitless to attempt evasion or delay.
“Your captivity, then, sir,” cried I-“for such I must call your regarding your attendance to be indispensable is at an end: the equerry-coach is now wholly in your power. I have spoken myself upon the subject to the queen, as you bid—at least, braved me to do; and I have now her consent to discharging you from all necessity of travelling in our coach."[232]
He looked extremely provoked, and asked if I really meant to inform him I did not choose his company? I laughed the question off, and used a world of civil argument to persuade him I had only done him a good office: but I was fain to make the whole debate as sportive as possible, as I saw him disposed to be seriously affronted.
A long debate ensued. I had been, he protested, excessively ill-natured to him. “What an impression,” cried he, “must this make upon the queen! After travelling, with apparent content, six years With that oyster Mrs. Haggerdorn—now—now that travelling is become really agreeable—in that coach—I am to be turned out of it! How must it disgrace me in her opinion!”
She was too partial, I said, to “that oyster,” to look upon the matter in such a degrading light nor would she think of it at all, but as an accidental matter. I then added, that the reason that he had hitherto been destined to the female coach was, that Mrs. Schwellenberg and Mrs. Haggerdorn were always afraid of travelling by themselves; but that as I had more courage, there was no need of such slavery.
“Slavery!”—repeated he, with an emphasis that almost startled me,—“Slavery is pleasure—is happiness—when directed by our wishes!”
And then, with a sudden motion that made me quite jump, he cast himself at my feet, on both his knees—
“Your slave,” he cried, “I am content to be! your slave I am ready to live and die!”
I begged him to rise, and be a little less rhapsodic. “I have emancipated you,” I cried; “do not, therefore, throw away the freedom you have been six years sighing to obtain. You are now your own agent—a volunteer—”
“If I am,” cried he, impetuously, “I dedicate myself to you!—A volunteer, ma’am, remember that! I dedicate myself to you, therefore, of my own accord, for every journey! You shall not get rid of me these twenty years.”
I tried to get myself away-but he would not let me move and he began, with still increasing violence of manner, a most fervent protestation that he would not be set aside, and that he devoted himself to me entirely. And, to say the simple truth, ridiculous as all this was, I really began to grow a little frightened by his vehemence and his posture—till, at last, in the midst of an almost furious vow, in which he dedicated himself to me for ever, he relieved me, by suddenly calling upon Jupiter, Juno, Mars, and Hercules, and every god, and every goddess, to witness his oath. And then, content with his sublimity, he arose.
Was it not a curious scene? and have I not a curious fellow traveller for my little journeys? Monday, Feb. 19.—This morning I Proposed to my fellow travellers that we should begin our journey on foot. The wonderment with which they heard a proposal so new was diverting: but they all agreed to it; and though they declared that my predecessor, Mrs. Haggerdorn, would have thought the person fit for Bedlam who should have suggested such plan, no one could find any real objection, and off we set, ordering the coach to proceed slowly after us.
The weather was delightful, and the enterprise served to shorten and enliven the expedition, and pleased them all, Mr. Turbulent began, almost immediately, an attack about his colonel: upon quite a new ground, yet as restless and earnest as upon the old one. He now reproached my attention to him, protesting I talked to him continually, and spun out into an hour’s discourse what might have been said in three minutes.
“And was it my spinning?” I could not forbear saying.
“Yes, ma’am: for you might have dropped it.”
“How?—by not answering when spoken to?”
“By not talking to him, ma’am, more than to any one else.”
“And pray, Mr. Turbulent, solve me, then, this difficulty; what choice has a poor female with whom she may converse? Must she not, in company as in dancing, take up with those who choose to take up with her?”
He was staggered by this question, and while he wavered how to answer it, I pursued my little advantage—
“No man, Mr. Turbulent, has any cause to be flattered that a woman talks with him, while it is only in reply; for though he may come, go, address or neglect, and do as he will,—she, let her think and wish what she may, must only follow as he leads.”
He protested, with great warmth, he never heard any thing so proudly said in Ins life. But I would not retract.
“And now, ma’am,” he continued, “how wondrous intimate you are grown! After such averseness to a meeting—such struggles to avoid him; what am I to think of the sincerity of that pretended reluctance?”
“You must think the truth,” said I, “that it was not the colonel, but the equerry, I wished to avoid; that it was not the individual, but the official necessity of receiving company, that I wished to escape.”