CHAPTER XII. THE DUCHY OF HESSE-KALBBRATONSTADT
I grew impatient to leave Ostend; every association connected with the place was unpleasant. I hope I am not unjust in my estimate of it I sincerely desire to be neither unjust to men nor cities, but I thought it vulgar and commonplace. I know it is hard for a watering-place to be otherwise; there is something essentially low in the green-baize and bathing-house existence,—in that semi-nude sociality, begun on the sands and carried out into deep water, which I cannot abide. I abhor, besides, a lounging population in fancy toilets, a procession of donkeys in scarlet trappings, elderly gentlemen with pocket-telescopes, and fierce old ladies with camp-stools. The worn-out debauchees come to recruit for another season of turtle and whitebait; the half-faded victims of twenty polkas per night, the tiresome politician, pale from a long session, all fiercely bent on fresh diet and sea-breezes, are perfect antipathies to me, and I would rather seek companionship in a Tyrol village than amidst these wounded and missing of a London season. With all this I wanted to get away from the vicinity of the Jopplyns,—they were positively odious to me. Is not the man who holds in his keeping one scrap of your handwriting which displays you in a light of absurdity, far more your enemy than the holder of your protested bill? I own I think so. Debt is a very human weakness; like disease, it attacks the best and the noblest amongst us. You' may pity the fellow that cannot meet that acceptance, you may be sorry for the anxiety it occasions him, the fruitless running here and there, the protestations, promises, and even lies he goes through, but no sense of ludicrous scorn mingles with your compassion, none of that contemptuous laughter with which you read a copy of absurd verses or a maudlin love-letter.
Imagine the difference of tone in him who says: “That's an old bill of poor Potto's; he 'll never pay it now, and I 'm sure I 'll never ask him.” Or, “Just read those lines; would you believe that any creature out of Ham well could descend to such miserable drivel as that? It was one Potts who wrote it.”
I wonder, could I obtain my manuscript from Jopplyn before I started. What pretext could I adduce for the request? While I thus pondered, I packed up my few wearables in my knapsack and prepared for the road. They were, indeed, a very scanty supply, and painfully suggested to my mind the estimate that waiters and hotel-porters must form of their owner. “Cruel world,” muttered I, “whose maxim is, 'By their outsides shall ye judge them.' Had I arrived here with a travelling-carriage and a 'fourgon,' what respect and deference had awaited me,—how courteous the landlord, how obliging the head-waiter! Twenty attentions which could not be charged for in the bill had been shown me; and even had I, in superb dignity, declined to descend from my carriage while the post-horses were being harnessed, a levee of respectful flunkeys would have awaited my orders. I have no doubt but there must be something very intoxicating in all this homage. The smoke of the hecatombs must have affected Jove as a sort of chloroform, or else he would never have sat there sniffing them for centuries. Are you ever destined to experience these sensations, Potts? Is there a time coming when anxious ears will strain to catch your words, and eyes watch eagerly for your slightest gestures? If such an era should ever come, it will be a great one for the masses of mankind, and an evil one for snobbery. Such a lesson as I will read the world on humility in high places, such an example will I give of one elevated, but uncorrupted by fortune.”
“Let the carriage come to the door,” said I, closing my eyes, as I sunk into my chair in revery. “Tell my people to prepare the entire of the 'Hôtel de Belle Vue' for my arrival, and my own cook to preside in the kitchen.”
“Is this to go by the omnibus?” said the waiter, suddenly, on entering my room in haste. He pointed to my humble knapsack.
“Yes,” said I, in deep confusion,—“yes, that's my luggage,—at least, all that I have here at this moment. Where is the bill? Very moderate, indeed,” muttered I, in a tone of approval. “I will take care to recommend your house; attendance prompt, and the wines excellent.”
“Monsieur is complimentary,” said the fellow, with a grin; “he only experimented upon a 'small Beaune' at one-twenty the bottle.”
I scowled at him, and he shrank again.
“And this objet is also monsieur's,” said he, taking up a small white canvas bag which was enclosed in my railroad wrapper.