Some of the people in our parlour believed it was all gospel truth; but Harry laughed, and so did I. I had heard Mr. Saxon’s wonderful stories about his travels before.
I knew it was true about his suffering with rheumatism, though, because I had seen him; and I’ve heard the Swedish gentleman tell how, when Mr. Saxon was in Rome, he had it so bad that he could hardly move, and the twinges used to make him yell out. And one day one of the Pope’s chamberlains came to take him to the Vatican, and he couldn’t crawl across the room. He was in an awful state, because he was to be introduced to the Pope, and it was a great honour, and it made him very upset to think he should have to lose it. The Pope’s chamberlain, who was an Englishman, recommended a very hot bath. So Mr. Saxon had one put in his bedroom; and, in his hasty, impulsive way, got into it without trying the heat. It was so hot that he was nearly boiled alive, and he jumped out in such a hurry that the bath was tilted over, and boiled all the pattern out of the carpet, and went through the ceiling, and Mr. Saxon danced about, and swore, and went on dreadfully—like he can if he’s put out. It cost him ten pounds for the damage; but his rheumatics had gone quite away, and he was able to be introduced to the Pope that afternoon; so he didn’t mind the ten pounds. But the Swedish gentleman told us that he was the colour of a boiled lobster for a fortnight afterwards.
Another time that he had the rheumatism come on very awkwardly—so the Swedish gentleman told us, and I think he tells the truth—was at Madrid. Mr. Saxon was at a bull-fight, and after the third bull had been killed the beautifully dressed men who fight the bulls all went out, and the people all began to jump into the arena. Mr. Saxon and the Swedish gentleman thought that was a short cut to get out, so they got over into the circus too. Presently, to their horror, the doors were opened, and two bulls came galloping in. The Swedish gentleman jumped over the barriers quick; but Mr. Saxon, when he went to follow, had a sudden attack of rheumatics in his legs, and couldn’t move. He gave a horrified look, and saw one of the bulls making straight at him. He turned round to try and run; but the bull caught him, and threw him right up on the top of the barrier, and the Swedish gentleman seized him and pulled him over, while all the people clapped their hands, and shrieked with laughter.
Of course Mr. Saxon thought he must be wounded, and couldn’t make out why he didn’t feel where the bull’s horns had been; but when he looked round he saw all the people in the ring playing with the bulls, and the boys waving their cloaks in front of them, and then running away; and then he saw that the bulls had big indiarubber balls on their horns, to prevent them hurting.
It was explained to him afterwards by a Spanish gentleman that, after the real bull-fight is over, the young bulls, with their horns protected, are turned into the ring for the boys and young men to play with, and it is with these bulls that many, who afterwards become bull-fighters, take their first lesson. But it was very awkward for Mr. Saxon having his rheumatics come on just as the bull was running at him, before about five thousand people in the great bullring at Madrid.
The Queen of Spain, Mr. Saxon told us, was in the royal box, and she laughed as heartily as anybody. So Mr. Saxon tells everybody that he has had the honour of appearing as a bull-fighter before the royal family in Madrid, which is much more true than a good many of the stories he tells about his adventures abroad, I dare say.
The next day Mr. Saxon was rather melancholy again, and he said he shouldn’t stop, as he thought the country didn’t suit him at that season of the year. It was the autumn; and he said the fall of the leaf always made him ill.
“Yes, sir,” I said; “a good many people feel it. It’s always a trying time for invalids.”
“My dear Mrs. Beckett,” he said, “all times are alike to me. In the winter my doctor says, ‘Ah, it’s the cold weather makes you queer; you’ll be better when it’s over.’ When the spring comes, he says, ‘People with livers are always queer in the spring.’ When it’s summer, he says, ‘The heat always upsets livers.’ When it’s autumn, he says, ‘People with the least acidity in their blood always feel the autumn;’ and when it’s winter it’s the cold that’s bad for me again. And that’s the game they’ve played with me for the last ten years. It’s just the same if I go out of town for the benefit of my health. If I go to the seaside, the sea is bad for bilious people. If I go inland, it isn’t bracing enough. If I go to a bracing place, the air is too strong for me. If I go to a relaxing place, the air is too mild for me. There isn’t one of the beggars who pocket my guinea that has the honesty to say that nothing will ever make me any better.”
“I wonder you take their prescriptions,” I said, “if you don’t believe they can do you any good.”