CHAPTER L

PRINCE PIROUETTEZA

HE same Comet year that showered such blessings on the countrywas not unmindful of the town, for that auspicious spring produced the elegant Prince Pirouetteza, whose easy impudence and delightful dancing caused such sensation among the angels in the mundane heaven of high life The Prince, we believe, was not regularly accredited to our court, but being on easy terms with his tailor, his swarthy face and jet black beard were soon revolving with the crinoline, to the great disgust of the native circlers, who stood frowning and biting their lips and wondering what the deuce the women could see in the foreigner. Still the Prince persevered assiduously, and the ladies seemed to take a pleasure in announcing, without reference to their cards, that they were engaged to dance the sought-for dance with Prince Pirouetteza; and presently His Highness would spin them about in a way that could only be likened to the movement of a large tetotum. So he rose rapidly in request; and as the capering season drew to a close, and luggage vans began to usurp the place of dashing equipages, there was a great run upon the Prince for the autumn sports and the adornment of country houses in the winter. Foremost in this lion hunt was the Duchess of Tergiversation, who, though a well-bred woman, was as inveterate a tuft-hunter as could well be imagined, and who was always scheming to outwit some one else in the same line. The Duchess, indeed, was a woman of excellent faith, whom no amount of exposures would shake; and sham counts and sham barons and sham marquises and sham dukes only made her more confident in the integrity of the next comer. “They couldn’t be all shams,” she said, so she would take up with the last man as eagerly as she did with the first.

It would indeed be an evil day if a continental “Burke” or “Hardwicke” were to arise to dispel the pleasing delusions of the English fair, by publishing the “Who’s who” of all the distinguished foreigners who honour our shores with their presence. We fear there would be sad mortification sometimes, and that even our Prince would not have fared quite so well had it been known that he was only the son of an impudent dancing-master at Florence. Hence his agility with his toes. Indeed, he would have made a fortune if he had followed the paternal profession, for he was a natural dancer, rather above than below the middle height, with a well-set-up figure, and an easy supple elasticity in every limb; but being just in the morning of life, with a little money left him by an uncle, he thought it would be far better to dance on terms of equality, and take whatever good the gods might provide. So he dubbed himself a Prince, and proceeded to enact the part.

“Prince” is a grand travelling title anywhere—magnificent in England. “He lives like a prince” is supposed to be the highest eulogium that can be passed on an establishment. We always thought our excellent Commander-in-Chief rather lost caste when he changed from a Prince into a Duke. Every county has its duke, but a prince is not seen every day. We associate the title with pomp and immense profusion, trumpets and a sovereign-for-a-sandwich sort of work. To be sure, railways have rather mitigated the severity of magnificence, but that is all in favour of the party sustaining the character, and also enables him to exercise the condescending amenities so acceptable from exalted rank. The great man in a train is always known before he gets to the end of his journey.

“His Highness,” as he called himself on his luggage labels, though in good demand in fairish circles, had no such grand invitation as that of the Duke, or rather the Duchess, of Tergiversation, of whom, of course, he made the most during his peregrinations, taking care to time himself for its fulfilment. So he passed from house to hall, and from hall to park, and from park to place, eating and drinking and dancing and making extremely merry.

It is a hard life that of an itinerant eater, drinker, and bed-airer—always expected to be lively and gay, always eating and drinking more than is good for one—never to have a quiet evening alone to set matters right, so as to rise for once with an unheated head. To be sure, a Prince has the advantage over other people of being consulted as to his wishes, and there is such a taste for practical courtiership in this country, that the more unreasonable he was, the better some people would like him, and the more flattered they would be by his presence; but His Highness was an accommodating man, and chimed into the habits of each house just as if he belonged to it, by which means he prolonged his stay, and was not unfrequently asked to return. Then as he moved about, the country papers chronicled his whereabouts; as for instance—

“His Highness Prince Pirouetteza, after a prolonged visit to our noble neighbour, the Right Hon. Lord Lumbago, at Lumbago Castle, has proceeded to Sir George Drearynut’s, at Turnabout Tower, where a select circle are invited to meet him;” and then, when he left Drearynut’s, there was another paragraph noticing the adjournment; so that what with prince in public, prince in private, prince in the papers, our friend felt himself a prince in reality. If the old skipper could have seen him, fêted, bowed, and bended, how he would indeed have laughed at the credulity of the English.

At length the Tergiversation visit became due, and with duplicate directions of Rock’s largest sized adhesive luggage labels on the numerous packages containing the comprehensive wardrobe, our great man and his valet left Major Lobster’s at Hardstuff Hill, where they had been sojourning for a couple of days, for the little railway station of Rattenford-pool, to catch one of the few trains that condescend to stop there. Adopting Lord Brougham’s excellent maxim, that it is better to be a quarter of an hour too soon than half a minute too late, our magnifico drove up in such capital time, that Tommy Rutter, the isolated station-master, who lived there like Robinson Crusoe with nobody but a man Friday of a porter to converse with, thought to get a little gossip with the arrivers before the train came up; but finding whom he had got, he was completely overpowered, and could hardly direct Friday what to do. The valet being a tall man, of course Tommy took him for His Highness, and bowed and humbled himself accordingly. It was not until he was saluted with a “Go along, you old fool,” that he was sensible of his mistake. He then turned the steam of his politeness on the Prince, pending which ingratiation, the shrill whistle of the engine announced the approach of the train, and the “Meteor” came tearing along at a pace that looked very unlike stopping. And it did shoot past a good way, as if calling at such an untraffic-like place was not only a sham but a degradation, and the guard seemed half incredulous when Robinson Crusoe proclaimed he had passengers to go.

But when the man Friday came tottering along under the oppression of luggage, and the imposing directions caught the guard’s eye, he thought it was lucky they hadn’t shot past, and inwardly settled that there was no saying where people might come from. He then run the contents of the carriages through his mind to decide where he should put the distinguished stranger. Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Dotchin and family were in number twenty-nine, some gents were smoking in thirty, there was a child in arms in thirty-one, thirty-two had two invalid ladies with a black nurse—but thirty-three had only Mrs. and Miss Meredith, who he thought would be glad of a little company. So he hastily opened the door —the ladies whipt up their legs, and their kerchiefs, while His Highness came headforemost in, followed by caps, comforters, cloaks, furs, foot-warmer, everything calculated to make a Prince comfortable. He then soused himself into a seat, with his back to the engine, and having broken the ice of conversation by placing the window at the disposal of the ladies, a whistle and a waive of the hand from the guard, set the engine to her collar: a jerk, and a jolt, and they are again on the wing. Getting into a railway-train, and shooting away, after a long cross-country trail over woolly roads with weak washy horses, feels like the rapid descent of a Montague Russe after a walk, so quickly does a traveller get to the end of his journey. He has gone ten miles before he gets settled into his seat, and ten more before he is familiar with the new sensation.

Ladies are generally much more conversable in railway carriages than gentlemen, and Miss Meredith, who had been educated at one of those highly polished seminaries where they first charge for everything in a lump, and then in detail afterwards, finding herself in company with a foreigner, availed herself of the opportunity for airing her Kensal Green French, while His Highness reciprocated his English, as they shot along the smoothly gliding plains through which their route lay. Meanwhile Mamma sat complacently by, well pleased to find that her daughter had got so much learning for her money. At length the pace began to slacken, and the train finally drew up at a more imposing-looking station, on the wooden wings of which were painted in large red letters on a salmon-coloured ground, “Straw Hill Station for Tansey Hill and Tergiversation Castle.” “Tare—gi— vare—sation Castle,” said His Highness, spelling it. “Ah, this shall be my station,” and just as he said it, the guard appeared at the door to release him, while a long line of heads protruded at the windows to see for whom the Duke’s carriage with the four grays was waiting. Presently a tall footman with a lace-oppressed hat was seen piloting the great man across the platform to the exit door, and the hurrying guard, in reply to the numerous inquiries who it was, exclaimed “Prince Piper Something!” as he gave a shrill whistle, and the engine again set off with a snort and a tug. Then the curious travellers wished they had known before, and were sorry they had not taken a good look at him.

Meanwhile, the Prince having entered the ducal carriage, was whisked away as fast as four horses could lay legs to the ground, and as the last rays of a setting sun burnished up the landscape, the easy swing of the well-built carriage landed him on the wood-pavement of the noble portico. Here he was received by the stately Mr. Cucumber in all the splendour of silk calves, and varnished shoes with many men out of livery, and many more in livery, hovering on his margin to dismantle the arriver, which being accomplished, Mr. Cucumber backing through outer and inner hall, brought the great man up in excellent form to the foot of the grand staircase, where he was received by no less a personage than the Duke of Tergiversation himself.

Mutual salutations over (the Prince wanted to kiss the Duke, but his Grace declined that), the crowd of servants slowly retired, and the Duke proceeded to conduct his distinguished guest up-stairs, amid expressions of his gratitude to him for his condescension in thus coming to visit them in their humble abode, for the Duke could condescend when it suited his purpose, though riding the high horse was more in his way. With speeches such as these he ushered His Highness into the Duchess’s beautiful boudoir, where sat her Grace, with her widowed sister, the Lady Cassandra Milicent Honoria Hopkins, the latter with every disposition to change her name again. Here he was again most cordially greeted, and invited to partake of the ladies’ hospitality of tea, a request that he very complacently complied with, and the Duke, having now performed his part of the ceremony, quietly withdrew leaving the ladies to pursue their designs at their leisure, aided by the influence of a long winter’s evening.

And when at last they retired to their rooms to dress for an eight o’clock dinner, the Prince settled that Lady Honoria wouldn’t be bad looking if she didn’t squint, while her Ladyship thought his Highness was a most agreeable man, and greatly superior to Hopkins.