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found his masterpiece of irony in the dress which we were condemned
to wear: jacket; waistcoat; and trousers of a sulphur or mustard
yellow; and a shirt or blue…and…white striped cotton。 It was
conspicuous; it was cheap; it pointed us out to laughter … we; who
were old soldiers; used to arms; and some of us showing noble
scars; … like a set of lugubrious zanies at a fair。 The old name
of that rock on which our prison stood was (I have heard since
then) the PAINTED HILL。 Well; now it was all painted a bright
yellow with our costumes; and the dress of the soldiers who guarded
us being of course the essential British red rag; we made up
together the elements of a lively picture of hell。 I have again
and again looked round upon my fellow…prisoners; and felt my anger
rise; and choked upon tears; to behold them thus parodied。 The
more part; as I have said; were peasants; somewhat bettered perhaps
by the drill…sergeant; but for all that ungainly; loutish fellows;
with no more than a mere barrack…room smartness of address: indeed;
you could have seen our army nowhere more discreditably represented
than in this Castle of Edinburgh。 And I used to see myself in
fancy; and blush。 It seemed that my more elegant carriage would
but point the insult of the travesty。 And I remembered the days
when I wore the coarse but honourable coat of a soldier; and
remembered further back how many of the noble; the fair; and the
gracious had taken a delight to tend my childhood。 。 。 。 But I
must not recall these tender and sorrowful memories twice; their
place is further on; and I am now upon another business。 The
perfidy of the Britannic Government stood nowhere more openly
confessed than in one particular of our discipline: that we were
shaved twice in the week。 To a man who has loved all his life to
be fresh shaven; can a more irritating indignity be devised?
Monday and Thursday were the days。 Take the Thursday; and conceive
the picture I must present by Sunday evening! And Saturday; which
was almost as bad; was the great day for visitors。
Those who came to our market were of all qualities; men and women;
the lean and the stout; the plain and the fairly pretty。 Sure; if
people at all understood the power of beauty; there would be no
prayers addressed except to Venus; and the mere privilege of
beholding a comely woman is worth paying for。 Our visitors; upon
the whole; were not much to boast of; and yet; sitting in a corner
and very much ashamed of myself and my absurd appearance; I have
again and again tasted the finest; the rarest; and the most
ethereal pleasures in a glance of an eye that I should never see
again … and never wanted to。 The flower of the hedgerow and the
star in heaven satisfy and delight us: how much more the look of
that exquisite being who was created to bear and rear; to madden
and rejoice; mankind!
There was one young lady in particular; about eighteen or nineteen;
tall; of a gallant carriage; and with a profusion of hair in which
the sun found threads of gold。 As soon as she came in the
courtyard (and she was a rather frequent visitor) it seemed I was
aware of it。 She had an air of angelic candour; yet of a high
spirit; she stepped like a Diana; every movement was noble and
free。 One day there was a strong east wind; the banner was
straining at the flagstaff; below us the smoke of the city chimneys
blew hither and thither in a thousand crazy variations; and away
out on the Forth we could see the ships lying down to it and
scudding。 I was thinking what a vile day it was; when she
appeared。 Her hair blew in the wind with changes of colour; her
garments moulded her with the accuracy of sculpture; the ends of
her shawl fluttered about her ear and were caught in again with an
inimitable deftness。 You have seen a pool on a gusty day; how it
suddenly sparkles and flashes like a thing alive? So this lady's
face had become animated and coloured; and as I saw her standing;
somewhat inclined; her lips parted; a divine trouble in her eyes; I
could have clapped my hands in applause; and was ready to acclaim
her a genuine daughter of the winds。 What put it in my head; I
know not: perhaps because it was a Thursday and I was new from the
razor; but I determined to engage her attention no later than that
day。 She was approaching that part of the court in which I sat
with my merchandise; when I observed her handkerchief to escape
from her hands and fall to the ground; the next moment the wind had
taken it up and carried it within my reach。 I was on foot at once:
I had forgot my mustard…coloured clothes; I had forgot the private
soldier and his salute。 Bowing deeply; I offered her the slip of
cambric。
'Madam;' said I; 'your handkerchief。 The wind brought it me。'
I met her eyes fully。
'I thank you; sir;' said she。
'The wind brought it me;' I repeated。 'May I not take it for an
omen? You have an English proverb; 〃It's an ill wind that blows
nobody good。〃'
'Well;' she said; with a smile; '〃One good turn deserves another。〃
I will see what you have。'
She followed me to where my wares were spread out under lee of a
piece of cannon。
'Alas; mademoiselle!' said I; 'I am no very perfect craftsman。
This is supposed to be a house; and you see the chimneys are awry。
You may call this a box if you are very indulgent; but see where my
tool slipped! Yes; I am afraid you may go from one to another; and
find a flaw in everything。 FAILURES FOR SALE should be on my
signboard。 I do not keep a shop; I keep a Humorous Museum。' I
cast a smiling glance about my display; and then at her; and
instantly became grave。 'Strange; is it not;' I added; 'that a
grown man and a soldier should be engaged upon such trash; and a
sad heart produce anything so funny to look at?'
An unpleasant voice summoned her at this moment by the name of
Flora; and she made a hasty purchase and rejoined her party。
A few days after she came again。 But I must first tell you how she
came to be so frequent。 Her aunt was one of those terrible British
old maids; of which the world has heard much; and having nothing
whatever to do; and a word or two of French; she had taken what she
called an INTEREST IN THE FRENCH PRISONERS。 A big; bustling; bold
old lady; she flounced about our market…place with insufferable
airs of patronage and condescension。 She bought; indeed; with
liberality; but her manner of studying us through a quizzing…glass;
and playing cicerone to her followers; acquitted us of any
gratitude。 She had a tail behind her of heavy; obsequious old
gentlemen; or dull; giggling misses; to whom she appeared to be an
oracle。 'This one can really carve prettily: is he not a quiz with
his big whiskers?' she would say。 'And this one;' indicating
myself with her gold eye…glass; 'is; I assure you; quite an