This eBook was produced by David Widger
Mangez-vous bien, Monsieur?
Oui, et bois encore mieux.
—Mons. de Porceaugnac.
My pamphlet took prodigiously. The authorship was attributed to the mosttalented member of the Opposition; and though there were many errors instyle, and (I now think) many sophisms in the reasoning, yet it carriedthe end proposed by all ambition of whatever species—and imposed uponthe taste of the public.
Sometime afterwards, I was going down the stairs at Almack's, when Iheard an altercation, high and grave, at the door of reception. To mysurprise, I found Lord Guloseton and a very young man in great wrath; thelatter had never been to Almack's before, and had forgotten his ticket.Guloseton, who belonged to a very different set to that of theAlmackians, insisted that his word was enough to bear his juvenilecompanion through. The ticket inspector was irate and obdurate, andhaving seldom or ever seen Lord Guloseton himself, paid very littlerespect to his authority.
As I was wrapping myself in my cloak, Guloseton turned to me, for passionmakes men open their hearts: too eager for an opportunity of acquiringthe epicure's acquaintance, I offered to get his friend admittance in aninstant; the offer was delightedly accepted, and I soon procured a smallpiece of pencilled paper from Lady—, which effectually silenced theCharon, and opened the Stygian via to the Elysium beyond.
Guloseton overwhelmed me with his thanks. I remounted the stairs withhim—took every opportunity of ingratiating myself—received aninvitation to dinner on the following day, and left Willis's transportedat the goodness of my fortune.
At the hour of eight on the ensuing evening, I had just made my entranceinto Lord Guloseton's drawing-room. It was a small apartment furnishedwith great luxury and some taste. A Venus of Titian's was placed over thechimney-piece, in all the gorgeous voluptuousness of her unveiled beauty--the pouting lip, not silent though shut—the eloquent lid drooping overthe eye, whose reveille you could so easily imagine—the arms—the limbs--the attitude, so composed, yet so redolent of life—all seemed toindicate that sleep was not forgetfulness, and that the dreams of thegoddess were not wholly inharmonious with the waking realities in whichit was her gentle prerogative to indulge. On either side, was a pictureof the delicate and golden hues of Claude; these were the only landscapesin the room; the remaining pictures were more suitable to the Venus ofthe luxurious Italian. Here was one of the beauties of Sir Peter Lely;there was an admirable copy of the Hero and Leander. On the table lay theBasia of Johannes Secundus, and a few French works on Gastronomy.
As for the genius loci—you must imagine a middle-sized, middle-aged man,with an air rather of delicate than florid health. But little of theeffects of his good cheer were apparent in the external man. His cheekswere neither swollen nor inflated—his person, though not thin, was of nounwieldy obesity—the tip of his nasal organ was, it is true, of a moreruby tinge than the rest, and one carbuncle, of tender age and gentledyes, diffused its mellow and moonlight influence over the physiognomicalscenery—his forehead was high and bald, and the few locks which stillrose above it, were carefully and gracefully curled a l'antique: Beneatha pair of grey shaggy brows, (which their noble owner had a strange habitof raising and depressing, according to the nature of