232 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
232 lines
13 KiB
Plaintext
1850
|
|
|
|
WHY THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN WEARS HIS HAND IN A SLING
|
|
|
|
by Edgar Allan Poe
|
|
|
|
IT'S on my visiting cards sure enough (and it's them that's all o'
|
|
pink satin paper) that inny gintleman that plases may behould the
|
|
intheristhin words, "Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, 39
|
|
Southampton Row, Russell Square, Parrish o' Bloomsbury." And shud ye
|
|
be wantin' to diskiver who is the pink of purliteness quite, and the
|
|
laider of the hot tun in the houl city o' Lonon- why it's jist mesilf.
|
|
And fait that same is no wonder at all at all (so be plased to stop
|
|
curlin your nose), for every inch o' the six wakes that I've been a
|
|
gintleman, and left aff wid the bogthrothing to take up wid the
|
|
Barronissy, it's Pathrick that's been living like a houly imperor, and
|
|
gitting the iddication and the graces. Och! and wouldn't it be a
|
|
blessed thing for your spirrits if ye cud lay your two peepers jist,
|
|
upon Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, when he is all riddy drissed
|
|
for the hopperer, or stipping into the Brisky for the drive into the
|
|
Hyde Park. But it's the illigant big figgur that I ave, for the
|
|
rason o' which all the ladies fall in love wid me. Isn't it my own
|
|
swate silf now that'll missure the six fut, and the three inches
|
|
more nor that, in me stockins, and that am excadingly will
|
|
proportioned all over to match? And it is ralelly more than three
|
|
fut and a bit that there is, inny how, of the little ould furrener
|
|
Frinchman that lives jist over the way, and that's a oggling and a
|
|
goggling the houl day, (and bad luck to him,) at the purty widdy
|
|
Misthress Tracle that's my own nixt-door neighbor, (God bliss her!)
|
|
and a most particuller frind and acquaintance? You percave the
|
|
little spalpeen is summat down in the mouth, and wears his lift hand
|
|
in a sling, and it's for that same thing, by yur lave, that I'm
|
|
going to give you the good rason.
|
|
|
|
The truth of the houl matter is jist simple enough; for the very
|
|
first day that I com'd from Connaught, and showd my swate little
|
|
silf in the strait to the widdy, who was looking through the windy, it
|
|
was a gone case althegither with the heart o' the purty Misthress
|
|
Tracle. I percaved it, ye see, all at once, and no mistake, and that's
|
|
God's truth. First of all it was up wid the windy in a jiffy, and thin
|
|
she threw open her two peepers to the itmost, and thin it was a little
|
|
gould spy-glass that she clapped tight to one o' them and divil may
|
|
burn me if it didn't spake to me as plain as a peeper cud spake, and
|
|
says it, through the spy-glass: "Och! the tip o' the mornin' to ye,
|
|
Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, mavourneen; and it's a nate
|
|
gintleman that ye are, sure enough, and it's mesilf and me forten jist
|
|
that'll be at yur sarvice, dear, inny time o' day at all at all for
|
|
the asking." And it's not mesilf ye wud have to be bate in the
|
|
purliteness; so I made her a bow that wud ha' broken yur heart
|
|
altegither to behould, and thin I pulled aff me hat with a flourish,
|
|
and thin I winked at her hard wid both eyes, as much as to say,
|
|
"True for you, yer a swate little crature, Mrs. Tracle, me darlint,
|
|
and I wish I may be drownthed dead in a bog, if it's not mesilf, Sir
|
|
Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, that'll make a houl bushel o' love to
|
|
yur leddyship, in the twinkling o' the eye of a Londonderry purraty."
|
|
|
|
And it was the nixt mornin', sure, jist as I was making up me mind
|
|
whither it wouldn't be the purlite thing to sind a bit o' writin' to
|
|
the widdy by way of a love-litter, when up com'd the delivery
|
|
servant wid an illigant card, and he tould me that the name on it (for
|
|
I niver could rade the copperplate printin on account of being lift
|
|
handed) was all about Mounseer, the Count, A Goose, Look- aisy,
|
|
Maiter-di-dauns, and that the houl of the divilish lingo was the
|
|
spalpeeny long name of the little ould furrener Frinchman as lived
|
|
over the way.
|
|
|
|
And jist wid that in cum'd the little willian himself, and then he
|
|
made me a broth of a bow, and thin he said he had ounly taken the
|
|
liberty of doing me the honor of the giving me a call, and thin he
|
|
went on to palaver at a great rate, and divil the bit did I comprehind
|
|
what he wud be afther the tilling me at all at all, excipting and
|
|
saving that he said "pully wou, woolly wou," and tould me, among a
|
|
bushel o' lies, bad luck to him, that he was mad for the love o' my
|
|
widdy Misthress Tracle, and that my widdy Mrs. Tracle had a puncheon
|
|
for him.
|
|
|
|
At the hearin' of this, ye may swear, though, I was as mad as a
|
|
grasshopper, but I remimbered that I was Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
|
|
Barronitt, and that it wasn't althegither gentaal to lit the anger git
|
|
the upper hand o' the purliteness, so I made light o' the matter and
|
|
kipt dark, and got quite sociable wid the little chap, and afther a
|
|
while what did he do but ask me to go wid him to the widdy's, saying
|
|
he wud give me the feshionable inthroduction to her leddyship.
|
|
|
|
"Is it there ye are?" said I thin to mesilf, "and it's thrue for
|
|
you, Pathrick, that ye're the fortunittest mortal in life. We'll
|
|
soon see now whither it's your swate silf, or whither it's little
|
|
Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns, that Misthress Tracle is head and ears in
|
|
the love wid."
|
|
|
|
Wid that we wint aff to the widdy's, next door, and ye may well
|
|
say it was an illigant place; so it was. There was a carpet all over
|
|
the floor, and in one corner there was a forty-pinny and a Jew's
|
|
harp and the divil knows what ilse, and in another corner was a
|
|
sofy, the beautifullest thing in all natur, and sitting on the sofy,
|
|
sure enough, there was the swate little angel, Misthress Tracle.
|
|
|
|
"The tip o' the mornin' to ye," says I, "Mrs. Tracle," and thin I
|
|
made sich an illigant obaysance that it wud ha quite althegither
|
|
bewildered the brain o' ye.
|
|
|
|
"Wully woo, pully woo, plump in the mud," says the little furrenner
|
|
Frinchman, "and sure Mrs. Tracle," says he, that he did, "isn't this
|
|
gintleman here jist his reverence Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt,
|
|
and isn't he althegither and entirely the most particular frind and
|
|
acquaintance that I have in the houl world?"
|
|
|
|
And wid that the widdy, she gits up from the sofy, and makes the
|
|
swatest curthchy nor iver was seen; and thin down she sits like an
|
|
angel; and thin, by the powers, it was that little spalpeen Mounseer
|
|
Maiter-di-dauns that plumped his silf right down by the right side
|
|
of her. Och hon! I ixpicted the two eyes o' me wud ha cum'd out of
|
|
my head on the spot, I was so dispirate mad! Howiver, "Bait who!" says
|
|
I, after awhile. "Is it there ye are, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns?" and
|
|
so down I plumped on the lift side of her leddyship, to be aven with
|
|
the willain. Botheration! it wud ha done your heart good to percave
|
|
the illigant double wink that I gived her jist thin right in the
|
|
face with both eyes.
|
|
|
|
But the little ould Frinchman he niver beginned to suspict me at all
|
|
at all, and disperate hard it was he made the love to her leddyship.
|
|
"Woully wou," says he, Pully wou," says he, "Plump in the mud," says
|
|
he.
|
|
|
|
"That's all to no use, Mounseer Frog, mavourneen," thinks I; and I
|
|
talked as hard and as fast as I could all the while, and throth it was
|
|
mesilf jist that divarted her leddyship complately and intirely, by
|
|
rason of the illigant conversation that I kipt up wid her all about
|
|
the dear bogs of Connaught. And by and by she gived me such a swate
|
|
smile, from one ind of her mouth to the ither, that it made me as
|
|
bould as a pig, and I jist took hould of the ind of her little
|
|
finger in the most dillikitest manner in natur, looking at her all the
|
|
while out o' the whites of my eyes.
|
|
|
|
And then ounly percave the cuteness of the swate angel, for no
|
|
sooner did she obsarve that I was afther the squazing of her
|
|
flipper, than she up wid it in a jiffy, and put it away behind her
|
|
back, jist as much as to say, "Now thin, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
|
|
there's a bitther chance for ye, mavourneen, for it's not altogether
|
|
the gentaal thing to be afther the squazing of my flipper right full
|
|
in the sight of that little furrenner Frinchman, Mounseer
|
|
Maiter-di-dauns."
|
|
|
|
Wid that I giv'd her a big wink jist to say, "lit Sir Pathrick alone
|
|
for the likes o' them thricks," and thin I wint aisy to work, and
|
|
you'd have died wid the divarsion to behould how cliverly I slipped my
|
|
right arm betwane the back o' the sofy, and the back of her leddyship,
|
|
and there, sure enough, I found a swate little flipper all a waiting
|
|
to say, "the tip o' the mornin' to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
|
|
Barronitt." And wasn't it mesilf, sure, that jist giv'd it the laste
|
|
little bit of a squaze in the world, all in the way of a commincement,
|
|
and not to be too rough wid her leddyship? and och, botheration,
|
|
wasn't it the gentaalest and dilikittest of all the little squazes
|
|
that I got in return? "Blood and thunder, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen,"
|
|
thinks I to mesilf, "fait it's jist the mother's son of you, and
|
|
nobody else at all at all, that's the handsomest and the
|
|
fortunittest young bog-throtter that ever cum'd out of Connaught!" And
|
|
with that I givd the flipper a big squaze, and a big squaze it was, by
|
|
the powers, that her leddyship giv'd to me back. But it would ha split
|
|
the seven sides of you wid the laffin' to behould, jist then all at
|
|
once, the consated behavior of Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns. The likes
|
|
o' sich a jabbering, and a smirking, and a parley-wouing as he begin'd
|
|
wid her leddyship, niver was known before upon arth; and divil may
|
|
burn me if it wasn't me own very two peepers that cotch'd him
|
|
tipping her the wink out of one eye. Och, hon! if it wasn't mesilf
|
|
thin that was mad as a Kilkenny cat I shud like to be tould who it
|
|
was!
|
|
|
|
"Let me infarm you, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns," said I, as purlite as
|
|
iver ye seed, "that it's not the gintaal thing at all at all, and
|
|
not for the likes o' you inny how, to be afther the oggling and a
|
|
goggling at her leddyship in that fashion," and jist wid that such
|
|
another squaze as it was I giv'd her flipper, all as much as to say,
|
|
"isn't it Sir Pathrick now, my jewel, that'll be able to the
|
|
proticting o' you, my darlint?" and then there cum'd another squaze
|
|
back, all by way of the answer. "Thrue for you, Sir Pathrick," it said
|
|
as plain as iver a squaze said in the world, "Thrue for you, Sir
|
|
Pathrick, mavourneen, and it's a proper nate gintleman ye are-
|
|
that's God's truth," and with that she opened her two beautiful
|
|
peepers till I belaved they wud ha' cum'd out of her hid althegither
|
|
and intirely, and she looked first as mad as a cat at Mounseer Frog,
|
|
and thin as smiling as all out o' doors at mesilf.
|
|
|
|
"Thin," says he, the willian, "Och hon! and a wolly-wou, pully-wou,"
|
|
and then wid that he shoved up his two shoulders till the divil the
|
|
bit of his hid was to be diskivered, and then he let down the two
|
|
corners of his purraty-trap, and thin not a haporth more of the
|
|
satisfaction could I git out o' the spalpeen.
|
|
|
|
Belave me, my jewel, it was Sir Pathrick that was unreasonable mad
|
|
thin, and the more by token that the Frinchman kipt an wid his winking
|
|
at the widdy; and the widdy she kept an wid the squazing of my
|
|
flipper, as much as to say, "At him again, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
|
|
mavourneen:" so I just ripped out wid a big oath, and says I;
|
|
|
|
"Ye little spalpeeny frog of a bog-throtting son of a bloody noun!"-
|
|
and jist thin what d'ye think it was that her leddyship did? Troth she
|
|
jumped up from the sofy as if she was bit, and made off through the
|
|
door, while I turned my head round afther her, in a complate
|
|
bewilderment and botheration, and followed her wid me two peepers. You
|
|
percave I had a reason of my own for knowing that she couldn't git
|
|
down the stares althegither and intirely; for I knew very well that
|
|
I had hould of her hand, for the divil the bit had I iver lit it go.
|
|
And says I; "Isn't it the laste little bit of a mistake in the world
|
|
that ye've been afther the making, yer leddyship? Come back now,
|
|
that's a darlint, and I'll give ye yur flipper." But aff she wint down
|
|
the stairs like a shot, and thin I turned round to the little Frinch
|
|
furrenner. Och hon! if it wasn't his spalpeeny little paw that I had
|
|
hould of in my own- why thin- thin it wasn't- that's all.
|
|
|
|
And maybe it wasn't mesilf that jist died then outright wid the
|
|
laffin', to behold the little chap when he found out that it wasn't
|
|
the widdy at all at all that he had had hould of all the time, but
|
|
only Sir Pathrick O'Grandison. The ould divil himself niver behild
|
|
sich a long face as he pet an! As for Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
|
|
Barronitt, it wasn't for the likes of his riverence to be afther the
|
|
minding of a thrifle of a mistake. Ye may jist say, though (for it's
|
|
God's thruth), that afore I left hould of the flipper of the
|
|
spalpeen (which was not till afther her leddyship's futman had
|
|
kicked us both down the stairs, I giv'd it such a nate little broth of
|
|
a squaze as made it all up into raspberry jam.
|
|
|
|
"Woully wou," says he, "pully wou," says he- "Cot tam!"
|
|
|
|
And that's jist the thruth of the rason why he wears his lift hand
|
|
in a sling.
|
|
|
|
LITTLETON BARRY.
|
|
|
|
THE END
|
|
.
|