The Adventures of Roderick Random
recounting many of his own exploits by way of illustration. In the
course of his harangue he happened to mention the word epaulement, upon
which the testy gentleman asked the meaning, of that term. “I’ll tell
you what an epaulement is,” replied he, “I never saw an epaulement but
once, and that was at the siege of Namur. In a council of war, Monsieur
Cohorn, the famous engineer, affirmed that the place could not be
taken.” “Yes,” said the Prince of Vandemont, “it may be taken by an
epaulement.” “This was immediately put into execution, and in
twenty-four hours Mareschal Boufflers was fain to capitulate.” Here he
made a full stop, and the old gentleman repeated the question, “But
pray what is an epaulement?” To this interrogation the officer made no
immediate reply, but rang the bell, and called for the bill, which
being brought, he threw down his proportion of the reckoning, and,
telling the company he would show them an epaulement when his majesty
should think fit to entrust him with the command of our army abroad,
strutted away with great dignity. I could not imagine why he was so shy
of explaining one of the most simple terms of fortification, which I
forthwith described as a side-work composed of earth, gabions, or
fascines; but I was very much surprised when I afterwards understood
that his reserve proceeded from his ignorance.
Having paid our bill, we adjourned to the coffee-room, where my
fellow-labourer insisted on treating me with a dish, giving me to
understand, at the same time, that I had acquired his good opinion,
both with respect to my principles and understanding. I thanked him for
his compliment, and, professing myself an utter stranger in this part
of the world, begged he would have the goodness to inform me of the
quality and characters of the people who dined above. This request was
a real favour to one of his disposition, which was no less
communicative than curious; he therefore complied with great
satisfaction, and told me, to my extreme astonishment, that the
supposed young prince was a dancer at one of the theatres, and the
ambassador no other than a fiddler belonging to the opera. “The
doctor,” said he “is a Roman Catholic priest, who sometimes appears in
the character of an officer, and assumes the name of captain; but more
generally takes the garb, title, and behaviour of a physician, in which
capacity he wheedles himself into the confidence of weak-minded people,
and by arguments no less specious than false, converts them from their
religion and allegiance. He has been in the hands of justice more than
once for such practices, but he is a sly dog, and manages matters with
so much craft, that hitherto he has escaped for a short imprisonment.
As for the general, you may see he has owed his promotion more to his
interest than his capacity; and, now that the eyes of the ministry are
opened, his friends dead or become inconsiderable, he is struck off the
list, and obliged to put up with a yearly pension. In consequence of
this reduction, he is become malcontent, and inveighs against the
government in all companies, with so little discretion, that I am
surprised at the lenity of the administration, in overlooking his
insolence, but the truth of the matter is, he owes his safety to his
weakness and want of importance. He has seen a little, and but a
little, service, and yet, if you will take his word to it, there has
not been a great action performed in the field since the Revolution, in
which he was not principally concerned. When a story is told of any
great general, he immediately matches it with one of himself, though he
is often unhappy in his invention, and commits such gross blunders in
the detail, that everybody is in pain for him. Caesar, Pompey, and
Alexander the Great, are continually in his mouth; and, as he reads a
good deal without any judgment to digest it, his ideas are confused,
and his harangues as unintelligible as infinite; for, if once he begin,
there is no chance of his leaving off speaking while one person remains
to yield attention; therefore the only expedient I know, for putting a
stop to his loquacity, is to lay hold of some incongruity he has
uttered, and demand an explanation; or ask the meaning of some
difficult term that he knows by name; this method will effectually put
him to silence, if not to flight, as it happened when I inquired about
an epaulement. Had he been acquainted with the signification of that
word, his triumph would have been intolerable, and we must have quitted
the field first, or been worried with impertinence.”
Having thus gratified my curiosity, the old gentleman began to discover
his own, in questions relating to myself, to which I thought proper to
return ambiguous answers. “I presume, Sir,” said he, “you have
travelled.” I answered, “Yes.” “I dare say you have found it very
expensive,” said he. I replied, “To be sure, one cannot travel without
money.” “That I know by experience,” said he, “for I myself take a trip
to Bath or Tunbridge every season; and one must pay sauce for what he
has on the road, as well in other countries as in this. That’s a pretty
stone in your ring—give me leave, sir—the French have attained to a
wonderful skill in making compositions of this kind. Why, now, this
looks almost as well as a diamond.” “Almost as well, Sir!” said I, “Why
not altogether? I am sure if you understand anything of jewels, you
must perceive, at first sight, that this stone is a real diamond, and
that of a very fine water. Take it in your hand and examine it.” He did
so with some confusion, and returned it, saying, “I ask your pardon; I
see it is a true brilliant of immense value.” I imagined his respect to
me increased after this inquiry; therefore to captivate his esteem the
more, I told him, I would show him a seal of composition, engraved
after a very valuable antique; upon which I pulled out my watch with a
rich gold chain, adorned with three seals set in gold, and an opal
ring. He viewed each of them with great eagerness, handled the chain,
admired the chased case, and observed that the whole must have cost me
a vast sum of money. I affected indifference, and replied in a careless
manner, “Some trifle of sixty or seventy guineas.” He stared in my face
for some time, and then asked if I was an Englishman? I answered in the
negative. “You are from Ireland then, Sir, I presume,” said he. I made
the same reply. “Oh! perhaps,” said he “you were born in one of our
settlements abroad.” I still answered No. He seemed very much
surprised, and said, he was sure I was not a foreigner. I made no
reply, but left him upon the tenter-hooks of impatient uncertainty. He
could not contain his anxiety, but asked pardon for the liberties he
had taken and, to encourage me the more to disclose my situation,
displayed his own without reserve. “I am,” said he, “a single man, have
a considerable annuity, on which I live according to my inclination,
and make the ends of the year meet very comfortably. As I have no
estate to leave behind, I am not troubled with the importunate
officiousness of relations or legacy hunters, and I consider the world
as made for me, not me for the world. It is my maxim, therefore, to
enjoy it while I can, and let futurity shift for itself.”
While he thus indulged his own talkative vein, and at the same time, no
doubt, expected retaliation from me, a young man entered, dressed in
black velvet and an enormous tie-wig, with an air in which natural
levity and affected solemnity were so jumbled together, that on the
whole he appeared a burlesque on all decorum. This ridiculous oddity
danced up to the table at which we sat, and, after a thousand grimaces,
asked my friend by the name of Mr. Medlar, if we were not engaged upon
business. My companion put on a surly countenance, and replied “No
great business, doctor—but however—” “Oh! then,” cried the physician;
“I must beg your indulgence a little; pray pardon me, gentlemen.”
“Sir,” said he, addressing himself to me, “your most humble servant. I
hope you will forgive me, sir—I must beg the favour to sit—sir—sir—I
have something of consequence to impart to my friend Mr. Medlar—sir, I
hope you will excuse my freedom in whispering, sir,” Before I had time
to give this complaisant person my permission, Mr. Medlar cried, “I’ll
have no whispering—if you have anything to say to me, speak with an
audible voice.” The doctor seemed a little disconcerted at this
exclamation, and, turning again to me, made a thousand apologies for
pretending to make a mystery of anything, a piece of caution which he
said was owing to his ignorance of my connection with Mr. Medlar; but
now he understood I was a friend, and would communicate what he had to
say in my hearing. He then began, after two or three hems, in this
manner: “You must know, sir, I am just come from dinner at my Lady
Flareit’s (then addressing himself to me), a lady of quality, sir, at
whose table I have the honour of dining sometimes. There was Lady
Stately and my Lady Larum, and Mrs. Dainty, and Miss Biddy Giggler,
upon my word, a very good-natured young lady, with a very pretty
fortune sir. There was also my Lord Straddle. Sir John Shrug, and
Master Billy Chatter, who is actually a very facetious young gentleman.
So, sir, her ladyship seeing me excessively fatigued, for she was the
last of fifteen patients (people of distinction, sir) whom I had
visited this forenoon, insisted upon my staying dinner, though upon my
word I protest I had no appetite; however, in compliance with her
ladyship’s request, sir, I sat down, and the conversation turning on
different subjects, among other things, Mr Chatter asked very earnestly
when I saw Mr. Medlar. I told him I had not had the pleasure of seeing
you these nineteen hours and a half; for you may remember, sir, it was
nearly about that time; I won’t be positive as to a minute.” “No,” says
he, “then I desire you will go to his lodgings immediately after
dinner, and see what’s the matter with him, for he must certainly be
very bad from having eaten last night such a vast quantity of raw
oysters.” The crusty gentleman, who, from the solemnity of his
delivery, expected something extraordinary, no sooner heard his
conclusion, than he started up in a testy humour, crying, “Pshaw,
pshaw! D—n your oysters!” and walked away, after a short compliment of,
“Your servant sir,” to me. The doctor got up also, saying, “I vow and
protest, upon my word, I am actually amazed;” and followed Mr. Medlar
to the bar, which was hard by, where he was paying for his coffee:
there he whispered so loud that I could overhear, “Pray who is this
gentleman?” His friend replied hastily, “I might have known that before
now, if it had not been for your impertinent intrusion,”—and walked off
very much disappointed. The ceremonious physician returned immediately
and sat down by me, asking a thousand pardons for leaving me alone: and
giving me to understand that what he had communicated to Mr. Medlar at
the bar, was an affair of the last importance, that would admit of no
delay. He then called for some coffee, and launched out into the
virtues of that berry, which, he said, in cold phlegmatic
constitutions, like his, dried up the superfluous moisture, and braced
the relaxed nerves. He told me it was utterly unknown to the ancients;
and derived its name from an Arabian word, which I might easily
perceive by the sound and termination. From this topic he transferred
his disquisitions to the verb drink, which he affirmed was improperly
applied to the taking of coffee, inasmuch as people did not drink, but
sip or sipple that liquor; that the genuine meaning of drinking is to
quench one’s thirst, or commit a debauch by swallowing wine; that the
Latin word, which conveyed the same idea, was bibere or potare, and