by Balzac D'Anois [John Oxenford].
Originally published in Bentley's Miscellany (Richard Bentley) vol.15 #86 (Jan 1844).
"Sir," said the man, "I tell 'e, ye never tasted such a glass of ale in your life!" And, so saying, he banged his great a fist on the table with such force that I expected the board would fly to pieces. "I don't care what sort of man ye are; but just drink a pint of that, and it will soon find out what you are made of. It goes down as mild as milk; but I never yet saw the man who was not the worse for a pint of it."
This was said in the parlour of a public-house situated in one of the corners of the metropolis. The house being of no very genteel kind, the guests in the parlour were little above those who are usually seen in a tap. The speaker was a big burly fellow, with a red, full countenance, and a heaviness in his aspect which denoted an habitual beer-drinker. He had asked me the quality of the ale which I was drinking, and was continuing the conversation by expatiating on the virtues of the beverage sold at an Alton alehouse in another part of the town.
"Mind, the name's 'Figgins,' and it's one of them Alton ale-houses,—and ye never saw such a glass of ale in your life."
The speaker here assumed the aspect of indignant defiance, as if I had contradicted him.
"I have no doubt of it," said I very mildly, hoping to stop what seemed to me most causeless wrath; but the man's voice became louder and his fist fell with redoubled force on the table as he bellowed,
"If you don't find it as I say, come back when you have drank a glass, and say that I have told you a falsehood."
Now, considering the place in question was at least a mile from the scene of conversation, the challenge to come back on the chance of seeing this eccentric person, was no very hazardous one. I bowed assent, still looking as mild as possible; but the extoller of the "good glass" wound up his own zeal till it approached perfect fury.
I was exceedingly glad to pay my reckoning, and leave the house, seeing that I was likely to be involved in a quarrel, without the slightest provocation on my part; for so determined was the advocate of Alton ale to pick a quarrel, that it was of little consequence whether the party addressed agreed with him or differed from him. As I passed through the door, I heard sounding after me from the parlour,
"Mind you ask for the old ale! Ye never tasted such a glass!"
I was now subjected to a new kind of annoyance. Doubtless you have often felt the suffering which arises from a pair of eyes being constantly fixed upon you, while you are utterly unable to recognise the person to whom the eyes belong. In a full theatre you must sometimes have perceived some stranger staring at you, till he so fixes your attention, that you are lured on to stare at him also. Other faces seem to vanish,—the whole of the surrounding objects seem to be fading,—that one countenance absorbs your entire mind. My annoyance was somewhat similar to this. A miserable cabman, who was making a wretched horse draw a dilapidated vehicle, took a violent fancy to me. Never allowing his cab to get one yard beyond me, he stared at me as I walked; he made significant signs with his whip, and appeared determined to have me for a fare. There was something sinister in the aspect of the man,—there was something imperious in his gestures, which, as it were, denoted an absolute right to force me into the cab, that was to me singularly repelling. I tried to look elsewhere,—I tried to gaze on the objects in the shops. My efforts were in vain; my head, by an irresistible impulse, was turned towards the cabman, and I was compelled to stare almost encouragingly at his inauspicious signal. At last, with a desperate effort, I forced my countenance towards the shops, when a brilliant golden light at once flashed upon my eyes. Gradually it began to form itself into letters, and the word "Figgins" was presented to my sight. I recollected the name spoken by the disagreeable man in the public house, and, my attention being now attracted, I perceived the large canvas blind, inscribed with black letters, that marks an Alton house. I rushed in, darting a triumphant look at the cabman; but he merely smiled, and my heart quailed within me as I saw his features assume a kind of resemblance to the advocate of the good glass of ale.
The interior of the shop presented to view the usual apparatus. There was a row of bright pumps to supply the beverage in various grades to the customers, the grades being called "mild," "imperial" and "old." There were sandwiches in little white plates, every one inscribed with the name of the meat which the sandwiches contained. There were little baskets of captains' biscuits, and there was a glass mustard-pot. Behind the counter stood a woman, with singularly hard and forbidding features; and altogether there was something about the place which continued the uncomfortable feeling I had experienced during the whole evening. The customers were gloomily intent on their occupation of consuming the provisions before them. One was eating sandwiches at such a rate, that he seemed almost to be bolting them whole; and a man behind the counter, who went on perpetually carving ham for him, darted at him looks of execration for the trouble he gave. Another continually poured down huge goblets of ale, till at last the woman impatiently cried out, "If you want any more, the pump may serve you itself, for I shall not." Whereupon, to my amazement, the pump of mild ale began to work of its own accord, and the customer, without the slightest sign of surprise, held his glass beneath the spout, and replenished it. It was not without some misgiving that I asked for a glass of the "old ale."
"The old ale!" repeated the woman, somewhat raising her voice, and giving the first sign of emotion I had yet heard or seen. Every one of the customers, and also the weary man who was carving the ham, stared at me for a second with an indescribable expression, and then, with a peculiar smile, returned to their occupation. The glass was filled by the woman, and handed to me. I was about to raise it to my lips, when I paused for a moment; for I fancied that a lion's head, which decorated one of the pumps, had assumed the likeness of the quarrelsome man in the public house. It was but a fancy,—so I raised the glass. Already had it touched my lips, when the surface of white foam, which was of course presented to my face, gradually expanded, and that to such an extent, that I could not see its limits. It was as if one huge vertical sea, in a violent state of foam, rose immediately before me. As the first particles of liquor wetted my tongue, I seemed to be growing lighter; indeed, all sense of gravity was receding from me. A very delightful taste seemed to pervade my whole frame, and, to my utter amazement, I felt myself drawn up into the ocean of ale. Bubbles kept rising around me as I passed through the brownish fluid; every one of them shot forth others in countless abundance, and every one presented a grotesque face, which grinned at me as it flew by. My ears were filled with a dull, stunning noise. There was but one thing I could hear distinctly, and that was the sound of a well-known voice, that cried through the confusion, "You never tasted such a glass of ale in our life!"
At last this indistinct sensation passed away, and I seemed to come to my senses. I found myself in a strange field, with a large crop of barley in full ear overspreading the entire landscape. There was a thickness about the atmosphere, and the sky, instead of being blue, was of a deep amber colour. I was idly plucking an ear or two, when a voice of thunder broke upon my ear, saying, "Let us celebrate the mystery of the Beer-Bacchus!"
At once there came before me the most motley assemblage I had ever witnessed. Mechanics, city clerks, law students, medical students, all went along in grand procession, supported and moved by rolling barrels, on which they kept their position by the same talent as that of the tub-dancer, who used to excite wonder at the minor theatres. Every one of them brandished, with vehement gestures, a pewter pot; every one of them darted forth clouds of tobacco-smoke in all directions. They were followed by a troop of waiters, bearing massive plates of sandwiches, huge cold joints, and massive pots of mustard. At last the procession was closed by the Beer-Bacchus himself, who rode in a car, fashioned much on the same plan as those that clowns used to make, at that remote period when there was ingenuity in Christmas pantomimes. Those huge cheeses which must be familiar to every one who has stopped to take refreshment at a country inn, formed the wheels; the half of an immense butt, festooned with ears of barley, formed the body, and the vehicle was drawn by four sturdy brewer's horses. The Beer-Bacchus was a portly personage, who wore a crown of barley on his head, and occasionally wetting his mouth from a huge silver tankard, solemnly smoked a gigantic twisted pipe. He courteously invited me to his car, and, as I entered it, said with an air of great benignity,
"Did I not tell you that you had never tasted such a glass of ale?"
The Beer-Bacchus was, in fact, the same with the man in the public-house, and—greater wonder than any I had yet seen—he now looked pleasant and agreeable.
The car rolled on; and as we proceeded the voices of the shouting bacchanals who advanced before us underwent a singular change. They were gradually modified into ordinary London cries, such as the shout of omnibus-conductors, and the invitation of the butcher to "buy." Bacchus himself, too, dwindled into a very small compass, till at last he vanished altogether, and I was alone in a vehicle, which bore no resemblance to the one I had ascended. It was completely closed, and lined with deep-blue cloth, ornamented with little tufts. In fact, I was in the interior of an ordinary cab, rolling through the London streets. A thought flashed across my mind: could I be with the sinister-looking cab-driver, from whom I had fled into the Alton ale house? The window merely afforded me the sight of a pair of drab-coloured coat-tails, and all that concerned the identity of the driver was left to mere conjecture. The sense of mystery grew more and more oppressive. A dead weight was on my mind, which soon became a material pressure. The sides of the cab drew close together, and bound me so tightly that I could hardly breathe. At the same time they lost their opacity, and I seemed close confined in a kind of transparent prison, through which I could see all sorts of glittering objects. I strove hard to release myself, but could not stir so much as a finger, so great was the counter-pressure.
"He'll go off of himself presently if they don't open him," said a squeaking voice in my immediate vicinity.
"Ay, that he will," answered another squeaking voice; "and then the Fates be merciful to those tarts!" Upon which both the voices uttered a shrill, tittering sort of laughter.
Turning my eyes to the direction of this novel sound, I saw a number of little red heads, the size of a cherry, immersed in a dark-coloured liquor. This by no means inconvenienced them; but on the contrary, they were all giggling in the merriest mood,—my strange condition seeming to be the grand cause of diversion. Presently some long white cylinders appeared through my prison, and bending round it, seemed to grasp it firmly, and bear it through the air. Then the pressure around me diminished in a slight degree, and there was a hissing and bubbling around me, similar to that which I heard when I was drawn into the glass of ale. This terminated in an explosion as loud as a battery of artillery, and suffering the most excruciating agony, I was driven through an aperture that was by no means proportioned to my natural size. Every bone in my frame seemed to be crushed to a jelly.
Recovering from the shock, I found myself standing on the other side of a pastrycook's counter. A lovely girl, with beautiful ringlets falling about her neck, held in her hand an empty soda-water bottle and a glass, into which she had poured its contents. I now understood my previous situation. I had been confined in the soda-water, and had been placed on one of the shelves, among some large bottles of brandy-cherries. For the first time during the evening I felt perfectly free.
My gratitude to the delightful creature who had delivered me from the spells that had so long encumbered me, knew no bounds. Throwing myself on my knees before her, I grasped her hand, and imprinting on it a thousand kisses, "Lovely spirit!" I exclaimed.
I could say no more. My ear at this moment experienced a smart, tingling and exceedingly startling sensation. Something like anger appeared in the countenance of my deliveress; but I may be mistaken in this particular, as the whole shop, with the damsel, and all its contents reeled away from my sight, and left nothing behind, but a confused emptiness in my mind, from which I did not recover till this morning, when I found myself in my own bed in my lodgings.