CHAPTER I.  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

IN those times — pre-railway times — the place
had another air. It wore a quaint old-fashioned
look, and flourished all the year round. It did
not moulder away in the winter, but became
more picturesque then in colours, costumes,
and character. It had elements highly dramatic;
comedy and tragedy were going on day and night.
It seems to me now to have the air of Calais
when the sentimental Sterne was travelling.
Where is now the English colony, the strange
settlers, the genteel " broken down," the idle,
the respectable, the adventurer, whom some
misfortune (Dieppe courtesy included frailty
as well as distress in that term) drove from
fatherland; the infinite variety of character and
profession? Even their dress — for they clung to
the old English clothes, and proudly displayed
them even in their decay — inspired an air of
vagabond picturesqueness. What queer, fitful
society on that parti-coloured French
background! Curious clergymen, lively ci-devant or
soi-distant officers, sudden comers, more sudden
goers; nothing surprising, everything welcome;
abundant curiosity, and everything known.
"Delightful people" came, with the air of wealth;
shone and glittered awhile, were charming, were
called on, gave parties, and " were an addition
to the society." Of a sudden there was a void;
their place knew them no more. It was like a
death, but it caused no surprise.

Winter was the season proper for the exiles;
the fashionables, of course, came down in the
summer to bathe, and were seen in their fine
dresses at the établissement. Not yet have
come the flaunting rush of extravagant
demireps, with their dozen dresses a day, from
the imperial court. But the English had no
sympathy with these fine strangers; they rather
pooh-poohed them. Strange English! wonderful
English! The lowest, most broken of the
whole, talked of the England that had used
them so cruelly, and which would to a certainty
seize on them and drag them off to iron-barred
rude lodgings, with pride and even arrogance.
Everything in that dear land was superior.
They were identified with its glories; they had
still part in everything that happened there.
Everything English was superior to the poor
wretched French who were sheltering them.
The humblest " bag-man" whom they saw off by
the packet they looked on with pride and
respect — he was going to England. How many
twinges they daily suffered as they turned away
from that monotonous yet necessary ceremonial,
for they knew they durst not set foot on the
homeward-bound packet. The majors and
reduced fathers spoke of Dieppe to each other as
this " cursed hole;" and, by a fiction tacitly
accepted, it was understood that every one could
"get away" when he pleased, but was kept
there by high concerns — "Education of my
daughters," " When my poor Mary's health
gets better, please God," and the like. No one,
however coarse-minded, had the indecency to
pull off this genteel little veil; for there was a
due reciprocity in such transactions. Every
one, too, was " getting back to England"
shortly; and after the newspapers had been
duly read, there was always plenty of pleasing
conversation upon home affairs — a
wondering what "Canning would do," with an
intimate knowledge of "Peel" and his mind,
and an easy familiarity with the motions of the
court and the royal family. This was maintained
with a yet more intimate knowledge, in
presence of some of the inferior race whose
hospitality they were enjoying, and to whom
they spoke with authority. This is all human
nature again and again, and over again, as
any one who watched these odd creatures
would have great profit and entertainment in
working out for himself as any one, too, would
find repeating itself at this very hour.

Yet all the colonists were not of this pattern.
There were English and Irish families of good
condition, and upright souls, who had found the
French port more suited to their means; well-
born and gentle widow ladies and their
daughters; honest gentlemen of slender
resources, who feared that at home they could
not presently support themselves without debt,
who left without owing a shilling, and who lived
here comfortably and without anxiety, and paid
their way honourably. It is but another touch
of human nature to say that the Dieppe tradesmen
had rather a contempt for these ladies and
gentlemen who met their engagements so
honourably, and " trusted" them much less than
they did the noble and glittering customers,
who ordered profusely and never paid so much
as a franc. Nay, even their recollection of
these open-handed sharpers was indulgent:
they were " pauvres garçons!" so much does
the manner of a thing enter into the thing
itself.

All this seems as if written of a hundred years
back, like the days of the Sentimental Journey;
and yet it is not five-and-twenty years ago.
At the end of a certain autumn about that time
but few of the fine company were left, and the
company that used to come streaming down the
Grande Rue and Rue St. Jacques, down to the
port, to see the packet come in, walking in the
middle of the street on the round stones which
make a French street look picturesque, had
thinned off a good deal. That duty came like
dinner. No decent resident would have missed
it for the world. It was the most piquant
moment of the enforced life, and between five and
six we were sure to see old Filby — captain he
was called, but "Heaven knows what rank he had
held," or in what service — and the good-looking
young Backhouse, who wore jewellery,
and Mrs. Dalrymple and her daughters; later,
Mr. Blacker, the oldest resident, secretary to
the English church, whom we shall know very
well shortly, were seen posting down by odorous
lanes, and "roos," and short cuts, to the port.

Captain Filby was the sure sign and token of
its being time to go down; for he started
punctually, round as a martello tower, buttoned
close in a pale brown coat, with a square face, and
"damning" the stones at every step. He could