Study Edition · Essay 51
Autour de mon Chapeau
Source: The Cornhill Magazine, February 1863; collected in Roundabout Papers (1863). Text from Project Gutenberg #2608. ABRIDGED: roughly the first half of the essay, ending with the cab-fare passage; omitted passages are marked. Archaic verb forms modernized; vocabulary kept and glossed.
Thackeray, author of Vanity Fair, edited the new Cornhill Magazine and filled it with rambling, chatty “Roundabout Papers.” The French title means “Around my hat,” a joke on Xavier de Maistre's Voyage autour de ma chambre (Journey around my room). The essay starts with a mock-tragic portrait of an old-clothes dealer who has overpaid for a hat. It wanders to whist-players, ageing cricketers and the pleasures of old age, and ends with the comic “game” of saving sixpences. Enjoy the conversational voice, the sudden shifts of tone, and the way Thackeray mocks himself. Be aware that the old-clothes man is drawn from a Victorian stereotype of Jewish dealers; the notes point this out.
120 sentences: 62 simple, 49 moderate, 9 complex. Hover a number for its paraphrase; click it for the full note.
Key Vocabulary
- furrowa deep line or wrinkle
- piteouslyin a way that arouses pity
- indifferentordinary; of no special importance
- bolsteringa schoolboy pillow-fight beating (old slang)
- countenanceface; expression
- swartdark-skinned (old)
- artificesclever tricks or devices
- raimentclothing
- itineranttravelling from place to place
- particularizeto state exactly
- mercantilerelating to trade or buying and selling
- flippantnot showing proper seriousness
- cynica person who sneers at others' motives or feelings
- chequeredmarked by changes of fortune
- unheedednot noticed
- exemplara model or ideal example
- fogyan old-fashioned, fussy person
- avaricegreed for money
- adversaryan opponent
The Essay
Never have I seen a more noble tragic face.1 In the centre of the forehead there was a great furrow of care, towards which the brows rose piteously.2 What a deep solemn grief in the eyes!3 They looked blankly at the object before them, but through it, as it were, and into the grief beyond.4 In moments of pain, have you not looked at some indifferent object so?5 It mingles dumbly with your grief, and remains afterwards connected with it in your mind.6 It may be some indifferent thing, a book which you were reading at the time when you received her farewell letter (how well you remember the paragraph afterwards, the shape of the words, and their position on the page); the words you were writing when your mother came in, and said it was all over, she was married, Emily married, to that insignificant little rival at whom you have laughed a hundred times in her company.7 Well, well; my friend and reader, whoe'er you be, old man or young, wife or maiden, you have had your grief-pang.8 Boy, you have lain awake the first night at school, and thought of home.9 Worse still, man, you have parted from the dear ones with bursting heart: and, lonely boy, recall the bolstering an unfeeling comrade gave you; and, lonely man, just torn from your children, their little tokens of affection yet in your pocket, pacing the deck at evening in the midst of the roaring ocean, you can remember how you were told that supper was ready, and how you went down to the cabin and had brandy-and-water and biscuit.10 You remember the taste of them.11 Yes; for ever.12 You took them whilst you and your Grief were sitting together, and your Grief clutched you round the soul.13 Serpent, how you have writhed round me, and bitten me.14 Remorse, Remembrance, &c., come in the night season, and I feel you gnawing, gnawing! . . .15 I tell you that man's face was like Laocoon's (which, by the way, I always think over-rated. The real head is at Brussels, at the Duke Daremberg's, not at Rome).16
That man!17 What man?18 That man of whom I said that his magnificent countenance exhibited the noblest tragic woe.19 He was not of European blood, he was handsome, but not of European beauty.20 His face white, not of a Northern whiteness; his eyes protruding somewhat, and rolling in their grief.21 Those eyes had seen the Orient sun, and his beak was the eagle's.22 His lips were full.23 The beard, curling round them, was unkempt and tawny.24 The locks were of a deep, deep coppery red.25 The hands, swart and powerful, accustomed to the rough grasp of the wares in which he dealt, seemed unused to the flimsy artifices of the bath.26 He came from the Wilderness, and its sands were on his robe, his cheek, his tattered sandal, and the hardy foot it covered.27
And his grief, whence came his sorrow?28 I will tell you.29 He bore it in his hand.30 He had evidently just concluded the compact by which it became his.31 His business was that of a purchaser of domestic raiment.32 At early dawn, nay, at what hour when the city is alive, do we not all hear the nasal cry of “Clo?”33 In Paris, Habits Galons, Marchand d'habits, is the twanging signal with which the wandering merchant makes his presence known.34 It was in Paris I saw this man.35 Where else have I not seen him?36 In the Roman Ghetto, at the Gate of David, in his fathers' once imperial city.37 The man I mean was an itinerant vender and purchaser of wardrobes, what you call an . . . Enough! You know his name.38
On his left shoulder hung his bag; and he held in that hand a white hat, which I am sure he had just purchased, and which was the cause of the grief which smote his noble features.39 Of course I cannot particularize the sum, but he had given too much for that hat.40 He felt he might have got the thing for less money.41 It was not the amount, I am sure; it was the principle involved.42 He had given fourpence (let us say) for that which threepence would have purchased.43 He had been done: and a manly shame was upon him, that he, whose energy, acuteness, experience, point of honor, should have made him the victor in any mercantile duel in which he should engage, had been overcome by a porter's wife, who very likely sold him the old hat, or by a student who was tired of it.44 I can understand his grief.45 Do I seem to be speaking of it in a disrespectful or flippant way?46 Then you mistake me.47 He had been outwitted.48 He had desired, coaxed, schemed, haggled, got what he wanted, and now found he had paid too much for his bargain.49 You don't suppose I would ask you to laugh at that man's grief?50 It is you, clumsy cynic, who are disposed to sneer, whilst it may be tears of genuine sympathy are trickling down this nose of mine.51 What do you mean by laughing?52 If you saw a wounded soldier on the field of battle, would you laugh?53 If you saw a ewe robbed of her lamb, would you laugh, you brute?54 It is you who are the cynic, and have no feeling: and you sneer because that grief is unintelligible to you which touches my finer sensibility.55 The old-clothes'-man had been defeated in one of the daily battles of his most interesting, chequered, adventurous life.56
Have you ever figured to yourself what such a life must be?57 The pursuit and conquest of twopence must be the most eager and fascinating of occupations.58 We might all engage in that business if we would.59 Do not whist-players, for example, toil, and think, and lose their temper over sixpenny points?60 They bring study, natural genius, long forethought, memory, and careful historical experience to bear upon their favorite labor.61 Don't tell me that it is the sixpenny points, and five shillings the rub, which keeps them for hours over their painted pasteboard.62 It is the desire to conquer.63 Hours pass by.64 Night glooms.65 Dawn, it may be, rises unheeded; and they sit calling for fresh cards at the “Portland,” or the “Union,” while waning candles splutter in the sockets, and languid waiters snooze in the ante-room.66 Sol rises.67 Jones has lost four pounds: Brown has won two; Robinson lurks away to his family house and (mayhap indignant) Mrs. R.68 Hours of evening, night, morning, have passed away whilst they have been waging this sixpenny battle.69 What is the loss of four pounds to Jones, the gain of two to Brown?70 B. is, perhaps, so rich that two pounds more or less are as naught to him; J. is so hopelessly involved that to win four pounds cannot benefit his creditors, or alter his condition; but they play for that stake: they put forward their best energies: they ruff, finesse (what are the technical words, and how do I know?)71 It is but a sixpenny game if you like; but they want to win it.72 So as regards my friend yonder with the hat.73 He stakes his money: he wishes to win the game, not the hat merely.74 I am not prepared to say that he is not inspired by a noble ambition.75 Caesar wished to be first in a village.76 If first of a hundred yokels, why not first of two?77 And my friend the old-clothes'-man wishes to win his game, as well as to turn his little sixpence.78
Suppose in the game of life, and it is but a twopenny game after all, you are equally eager of winning.79 Shall you be ashamed of your ambition, or glory in it?80 There are games, too, which are becoming to particular periods of life.81 I remember in the days of our youth, when my friend Arthur Bowler was an eminent cricketer.82 Slim, swift, strong, well-built, he presented a goodly appearance on the ground in his flannel uniform.83 Militasti non sine gloria, Bowler my boy!84 Hush! We tell no tales.85 Mum is the word.86 Yonder comes Chancy his son.87 Now Chancy his son has taken the field and is famous among the eleven of his school.88 Bowler senior, with his capacious waistcoat, &c., waddling after a ball, would present an absurd object, whereas it does the eyes good to see Bowler junior scouring the plain, a young exemplar of joyful health, vigor, activity.89 The old boy wisely contents himself with amusements more becoming his age and waist; takes his sober ride; visits his farm soberly, busies himself about his pigs, his ploughing, his peaches, or what not!90 Very small routinier amusements interest him; and (thank goodness!) nature provides very kindly for kindly-disposed fogies.91 We relish those things which we scorned in our lusty youth.92 I see the young folks of an evening kindling and glowing over their delicious novels.93 I look up and watch the eager eye flashing down the page, being, for my part, perfectly contented with my twaddling old volume of “Howel's Letters,” or the Gentleman's Magazine.94 I am actually arrived at such a calm frame of mind that I like batter-pudding.95 I never should have believed it possible; but it is so.96 Yet a little while, and I may relish water-gruel.97 It will be the age of mon lait de poule et mon bonnet de nuit.98 And then, the cotton extinguisher is pulled over the old noddle, and the little flame of life is popped out.99
… I don't believe much of what my Lord Byron the poet says; but when he wrote, “So for a good old gentlemanly vice, I think I shall put up with avarice,” I think his lordship meant what he wrote, and if he practised what he preached, shall not quarrel with him.100 As an occupation in declining years, I declare I think saving is useful, amusing, and not unbecoming.101 It must be a perpetual amusement.102 It is a game that can be played by day, by night, at home and abroad, and at which you must win in the long run.103 I am tired and want a cab.104 The fare to my house, say, is two shillings.105 The cabman will naturally want half a crown.106 I pull out my book.107 I show him the distance is exactly three miles and fifteen hundred and ninety yards.108 I offer him my card, my winning card.109 As he retires with the two shillings, blaspheming inwardly, every curse is a compliment to my skill.110 I have played him and beat him; and a sixpence is my spoil and just reward.111 This is a game, by the way, which women play far more cleverly than we do.112 But what an interest it imparts to life!113 During the whole drive home I know I shall have my game at the journey's end; am sure of my hand, and shall beat my adversary.114 Or I can play in another way.115 I won't have a cab at all, I will wait for the omnibus: I will be one of the damp fourteen in that steaming vehicle.116 I will wait about in the rain for an hour, and 'bus after 'bus shall pass, but I will not be beat.117 I will have a place, and get it at length, with my boots wet through, and an umbrella dripping between my legs.118 I have a rheumatism, a cold, a sore throat, a sulky evening, a doctor's bill to-morrow perhaps?119 Yes, but I have won my game, and am gainer of a shilling on this rubber.120
Sentence Notes
In plain English: I have never seen a nobler, more tragic face.
In plain English: In the middle of the forehead was a deep worry line, toward which the eyebrows rose pitifully.
In plain English: What deep, solemn grief in the eyes!
In plain English: They stared blankly at the thing in front of them, but seemed to look through it into the grief behind it.
In plain English: Haven't you, in painful moments, stared like that at some unimportant object?
In plain English: It silently mixes with your grief, and stays linked with it in your memory ever after.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A true psychological observation: ordinary objects become permanently tied to moments of pain.
In plain English: It might be something ordinary: the book you were reading when her farewell letter arrived (how well you remember that paragraph afterwards, the shape and position of the words on the page), or the words you were writing when your mother came in and said it was all over. She was married, Emily was married, to that unimportant little rival you had laughed at a hundred times in front of her.
In plain English: Well, my friend and reader, whoever you are, old or young, wife or girl, you have had your stab of grief.
In plain English: As a boy, you lay awake your first night at boarding school, thinking of home.
In plain English: Worse, as a man you have said goodbye to your loved ones with a breaking heart. Lonely boy, remember the beating with a pillow some heartless schoolmate gave you. Lonely man, just separated from your children, with their little keepsakes still in your pocket, pacing the deck at evening on the roaring ocean, you remember being told supper was ready, and going down to the cabin for brandy and water and a biscuit.
Reference & context: Thackeray, born in Calcutta, was sent alone to school in England at five; later he left his own daughters behind on lecture tours to America.
In plain English: You remember how they tasted.
In plain English: Yes, forever.
In plain English: You had them while you sat with your Grief, and your Grief gripped you around the soul.
In plain English: Serpent, how you have coiled around me and bitten me!
In plain English: Remorse, Memory and the rest come at night, and I feel you gnawing, gnawing!
In plain English: I tell you, that man's face was like Laocoön's (which, by the way, I always think is overrated; the real head is at the Duke of Arenberg's in Brussels, not in Rome).
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Mock-tragic grandeur suddenly punctured by a fussy art-critic's aside.
Reference & context: The Laocoön is a famous ancient marble in the Vatican showing a Trojan priest and his sons crushed by serpents. The serpent image just above prepares for it. The Duke of Arenberg's collection in Brussels held a Laocoön head some thought finer.
In plain English: That man!
In plain English: What man?
In plain English: The man whose magnificent face, I said, showed the noblest tragic sorrow.
In plain English: He was not of European descent; he was handsome, but not in a European way.
In plain English: His face was pale, but not with a northern paleness; his eyes bulged a little and rolled in their grief.
In plain English: Those eyes had seen the sun of the East, and his nose was like an eagle's beak.
Reference & context: Thackeray is drawing on stereotyped Victorian descriptions of Jewish features. Such caricatures were common in the period and are offensive today.
In plain English: His lips were full.
In plain English: His beard, curling around them, was untidy and tawny.
In plain English: His hair was a deep, deep coppery red.
In plain English: His dark, strong hands, used to roughly handling the goods he traded, didn't seem used to the delicate refinements of washing.
In plain English: He came from the Wilderness, and its sand was on his robe, his cheek, his worn-out sandal and the tough foot inside it.
Reference & context: Mock-biblical language, as if describing a prophet, for a man selling used clothes in Paris.
In plain English: And his grief: where did his sorrow come from?
In plain English: I'll tell you.
In plain English: He was holding it in his hand.
In plain English: He had obviously just finished the deal that made it his.
In plain English: His trade was buying household clothing.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Pompous phrasing for a humble job is part of the mock-heroic joke.
In plain English: At dawn, or indeed at any hour when the city is awake, don't we all hear the nasal call of “Clo'!”
Reference & context: “Clo'!” (clothes) was the street cry of second-hand clothes buyers in London.
In plain English: In Paris the travelling dealer announces himself with the twangy call “Habits, galons! Marchand d'habits!”
Reference & context: French: “Clothes, braid! Clothes-dealer!”
In plain English: I saw this man in Paris.
In plain English: Where haven't I seen him?
In plain English: In the Jewish Ghetto of Rome, and at the Gate of David in Jerusalem, the once-royal city of his ancestors.
Reference & context: The Roman Ghetto was the walled Jewish quarter of Rome until 1870. Jerusalem was the capital of King David.
In plain English: The man I mean was a travelling seller and buyer of clothes, what you'd call a… Enough! You know what he's called.
Reference & context: Thackeray stops short of a slur. In Victorian London “old-clothes man” was a stock figure, often stereotyped as Jewish.
In plain English: His bag hung from his left shoulder, and in that hand he held a white hat. I'm sure he had just bought it, and it was the cause of the grief that had struck his noble face.
Reference & context: The hat of the title. A white (light grey) top hat was a summer fashion.
In plain English: Of course I can't name the exact price, but he had paid too much for that hat.
In plain English: He felt he could have got it for less.
In plain English: I'm sure it wasn't the amount; it was the principle of the thing.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A stock phrase, used for comic effect over a penny.
In plain English: He had paid fourpence, let's say, for something he could have had for threepence.
In plain English: He had been cheated, and he felt a manly shame that he, whose energy, sharpness, experience and pride should have made him the winner of any business duel, had been beaten by a porter's wife who probably sold him the old hat, or by a student who was tired of it.
In plain English: I understand his grief.
In plain English: Do I seem to be speaking about it disrespectfully or jokingly?
In plain English: Then you misunderstand me.
In plain English: He had been outsmarted.
In plain English: He had wanted it, sweet-talked, plotted, bargained, got it, and now found he had overpaid.
In plain English: Surely you don't think I'm asking you to laugh at his grief?
In plain English: It's you, you clumsy cynic, who want to sneer, while perhaps tears of real sympathy are running down my nose.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Thackeray accuses the reader of the mockery he is plainly enjoying himself.
In plain English: What do you mean by laughing?
In plain English: Would you laugh at a wounded soldier on a battlefield?
In plain English: Would you laugh at a sheep whose lamb had been stolen, you brute?
In plain English: You're the cynic with no feelings; you sneer because you can't understand a grief that moves my more delicate heart.
In plain English: The old-clothes man had lost one of the daily battles of his fascinating, ever-changing, adventurous life.
In plain English: Have you ever imagined what such a life must be like?
In plain English: Chasing and winning twopence must be the most exciting and absorbing of jobs.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The essay's real subject appears: the thrill is in winning, not in the money.
In plain English: We could all take up that business if we wanted.
In plain English: Don't whist players, for instance, work hard, think and lose their tempers over points worth sixpence?
Reference & context: Whist, the ancestor of bridge, was the great Victorian card game, often played for small stakes.
In plain English: They apply study, natural talent, long planning, memory and careful experience to their favourite task.
In plain English: Don't tell me it's the sixpenny points and five shillings a game that keep them for hours over their painted cards.
Reference & context: A “rubber” or “rub” is a set of games in whist.
In plain English: It's the wish to win.
In plain English: Hours go by.
In plain English: Night grows dark.
In plain English: Dawn may come up unnoticed while they sit calling for new packs at the Portland or the Union club, as the burnt-down candles sputter in their holders and weary waiters doze in the next room.
Reference & context: The Portland and the Union were London gentlemen's clubs famous for card-playing.
In plain English: The sun comes up.
Reference & context: Sol is the Latin name of the sun.
In plain English: Jones has lost four pounds, Brown has won two, and Robinson sneaks home to his family and to Mrs. Robinson, who is probably furious.
Reference & context: Jones, Brown and Robinson were stock names for ordinary middle-class Englishmen, made famous in a Punch series of the 1850s.
In plain English: Evening, night and morning have gone by while they fought this sixpenny battle.
In plain English: What do four pounds matter to Jones, or two to Brown?
In plain English: Brown may be so rich that two pounds mean nothing to him; Jones may be so deep in debt that winning four pounds wouldn't help his creditors or change his situation. But they play for that stake with all their energy: they “ruff,” they “finesse” (what are the technical terms, and how would I know?).
Reference & context: Ruffing (trumping) and finessing are card-play tactics in whist and bridge.
In plain English: Call it only a sixpenny game if you like, but they want to win.
In plain English: It's the same with my friend over there with the hat.
In plain English: He puts his money down; he wants to win the game, not just the hat.
In plain English: I won't deny that he may be driven by a noble ambition.
In plain English: Caesar wanted to be first even in a village.
Reference & context: Plutarch reports Julius Caesar saying he would rather be first in a small Alpine village than second in Rome.
In plain English: If it's worth being first among a hundred country bumpkins, why not first among two?
Why this phrase is worth keeping: Caesar's grand ambition shrunk down to a two-man haggle over a hat.
In plain English: And my friend the old-clothes man wants to win his game, as well as make his small profit.
In plain English: Suppose that in the game of life (and it's only a twopenny game, after all) you're just as eager to win.
In plain English: Should you be ashamed of your ambition, or proud of it?
In plain English: There are also games that suit particular stages of life.
In plain English: I remember when we were young and my friend Arthur Bowler was a star cricketer.
Reference & context: “Bowler” is a joke name: the bowler is the cricket player who delivers the ball.
In plain English: Slim, fast, strong and well built, he looked fine on the field in his white flannels.
In plain English: “You fought not without glory,” Bowler, my boy!
Reference & context: Adapted from Horace, Odes III.26: “vixi puellis nuper idoneus / et militavi non sine gloria” (“I lived lately fit for girls, and soldiered not without glory”).
In plain English: Hush! We tell no stories.
In plain English: Not a word.
In plain English: Here comes his son Chancy.
In plain English: Now his son Chancy has taken the field and is famous in his school's cricket team.
In plain English: Old Bowler, with his roomy waistcoat and so on, waddling after a ball, would look ridiculous, while it does your eyes good to see young Bowler racing across the field, a perfect example of joyful health, energy and activity.
In plain English: The old fellow sensibly sticks to pastimes better suited to his age and waistline: a quiet ride, a calm visit to his farm, fussing over his pigs, his ploughing, his peaches and so on!
Why this phrase is worth keeping: “His age and waist” is a neat comic pairing (a zeugma).
In plain English: Very small routine pleasures interest him, and (thank goodness!) nature looks after good-natured old fogies very kindly.
Reference & context: Routinier (French): fond of routine.
In plain English: We enjoy the very things we despised in our vigorous youth.
In plain English: In the evenings I see the young people lit up and glowing over their delightful novels.
In plain English: I look up and watch their eager eyes racing down the page, while I'm perfectly happy with my rambling old copy of Howell's Letters or the Gentleman's Magazine.
Reference & context: James Howell's Familiar Letters (1645–55) and the Gentleman's Magazine (founded 1731) were old-fashioned, leisurely reading.
In plain English: I've actually reached such a calm state of mind that I like batter pudding.
Reference & context: Plain batter pudding was bland nursery or invalid food.
In plain English: I'd never have believed it, but it's true.
In plain English: Soon I may even enjoy thin porridge.
Reference & context: Water-gruel, a thin oatmeal porridge, was the food of invalids and the very old.
In plain English: It will be the age of my eggnog and my nightcap.
Reference & context: French: “my hen's milk (a warm egg drink) and my nightcap.” The line echoes Voltaire.
In plain English: And then the cotton nightcap is pulled down over the old head like a candle snuffer, and the little flame of life is put out.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The nightcap becomes a candle snuffer: a comic and touching image of death.
Reference & context: An extinguisher was a cone placed over a candle to put it out; “noddle” is slang for head.
In plain English: I don't believe much of what Lord Byron says, but when he wrote “So for a good old-gentlemanly vice, / I think I must take up with avarice,” I think he meant it, and if he did as he said, I won't argue with him.
Reference & context: Omitted: a passage on whist as a skill to learn young, and on old age being “too late” for new pleasures. The quotation is from Byron's Don Juan I.216, slightly misremembered.
In plain English: As a hobby for old age, I honestly think saving money is useful, amusing and quite respectable.
In plain English: It must be endlessly entertaining.
In plain English: It's a game you can play day and night, at home and away, and in the long run you're bound to win.
In plain English: I'm tired and want a cab.
In plain English: The fare to my house is, say, two shillings.
In plain English: Naturally the driver will want half a crown (two shillings and sixpence).
Reference & context: London cab fares were fixed by distance, and drivers often tried to overcharge.
In plain English: I take out my book of fares.
In plain English: I show him that the distance is exactly three miles and 1,590 yards.
In plain English: I hand him my calling card: my winning card.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: A pun: a visiting card and a winning playing card.
In plain English: As he leaves with his two shillings, swearing under his breath, every curse is a tribute to my skill.
In plain English: I've played him and beaten him, and a sixpence is my prize and fair reward.
In plain English: This is a game, by the way, that women play much more cleverly than men.
In plain English: But how interesting it makes life!
In plain English: The whole way home I know I'll have my game at the end of the trip; I'm sure of my cards and will beat my opponent.
In plain English: Or I can play a different way.
In plain English: I won't take a cab at all; I'll wait for the bus and be one of the fourteen damp passengers in that steamy vehicle.
In plain English: I'll stand in the rain for an hour while bus after bus goes by full, but I won't be beaten.
In plain English: I will get a seat, and I finally do, with soaking boots and a dripping umbrella between my knees.
In plain English: I get rheumatism, a cold, a sore throat, a grumpy evening, and maybe a doctor's bill tomorrow?
In plain English: Yes, but I've won my game and come out a shilling ahead on this round.
Why this phrase is worth keeping: The punchline: the “saving” has obviously cost far more than a shilling, but the game was won.
Fun Fact
Thackeray was paid a huge salary of £1,000 a year to edit the Cornhill, and its first issue in 1860 sold more than 100,000 copies, a record for a magazine. But he hated rejecting contributors' work, calling the letters from disappointed writers “thorns in the cushion” of the editor's chair, and he resigned after two years.