CHAPTER XXIV.
A LITTLE INNOCENT.
Every house has its skeleton in it somewhere, and it may be a comfortto some unhappy folks to think that the luckiest and most wealthy oftheir neighbors have their miseries and causes of disquiet. Our littleinnocent muse of a Blanche, who sang so nicely and talked so sweetly,you would have thought she must have made sunshine where-ever she went,was the skeleton, or the misery, or the bore, or the Nemesis ofClavering House, and of most of the inhabitants thereof. As one littlestone in your own shoe or your horse's, suffices to put either totorture and to make your journey miserable, so in life a little obstacleis sufficient to obstruct your entire progress, and subject you toendless annoyance and disquiet. Who would have guessed that such asmiling little fairy as Blanche Amory could be the cause of discord inany family?
"I say, Strong," one day the baronet said, as the pair were conversingafter dinner over the billiard-table, and that great unbosomer ofsecrets, a cigar; "I say, Strong, I wish to the doose your wife wasdead."
"So do I. That's a cannon, by Jove. But she won't; she'll liveforever--you see if she don't. Why do you wish her off the hooks, Frank,my boy?" asked Captain Strong.
"Because then, you might marry Missy. She ain't bad-looking. She'll haveten thousand, and that's a good bit of money for such a poor old devilas you," drawled out the other gentleman. "And gad, Strong, I hate herworse and worse every day. I can't stand her, Strong, by gad, I can't."
"I wouldn't take her at twice the figure," Captain Strong said,laughing. "I never saw such a little devil in my life."
"I should like to poison her," said the sententious baronet; "by Jove Ishould."
"Why, what has she been at now?" asked his friend.
"Nothing particular," answered Sir Francis; "only her old tricks. Thatgirl has such a knack of making every body miserable that, hang me, it'squite surprising. Last night she sent the governess crying away fromthe dinner-table. Afterward, as I was passing Frank's room, I heard thepoor little beggar howling in the dark, and found his sister had beenfrightening his soul out of his body, by telling him stories about theghost that's in the house. At lunch she gave my lady a turn; and thoughmy wife's a fool, she's a good soul--I'm hanged if she ain't."
"What did Missy do to her?" Strong asked.
"Why, hang me, if she didn't begin talking about the late Amory, mypredecessor," the baronet said, with a grin. "She got some picture outof the Keepsake, and said she was sure it was like her dear father. Shewanted to know where her father's grave was. Hang her father! WheneverMiss Amory talks about him, Lady Clavering always bursts out crying;and the little devil will talk about him in order to spite her mother.To-day when she began, I got in a confounded rage, said I was herfather, and--and that sort of thing, and then, sir, she took a shyat me."
"And what did she say about you, Frank?" Mr. Strong, still laughing,inquired of his friend and patron.
"Gad, she said I wasn't her father: that I wasn't fit to comprehend her;that her father must have been a man of genius, and fine feelings, andthat sort of thing: whereas I had married her mother for money."
"Well, didn't you?" asked Strong.
"It don't make it any the pleasanter to hear because it's true, don'tyou know," Sir Francis Clavering answered. "I ain't a literary man andthat; but I ain't such a fool as she makes me out. I don't know howit is, but she always manages to--to put me in the hole, don't youunderstand. She turns all the house round her in her quiet way, andwith her confounded sentimental airs. I wish she was dead, Ned."
"It was my wife whom you wanted dead just now," Strong said, always inperfect good humor; upon which the baronet, with his accustomed candor,said, "Well, when people bore my life out, I _do_ wish they were dead,and I wish Missy were down a well, with all my heart."
Thus it will be seen from the above report of this candidconversation that our accomplished little friend had some peculiaritiesor defects of character which rendered her not very popular. She wasa young lady of some genius, exquisite sympathies and considerableliterary attainments, living, like many another genius, with relativeswho could not comprehend her. Neither her mother nor her step-fatherwere persons of a literary turn. Bell's life and the Racing Calendarwere the extent of the baronet's reading, and Lady Clavering still wrotelike a school girl of thirteen, and with an extraordinary disregard togrammar and spelling. And as Miss Amory felt very keenly that shewas not appreciated, and that she lived with persons who were not herequals in intellect or conversational power, she lost no opportunity toacquaint her family circle with their inferiority to herself, and notonly was a martyr, but took care to let every body know that she wasso. If she suffered, as she said and thought she did, severely, are weto wonder that a young creature of such delicate sensibilities shouldshriek and cry out a good deal? Without sympathy life is nothing; andwould it not have been a want of candor on her part to affect acheerfulness which she did not feel, or pretend a respect for thosetoward whom it was quite impossible she should entertain any reverence?If a poetess may not bemoan her lot, of what earthly use is her lyre?Blanche struck hers only to the saddest of tunes; and sang elegies overher dead hopes, dirges over her early frost-nipt buds of affection, asbecame such a melancholy fate and muse.
Her actual distresses, as we have said, had not been, up to the presenttime, very considerable; but her griefs lay, like those of most of us,in her own soul--that being sad and habitually dissatisfied, what wonderthat she should weep? So Mes Larmes dribbled out of her eyes any day atcommand: she could furnish an unlimited supply of tears, and her facultyof shedding them increased by practice. For sentiment is like anothercomplaint mentioned by Horace, as increasing by self-indulgence (I amsorry to say, ladies, that the complaint in question is called thedropsy), and the more you cry, the more you will be able and desirousto do so.
Missy had begun to gush at a very early age. Lamartine was her favoritebard from the period when she first could feel: and she had subsequentlyimproved her mind by a sedulous study of novels of the great modernauthors of the French language. There was not a romance of Balzac andGeorge Sand which the indefatigable little creature had not devoured bythe time she was sixteen: and, however little she sympathized with herrelatives at home, she had friends, as she said, in the spirit-world,meaning the tender Indiana, the passionate and poetic Lelia, the amiableTrenmor, that high-souled convict, that angel of the galleys--the fieryStenio--and the other numberless heroes of the French romances. She hadbeen in love with Prince Rodolph and Prince Djalma while she was yet atschool, and had settled the divorce question, and the rights of woman,with Indiana, before she had left off pinafores. The impetuous littlelady played at love with these imaginary worthies, as a little whilebefore she had played at maternity with her doll. Pretty little poeticalspirits! it is curious to watch them with those playthings. To-day theblue-eyed one is the favorite, and the black-eyed one is pushed behindthe drawers. To-morrow blue-eyes may take its turn of neglect: and itmay be an odious little wretch with a burned nose, or torn head of hair,and no eyes at all, that takes the first place in Miss's affection, andis dandled and caressed in her arms.
As novelists are supposed to know every thing, even the secrets offemale hearts, which the owners themselves do not, perhaps, know, wemay state that at eleven years of age, Mademoiselle Betsi, as MissAmory was then called, had felt tender emotions toward a young Savoyardorgan-grinder at Paris, whom she persisted in believing to be a princecarried off from his parents; that at twelve an old and hideousdrawing-master--(but, ah, what age or personal defects are proof againstwoman's love?) had agitated her young heart; and that, at thirteen,being at Madame de Caramel's boarding-school, in the Champs Elyseeswhich, as every body knows, is next door to Monsieur Rogron's (Chevalierof the Legion of Honor) pension for young gentlemen, a correspondence,by letter, took place between the _seduisante Miss Betsi_ and two younggentlemen of the College of Charlemagne, who were pensioners of theChevalier Rogron.
In the above paragraph our young friend has
been called by a Christianname, different to that tinder which we were lately presented to her.The fact is, that Miss Amory, called Missy at home, had really, at thefirst, been christened Betsy--but assumed the name of Blanche of her ownwill and fantasy, and crowned herself with it; and the weapon which thebaronet, her step-father, held in terror over her, was the threat tocall her publicly by her name of Betsy, by which menace he sometimesmanaged to keep the young rebel in order.
We have spoken just now of children's dolls, and of the manner inwhich those little people take up and neglect their darling toys, andvery likely this history will show that Miss Blanche assumed and putaway her live dolls with a similar girlish inconstancy. She had hadhosts of dear, dear, darling friends ere now, and had quite a littlemuseum of locks of hair in her treasure-chest, which she had gathered inthe course of her sentimental progress. Some dear friends had married:some had gone to other schools: one beloved sister she had lost fromthe pension, and found again, O, horror! her darling, her Leocadie,keeping the books in her father's shop, a grocer in the Rue du Bac:in fact, she had met with a number of disappointments, estrangements,disillusionments, as she called them in her pretty French jargon, andhad seen and suffered a great deal, for so young a woman. But it isthe lot of sensibility to suffer, and of confiding tenderness to bedeceived, and she felt that she was only undergoing the penalties ofgenius, in these pangs and disappointments of her young career.
Meanwhile, she managed to make the honest lady, her mother, asuncomfortable as circumstances would permit; and caused her worthystep-father to wish she was dead. With the exception of Captain Strong,whose invincible good humor was proof against her sarcasms, the littlelady ruled the whole house with her tongue. If Lady Clavering talkedabout sparrowgrass instead of asparagus, or called an object a hobject,as this unfortunate lady would sometimes do, Missy calmly corrected her,and frightened the good soul, her mother, into errors only the morefrequent as she grew more nervous under her daughter's eye.
It is not to be supposed, considering the vast interest which thearrival of the family at Clavering Park inspired in the inhabitantsof the little town, that Madame Fribsby alone, of all the folks inClavering, should have remained unmoved and incurious. At the firstappearance of the Park family in church, madame noted every article oftoilet which the ladies wore, from their bonnets to their brodequins,and took a survey of the attire of the ladies' maids in the pew allottedto them. We fear that Doctor Portman's sermon, though it was one of hisoldest and most valued compositions, had little effect upon MadameFribsby on that day. In a very few days afterward, she had managed forherself an interview with Lady Clavering's confidential attendant in thehousekeeper's room at the Park; and her cards in French and English,stating that she received the newest fashions from Paris, from hercorrespondent Madame Victorine, and that she was in the custom of makingcourt and ball dresses for the nobility and gentry of the shire, were inthe possession of Lady Clavering and Miss Amory, and favorably received,as she was happy to hear, by those ladies.
Mrs. Bonner, Lady Clavering's lady, became soon a great frequenter ofMadame Fribsby's drawing-room, and partook of many entertainments at themilliner's expense. A meal of green tea, scandal, hot Sally-Lunn cakes,and a little novel reading, were always at the service of Mrs. Bonner,whenever she was free to pass an evening in the town. And she found muchmore time for these pleasures than her junior officer, Miss Amory'smaid, who seldom could be spared for a holiday, and was worked as hardas any factory girl by that inexorable little muse, her mistress.
The muse loved to be dressed becomingly, and, having a lively fancy anda poetic desire for change, was for altering her attire every day. Hermaid, having a taste in dress-making--to which art she had been anapprentice at Paris, before she entered into Miss Blanche's servicethere--was kept from morning till night altering and remodeling MissAmory's habiliments; and rose very early and went to bed very late, inobedience to the untiring caprices of her little task-mistress. Thegirl was of respectable English parents. There are many of our people,colonists of Paris, who have seen better days, who are not quite ruined,who do not quite live upon charity, and yet can not get on without it;and as her father was a cripple incapable of work, and her return homewould only increase the burthen and add to the misery of the family,poor Pincott was fain to stay where she could maintain herself, andspare a little relief to her parents.
Our muse, with the candor which distinguished her, never failed toremind her attendant of the real state of matters. "I should send youaway, Pincott, for you are a great deal too weak, and your eyes arefailing you, and you are always crying and sniveling and wanting thedoctor; but I wish that your parents at home should be supported, andI go on enduring you for their sake, mind," the dear Blanche would sayto her timid little attendant. Or, "Pincott, your wretched appearanceand slavish manner, and red eyes, positively give me the migraine;and I think I shall make you wear rouge, so that you may look a littlecheerful;" or, "Pincott, I can't bear, even for the sake of yourstarving parents, that you should tear my hair out of my head in thatmanner; and I will thank you to write to them and say that I dispensewith your services." After which sort of speeches, and after keeping herfor an hour trembling over her hair, which the young lady loved to havecombed, as she perused one of her favorite French novels, she would goto bed at one o'clock, and say, "Pincott, you may kiss me. Good night.I should like you to have the pink dress ready for the morning." Andso with a blessing upon her attendant, she would turn round and go tosleep.
The muse might lie in bed as long as she chose of a morning, andavailed herself of that privilege; but Pincott had to rise very earlyindeed to get her mistress's task done; and had to appear next day withthe same red eyes and the same wan face, which displeased Miss Amoryby their want of gayety, and caused the mistress to be so angry, becausethe servant persisted in being and looking unwell and unhappy. Notthat Blanche ever thought she was a hard mistress. Indeed, she madequite a friend of Pincott, at times, and wrote some very pretty versesabout the lonely little tiring-maid, whose heart was far away. Ourbeloved Blanche was a superior being, and expected to be waited uponas such. And I do not know whether there are any other ladies in thisworld, who treat their servants or dependents so, but it may be thatthere are such, and that the tyranny which they exercise over theirsubordinates, and the pangs which they can manage to inflict with a softvoice, and a well-bred simper, are as cruel as those which a slave-driveradministers with an oath and a whip.
But Blanche was a muse--a delicate little creature, quite tremulouswith excitability, whose eyes filled with tears at the smallest emotion;and who knows, but that it was the very fineness of her feelings whichcaused them to be _froissed_ so easily? You crush a butterfly by merelytouching it. Vulgar people have no idea of the sensibility of a muse.
So little Pincott being occupied all day and night in stitching,hemming, ripping, combing, ironing, crimping, for her mistress; inreading to her when in bed--for the girl was mistress of the twolanguages, and had a sweet voice and manner--could take no share inMadame Fribsby's soirees, nor indeed was she much missed, or consideredof sufficient consequence to appear at their entertainments.
But there was another person connected with the Clavering establishment,who became a constant guest of our friend, the milliner. This was thechief of the kitchen, Monsieur Mirobolant, with whom Madame Fribsby soonformed an intimacy.
Not having been accustomed to the appearance or society of personsof the French nation, the rustic inhabitants of Clavering were not sofavorably impressed by Monsieur Alcide's manners and appearance, asthat gentleman might have desired that they should be. He walked amongthem quite unsuspiciously upon the afternoon of a summer day, when hisservices were not required at the house, in his usual favorite costume,namely, his light green frock or paletot, his crimson velvet waistcoat,with blue glass buttons, his pantalon Ecossais, of a very large anddecided check pattern, his orange satin neckcloth, and his jean-boots,with tips of shiny leather--these, with a gold embroidered cap, and
arichly-gilt cane, or other varieties of ornament of a similar tendency,formed his usual holiday costume, in which he flattered himself therewas nothing remarkable (unless, indeed, the beauty of his person shouldattract observation), and in which he considered that he exhibited theappearance of a gentleman of good Parisian ton.
He walked then down the street, grinning and ogling every woman he met,with glances, which he meant should kill them outright, and peered overthe railings, and in at the windows, where females were, in the tranquilsummer evening. But Betsy, Mrs. Pybus's maid, shrank back with a Lorbless us, as Alcide ogled her over the laurel bush; the Miss Bakers, andtheir mamma, stared with wonder; and presently a crowd began to followthe interesting foreigner, of ragged urchins and children, who lefttheir dirt-pies in the street to pursue him.
For some time he thought that admiration was the cause which ledthese persons in his wake, and walked on, pleased himself that hecould so easily confer on others so much harmless pleasure. But thelittle children and dirt-pie manufacturers were presently succeededby followers of a larger growth, and a number of lads and girls fromthe factory being let loose at this hour, joined the mob, and beganlaughing, jeering, hooting, and calling opprobrious names at theFrenchman. Some cried out, "Frenchy! Frenchy!" some exclaimed "Frogs!"one asked for a lock of his hair, which was long and in richly-flowingringlets; and at length the poor artist began to perceive that he wasan object of derision rather than of respect to the rude, grinning mob.
It was at this juncture that Madame Fribsby spied the unlucky gentlemanwith the train at his heels, and heard the scornful shouts with whichthey assailed him. She ran out of her room, and across the street to thepersecuted foreigner; she held out her hand, and, addressing him in hisown language, invited him into her abode; and when she had housed himfairly within her door, she stood bravely at the threshold before thegibing factory girls and boys, and said they were a pack of cowards toinsult a poor man who could not speak their language, and was aloneand without protection. The little crowd, with some ironical cheers andhooting, nevertheless felt the force of Madame Fribsby's vigorousallocution, and retreated before her; for the old lady was ratherrespected in the place, and her oddity and her kindness had made hermany friends there.
Poor Mirobolant was grateful indeed to hear the language of hiscountry ever so ill spoken. Frenchmen pardon our faults in theirlanguage much more readily than we excuse their bad English; and willface our blunders throughout a long conversation, without the leastpropensity to grin. The rescued artist vowed that Madame Fribsby was hisguardian angel, and that he had not as yet met with such suavity andpoliteness among _les Anglaises_. He was as courteous and complimentaryto her as if it was the fairest and noblest of ladies whom he wasaddressing: for Alcide Mirobolant paid homage, after his fashion, to allwomankind, and never dreamed of a distinction of ranks in the realms ofbeauty, as his phrase was.
A cream, flavored with pine-apple--a mayonnaise of lobster, which heflattered himself was not unworthy of his hand, or of her to whom he hadthe honor to offer it as an homage, and a box of preserved fruits ofProvence, were brought by one of the chef's aids-de-camp, in a basket,the next day to the milliner's and were accompanied with a gallant noteto the amiable Madame Fribsbi. "Her kindness," Alcide said, "had madea green place in the desert of his existence--her suavity would evercontrast in memory with the _grossierete_ of the rustic population,who were not worthy to possess such a jewel." An intimacy of the mostconfidential nature thus sprang up between the milliner and the chefof the kitchen; but I do not know whether it was with pleasure ormortification that madame received the declarations of friendship whichthe young Alcide proffered to her, for he persisted in calling her"_La respectable Fribsbi_," "_La vertueuse Fribsbi_,"--and in statingthat he should consider her as his mother, while he hoped she wouldregard him as her son. Ah! it was not very long ago, Fribsby thought,that words had been addressed to her in that dear French language,indicating a different sort of attachment. And she sighed as she lookedup at the picture of her Carabineer. For it is surprising how young somepeople's hearts remain when their heads have need of a front or a littlehair-dye--and, at this moment, Madame Fribsby, as she told young Alcide,felt as romantic as a girl of eighteen.
When the conversation took this turn--and at their first intimacy MadameFribsby was rather inclined so to lead it--Alcide always politelydiverged to another subject: it was as his mother that he persistedin considering the good milliner. He would recognize her in no othercapacity, and with that relationship the gentle lady was forced tocontent herself, when she found how deeply the artist's heart wasengaged elsewhere.
He was not long before he described to her the subject and origin of hispassion.
"I declared myself to her," said Alcide, laying his hand on his heart,"in a manner which was as novel as I am charmed to think it wasagreeable. Where can not love penetrate, respectable Madame Fribsbi?Cupid is the father of invention!--I inquired of the domestics what werethe _plats_ of which mademoiselle partook with most pleasure; and builtup my little battery accordingly. On a day when her parents had gone todine in the world (and I am grieved to say that a grossier dinner at arestaurateur, in the Boulevard, or in the Palais Royal, seemed to formthe delights of these unrefined persons), the charming Miss entertainedsome comrades of the pension; and I advised myself to send up a littlerepast suitable to so delicate young palates. Her lovely name isBlanche. The vail of the maiden is white; the wreath of roses which shewears is white. I determined that my dinner should be as spotless as thesnow. At her accustomed hour, and instead of the rude _gigot a l'eau_,which was ordinarily served at her too simple table, I sent her up alittle _potage a la Reine--a la Reine Blanche_ I called it--as whiteas her own tint--and confectioned with the most fragrant cream andalmonds. I then offered up at her shrine a _filet de merlan a l'Agnes_,and a delicate _plat_, which I have designated as _Eperlan a laSainte-Therese_, and of which my charming Miss partook with pleasure.I followed this by two little _entrees_ of sweet-bread and chicken; andthe only brown thing which I permitted myself in the entertainment was alittle roast of lamb, which I laid in a meadow of spinaches, surroundedwith croustillons, representing sheep, and ornamented with daisies andother savage flowers. After this came my second service: a pudding _a laReine Elizabeth_ (who, Madame Fribsbi knows, was a maiden princess); adish of opal-colored plover's eggs, which I called _Nid de tourtereauxa la Roucoule_; placing in the midst of them two of those tendervolatiles, billing each other, and confectioned with butter; a basketcontaining little _gateaux_ of apricots, which, I know, all young ladiesadore; and a jelly of marasquin, bland, insinuating, intoxicatingas the glance of beauty. This I designated _Ambroisie de Calypso a laSouveraine de mon Coeur_. And when the ice was brought in--an ice of_plombiere_ and cherries--how do you think I had shaped them, MadameFribsbi? In the form of two hearts united with an arrow, on which Ihad laid, before it entered, a bridal vail in cut-paper, surmounted bya wreath of virginal orange-flowers. I stood at the door to watch theeffect of this entry. It was but one cry of admiration. The three youngladies filled their glasses with the sparkling Ay, and carried me ina toast. I heard it--I heard miss speak of me--I heard her say, 'TellMonsieur Mirobolant that we thank him--we admire him--we love him!'My feet almost failed me as I spoke.
"Since that, can I have any reason to doubt that the young artist hasmade some progress in the heart of the English Miss? I am modest, butmy glass informs me that I am not ill-looking. Other victories haveconvinced me of the fact."
"Dangerous man!" cried the milliner.
"The blond misses of Albion see nothing in the dull inhabitants oftheir brumous isle, which can compare with the ardor and vivacity of thechildren of the south. We bring our sunshine with us; we are Frenchmen,and accustomed to conquer. Were it not for this affair of the heart, andmy determination to marry an Anglaise, do you think I would stop in thisisland (which is not altogether ungrateful, since I have found herea tender mother in the respectable Madame Fribsbi), in this island,in this f
amily? My genius would use itself in the company of theserustics--the poesy of my art can not be understood by these carnivorousinsularies. No--the men are odious, but the women--the women! I own,dear Fribsbi, are seducing! I have vowed to marry one; and as I cannot go into your markets and purchase, according to the custom of thecountry, I am resolved to adopt another custom, and fly with one toGretna Green. The blonde Miss will go. She is fascinated. Her eyes havetold me so. The white dove wants but the signal to fly."
"Have you any correspondence with her?" asked Fribsby, in amazement, andnot knowing whether the young lady or the lover might be laboring undera romantic delusion.
"I correspond with her by means of my art. She partakes of dishes whichI make expressly for her. I insinuate to her thus a thousand hints,which, as she is perfectly spiritual, she receives. But I want otherintelligences near her."
"There is Pincott, her maid," said Madame Fribsby, who, by aptitude oreducation, seemed to have some knowledge of affairs of the heart, butthe great artist's brow darkened at this suggestion.
"Madame," he said, "there are points upon which a gallant man ought tosilence himself; though, if he break the secret, he may do so with theleast impropriety to his best friend--his adopted mother. Know then,that there is a cause why Miss Pincott should be hostile to me--a causenot uncommon with your sex--jealousy."
"Perfidious monster!" said the confidante.
"Ah, no," said the artist, with a deep bass voice, and a tragic accentworthy of the Porte St. Martin and his favorite melo-drames. "Notperfidious, but fatal. Yes, I am a fatal man, Madame Fribsbi. To inspirehopeless passion is my destiny. I can not help it that women love me. Isit my fault that that young woman deperishes and languishes to the viewof the eye, consumed by a flame which I can not return? Listen! Thereare others in this family who are similarly unhappy. The governess ofthe young Milor has encountered me in my walks, and looked at me in away which can bear but one interpretation. And Milady herself, who isof mature age, but who has oriental blood, has once or twice addressedcompliments to the lonely artist which can admit of no mistake. I avoidthe household, I seek solitude, I undergo my destiny. I can marry butone, and am resolved it shall be to a lady of your nation. And, if herfortune is sufficient, I think Miss would be the person who would bemost suitable. I wish to ascertain what her means are before I lead herto Gretna Grin."
Whether Alcide was as irresistible a conqueror as his namesake, orwhether he was simply crazy, is a point which must be left to thereader's judgment. But the latter, if he has had the benefit of muchFrench acquaintance, has perhaps met with men among them who fanciedthemselves almost as invincible; and who, if you credit them, have madeequal havoc in the hearts of _les Anglaises_.