XVII: Doing the Handsome Thing
It by no means lessened my pleasure to discern that Hortense must feelherself to be in a predicament; and as I sat writing my answer tothe note, which was from Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael and contained aninvitation to me for the next afternoon, I thought of those pilots whosedangers have come down to us from distant times through the songs ofancient poets. The narrow and tempestuous channel between Scylla andCharybdis bristled unquestionably with violent problems, but with none,I should suppose, that called for a nicer hand upon the wheel, or an eyemore alert, than this steering of your little trireme to a successfulmarriage, between one man who believed himself to be your destinedbridegroom and another who expected to be so, meanwhile keeping eachin ignorance of how close you were sailing to the other. In Hortense'splace I should have wished to hasten the wedding now, have it safelyperformed this afternoon, say, or to-morrow morning; thus precipitatedby some invaluable turn in the health of her poor dear father. But shehad worn it out, his health, by playing it for decidedly as much as itcould bear; it couldn't be used again without risk; the date must standfixed; and, uneasy as she might have begun to be about John, Hortensemust, with no shortening of the course, get her boat in safe withoutsmashing it against either John or Charley. I wondered a little that sheshould feel any uncertainty about her affianced lover. She must know howmuch his word was to him, and she had had his word twice, given herthe second time to put his own honor right with her on the score of thephosphates. But perhaps Hortense's rich experiences of life had taughther that a man's word to a woman should not be subjected to the testof another woman's advent. On the whole, I suppose it was quite naturalthose flowers should annoy her, and equally natural that Eliza, theminx, should allow them to do so! There's a joy to the marrow inwatching your enemy harried and discomfited by his own gratuitouscontrivances; you look on serenely at a show which hasn't cost you agroat. However, poor Eliza had not been so serene at the very end,when she stormed out at me. For this I did not have to forgive her, ofcourse, little as I had merited such treatment. Had she not accepted myflowers? But it was a gratification to reflect that in my sentimentalpassages with her I had not gone to any great length; nothing, do I everfind, is so irksome as the sense of having unwittingly been in a falseposition. Was John, on his side, in love with her? Was it possible hewould fail in his word? So with these thoughts, while answering andaccepting Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael's invitation to make one of aparty of strangers to whom she was going to show another old Kings Portchurch, "where many of my ancestors lie," as her note informed me, Iadded one sentence which had nothing to do with the subject "She is asteel wasp," I ventured to say. And when on the next afternoon I met theparty at the church, I received from the little lady a look of highlyspiced comprehension as she gently remarked, "I was glad to get youracceptance."
When I went down to the dinner-table, Juno sat in her best clothes,still discussing the Daughters of Dixie.
I can't say that I took much more heed of this at dinner than I haddone at tea; but I was interested to hear Juno mention that she, too,intended to call upon Hortense Rieppe. Kings Port, she said, must takea consistent position; and for her part, so far as behavior went, shedidn't see much to choose between the couple. "As to whether Mr. Mayranthad really concealed the discovery of his fortune," she continued, "Iasked Miss Josephine--in a perfectly nice way, of course. But old Mr.St. Michael Beaugarcon, who has always had the estate in charge, didthat. It is only a life estate, unless Mr. Mayrant has lawful issue.Well, he will have that now, and all that money will be his tosquander."
Aunt Carola had written me again this morning, but I had been in nohaste to open her letter; my neglect of the Bombos did not weigh tooheavily upon me, I fear, but I certainly did put off reading what Iexpected to be a reprimand. And concerning this I was right; her firstwords betokened reprimand at once. "My dear nephew Augustus," she began,in her fine, elegant handwriting. That was always her mode of addressto me when something was coming, while at other times it would be, lessportentously, "My dear Augustus," or "My dear nephew "; but whenevermy name and my relationship to her occurred conjointly, I took thecommunication away with me to some corner, and opened it in solitude.
It wasn't about the Bombos, though; and for what she took me to task Iwas able to defend myself, I think, quite adequately. She found faultwith me for liking the South too much, and this she based upon theenthusiastic accounts of Kings Port and its people that I had writtento her; nor had she at all approved of my remarks on the subject of thenegro, called forth by Daddy Ben and his grandson Charles Cotesworth.
"When I sent you (wrote Aunt Carola) to admire Kings Port good-breeding,I did not send you to forget your country. Remember that those peoplewere its mortal enemies; that besides their treatment of our prisonersin Libby and Andersonville (which killed my brother Alexander) theydisplayed in their dealings, both social and political, an arrogancein success and a childish petulance at opposition, which we who saw andsuffered can never forget, any more than we can forget our loved oneswho laid down their lives for this cause."
These were not the only words with which Aunt Carola reproved what shetermed my "disloyalty," but they will serve to indicate her feelingabout the Civil War. It was--on her side--precisely the feeling of allthe Kings Port old ladies on Heir side. But why should it be mine? Andso, after much thinking how I might best reply respectfully yet say toAunt Carola what my feeling was, I sat down upstairs at my window, and,after some preliminary sentences, wrote:--
"There are dead brothers here also, who, like your brother, laid downtheir lives for what they believed was their country, and whom theirsisters never can forget as you can never forget him. I read theirnames upon sad church tablets, and their boy faces look out at me fromcherished miniatures and dim daguerreotypes. Upon their graves the womenwho mourn them leave flowers as you leave flowers upon the grave of youryoung soldier. You will tell me, perhaps, that since the bereavementis equal, I have not justified my sympathy for these people. But thebereavement was not equal. More homes here were robbed by death of theirlight and promise than with us; and to this you must add the materialdesolation of the homes themselves. Our roofs were not laid in ashes,and to-day we sit in affluence while they sit in privation. You willsay to this, perhaps, that they brought it upon themselves. But evengranting that they did so, surely to suffer and to lose is more bitterthan to suffer and to win. My dear aunt, you could not see what I haveseen here, and write to me as you do; and if those years have leftupon your heart a scar which will not vanish, do not ask me, who cameafterward, to wear the scar also. I should then resemble certain of theyounger ones here, with less excuse than is theirs. As for the negro,forgive me if I assure you that you retain an Abolitionist exaltationfor a creature who does not exist, or whose existence is an ineffectualdrop in the bucket, a creature on grateful knees raising faithful eyesto one who has struck off his chains of slavery, whereas the creaturewho does exist is--"
I paused here in my letter to Aunt Carola, and sought for some fittingexpression that should characterize for her with sufficient severitythe new type of deliberately worthless negro; and as I sought, my eyeswandered to the garden next door, the garden of the Cornerlys. On abench near a shady arrangement of vines over bars sat Hortense Rieppe.She was alone, and, from her attitude, seemed to be thinking deeply. Thehigh walls of the garden shut her into a privacy that her position nearthe shady vines still more increased. It was evident that she had comehere for the sake of being alone, and I regretted that she was so turnedfrom me that I could not see her face. But her solitude did not longcontinue; there came into view a gentleman of would-be venerableappearance, who approached her with a walk carefully constructed forpublic admiration, and who, upon reaching her, bent over with the samesort of footlight elaboration and gave her a paternal kiss. I did notneed to hear her call him father; he was so obviously General Rieppe,the prudent hero of Chattanooga, that words would have been perfectlysuperfluous in his identification.
I was destined upon another day to hear the tones of his voice, andthereupon may as well state now that they belonged altogether with therest of him. There is a familiar type of Northern fraud, and a Southerntype, equally familiar, but totally different in appearance. TheNorthern type has the straight, flat, earnest hair, the shaven upperlip, the chin-beard, and the benevolent religious expression. He will bethe president of several charities, and the head of one great business.He plays no cards, drinks no wine, and warns young men to beware oftemptation. He is as genial as a hair-sofa; and he is seldom found outby the public unless some financial crash in general affairs uncovershis cheating, which lies most often beyond the law's reach; and becausehe cannot be put in jail, he quite honestly believes heaven is hisdestination. We see less of him since we have ceased to be a religiouscountry, religion no longer being an essential disguise for him. TheSouthern type, with his unction and his juleps, is better company,unless he is the hero of too many of his own anecdotes. He is commonlythe possessor of a poetic gaze, a mane of silvery hair, and a nobleneck. As war days and cotton-factor days recede into a past more andmore filmed over with romance, he too grows rare among us, and Iregret it, for he was in truth a picturesque figure. General Rieppe wasperfect.
At first I was sorry that the distance they were from me renderedhearing what they were saying impossible; very soon, however, the frameof my open window provided me with a living picture which would havebeen actually spoiled had the human voice disturbed its eloquentpantomime.
General Rieppe's daughter responded to her father's caress butlanguidly, turning to him her face, with its luminous, stationarybeauty. He pointed to the house, and then waved his hand toward thebench where she sat; and she, in response to this, nodded slightly.Upon which the General, after another kiss of histrionic paternityadministered to her forehead, left her sitting and proceeded alongthe garden walk at a stately pace, until I could no longer see him.Hortense, left alone upon the bench, looked down at the folds of herdress, extended a hand and slowly rearranged one of them, and then, withthe same hand, felt her hair from front to back. This had scarce beenaccomplished when the General reappeared, ushering Juno along the walk,and bearing a chair with him. When they turned the corner at the arbor,Hortense rose, and greetings ensued. Few objects could be straighterthan was Juno's back; her card-case was in her hand, but her pocket wasnot quite large enough for the whole of her pride, which stuck out sothat it could have been seen from a greater distance than my window.The General would have departed, placing his chair for the visitor, whenHortense waved for him an inviting hand toward the bench beside her;he waved a similarly inviting hand, looking at Juno, who thereupon satfirmly down upon the chair. At this the General hovered heavily, lookingat his daughter, who gave him no look in return, as she engaged inconversation with Juno; and presently the General left them. Juno's backand Hortense's front, both entirely motionless as they interviewed eachother' presented a stiff appearance, with Juno half turned in her seatand Hortense's glance following her slight movement; the two then rose,as the General came down the walk with two chairs and Mrs. Gregory andMrs. Weguelin St. Michael. Juno, with a bow to them, approached Hortenseby a step or two, a brief touch of their fingers was to be seen, andJuno's departure took place, attended by the heavy hovering of GeneralRieppe.
"That's why!" I said to myself aloud, suddenly, at my open window.Immediately, however, I added, "but can it be?" And in my mind a wholelittle edifice of reasons for Hortense's apparent determination to marryJohn instantly fabricated itself--and then fell down.
Through John she was triumphantly bringing stiff Kings Port to her, wasforcing them to accept her. But this was scarce enough temptation forHortense to marry; she could do very well without Kings Port--indeed,she was not very likely to show herself in it, save to remind them, nowand then, that she was there, and that they could not keep her out anymore; this might amuse her a little, but the society itself wouldnot amuse her in the least. What place had it for her to smoke hercigarettes in?
Eliza La Heu, then? Spite? The pleasure of taking something thatsomebody else wanted? The pleasure of spoiling somebody else's pleasure?Or, more accurately, the pleasure of power? Well, yes; that might be it,if Hortense Rieppe were younger in years, and younger, especially, insoul; but her museum was too richly furnished with specimens of thechase, she had collected too many bits and bibelots from life's HotelDruot and the great bazaar of female competition, to pay so great aprice as marriage for merely John; particularly when a lady, even inNewport, can have but one husband at a time in her collection. If shedid actually love John, as Beverly Rodgers had reluctantly come tobelieve, it was most inappropriate in her! Had I followed out the trainof reasoning which lay coiled up inside the word inappropriate, I mighthave reached the solution which eventually Hortense herself gave me,and the jewelled recesses of her nature would have blazed still morebrilliantly to my eyes to-day; but in truth, my soul wasn't old enoughyet to work Hortense out by itself, unaided!
While Mrs. Gregory and Mrs. Weguelin sat on their chairs, and Hortensesat on her bench, tea was brought and a table laid, behind whosewhiteness and silver Hortense began slight offices with cups and sugartongs. She looked inquiry at her visitors, in answer to which Mrs.Gregory indicated acceptance, and Mrs. Weguelin refusal. The beauty ofHortense's face had strangely increased since the arrival of these twovisitors. It shone resplendent behind the silver and the white cloth,and her movement, as she gave the cup to Mrs. Gregory St. Michael, wasone of complete grace and admirable propriety. But once she looked awayfrom them in the direction of the path. Her two visitors rose and lefther, Mrs. Gregory setting her tea-cup down with a gesture that saidshe would take no more, and, after their bows of farewell, Hortense satalone again pulling about the tea things.
I saw that by the table lay a card-case on the ground, evidently droppedby Mrs. Gregory; but Hortense could not see it where she sat. Her quicklook along the path heralded more company and the General with morechairs. Young people now began to appear, the various motions of whomwere more animated than the approaches and greetings and farewells oftheir elders; chairs were moved and exchanged, the General was useful inhandling cups, and a number of faces unknown to me came and went, someof them elderly ones whom I had seen in church, or passed while walking;the black dresses of age mingled with the brighter colors of youth; andon her bench behind the cups sat Hortense, or rose up at right moments,radiant, restrained and adequate, receiving with deferential attentionthe remarks of some dark-clothed elder, or, with sufficiently interestedcountenance, inquiring something from a brighter one of her owngeneration; but twice I saw her look up the garden path. None of themstayed long, although when they were all gone the shadow of the gardenwall had come as far as the arbor; and once again Hortense sat alonebehind the table, leaning back with arms folded, and looking straightin front of her. At last she stirred, and rose slowly, and then, witha movement which was the perfection of timidity, began to advance, asJohn, with his Aunt Eliza, came along the path. To John, Hortense withfamiliar yet discreet brightness gave a left hand, as she waited for theold lady; and then the old lady went through with it. What that embraceof acknowledgment cost her cannot be measured, and during its processJohn stood like a sentinel. Possibly this was the price of hisforgiveness to his Aunt Eliza.
The visitors accepted tea, and the beauty in Hortense's face was nowsupreme. The old lady sat, forgetting to drink her tea, but very stillin outward attitude, as she talked with Hortense; and the sight of onehand in its glove lying motionless upon her best dress, suddenly almostdrew unexpected tears to my eyes. John was nearly as quiet as she, butthe glove that he held was twisted between his fingers. I expectedthat he would stay with his Hortense when his aunt took her leave; he,however, was evidently expected by the old lady to accompany her out andback, I suppose, to her house, as was proper.
But John's departure from Hortense differed from his meeting her. Shegave no left hand to him now; she gazed at him, and then, as the oldlady began to
go toward the house, she moved a step toward him, andthen she cast herself into his arms! It was no acting, this, no skilfulsimulation; her head sank upon his shoulder, and true passion spoke inevery line of that beautiful surrendered form, as it leaned against herlover's.
"So that's why!" I exclaimed, once more aloud.
It was but a moment; and John, released, followed Miss Eliza. The oldlady walked slowly, with that half-failing step that betokens the body'sweariness after great mental or moral strain. Indeed, as John regainedher side, she put her arm in his as if her feebleness needed hissupport. Thus they went away together, the aunt and her beloved boy, whohad so sorely grieved and disappointed her.
But if this sight touched me, this glimpse of the vanquished leaving thefield after supreme acknowledgment of defeat, upon Hortense it wroughtanother effect altogether. She stood looking after them, and as shelooked, the whole woman from head to foot, motionless as she was, seemedto harden. Yet still she looked, until at length, slowly turning, hereyes chanced to fall upon Mrs. Gregory St. Michael's card-case. Thereit lay, the symbol of Kings Port's capitulation. She swooped down andup with a flying curve of grace, holding her prey caught; and then,catching also her handsome skirts on either side, she danced like awhirling fan among the empty chairs.