PARIS, _October_.
MY DEAR MRS. DOWNE,--Here we are at last! I can hardly believe
it. Our coming was so sudden that it seems like a delightful
dream. You know at Mrs. Potiphar’s supper last August in Newport, she
was piqued by Gauche Boosey’s saying, in his smiling, sarcastic way:
“What! do you really think this is a pretty supper? Dear me!
Mrs. Potiphar, you ought to see one of our _petits soupers_ in
Paris, hey Croesus?” and then he and Mr. Timon Croesus lifted their
brows knowingly, and smiled, and glanced compassionately around the
table.
“Paris, Paris!” cried Mrs. Potiphar; “you young men are always talking
about Paris, as if it were heaven. Oh! Mr. P., do take me to
Paris. Let’s make up a party, and slip over. It’s so easy now, you
know. Come, come, Pot. I know you won’t deny me. Just for two or three
months, The truth is,” said she, turning to D’Orsay Firkin, who wore
that evening the loveliest shirt-bosom I ever saw, “I want to send
home some patterns of new dresses to Minerva Tattle.”
They all laughed, and in the midst Kurz Pacha, who was sitting at the
side of Mrs. Potiphar, inquired:
“What colors suit the Indian summer best, Mrs. Potiphar?”
“Well, a kind of misty color,” said Boosey, laughingly, and
emphasizing _missed_, as if he meant some pun upon the word.
“Which conceals the outline of the landscape,” interrupted Mrs. Gnu.
“Cajoling you with a sense of warmth on the very edge of winter, eh?”
asked the Sennaar minister.
Another loud laugh rang round the table.
“I thought Minerva Tattle was a friend of yours, Kurz Pacha,” said
Mrs. Gnu, smiling mischievously, and playing with her beautiful
bouquet, which Mrs. Potiphar told me Timon Croesus had sent her.
“Certainly, so she is,” replied he. “Miss Minerva and I understand
each other perfectly. I like her society immensely. The truth is, I am
always better in autumn; the air is both cool and bright.”
As he said this he looked fixedly at Mrs. Gnu, and there was not quite
so much laughing. I am sure I don’t know what they meant by talking
about autumn. I was busy talking with Mr. Firkin about Daisy Clover’s
pretty morning dress at the Bowling Alley, and admiring his
shirt-bosom. Suddenly there was a knock at the door, and an exquisite
bouquet was handed in for Kurz Pacha.
“Why didn’t you wait until to-morrow?” said he, sharply.
The man stammered some excuse, and the ambassador took the
flowers. Mrs. Gnu looked at them closely, and praised them very much,
and quietly glanced at her own, which were really splendid. Kurz
Pacha showed them to all the ladies at table, and then handed them to
Mrs. Potiphar, saying to her, as he half looked at Mrs. Gnu:
“There is nothing autumnal here.”
“Mrs. Potiphar thanked him with real delight, and he turned toward
Mrs. Gnu, at whom he had been constantly looking, and who was playing
placidly with her bouquet, and said with an air of one paying a great
compliment:
“To offer _you_ a bouquet, madame, would be to throw pearls
before swine.”
We were all silent for a moment, and then the young men sprang up
together, while we women laughed, half afraid.
“Good heavens! Kurz Pacha, what do you mean?” cried Mrs. Potiphar.
“Mean?” answered he, evidently confused, and blushing; “why, I’m
afraid I have made some mistake. I meant to say something very
polite, but my English sometimes gives way.”
“Your impudence never does,” muttered Mrs. Gnu, who was unbecomingly
red in the face.
“My dear madame,” said the minister to her, “I assure you I meant only
to use a proverb in a complimentary way; but somehow I have got the
wrong pig by the ear.”
There was another burst of laughter. The young men fairly lay down and
screamed. Mr. Potiphar exploded in great ha ha’s and ho ho’s, from the
end of the table.
“Mrs. Potiphar,” said Mrs. Gnu, with dignity, “I didn’t suppose I was
to be insulted at your table.”
And she went toward the door.
“Mrs. Gnu, Mrs. Gnu,” said Polly, smothering her laughter as well as
she could, “don’t go. Kurz Pacha will explain. I’m sure he means no
insult.”
Here she burst out laughing again; while the poor Sennaar Ambassador
stood erect, and utterly confounded by what was going on.
“I’m sure--I didn’t know--I didn’t--I wouldn’t--Mrs. Gnu knows;” said
he, in the greatest embarrassment. “I beg your pardon sincerely,
madame.” And he looked so humble and repentant that I was really
sorry for him; but I saw Mr. Firkin laughing afresh every time he
looked at the Ambassador, as if he saw something sly behind his
penitence.
“Perhaps,” said Firkin at last, “Kurz Pacha means to say that to offer
flowers to a lady who has already so beautiful a bouquet, would be to
carry coals to Newcastle.”
“That is it,” cried the Pacha; “to Newcastle,”--and he bowed to
Mrs. Gnu.
“Come, Mrs. Gnu, it’s only a mistake,” said Mrs. Potiphar.
But Mrs. Gnu looked rather angry still, although Gauche Boosey tried
very hard to console her, saying as many _bon mots_ as he could
think of--and you know how witty he is. He said at last;
“Why is Mrs. Gnu like Rachel?”
“Rachel who?” asked I. -- I’m sure it was an innocent question; but they all fell to laughing
again, and Mr. Firkin positively cried with fun.
“D’ye give it up?” asked Mr. Boosey.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Potiphar.
“Why, because she will not be comforted.”
There wasn’t half so much laughing at this as at my question--although
Mrs. Potiphar said it was capital, and I thought so too, when I found
out who Rachel was.
But Mrs. Gnu continued to be like Rachel, and Mr. Boosey continued to
try to amuse her. I think it was very hard she wouldn’t be amused by
such a funny man; and he said at last aloud to her, meaning all of us
to hear:
“Well, Mrs. Gnu, upon my honor, it is no epicure to try to console
you.”
She did laugh at this, however, and so did the others.
“Have you ever been in Sennaar, Mr. Boosey?” said Kurz Pacha.
“No; why?”
“Why, I thought we might have learned English at the same school.”
Mr. Boosey looked puzzled; but Mr. Potiphar broke in:
“Well, Mrs. Gnu, I’m glad to see you smile at last. After all, the
remark of the Ambassador’s was only what they would call in France, ‘a
perfect bougie of a joke.’”
“Good evening, Mrs. Potiphar,” cried the Sennaar Minister, rising
suddenly, and running toward the door. We heard him next under the
window going off in great shouts of laughter, and whistling in the
intervals, “Hail Columbia!” What shocking habits he has for a
minister! I don’t know how it was that Mr. Potiphar was in such good
humor; but he promised his wife that she should go to Paris, and that
she might select her party. So she invited us all who were at the
table. Mrs. Gnu declined: but I knew mamma would let me go with the
Potiphars.
“Dear Pot.,” said Mrs. P., “we shall be gone so short a time, and
shall be so busy, and hurrying from one place to another, that we had
better leave little Freddy behind. Poor, dear little fellow, it will
be much better for him to stay.”
Mr. P. looked a little sober at this; but he said nothing except to
ask:
“Shall you all be ready to sail in a fortnight?”
“Certainly, in a week,” we all answered.
“Well, then, we must hurry home to prepare,” said he. “I shall write
for state-rooms for us in Monday’s boat, Polly.”
“Very well; that’s a dear Pot.,” said she; and as we all rose she went
up to him, and took his arm tenderly. It was an unusual sight: I never
saw her do it before. Mrs. Gnu said to me:
“Well, really, that’s rather peculiar. I think people had better make
love in private.”
“No, by Jove,” whispered Mr. Boosey to me; “and I am afraid he had
drank freely, as I have once or twice before heard that he did; but
the world is such a gossip!--no, she doesn’t let _her_ good works
of that kind shine before men.”
“Why, Mr. Boosey,” said I, “how can you?”
“Will you believe, darling Mrs. Downe, that instead of answering, he
sort of winked at me, and said, under his voice, ‘Good night,
Caroline.’ I drew myself up, you may depend, and said coldly:
“Good evening, Mr. Boosey.”
He drew himself up too, and said:
“I called you Caroline, you called me Mr. Boosey.”
And then looking straight and severely at me, he actually winked
again.
Then of course, I knew he was not responsible for his actions.
Ah me, what things we are! Just as I was leaving the room with
Mrs. Gnu, who had matronized me, Mr. Boosey came up with such a soft,
pleading look in his eyes that seemed to say, “please forgive me,” and
put out his hand so humbly, and appeared so sorry and so afraid that I
would not speak to him, that I really pitied him: but when, in his
low, rich voice, he said:
“Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!”--
I couldn’t hold out; wasn’t it pretty? So I put out my hand, and he
shook it tenderly, and said “tomorrow” in a way--well, dear
Mrs. Downe, I will be frank with you--that made me happy all night.
At this rate I shall never get to Paris. But the next day it was known
everywhere we were going and everybody congratulated us. Our party met
at the Bowling Alley, and we began to make all kinds of plans.
“Oh! _we’ll_ take care of all the arrangements,” said Mr. Boosey,
nodding toward Mr. Croesus and Mr. Firkin.
“Mr. Boosey, were you presented to the Emperor?” inquired Kurz Pacha.
“Certainly I was,” replied he; “I have a great respect for Louis
Napoleon. Those Frenchmen didn’t know what they wanted; but he knew
well enough what he wanted: they didn’t want him, perhaps, but he did
want them, and now he has them. A true nephew of his uncle, Kurz
Pacha; and you can see what a man the great Napoleon must have been,
when the little Napoleon succeeds so well upon the strength of the
name.”
“Why, you are really enthusiastic about the Emperors,” said the
Ambassador.
“Certainly,” replied Mr. Boosey, “I have always been a great
Neapolitan.”
Kurz Pacha stared at him a moment, and then took a large pinch of
snuff solemnly. I think it’s very ill bred to stare as he does
sometimes, when somebody has made a remark. I saw nothing particular
in that speech of Mr. Boosey’s; and yet D’Orsay Firkin smiled to
himself as he told Mrs. Gnu it was her turn.
“I wonder, my dear Mrs. Potiphar,” said the Sennaar Minister seating
himself by her side, as the game went on, “that Europeans should have
so poor an idea of America and Americans, when such crowds of the very
best society are constantly crossing the ocean. Now, you and your
friends are going to Paris, perhaps to other parts of Europe, and I
should certainly suppose that, without flattery, (taking another pinch
of snuff,) the foreigners whom you meet might get rid of some of their
prejudices against the Americans. You will go, you know, as the
representatives of a republic where social ranks are not organized to
the exclusion of any; but where talent and character always secure
social consideration. The simplicity of the republican idea and
system will appear in your manners and modes of life. Leaving to the
children of a society based upon antique and aristocratic principles,
to squander their lives in an aimless luxury, you will carry about
with you, as it were the fresh airs and virgin character of a new
country and civilization. When you go to Paris, it will be like a
sweet country breeze blowing into a perfumer’s shop. The customers
will scent something finer than the most exquisite essence, and will
prefer the fresh fragrance of the flower to the most elaborate
distillation. Roses smell sweeter than attar of roses. You and your
party, estimable lady, will be the roses. You will not (am I right
_this_ time?) carry coals to Newcastle; for if any of your
companions think that the sharp eye of Paris will not pierce their
pretensions, or the satiric tongue of Paris fail to immortalize it,
they mistake greatly. You cannot beat Paris with its own weapons; and
Paris will immensely respect you if you use your own. Poor little
Mrs. Vite thinks she passes for a _Parisienne_ in Paris. Why,
there is not a _chiffonier_ in the street at midnight that
couldn’t see straight through the little woman, and nothing would
better please the _Jardin Mabille_ than to have her for a
butt. My dear madame, the ape is a very ingenious animal, and his form
much resembles the human. Moles, probably, and the inhabitants of the
planet Jupiter, do not discern the difference; but I rather think we
do. A ten-strike by Venus! well done, Mrs. Gnu,” cried the Ambassador;
“now, Mrs. Potiphar.”
The Pacha didn’t play; but he asked Mr. Firkin what was a good average
for a man, in the game.
“Well, a spare every time,” said he.
“Mr. Firkin,” asked Mrs. Gnu, “what is a good woman’s average?”
“Does any lady here know that?” inquired the Pacha, looking round.
“No,” said Mr. Boosey; “we must send and inquire of Miss Tattle.”
“How pleasantly the game goes on, dear Mrs. Gnu,” said the Pacha;
“but Miss Minerva ought to be here, she always holds such a good hand
at every game.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Gnu, “that if she once got a good hold of any
hand, she wouldn’t let it go immediately.”
“Good!” shouted Mr. Boosey.
“Hi! hi!” roared Mr. Potiphar.
The Pacha took snuff placidly, and said quietly:
“You’ve fairly trumped my trick, and taken it, Mrs. Gnu.”
“I should say the trick has taken her,” whispered Mr. Firkin at my
elbow to Kurz Pacha.
The Sennaar Ambassador opened his eyes wide, and offered Mr. Firkin
his snuff-box.
Monday came at length. It was well known that we were all going--the
Potiphars and the rest of us. Everybody had spoken of the difficulty
of getting state-rooms on the steamer to town, and hoped we had spoken
in time.
“I have written and secured my rooms,” said Mr. Potiphar to everybody
he met; “I am not to be left in the lurch, my dear sir, it isn’t my
way.” And then he marched on, Gauche Boosey said, as if at least both
sides of the street were his way. He’s changed a great deal lately.
The De Familles were going the same day. “Hope you’ve secured rooms,
De Famille,” said Mr. Potiphar blandly to him.
“No,” answered he, shortly; “no, not yet; it isn’t my way; I don’t
mean to give myself trouble about things; I don’t bother; it isn’t my
way.”
And each went his own way up and down the street. But early on Monday
afternoon Mr. De Famille and his family drove toward Fall Kiver, from
which place the boat starts.
Monday evening the Potiphars and the rest of us went to the wharf at
Newport, and presently the boat came up. We bundled on board, and as
soon as he could get to the office Mr. Potiphar asked for the keys of
his rooms.
“Why, sir,” said the clerk, “Mr. De Famille has them. He came on board
at Fall Eiver and asked for your keys, as if the rooms had been
secured for him.”
“What does that mean?” demanded Mr. Potiphar.
“Oh! ah! I remember now,” said Mr. Boosey. “I saw the De Familles all
getting into a carriage for a little drive, as Mr. De F., said, about
two o’clock this afternoon.”
Mr. Potiphar looked like a thunder-storm. “What the devil does it
mean?” asked he of the clerk, while the passengers hustled him, and
punched him, and the hook of an umbrella-stick caught in his
cravat-knot, and untied it.
“Send up immediately, and say that Mr. Potiphar wants his
state-rooms,” said he to the clerk.