THE CLERK OF THE COUNCIL
We had a wonderful time at the City Hall that afternoon with Louis. It
was quite near our hotel, so Dee's agony over Louis' feelings about
carfare was assuaged.
My idea of a City Hall had always been that it was a very ugly and stiff
place where City Fathers wrangled about sewerage and garbage
collections, and whether they should or should not open up such and such
a street or close such and such an alley,--a place where taxes were paid
or evaded, and where one kicked about the size of the gas bill.
The Charleston City Hall was quite different. There may have been places
where discontented persons contended about gas and taxes, but we did not
see them. We were told that Charleston had but recently gone through
what was a real riot on the subject of the election of the Mayor, but
there was a dignity and peace breathing from the very stones of that old
edifice that made us doubt the possibility of dissension having been
within its walls.
City Fathers could not have mentioned such a thing as sewerage and
garbage in the presence of those wonderful and august portraits and
busts. As for opening streets that never had been opened before! Why do
it? And alleys that had always been closed! Let well enough alone.
Louis Gaillard was quite a friend of the Clerk of the Council, a very
scholarly and interesting young man with a French name, who was kindness
itself in showing us the treasures of the City Hall. He knew and loved
every one of them, and Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, could not
have been more eloquent in praise of her jewels. He might well be proud
of them, as I doubt there being a more complete collection of things of
civic and historical interest in any City Hall in all the world,
certainly not in America.
In the Mayor's office there hung a peculiarly interesting fragment of a
painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller. It was Queen Anne's hand resting on a
crown. The rest of the picture had been cut away by some vandal after
the wonderful painting had gone through various vicissitudes during the
Revolutionary War. Queen Anne was always a dead, dull person to my mind,
and the only thing that ever interested me about her was the fact that
she did have a crown, and perhaps if the picture was to be destroyed the
crown was about the most interesting part to preserve.
I don't want to sound like a guide-book, and I am afraid I might if I
tell of all the treasures in that Council Chamber. I must mention
Trumbull's portrait of Washington, however. It is very wonderful. The
great general stands in Continental uniform by his white charger, every
inch a soldier.
"It does not look exactly like the Gilbert Stuart portraits," said Dum.
"No," explained the young man ingenuously, "Stuart painted Washington
after he had false teeth, and that changed his appearance a great deal.
This picture is valued at $100,000, but of course no money could induce
the City of Charleston to part with it."
Then there was Healy's portrait of John C. Calhoun, a wonderful
painting. Dum and Mrs. Green thought that from an artistic standpoint it
was of more value than the Trumbull portrait of Washington. I am frankly
ignorant of what is best in pictures, but I am trying to learn. I
certainly liked the Healy portrait very much, though. The hands were
wonderful, and Dum said that was a true test of painting; that if an
artist was not a top-notcher he could not draw hands, and usually made
the model sit on them or put them in his pocket, or if it happened to be
a woman, covered them up with drapery. The Clerk of the Council seemed
very much amused by Dum's remarks and delighted with her interest, and
we noticed he addressed most of his explanations to her while we trailed
along in their wake.
There was a portrait of Francis Marion which rather amused us, as he is
dressed in uniform with a brigadier general's hat. Now we all knew that
Marion never wore anything more tony than a coon skin cap, and he looked
as funny as Daniel Boone would painted in a Tuxedo with an opera hat.
Portraits of President Monroe, Andrew Jackson, Zachary Taylor, General
Moultrie, Beauregard, Wade Hampton, and five mayors who held the civic
reins of Charleston in troublous times adorn the walls. There were many
other Charlestonians of note whom their city had delighted to honor, but
I am afraid of getting too guide-booky if I dwell on them.
The cablegram Queen Victoria sent at the time of the earthquake,
expressing her sympathy for the sufferers has been carefully preserved.
It is the original autograph copy, which, together with the letters from
Mayor Courtney, Secretary of State Bayard, and E. J. Phelps, United
States Minister to the Court of St. James, which were written in regard
to obtaining the original message, are embodied in a book and handsomely
bound. The message reads:
"To the President of the United States: I desire
to express profound sympathy with the sufferers by
the late earthquake, and await with anxiety
further intelligence which, I hope, may show the
effects to have been less disastrous than
expected.
(Signed) "VICTORIA, REGINA."
We took leave of the very agreeable Clerk of the Council regretfully. He
had been so pleasant, and was so interesting that we hoped we might see
him again.
"It seems a sin," sighed Dum, "to meet such a nice man as that and never
to see him again."
"I always feel that I am going to meet persons like again," said Mrs.
Green; "if not here, in the hereafter. Kindred souls must manage to get
together or 'What's a heaven for?'"
"That's the way I like to think of heaven, a place where you find the
persons you naturally like, not a place where you just naturally like
all the persons you meet. I don't see why just because you are good
enough to go to heaven you should lose all your discrimination. I could
go to heaven a million years and not like Mabel Binks. Cat!" and Dum
scowled.
"Who is Mabel Binks?" laughed Mrs. Green.
"Oh, she's a person Dee and I can't abide. Page hates her, too, only she
won't say so. She was at Gresham with us the first year we were there,
and she started in making a dead set at Zebedee and has kept it up ever
since."
"Is she pretty?"
"Oh, she's handsome enough in a kind of oochy-koochy style, but she is
too florid to suit me. There's a letter from her to Zebedee now. She's
always writing to him and trying to get him into something or other."
"How do you know it's from her?" I asked.
I was not very joyful myself when our one-time schoolmate made too free
with Mr. Tucker. I didn't really and truly think he cared a snap for
her, but I well knew how persistent effort on the part of a designing
female could eventually work wonders on the male heart.
"How do I know? I'd like to know who but Mabel Binks writes on burnt
orange paper, with brown ink, with an envelope big enough to hold all
the documents in the City Hall, and that smelling like a demonstration
counter of cheap perfumes. I'd hate to think Zebedee could put up with
two female admirers as gaudy as she is."
Dum always stormed like that when Mabel Binks was in question, or any
woman under fifty who happened to like her father. Dee was walking with
Louis or she, too, would have joined in the tirade against their _bete
noir_.
"I shouldn't think you would feel the slightest uneasiness about your
father. I am sure you can trust his good taste if he should ever marry,"
and Mrs. Green drew Dum to her.
I didn't know about that. I thought it was quite possible for the wrong
person to hoodwink Zebedee into not knowing his taste from hers. I had
been brought up by Mammy Susan, who was somewhat of a cynic in her way,
and she used to say:
"Th' ain't no countin' on what kin' er wife a widderman is goin' ter
pick out. One thing you may be sho' of, a man nebber picks out two
alike. If the fus' one was tall an' thin the nex' one is sho' ter be
sho't an' fat. I tell yer, men is pow'ful weak an' women is mighty
'suadin'."
That phrase that Mammy Susan was so fond of, "Men is weak an' women is
'suadin'," made me tremble sometimes for what the father of the twins
might do. He had talked to me about marrying again, and had given me to
understand many times that Mabel Binks was not his style, but sometimes
I used to think that maybe "he doth protest too much."
We were missing Zebedee greatly, and were very glad when we got back to
the hotel to learn from a long distance message that he would be with us
the next morning.