_MRS. JOHN SEYMOUR’S PARTY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT._
MRS. JOHN SEYMOUR’S party marked an era in the annals of Springdale.
Of this, you may be sure, my dear reader, when you consider that it
was projected and arranged by Mrs. Lillie, in strict counsel with her
friend Mrs. Follingsbee, who had lived in Paris, and been to balls
at the Tuileries. Of course, it was a tip-top New-York-Paris party,
with all the new, fashionable, unspeakable crinkles and wrinkles, all
the high, divine, spick and span new ways of doing things; which,
however, like the Eleusinian mysteries, being in their very nature
incommunicable except to the elect, must be left to the imagination.
A French _artiste_, whom Mrs. Follingsbee patronized as “my
confectioner,” came in state to Springdale, with a retinue of
appendages and servants sufficient for a circus; took formal possession
of the Seymour mansion, and became, for the time being, absolute
dictator, as was customary in the old Roman Republic in times of
emergency.
Mr. Follingsbee was forward, fussy, and advisory, in his own
peculiar free-and-easy fashion; and Mrs. Follingsbee was instructive
and patronizing to the very last degree. Lillie had bewailed in her
sympathizing bosom John’s unaccountable and most singular moral
Quixotism in regard to the wine question, and been comforted by her
appreciative discourse. Mrs. Follingsbee had a sort of indefinite
faith in French phrases for mending all the broken places in life. A
thing said partly in French became at once in her view elucidated,
even though the words meant no more than the same in English; so she
consoled Lillie as follows:—
“Oh, _ma chère_! I understand perfectly: your husband may be ‘_un peu
borné_,’ as they say in Paris, but still ‘_un homme très respectable_,’
(Mrs. Follingsbee here scraped her throat emphatically, just as her
French maid did),—a sublime example of the virtues; and let me tell
you, darling, you are very fortunate to get such a man. It is not often
that a woman can get an establishment like yours, and a good man into
the bargain; so, if the goodness is a little _ennuyeuse_, one must put
up with it. Then, again, people of old established standing may do
about what they like socially: their position is made. People only say,
‘Well, that is their way; the Seymours will do so and so.’ Now, we have
to do twice as much of every thing to make our position, as certain
other people do. We might flood our place with champagne and Burgundy,
and get all the young fellows drunk, as we generally do; and yet people
will call our parties ‘_bourgeois_,’ and yours ‘_recherché_,’ if you
give them nothing but tea and biscuit. Now, there’s my Dick: he
respects your husband; you can see he does. In his odious slang way,
he says he’s ‘some’ and ‘a brick;’ and he’s a little anxious to please
him, though he professes not to care for anybody. Now, Dick has pretty
sharp sense, after all, or he’d never have been just where he is.”
Our friend John, during these days preceding the party, the party
itself and the clearing up after it, enacted submissively that part
of unconditional surrender which the master of the house, if well
trained, generally acts on such occasions. He resembled the prize
ox, which is led forth adorned with garlands, ribbons, and docility,
to grace a triumphal procession. He went where he was told, did as
he was bid, marched to the right, marched to the left, put on gloves
and cravat, and took them off, entirely submissive to the word of his
little general; and exhibited, in short, an edifying spectacle of that
pleasant domestic animal, a tame husband. He had to make atonement for
being a reformer, and for endeavoring to live like a Christian, by
conceding to his wife all this latitude of indulgence; and he meant
to go through it like a man and a philosopher. To be sure, in his
eyes, it was all so much unutterable bosh and nonsense; and bosh and
nonsense for which he was eventually to settle the bills: but he armed
himself with the patient reflection that all things have their end
in time,—that fireworks and Chinese lanterns, bands of music and kid
gloves, ruffs and puffs, and pinkings and quillings, and all sorts of
unspeakable eatables with French names, would ere long float down the
stream of time, and leave their record only in a few bad colds and days
of indigestion, which also time would mercifully cure.
So John steadied his soul with a view of that comfortable future, when
all this fuss should be over, and the coast cleared for something
better. Moreover, John found this good result of his patience: that he
learned a little something in a Christian way by it. Men of elevated
principle and moral honesty often treat themselves to such large slices
of contempt and indignation, in regard to the rogues of society, as to
forget a common brotherhood of pity. It is sometimes wholesome for such
men to be obliged to tolerate a scamp to the extent of exchanging with
him the ordinary benevolences of social life.
John, in discharging the duty of a host to Dick Follingsbee, found
himself, after a while, looking on him with pity, as a poor creature,
like the rich fool in the Gospels, without faith, or love, or prayer;
spending life as a moth does,—in vain attempts to burn himself up in
the candle, and knowing nothing better. In fact, after a while, the
stiff, tow-colored moustache, smart stride, and flippant air of this
poor little man struck him somewhere in the region between a smile and
a tear; and his enforced hospitality began to wear a tincture of real
kindness. There is no less pathos in moral than in physical imbecility.
It is an observable social phenomenon that, when any family in a
community makes an advance very greatly ahead of its neighbors in
style of living or splendor of entertainments, the fact causes great
searchings of spirit in all the region round about, and abundance of
talk, wherein the thoughts of many hearts are revealed.
Springdale was a country town, containing a choice knot of the old,
respectable, true-blue, Boston-aristocracy families. Two or three
of them had winter houses in Beacon Street, and went there, after
Christmas, to enjoy the lectures, concerts, and select gayeties of
the modern Athens; others, like the Fergusons and Seymours, were in
intimate relationship with the same circle.
Now, it is well known that the real old true-blue, Simon-pure, Boston
family is one whose claims to be considered “the thing,” and the only
thing, are somewhat like the claim of apostolic succession in ancient
churches. It is easy to see why certain affluent, cultivated, and
eminently well-conducted people should be considered “the thing” in
their day and generation; but why they should be considered as the
“only thing” is the point insoluble to human reason, and to be received
by faith alone; also, why certain other people, equally affluent,
cultivated, and well-conducted are _not_ “the thing” is one of the
divine mysteries, about which whoso observes Boston society will do
well not too curiously to exercise his reason.
These “true-blue” families, however, have claims to respectability;
which make them, on the whole, quite a venerable and pleasurable
feature of society in our young, topsy-turvy, American community. Some
of them have family records extending clearly back to the settlement
of Massachusetts Bay; and the family estate is still on grounds first
cleared up by aboriginal settlers. Being of a Puritan nobility,
they have an ancestral record, affording more legitimate subject of
family self-esteem than most other nobility. Their history runs back
to an ancestry of unworldly faith and prayer and self-denial, of
incorruptible public virtue, sturdy resistance of evil, and pursuit of
good.
There is also a literary aroma pervading their circles. Dim suggestions
of “The North American Review,” of “The Dial,” of Cambridge,—a sort of
vague “_miel-fleur_” of authorship and poetry,—is supposed to float
in the air around them; and it is generally understood that in their
homes exist tastes and appreciations denied to less favored regions.
Almost every one of them has its great man,—its father, grandfather,
cousin, or great uncle, who wrote a book, or edited a review, or was a
president of the United States, or minister to England, whose opinions
are referred to by the family in any discussion, as good Christians
quote the Bible.
It is true that, in some few instances, the _pleroma_ of aristocratic
dignity undergoes a sort of acetic fermentation, and comes out in
ungenial qualities. Now and then, at a public watering-place, a man or
woman appears no otherwise distinguished than by a remarkable talent
for being disagreeable; and it is amusing to find, on inquiry, that
this repulsiveness of demeanor is entirely on account of belonging to
an ancient family.
Such is the tendency of democracy to a general mingling of elements,
that this frigidity is deemed necessary by these good souls to
prevent the commonalty from being attracted by them, and sticking to
them, as straws and bits of paper do to amber. But more generally
the “true-blue” old families are simple and urbane in their manners;
and their pretensions are, as Miss Edgeworth says, presented rather
_intaglio_ than in cameo. Of course, they most thoroughly believe in
themselves, but in a bland and genial way. “_Noblesse oblige_” is with
them a secret spring of gentle address and social suavity. They prefer
their own set and their own ways, and are comfortably sure that what
they do not know is not worth knowing, and what they have not been in
the habit of doing is not worth doing; but still they are indulgent of
the existence of human nature outside of their own circle.
The Seymours and the Fergusons belonged to this sort of people; and,
of course, Mr. John Seymour’s marriage afforded them opportunity
for some wholesome moral discipline. The Ferguson girls were frank,
social, magnanimous young women; of that class, to whom the saying
or doing of a rude or unhandsome thing by any human being was an
utter impossibility, and whose cheeks would flush at the mere idea of
asserting personal superiority over any one. Nevertheless, they trod
the earth firmly, as girls who felt that they were born to a certain
position. Judge Ferguson was a gentleman of the old school, devoted to
past ideas, fond of the English classics, and with small faith in any
literature later than Dr. Johnson. He confessed to a toleration for
Scott’s novels, and had been detected by his children both laughing and
crying over the stories of Charles Dickens; for the amiable weaknesses
of human nature still remain in the best regulated mind. To women and
children, the judge was benignity itself, imitating the Grand Monarque,
who bowed even to a chambermaid. He believed in good, orderly,
respectable, old ways and entertainments, and had a quiet horror of all
that is loud or noisy or pretentious; which sometimes made his social
duties a trial to him, as was the case in regard to the Seymour party.
The arrangements of the party, including the preparations for an
extensive illumination of the grounds, and fireworks, were on so
unusual a scale as to rouse the whole community of Springdale to a
fever of excitement; of course, the Wilcoxes and the Lennoxes were
astonished and disgusted. When had it been known that any of their
set had done any thing of the kind? How horribly out of taste! Just
the result of John Seymour’s marrying into that class of society!
Mrs. Lennox was of opinion that she ought not to go. She was of the
determined and spicy order of human beings, and often, like a certain
French countess, felt disposed to thank Heaven that she generally
succeeded in being rude when the occasion required. Mrs. Lennox
regarded “snubbing” in the light of a moral duty devolving on people
of condition, when the foundations of things were in danger of being
removed by the inroads of the vulgar commonalty. On the present
occasion, Mrs. Lennox was of opinion that quiet, respectable people, of
good family, ought to ignore this kind of proceeding, and not think of
encouraging such things by their presence.
Mrs. Wilcox generally shaped her course by Mrs. Lennox: still she had
promised Letitia Ferguson to be gracious to the Seymours in their
exigency, and to call on the Follingsbees; so there was a confusion
all round. The young people of both families declared that _they_ were
going, just to see the fun. Bob Lennox, with the usual vivacity of
Young America, said he didn’t “care a hang who set a ball rolling, if
only something was kept stirring.” The subject was discussed when Mrs.
Lennox and Mrs. Wilcox were making a morning call upon the Fergusons.
“For my part,” said Mrs. Lennox, “I’m principled on this subject. Those
Follingsbees are not proper people. They are of just that vulgar,
pushing class, against which I feel it my duty to set my face like
a flint; and I’m astonished that a man like John Seymour should go
into relations with them. You see it puts all his friends in a most
embarrassing position.”
“Dear Mrs. Lennox,” said Rose Ferguson, “indeed, it is not Mr.
Seymour’s fault. These persons are invited by his wife.”
“Well, what business has he to allow his wife to invite them? A man
should be master in his own house.”
“But, my dear Mrs. Lennox,” said Mrs. Ferguson, “such a pretty young
creature, and just married! of course it would be unhandsome not to
allow her to have her friends.”
“Certainly,” said Judge Ferguson, “a gentleman cannot be rude to his
wife’s invited guests; for my part, I think Seymour is putting the best
face he can on it; and we must all do what we can to help him. We shall
all attend the Seymour party.”
“Well,” said Mrs. Wilcox, “I think we shall go. To be sure, it is not
what I should like to do. I don’t approve of these Follingsbees. Mr.
Wilcox was saying, this morning, that his money was made by frauds on
the government, which ought to have put him in the State Prison.”
“Now, I say,” said Mrs. Lennox, “such people ought to be put
down socially: I have no patience with their airs. And that Mrs.
Follingsbee, I have heard that she was a milliner, or shop-girl, or
some such thing; and to see the airs she gives herself! One would
think it was the Empress Eugénie herself, come to queen it over us in
America. I can’t help thinking we ought to take a stand. I really do.”
“But, dear Mrs. Lennox, we are not obliged to cultivate further
relations with people, simply from exchanging ordinary civilities with
them on one evening,” said Judge Ferguson.
“But, my dear sir, these pushing, vulgar, rich people take advantage of
every opening. Give them an inch, and they will take an ell,” said Mrs
Lennox. “Now, if I go, they will be claiming acquaintance with me in
Newport next summer. Well, I shall cut them,—dead.”
“Trust you for that,” said Miss Letitia, laughing; “indeed, Mrs.
Lennox, I think you may go wherever you please with perfect safety.
People will never saddle themselves on you longer than you want them;
so you might as well go to the party with the rest of us.”
“And besides, you know,” said Mrs. Wilcox, “all our young people will
go, whether we go or not. Your Tom was at my house yesterday; and he is
going with my girls: they are all just as wild about it as they can be,
and say that it is the greatest fun that has been heard of this summer.”
In fact, there was not a man, woman, or child, in a circle of fifteen
miles round, who could show shade or color of an invitation, who was
not out in full dress at Mrs. John Seymour’s party. People in a city
may pick and choose their entertainments, and she who gives a party
there may reckon on a falling off of about one-third, for various other
attractions; but in the country, where there is nothing else stirring,
one may be sure that not one person able to stand on his feet will
be missing. A party in a good old sleepy, respectable country place
is a godsend. It is equal to an earthquake, for suggesting materials
of conversation; and in so many ways does it awaken and vivify the
community, that one may doubt whether, after all, it is not a moral
benefaction, and the giver of it one to be ranked in the noble army of
martyrs.
Everybody went. Even Mrs. Lennox, when she had sufficiently swallowed
her moral principles, sent in all haste to New York for an elegant
spick and span new dress from Madame de Tullegig’s, expressly for the
occasion. Was she to be outshone by unprincipled upstarts? Perish the
thought! It was treason to the cause of virtue, and the standing order
of society. Of course, the best thing to be done is to put certain
people down, if you can; but, if you cannot do that, the next best
thing is to outshine them in their own way. It may be very naughty
for them to be so dressy and extravagant, and very absurd, improper,
immoral, unnecessary, and in bad taste; but still, if you cannot help
it, you may as well try to do the same, and do a little more of it.
Mrs. Lennox was in a feverish state till all her trappings came from
New York. The bill was something stunning; but, then, it was voted by
the young people that she had never looked so splendidly in her life;
and she comforted herself with marking out a certain sublime distance
and reserve of manner to be observed towards Mrs. Seymour and the
Follingsbees.
The young people, however, came home delighted. Tom, aged twenty-two,
instructed his mother that Follingsbee was a brick, and a real jolly
fellow; and he had accepted an invitation to go on a yachting cruise
with him the next month. Jane Lennox, moreover, began besetting her
mother to have certain details in their house rearranged, with an eye
to the Seymour glorification.
“Now, Jane dear, that’s just the result of allowing you to visit in
this flash, vulgar genteel society,” said the troubled mamma.
“Bless your heart, mamma, the world moves on, you know; and we must
move with it a little, or be left behind. For my part, I’m perfectly
ashamed of the way we let things go at our house. It really is not
respectable. Now, I like Mrs. Follingsbee, for my part: she’s clever
and amusing. It was fun to hear all about the balls at the Tuileries,
and the opera and things in Paris. Mamma, when are we going to Paris?”
“Oh! I don’t know, my dear; you must ask your father. He is very
unwilling to go abroad.”
“Papa is so slow and conservative in his notions!” said the young lady.
“For my part, I cannot see what is the use of all this talk about the
Follingsbees. He is good-natured and funny; and, I am sure, I think
she’s a splendid woman: and, by the way, she gave me the address of
lots of places in New York where we can get French things. Did you
notice her lace? It is superb; and she told me where lace just like it
could be bought one-third less than they sell at Stewart’s.”
Thus we see how the starting-out of an old, respectable family in any
new ebullition of fancy and fashion is like a dandelion going to seed.
You have not only the airy, fairy globe; but every feathery particle
thereof bears a germ which will cause similar feather bubbles all over
the country; and thus old, respectable grass-plots become, in time,
half dandelion. It is to be observed that, in all questions of life
and fashion, “the world and the flesh,” to say nothing of the third
partner of that ancient firm, have us at decided advantage. It is easy
to see the flash of jewelry, the dazzle of color, the rush and glitter
of equipage, and to be dizzied by the babble and gayety of fashionable
life; while it is not easy to see justice, patience, temperance,
self-denial. These are things belonging to the invisible and the
eternal, and to be seen with other eyes than those of the body.
Then, again, there is no one thing in all the items which go to make
up fashionable extravagance, which, taken separately and by itself, is
not in some point of view a good or pretty or desirable thing; and so,
whenever the forces of invisible morality begin an encounter with the
troops of fashion and folly, the world and the flesh, as we have just
said, generally have the best of it.
It may be very shocking and dreadful to get money by cheating and
lying; but when the money thus got is put into the forms of yachts,
operas, pictures, statues, and splendid entertainments, of which you
are freely offered a share if you will only cultivate the acquaintance
of a sharper, will you not then begin to say, “Everybody is going,
why not I? As to countenancing Dives, why he is countenanced; and my
holding out does no good. What is the use of my sitting in my corner
and sulking? Nobody minds me.” Thus Dives gains one after another to
follow his chariot, and make up his court.
Our friend John, simply by being a loving, indulgent husband, had
come into the position, in some measure, of demoralizing the public
conscience, of bringing in luxury and extravagance, and countenancing
people who really ought not to be countenanced. He had a sort of
uneasy perception of this fact; yet, at each particular step, he seemed
to himself to be doing no more than was right or reasonable. It was a
fact that, through all Springdale, people were beginning to be uneasy
and uncomfortable in houses that used to seem to them nice enough, and
ashamed of a style of dress and entertainment and living that used to
content them perfectly, simply because of the changes of style and
living in the John-Seymour mansion.
Of old, the Seymour family had always been a bulwark on the side of a
temperate self-restraint and reticence in worldly indulgence; of a kind
that parents find most useful to strengthen their hands when children
are urging them on to expenses beyond their means: for they could say,
“The Seymours are richer than we are, and you see they don’t change
their carpets, nor get new sofas, nor give extravagant parties; and
they give simple, reasonable, quiet entertainments, and do not go into
any modern follies.” So the Seymours kept up the Fergusons, and the
Fergusons the Seymours; and the Wilcoxes and the Lennoxes encouraged
each other in a style of quiet, reasonable living, saving money for
charity, and time for reading and self-cultivation, and by moderation
and simplicity keeping up the courage of less wealthy neighbors to hold
their own with them.
The John-Seymour party, therefore, was like the bursting of a great
dam, which floods a whole region. There was not a family who had not
some trouble with the inundation, even where, like Rose and Letitia
Ferguson, they swept it out merrily, and thought no more of it.
“It was all very pretty and pleasant, and I’m glad it went off so
well,” said Rose Ferguson the next day; “but I have not the smallest
desire to repeat any thing of the kind. We who live in the country, and
have such a world of beautiful things around us every day, and so many
charming engagements in riding, walking, and rambling, and so much to
do, cannot afford to go into this sort of thing: we really have not
time for it.”
“That pretty creature,” said Mrs. Ferguson, speaking of Lillie, “is
really a charming object. I hope she will settle down now to domestic
life. She will soon find better things to care for, I trust: a baby
would be her best teacher. I am sure I hope she will have one.”
“A baby is mamma’s infallible recipe for strengthening the character,”
said Rose, laughing.
“Well, as the saying is, they bring love with them,” said Mrs.
Ferguson; “and love always brings wisdom.”