LOST OPPORTUNITIES
The little doctor tipped his chair back against the wall, drew up his
knees, and laughed whimperingly in his freckled hands.
"I had to do some prodigious lying at that ball. I didn't dare let the
De Grapion ladies know they were in company with a Grandissime."
"I thought you said their name was Nancanou."
"Well, certainly--De Grapion-Nancanou. You see, that is one of their
charms: one is a widow, the other is her daughter, and both as young and
beautiful as Hebe. Ask Honoré Grandissime; he has seen the little widow;
but then he don't know who she is. He will not ask me, and I will not
tell him. Oh, yes; it is about eighteen years now since old De
Grapion--elegant, high-stepping old fellow--married her, then only
sixteen years of age, to young Nancanou, an indigo-planter on the Fausse
Rivière--the old bend, you know, behind Pointe Coupée. The young couple
went there to live. I have been told they had one of the prettiest
places in Louisiana. He was a man of cultivated tastes, educated in
Paris, spoke English, was handsome (convivial, of course), and of
perfectly pure blood. But there was one thing old De Grapion overlooked:
he and his son-in-law were the last of their names. In Louisiana a man
needs kinsfolk. He ought to have married his daughter into a strong
house. They say that Numa Grandissime (Honoré's father) and he had
patched up a peace between the two families that included even old
Agricola, and that he could have married her to a Grandissime. However,
he is supposed to have known what he was about.
"A matter of business called young Nancanou to New Orleans. He had no
friends here; he was a Creole, but what part of his life had not been
spent on his plantation he had passed in Europe. He could not leave his
young girl of a wife alone in that exiled sort of plantation life, so he
brought her and the child (a girl) down with him as far as to her
father's place, left them there, and came on to the city alone.
"Now, what does the old man do but give him a letter of introduction to
old Agricole Fusilier! (His name is Agricola, but we shorten it to
Agricole.) It seems that old De Grapion and Agricole had had the
indiscretion to scrape up a mutually complimentary correspondence. And
to Agricole the young man went.
"They became intimate at once, drank together, danced with the quadroons
together, and got into as much mischief in three days as I ever did in a
fortnight. So affairs went on until by and by they were gambling
together. One night they were at the Piety Club, playing hard, and the
planter lost his last quarti. He became desperate, and did a thing I
have known more than one planter to do: wrote his pledge for every
arpent of his land and every slave on it, and staked that. Agricole
refused to play. 'You shall play,' said Nancanou, and when the game was
ended he said: 'Monsieur Agricola Fusilier, you cheated.' You see? Just
as I have frequently been tempted to remark to my friend, Mr.
Frowenfeld.
"But, Frowenfeld, you must know, withal the Creoles are such gamblers,
they never cheat; they play absolutely fair. So Agricole had to
challenge the planter. He could not be blamed for that; there was no
choice--oh, now, Frowenfeld, keep quiet! I tell you there was no choice.
And the fellow was no coward. He sent Agricole a clear title to the real
estate and slaves,--lacking only the wife's signature,--accepted the
challenge and fell dead at the first fire.
"Stop, now, and let me finish. Agricole sat down and wrote to the widow
that he did not wish to deprive her of her home, and that if she would
state in writing her belief that the stakes had been won fairly, he
would give back the whole estate, slaves and all; but that if she would
not, he should feel compelled to retain it in vindication of his honor.
Now wasn't that drawing a fine point?" The doctor laughed according to
his habit, with his face down in his hands. "You see, he wanted to
stand before all creation--the Creator did not make so much
difference--in the most exquisitely proper light; so he puts the laws of
humanity under his feet, and anoints himself from head to foot with
Creole punctilio."
"Did she sign the paper?" asked Joseph.
"She? Wait till you know her! No, indeed; she had the true scorn. She
and her father sent down another and a better title. Creole-like, they
managed to bestir themselves to that extent and there they stopped.
"And the airs with which they did it! They kept all their rage to
themselves, and sent the polite word, that they were not acquainted with
the merits of the case, that they were not disposed to make the long and
arduous trip to the city and back, and that if M. Fusilier de
Grandissime thought he could find any pleasure or profit in owning the
place, he was welcome; that the widow of _his late friend_ was not
disposed to live on it, but would remain with her father at the paternal
home at Cannes Brulées.
"Did you ever hear of a more perfect specimen of Creole pride? That is
the way with all of them. Show me any Creole, or any number of Creoles,
in any sort of contest, and right down at the foundation of it all, I
will find you this same preposterous, apathetic, fantastic, suicidal
pride. It is as lethargic and ferocious as an alligator. That is why the
Creole almost always is (or thinks he is) on the defensive. See these De
Grapions' haughty good manners to old Agricole; yet there wasn't a
Grandissime in Louisiana who could have set foot on the De Grapion lands
but at the risk of his life.
"But I will finish the story: and here is the really sad part. Not many
months ago old De Grapion--'old,' said I; they don't grow old; I call
him old--a few months ago he died. He must have left everything
smothered in debt; for, like his race, he had stuck to indigo because
his father planted it, and it is a crop that has lost money steadily for
years and years. His daughter and granddaughter were left like babes in
the wood; and, to crown their disasters, have now made the grave mistake
of coming to the city, where they find they haven't a friend--not one,
sir! They called me in to prescribe for a trivial indisposition, shortly
after their arrival; and I tell you, Frowenfeld, it made me shiver to
see two such beautiful women in such a town as this without a male
protector, and even"--the doctor lowered his voice--"without adequate
support. The mother says they are perfectly comfortable; tells the old
couple so who took them to the ball, and whose little girl is their
embroidery scholar; but you cannot believe a Creole on that subject, and
I don't believe her. Would you like to make their acquaintance?"
Frowenfeld hesitated, disliking to say no to his friend, and then shook
his head.
"After a while--at least not now, sir, if you please."
The doctor made a gesture of disappointment.
"Um-hum," he said grumly--"the only man in New Orleans I would honor
with an invitation!--but all right; I'll go alone."
He laughed a little at himself, and left Frowenfeld, if ever he should
desire it, to make the acquaintance of his pretty neighbors as best
he could.