common-place civility with as much evident delight as if he had
proffered her "the plain gold ring."
"Sam," said the old gentleman, "run to the house as fast as you can, and
bring an umbrella, and then see Miss Robertine home."
"That I will, uncle," said Sam, with alacrity.
Robertine then began to admire the drawings on the wall, and
said--"Apparently, these are all ships that Captain Kentledge has taken
in battle?"
"No," replied Uncle Philip, "I never took any ship in battle; I always
belonged to the merchant service."
Robertine was now at fault; but soon recovering herself, she
continued--"No doubt if you _had_ been in battle, you _would_ have taken
ships; for victory always crowns the brave, and my opinion is, that all
Americans are brave of course; particularly if they are gentlemen of the
sea."
"And have plenty of cash," Uncle Philip could not avoid saying.
Robertine coloured to the eyes; and Uncle Philip checked himself, seeing
that he had been too severe upon her. "I must not forget that she is a
woman," thought he; "while she stays, I will try to be civil to her."
But Robertine was too thoroughly resolved on carrying her point to be
easily daunted; and, in half a minute, she said with a smile--"I see
that Captain Kentledge will always have his jest. Wit is one of the
attributes of his profession."
Her admiration of the ships not having produced much effect, Robertine
next betook herself to admiring the dog Neptune, who was lying at his
master's feet, and she gracefully knelt beside him and patted his head,
saying--"What a magnificent animal! The most splendid dog I ever saw!
What a grand and imposing figure! How sensible and expressive is his
face!"
Dick found it difficult to suppress an involuntary giggle, for it struck
him that Robertine must have heard the remark which was very current
through the village, of Neptune's face having a great resemblance to
Uncle Philip's own.
Where is the man that, being "the fortunate possessor of a Newfoundland
dog," can hear his praises without emotion? Uncle Philip's ice began to
thaw. All the blandishments that Robertine had lavished on himself,
caused no other effect than disgust; but the moment she appeared to like
his dog, his granite heart began to soften, and he felt a disposition to
like _her_ in return. He cast a glance towards Robertine as she caressed
old Neptune, and he thought her so pretty that the glance was succeeded
by a gaze. He put out his hand to raise her from her kneeling attitude,
and actually placed a chair for her beside his own. Robertine thought
herself in Paradise, for she saw that her last arrow had struck the
mark. Uncle Philip's stubborn tongue was now completely loosened, and he
entered into an eloquent detail of the numerous excellencies of the
noble animal, and related a story of his life having been saved by
Neptune during a shipwreck.
To all this did Robertine "most seriously incline." She listened with
breathless interest, was startled, terrified, anxious, delighted, and
always in the right place; and when the story was finished, she
pronounced Newfoundland dogs the best of all created animals, and
Neptune the best of all Newfoundland dogs.
Just then Sam arrived with the umbrella.
"Sam," said Uncle Philip, "you may give _me_ the umbrella; I will see
Miss Robertine home myself. But I think she had better wait till the
rain is over."
This last proposal Robertine thought it most prudent to decline, fearing
that if she stayed till the rain ceased, Uncle Philip might no longer
think it necessary to escort her home. Accordingly the old gentleman
gave her his arm, and walked off with her under the umbrella. As soon as
they were gone, Sam and Dick laughed out, and compared notes.
In the afternoon, after spending a considerable time at his toilet,
Uncle Philip, without saying anything to the family, told one of the
servants that he should not drink tea at home, and sallied off in the
direction of Franchimeau's. He did not return till ten o'clock, and then
went straight to bed without entering the sitting-room. The truth was,
that when he conveyed Robertine home in the morning, he could not resist
her invitation into the house; and he sat there long enough for Madame
Ravigote (who, in frightful _dishabille_, was darning stockings in the
parlour) to see that things wore a promising aspect. The old lady went
to the school-room door, and called out Madame Franchimeau to inform her
of the favourable change in the state of affairs: and it was decided
that _le vieux Philippe_[61] (as they called him behind the scenes, for
none of them, except Robertine, could say Kentledge), should be invited
to tea, that the young lady might have an immediate opportunity of
following up the success of the morning.
[Footnote 61: Old Philip.]
Next morning, about eleven o'clock, Uncle Philip disappeared again, and
was seen no more till dinner-time. When he came in, he took his seat at
the table without saying a word, and there was something unusually queer
in his look, and embarrassed in all his motions; and the children
thought that he did not seem at all like himself. Little Anne, who sat
always at his right hand, leaned back in her chair and looked behind
him, and then suddenly exclaimed--"Why, Uncle Philip has had his queue
cut off!"
There was a general movement of surprise. Uncle Philip reddened,
hesitated, and at last said, in a confused manner, "that he had for a
long time thought his queue rather troublesome, and that he had recently
been told that it made him look ten years older than he really was; and,
therefore, he had stopped at the barber's, on his way home, and got rid
of it."
Mrs. Clavering had never admired the queue; but she thought the loss of
it, just at this juncture, looked particularly ominous.
In the afternoon she received a visit from her friend, Mrs. Slimbridge,
who was scarcely seated when she commenced with--"Well, Mrs. Clavering,
I understand you are shortly to have a new aunt, and I have come to
congratulate you on the joyful occasion."
"A new aunt?" said Mrs. Clavering; "I am really at a loss to understand
your meaning!" looking, however, as if she understood it perfectly.
"Why, certainly," replied Mrs. Slimbridge, "it can be no news to _you_
that Captain Kentledge is going to be married to Madame Franchimeau's
niece, Mademoiselle Robertine. He was seen, yesterday morning, walking
with her under the same umbrella!"
"Well, and what of that?" interrupted Mrs. Clavering, fretfully; "does a
gentleman never hold an umbrella over a lady's head unless he intends to
marry her?"
"Oh, as yet they do," replied Mrs. Slimbridge, "but I know not how much
longer even that piece of civility will be continued--gentlemen are now
so much afraid of committing themselves. But seriously, his seeing her
home in the rain is not the most important part of the story. He drank
tea at Franchimeau's last evening, and paid a long visit at the house
this morning; and Emilie, their mulatto girl, told Mrs. Pinxton's Mary,
and my Phillis had it direct from _her_, that she overheard Miss
Robertine, persuading Captain Kentledge to have his queue cut off. The
good gentleman, it seems, held out for a long time, but at last
consented to lose it. However, I do not vouch for the truth of that part
of the statement. Old seafaring men are so partial to their hair, and it
is a point on which they are so obstinate, that I scarcely think Miss
Robertine would have ventured so far."
"Some young girls have boldness enough for anything," said Mrs.
Clavering, with a toss of her head, and knowing in her own mind that the
queue was really off.
"Well," continued Mrs. Slimbridge, "the story is all over town that it
is quite a settled thing; and, as I said, I have hastened to
congratulate you."
"Congratulate me! For what?" said Mrs. Clavering; with much asperity.
"Why," returned Mrs. Slimbridge, "you know these French people are your
bosom friends, and of course you must rejoice in the prospect of a
nearer connexion with them. To be sure, it would be rather more
gratifying if Miss Robertine was in a somewhat higher walk of life. You
know it is whispered, that she is only a mantua-maker's girl, and that
the dear friend whom Madame Franchimeau talks about, as having adopted
her beloved Robertine (though she takes care never to mention the name
of that dear friend), is in reality no other than the celebrated Madame
Gigot, in whose dressmaking establishment Mademoiselle is hired to
work."
"Horrible!" was Mrs. Clavering's involuntary exclamation; but recovering
herself, she continued--"But I can assure you, Mrs. Slimbridge, that I
am perfectly convinced there is not a word of truth in the whole story.
Captain Kentledge has certainly his peculiarities, but he is a man of
too much sense to marry a young wife; and besides, his regard for my
children is so great, that I am convinced it is his firm intention to
live single for their sakes, that he may leave them the whole of his
property. He thinks too much of the family to allow his money to go out
of it."
"All that may be," answered Mrs. Slimbridge; "but when an old man falls
in love with a young girl, his regard for his own relations generally
melts away like snow before the fire. I think you had better speak to
Captain Kentledge on the subject. I advise you, as a friend, to do so,
unless you conclude that opposition may only render him the more
determined. Certainly one would not like to lose so much money out of
the family, without making a little struggle to retain it. However, I
must now take my leave. As a friend, I advise you to speak to Captain
Kentledge."
"I can assure you," replied Mrs. Clavering, as she accompanied her guest
to the door, "this silly report gives me not the slightest uneasiness,
as it is too absurd to merit one serious thought. I shall dismiss it
from my mind with silent contempt. To mention it to Captain Kentledge
would be really too ridiculous."
As soon as she had got rid of her visitor, Mrs. Clavering hastily threw
on her calash, and repaired at a brisk pace to Uncle Philip's cabin. She
found him at his desk, busily employed in writing out for Robertine the
words of "America, Commerce, and Freedom." She made a pretext for
sending away Sam, and told Uncle Philip that she wished some private
conversation with him. The old gentleman coloured, laid down his pen,
and began to sit very uneasy on his chair, guessing what was to come.
Mrs. Clavering then, without further hesitation, acquainted him with all
she had heard, and asked him if it could possibly be true that he had
any intention of marrying Robertine.
"I don't know but I shall," said Uncle Philip.
"You really shock me!" exclaimed Mrs. Clavering.
"What is there so shocking," replied the old gentleman, "in my liking a
pretty girl--ay, and in making her my wife, too, if I think proper? But
that's as it may be--I have not yet made her the offer."
Mrs. Clavering breathed again. "Really, Uncle Philip," said she, "I
thought you had more sense, and knew more of the world. Can you not see
at once that all she wants is your money? It is impossible she could
have any other inducement."
"I thank you for your compliment," said Uncle Philip, pulling up his
shirt collar and taking a glance at the looking-glass.
"Is the man an absolute fool?" thought Mrs. Clavering: "what can have
got into him?" Then raising her voice, she exclaimed--"Is this, then,
the end of all your aversion to the French?"
"Then you should not have put the French in my way," said Uncle Philip:
"it is all your own fault; and if I _should_ play the fool, you have
nobody to thank but yourself. Why did you make me go to that supper?"
"Why, indeed!" replied Mrs. Clavering, with a sigh: "but knowing how
much you dislike foreigners and all their ways, such an idea as your
falling in love with a French girl never for a moment entered my mind.
But I can tell you one thing that will effectually put all thoughts of
Miss Robertine out of your head."
"What is that?" said Uncle Philip, starting and changing colour.
"When I tell you that she is a mantua-maker," pursued Mrs. Clavering,
"and in the employ of Madame Gigot of New York, you, of course, can
never again think of her as a wife."
"And why not?" said Uncle Philip, recovering himself--"why should not a
mantua-maker be thought of as a wife? If that's all you have to say
against her, it only makes me like her the better. I honour the girl for
engaging in a business that procures her a decent living, and prevents
her from being burdensome to her friends. Don't you know that a man can
always raise his wife to his own level? It is only a woman that sinks by
marrying beneath her; as I used to tell you when you fell in love with
the players, the first winter you spent in New York."
"I deny the players--I deny them altogether," said Mrs. Clavering, with
much warmth: "all I admired was their spangled jackets and their caps
and feathers, and I had some curiosity to see how they looked off the
stage, and therefore was always glad when I met any of them in the
street."
"Well, well," replied Uncle Philip, "let the players pass; I was only
joking."
"And even if it were true," resumed Mrs. Clavering, "that I had
particularly admired one or two of the most distinguished performers, I
was then but a mere child, and there is a great difference between
playing the fool at sixteen and at sixty."
"I don't see the folly," said Uncle Philip, "of marrying a pretty young
girl, who is so devotedly attached to me that she cannot possibly help
showing it continually."
"Robertine attached to _you_!" retorted Mrs. Clavering. "And can you
really believe such an absurdity?"
"I thank you again for the compliment," replied Uncle Philip: "but I
know that such things _have been_, strange as they may appear to you. I
believe I have all my life undervalued myself; and this young lady has
opened my eyes."
"Blinded them, rather," said Mrs. Clavering. "But for your own sake, let
me advise you to give up this girl. No marriage, where there is so great
a disparity of years, ever did or could, or ever will or can, turn out
well--and so you will find to your sorrow."
"I rather think I shall try the experiment," said Uncle Philip. "If I am
convinced that Miss Robertine has really a sincere regard for me, I
shall certainly make her Mrs. Kentledge--so I must tell you candidly
that you need not say another word to me on the subject."
He resumed his writing, and Mrs. Clavering, after pausing a few moments,
saw the inutility of urging anything further, and walked slowly and
sadly back to the house. The children's quarters at school had nearly
expired, and she delighted them all with the information that, finding
they had not made as much progress in French as she had expected, and
having reason to believe that the plan of learning everything through
the medium of that language was not a good one, she had determined that
after this week they should quit Monsieur and Madame Franchimeau, and
return to Mr. Fulmer and Miss Hickman. She ceased visiting the French
family, who, conscious that they would now be unwelcome guests, did not
approach Mrs. Clavering's house. But Uncle Philip regularly spent every
evening with Robertine; and Mrs. Clavering did not presume openly to
oppose what she now perceived to be his fixed intention; but she
indulged herself in frequent innuendoes against everything French, which
the old gentleman was ashamed to controvert, knowing how very recently
he had been in the practice of annoying his niece by the vehement
expression of his own prejudices against that singular people; and he
could not help acknowledging to himself that though he liked Robertine,
all the rest of her family were still fools. That the Franchimeaus and
Ravigotes were ridiculous, vulgar pretenders, Mrs. Clavering was no
longer slow in discovering; but she was so unjust as to consider them
fair specimens of their nation, and to turn the tables so completely as
to aver that nothing French was endurable. She even silenced the parrots
whenever they said, "_Parlons toujours François_."[62]
[Footnote 62: Let us always speak French.]
One morning Uncle Philip was surprised in his cabin by the sudden
appearance of a very tall, very slender young Frenchman, dressed in the
extreme of dandyism; his long, thin face was of deadly whiteness, but
his cheeks were tinted with rouge; he had large black eyes, and eyebrows
arched up to a point; his immense whiskers were reddish, and met under
his chin; but his hair was black, and arranged with great skill and care
according to the latest fashion, and filling the apartment with the
perfume of attar of roses.
Immediately on entering, he strode up to Uncle Philip, and extending a
hand whose fingers were decorated with half a dozen showy rings,
presented to him a highly-scented rose-coloured card, which announced
him as "Monsieur Achille Simagrée de Lantiponne, of Paris."
"Well, sir," said Uncle Philip, "and I am Captain Philip Kentledge, once
of Salem, Massachusetts, and now of Corinth, New York."
"_Oui, je le sais_,"[63] replied the Frenchman, in a loud shrill
voice, and with a frown that was meant to be terrific. "_Oui,
perfide--traitre--presque scélérat--tremblez! Je vous connois--tremblez,
tremblez, je vous dit! Moi, c'est moi qui vous parle!_"[64]
[Footnote 63: Yes, I know it.]
[Footnote 64: Yes, perfidious man--traitor--almost rascal--tremble. I
know you--tremble, tremble. I tell you--I--it is I that am speaking to
you.]
"What's all this for?" said Uncle Philip, looking amazed.
"_Imbecil_," muttered Monsieur de Lantiponne; "_il ne comprend pas le
Français._[65] _Eh, bien_; I will, then, address you (_roturier comme
vous êtes_[66]) in perfect English, and very cool. How did you dare to
have the temerity to rob from me the young miss, my _fiancée_, very soon
my bride. Next month I should have conducted her up to the front of the
altar. I had just taken four apartments in the Broadway--two for the
exercise of my profession of artist in hair, and merchant of perfumes
and all good smells; and two up the staircase, where Mademoiselle
Robertine would pursue her dresses and her bonnets. United together, we
should have made a large fortune. My father was a part of the noblesse
of France, but we lost all our nobleness by the revolution. 'Virtue,
though unfortunate, is always respectable;' that sentiment was inscribed
above the door of my mamma's shop in the Palais Royal."
[Footnote 65: Idiot--he does not understand French.]
[Footnote 66: Plebeian as you are.]
"Well," said Uncle Philip, "and what next?"
"What next, _coquin_?"[67] continued the Frenchman, grinding his teeth.
"Listen and die. Yesterday, I received from her this letter, enfolding a
ring of my hair which once I had plaited for her. Now, I will overwhelm
you with shame and repentance by reading to you this fatal letter,
translating it into perfect English. _Ah! comme il est difficile
d'étouffer mes emotions! N'importe, il faut un grand effort._"[68]
[Footnote 67: Knave.]
[Footnote 68: Ah! how difficult it is to stifle my emotions! No matter,
I must make a great effort.]
"Take a chair," said Uncle Philip, who was curious to know how all this
would end; "when people are in great trouble, they had better be
seated."
"_Ecoutez_,"[69] said Lantiponne; "hear this lettre." He then commenced
the epistle, first reading audibly a sentence in French, and then
construing it into English:--
[Footnote 69: Listen.]
CORINTH,----.
MY EVER DEAR FRIEND:
Destiny has decreed the separation of two hearts that should have
been disunited by death alone, and has brought me acquainted with
an old man who, since the moment of our introduction, has never
ceased to persecute me with the language of love. In vain did I fly
from him--for ever did he present himself before me with the most
audacious perseverance. My aunt (and what affectionate niece can
possibly disobey the commands of her father's sister-in-law?) has
ordered me to accept him; and I must now, like a mournful dove, be
sacrificed on the altar of Plutus. His name is Captain Kentledge,
but we generally call him Old Philip--sometimes the Triton, and
sometimes Sinbad, for he is a sailor, and very rich. He is a
stranger both to elegance and sentiment; of an exterior perfectly
revolting; and his manners are distinguished by a species of
brutality. It is impossible for me to regard him without horror.
But duty is the first consideration of a niece, and, though the
detestable Philip knows that my heart is devoted to my amiable
Achille, he takes a savage pleasure in urging me to name the day of
our marriage. Compassionate me, my ever dear Lantiponne. I know it
will be long before the wounds of our faithful hearts are
cicatrized.
I return you the little ring (so simple and so touching) that you
made me of your hair. But I will keep for ever the gold
essence-bottle and the silver toothpick, as emblems of your
tenderness. I shall often bathe them with my tears.
Adieu, my dear friend--my long-beloved Lantiponne. As Philip
Kentledge is very bald, I shall, when we are married, compel him to
wear a wig, and I will take care that he buys it of you. Likewise,
we shall get all our perfumery at your shop.
The inconsolable
ROBERTINE.
There are moments when my affliction is so great, that I think
seriously of charcoal. If you find it impossible to survive the
loss of your Robertine, that is the mode of death which you will
undoubtedly select, as being most generally approved in Paris. For
my own part, reason has triumphed, and I think it more heroic to
live and to suffer.
Uncle Philip listened to this letter with all the indignation it was
calculated to excite. But Sam and Dick were so diverted that they could
not refrain from laughing all the time; and towards the conclusion, the
old gentleman caught the contagion, and laughed also.
"_Ah! scélérat--monstre--ogre!_"[70] exclaimed Lantiponne--"do you make
your amusement of my sorrows? Render me, on this spot, the satisfaction
due to a gentleman. It is for that I am come. Behold--here I offer you
two pistoles--make your selection. Choose one this moment, or you die."
[Footnote 70: Ah! villain--monster--ogre.]
"Sam," said Uncle Philip, "hand me that stick."
"Which one, uncle?" exclaimed Sam--"the hickory or the maple?"
"The hickory," replied Uncle Philip.
And as soon as he got it into his hand, he advanced towards the
Frenchman, who drew back, but still extended the pistols, saying--"I
will shoot off both--instantly I will present fire!"
"Present fire if you dare," said Uncle Philip, brandishing his stick.
Monsieur Simagrée de Lantiponne lowered his pistols and walked backward
towards the door, which was suddenly thrown open from without, so as
nearly to push him down, and Robertine entered, followed by Madame
Franchimeau. At the sight of Lantiponne, both ladies exclaimed--"_Ah!
perfide! traitre!_" and a scene of violent recrimination took place in
French--Madame Franchimeau declaring that she had never influenced her
niece to give up her first lover for "Monsieur Philippe," but that the
whole plan had originated with Robertine herself. Lantiponne, in
deprecating the inconstancy of his mistress, complained bitterly of the
useless expense he had incurred in hiring four rooms, when two would
have sufficed, had he known in time that she intended to jilt him.
Robertine reproached him with his dishonourable conduct in betraying her
confidence and showing her letter to the very person who, above all
others, ought not to have seen it; and she deeply regretted having been
from home with her aunt and uncle when Lantiponne came to their house
immediately on his arrival at Corinth, and before he had sought an
interview with Captain Kentledge. He had seen only the old Ravigotes,
who were so impolitic as to give him a direction to Uncle Philip's
cabin, as soon as he inquired where his rival was to be found.