Mar. Well, I mean all my views about society, and such things. The text was, "He hath made everything beautiful in its season;" and he showed how all the orders and distinctions in society came from God; and that it was so appropriate, you know, and beautiful, that some should be high and some low, and that some were born to rule and some to serve, and all that, you know; and he applied it so well to all this ridiculous fuss that is made about slavery, and he proved distinctly that the Bible was on our side, and supported all our institutions so convincingly, I only wish you 'd heard him.
St. C. O, I did n't need it! I can learn what does me as much good as that from the Picayune any time, and smoke a cigar besides; which I can't do, you know, in a church.
Oph. Why, don't you believe in these views?
St. C. Who--I? You know I 'm such a graceless dog that these religious aspects of such subjects don't edify me much. If I was to say anything on this slavery matter, I would say out, fair and square, "We 're in for it; we've got 'em, and mean to keep 'em--it 's for our convenience and our interest;" for that 's the long and short of it; that 's just the whole of what all this sanctified stuff amounts to, after all; and I think that will be intelligible to everybody everywhere.
Mar. I do think, Augustine, you are so irreverent! I think it 's shocking to hear you talk.
St. C. Shocking! it 's the truth. This religious talk on such matters, why don't they carry it a little further, and show the beauty, in its season, of a fellow's taking a glass too much, and sitting a little too late over his cards, and various providential arrangements of that sort, which are pretty frequent among us young men? We 'd like to hear that those are right and godly too.
Oph. Well, do you think slavery right or wrong?
St. C. I 'm not going to have any of your horrid New England directness, cousin. If I answer that question, I know you 'll be at me with half a dozen others, each one harder than the last; and I'm not a-going to define my position. I am one of that sort that lives by throwing stones at other people's glass-houses; but I never mean to put up one for them to stone.
Mar. That 's just the way he 's always talking; you can't get any satisfaction out of him. I believe it 's just because he don't like religion that he 's always running out in this way he 's been doing.
St. C. Religion! Religion! Is what you have been hearing at church, religion? Is that which can bend and turn, and descend and ascend, to fit every crooked phase of selfish, worldly society, religion? Is that religion which is less scrupulous, less generous, less just, less considerate for man, than even my own ungodly, worldly, blinded nature? No! When I look for a religion, I must look for something above me, and not something beneath.
Oph. Then you don't believe that the Bible justifies slavery?
St. C. The Bible was my mother's book. By it she lived and died, and I would be very sorry to think it did. I 'd as soon desire to have it proved that my mother could drink brandy, chew tobacco, and swear, by way of satisfying me that I did right in doing the same. It would n't make me at all more satisfied with these things in myself, and it would take from me the comfort of respecting her; and it really is a comfort, in this world, to have anything one can respect. In short, you see [gayly], all I want is that different things be kept in different boxes. The whole frame-work of society, both in Europe and America, is made up of various things which will not stand the scrutiny of any very ideal standard of morality. It 's pretty generally understood that men don't aspire after the absolute right, but only to do about as well as the rest of the world. Now, when any one speaks up, like a man, and says slavery is necessary to us, we can't get along without it, we should be beggared if we give it up, and, of course, we mean to hold on to it--this is strong, clear, well-defined language; it has the respectability of truth to it; and, if we may judge by their practice, the majority of the world will bear us out in it. But when he begins to put on a long face, and snuffle, and quote Scripture, I incline to think he isn't much better than he should be.
Mar. You are very uncharitable.
St. C. Well, suppose that something should bring down the price of cotton once and forever, and make the whole slave property a drug in the market; don't you think we should soon have another version of the Scripture doctrine? What a flood of light would pour into the church, all at once, and how immediately it would be discovered that everything in the Bible and reason went the other way!
Mar. Well, at any rate, I 'm thankful I 'm born where slavery exists; and I believe it 's right--indeed, I feel it must be; and, at any rate, I 'm sure I could n't get along with it.
Enter EVA. St. C. [To EVA.] I say, what do you think, pussy?
Eva. What about, papa?
St. C. Why, which do you like the best; to live as they do at your uncle's, up in Vermont, or to have a house-full of servants, as we do?
Eva. O, of course, our way is the pleasantest!
St. C. Why so?
Eva. Why, it makes so many more round you to love, you know.
Mar. Now, that 's just like Eva; just one of her odd speeches.
Eva. Is it an odd speech, papa?
St. C. Rather, as this world goes, pussy. But where has my little Eva been, all dinner-time?
Eva. O, I 've been up in Tom's room, hearing him sing, and Aunt Dinah gave me my dinner.
St. C. Hearing Tom sing, eh?
Eva. O, yes! He sings such beautiful things about the New Jerusalem, and bright angels, and the land of Canaan.
St. C. I dare say; it 's better than the opera, is n't it?
Eva. Yes; and he 's going to teach them to me.
St. C. Singing-lessons, eh?--you are coming on.
Eva. Yes, he sings for me, and I read to him in my Bible; and he explains what it means, you know.
Mar. On my word, that is the latest joke of the season.
St. C. Tom is n't a bad hand, now, at explaining Scripture, I 'll dare swear. Tom has a natural genius for religion. I wanted the horses out early, this morning, and I stole up to Tom's cubiculum there, over the s tables, and there I heard him holding a meeting by himself; and, in fact, I have n't heard anything quite so savory as Tom's prayer this some time. He put in for me with a zeal that was quite apostolic.
Mar. Perhaps he guessed you were listening. I 've heard of that trick before.
St. C. If he did, he was n't very polite; for he gave the Lord his opinion of me pretty feely. Tom seemed to think there was decidedly room for improvement in me, and seemed very earnest that I should be converted.
Oph. Ihope you 'll lay it to heart.
St. C. [Gayly.] I suppose you are much of the same opinion. Well, we shall see-shan't we, Eva?
SCENE V.--The Kitchen.
DINAH (smoking). Negro children playing about. Dinah. 'Still there, ye young uns, 'sturbin' me, while I 's takin' my smoke!
Enter JANE and ROSA. Rosa. Well, such a time as there 's been in the house to-day, I never saw! Such a rummagin' and frummagin' in bandboxes and closets!--everything dragged out! Hate these yer northen misses!
Jane. Laws! ye orter seen her to the sheet trunk! Wan't it as good as a play to see her turn 'em out!
Bob. [From floor.] Tell ye, ef she don't sail round the house, coat-tail standin' out ahind her! Bound if she don't clar every one on us off the verandys minnit we shows our faces!
Dinah. An't gwine to have her in my diggin's, sturbin' my idees! Never let Miss Marie interfere, and she sartin shan't, her! Allus telled Miss Marie the kitchen wan't no place for ladies; Miss Marie got sense--she know'd it; but these yer northen misses--Good Lor! who is she, anyhow?
Rosa. Why, she 's Mas'r St. Clare's cousin.
Dinah. 'Lation, is she? Poor, too, an't she?--hearn tell they done their own work up thar. Anything I hate, it 's these yer poor 'lations!
Rosa. Hush! here she comes!
Enter MISS OPHELIA. Oph. [Advances and opens a drawer.] What 's this drawer for, Dinah?
Dinah. Handy for most anything, missis.
Oph. [Rummaging--draws
out a table-cloth.] What 's this? A beautiful French damask table-cloth, all stained and bloody! Why, Dinah, you don't wrap up meat in your mistress' best damask table-cloths?
Dinah. O Lor, missis, no! the towels was all a missin'--so I jest did it. I laid out to wash that are--that 's why I put it thar.
Oph. [Disgusted--still rummaging.] Shiftless! What 's here?--nutmeg-grater--Methodist hymn-book--knitting-work! Faugh!--filthy old pipe! Faugh! what a sight! Where do you keep your nutmegs, Dinah?
Dinah. Most anywhar, missis; there 's some in that cracked tea-cup up there, and there 's some over in that ar cuboard.
Oph. Here are some in the grater.
Dinah. Laws, yes! I put 'em there this morning. I likes to keep my things handy. You, Bob! what are you stopping for? You 'll cotch it! Be still thar!
[Striking at him with a stick.] Oph. What 's this?
[Holding up a saucer.] Dinah. Laws, it 's my har grease; I put it thar to have it handy.
Oph. Do you use your mistress' best saucers for that?
Dinah. Law! it was cause I was driv, and in sich a hurry; I was gwine to change it this very day.
Oph. Here are two damask table-napkins.
Dinah. Them table-napkins I put thar to get 'em washed out, some day.
Oph. Don't you have some place here on purpose for things to be washed?
Dinah. Well, Mas'r St. Clare got dat ar chest, he said, for dat; but I likes to mix up biscuit and hev my things on it some days, and then it an't handy a liftin' up the lid.
Oph. Why don't you mix your biscuits on the pastry-table, there?
Dinah. Law, missis, it get sot so full of dishes, and one thing and another, der an't no room, noways----
Oph. But you should wash your dishes, and clear them away.
Dinah. [Enraged.] Wash my dishes! What does ladies know 'bout work, I want to know? When 'd mas'r ever get his dinner if I was to spend all my time a washin' and a puttin' up dishes? Miss Marie never telled me so, nohow.
Oph. Well, here are these onions.
Dinah. Laws, yes! thar is whar I put 'em, now. I could n't 'member. Them 's particular onions I was a savin' for dis yer very stew. I 'd forgot they was in dar ar old flannel. [MISS OPHELIA lifts a paper of herbs.] I wish missis would n't touch dem ar. I likes to keep my things whar I knows what to go to 'em.
Oph. But you don't want these holes in the papers.
Dinah. Them 's handy for siftin' on't out.
Oph. But you see it spills all over the drawer.
Dinah. Laws, yes! if missis will go a tumblin' things all up so, it will. Missis has spilt lots dat ar way. If missis only will go up stars till my clarin'-up time comes, I 'll have everything right; but I can't do nothin' when ladies is round, a henderin'. You, Sam, don't you gib the baby dat ar sugar-bowl! I'll crack ye over, if ye don't mind!
Oph. I 'm going through the kitchen, and going to put everything in order once, Dinah; and then I 'll expect you to keep it so.
Dinah. Lor, now! Miss 'Phelia, dat ar an't no way for ladies to do. I never did see ladies doin' no sich; my old missis nor Miss Marie never did, and I don't see no kinder need on't.
[] Enter ST. CLARE. Oph. There is no such thing as getting anything like system in this family!
St. Clare. To be sure there is n't.
Oph. Such shiftless management, such waste, such confusion, I never saw!
St. C. I dare say you did n't.
Oph. You would not take it so coolly if you were a housekeeper.
St. C. My dear cousin, you may as well understand, once for all, that we masters are divided into two classes, oppressors and oppressed. We who are good-natured and hate severity make up our minds to a good deal of inconvenience. If we will keep a shambling, loose, untaught set in the community, for our convenience, why, we must take the consequence. Some rare cases I have seen, of persons, who, by a peculiar tact, can produce order and system without severity; but I 'm not one of them, and so I made up my mind, long ago, to let things go just as they do. I will not have the poor devils thrashed and cut to pieces, and they know it; and, of course, they know the staff is in their own hands.
Oph. But to have no time, no place, no order--all going on in this shiftless way!
St. C. My dear Vermont, you natives up by the North Pole set an extravagant value on time! What on earth is the use of time to a fellow who has twice as much of it as he knows what to do with? As to order and system, where there is nothing to be done but to lounge on the sofa and read, an hour sooner or later in breakfast or dinner is n't of much account. Now, there's Dinah gets you a capital dinner--soup, ragout, roast fowl, dessert, ice-creams and all--and she creates it all out of Chaos and old Night out here in this kitchen. I think it really sublime, the way she manages. But, Heaven bless us! if we were to come out here, and view all the smoking and squatting about, and hurryscurryation of the preparatory process, we should never eat more. My good cousin, absolve yourself from that! It 's more than a Catholic penance, and does no more good. You 'll only lose your own temper, and utterly confound Dinah. Let her go her own way.
Oph. But, Augustine, you don't know how I found things.
St. C. Don't I? Don't I know that the rolling-pin is under her bed, and the nutmeg-grater in her pocket with her tobacco--that there are sixty-five different sugar-bowls, one in every hole in the house--that she wa shes dishes with a dinner-napkin one day, and with the fragment of an old petticoat the next? But the upshot is, she gets up glorious dinners, makes superb coffee; and you must judge her, as warriors and statesmen are judged, by her success.
Oph. But the waste--the expense!
St. C. O, well! lock everything you can, and keep the key. Give out by driblets, and never inquire for odds and ends--it is n't best.
Oph. That troubles me, Augustine. I can't help feeling as if these servants were not strictly honest. Are you sure they can be relied on?
St. C. [Laughing.] O, cousin, that 's too good! Honest!-- as if that 's a thing to be expected! Honest!--why, of course they arn't. Why should they be? What upon earth is to make them so?
Oph. Why don't you instruct?
St. C. Instruct! O, fiddlestick! What instructing do you think I should do? I look like it! As to Marie, she has spirit enough, to be sure, to kill off a whole plantation, if I'd let her manage; but she would n't get the cheatery out of them.
Oph. Are there no honest ones?
St. C. Well, now and then one, whom nature makes so impracticably simple, truthful and faithful, that the worst possible influence can't destroy it. But, you see, from the mother's breast the colored child feels and sees that there are none but underhand ways open to it. It can get along no other way with its parents, its mistress, its young master and missie play-fellows. Cunning and deception become necessary, inevitable habits. It is n't fair to expect anything else of him. He ought not to be punished for it. As to honesty, the slave is kept in that dependent, semi-childish state, that there is no making him realize the rights of property, or feel that his master's goods are not his own, if he can get them. For my part, I don't see how they can be honest. Such a fellow as Tom here is, is a moral miracle!
Oph. And what becomes of their souls?
St. C. That is n't my affair, as I know of. I am only dealing in facts of the present life. The fact is, that the whole race are pretty generally understood to be turned over to the devil, for our benefit, in this world, however it may turn out in another!
Oph. This is perfectly horrible! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!
St. C. I don't know as I am. We are in pretty good company, for all that, as people in the broad road generally are.
SCENE VI.--New Orleans. A Parlor in ST. CLARE'S House.
Enter ST. CLARE and TOPSY. St. Clare. Come down here, cousin; I 've something to show you.
Enter MISS OPHELIA, sewing in hand. Ophelia. What is it?
St. Clare. I 've made a purchase for your department--see here.
Oph. Augustine, what in the world did you bring that
thing here for?
St. C. For you to educate, to be sure, and train in the way she should go. I thought she was rather a funny specimen in the Jim Crow line. Here, Topsy, this is your new mistress. I 'm going to give you up to here; see, how, that you behave yourself.
Topsy. Yes, mas'r.
St. C. You 're going to be good, Topsy, you understand.
Top. O, yes, mas'r!
Oph. Now, Augustine, what upon earth is this for? Your house is so full of these little plagues, now, that a body can't set their feet down without treading on 'em. I get up in the morning, and find one asleep behind the door, and see one black head poking out from under the table, one lying on the door-mat; and they are mopping, and mowing, and grinning between all the railings, and tu mbling over the kitchen floor! What on earth did you want to bring this one for?
St. C. For you to educate--did n't I tell you? You 're always preaching about educating. I thought I would make you a present of a fresh-caught specimen, and let you try your hand on her, and bring her up in the way she should go.
Oph. I don't want her, I am sure; I have more to do with 'em now than I want to.
St. C. That 's you Christians, all over! You 'll get up a society, and get some poor missionary to spend all his days among just such heathen. But let me see one of you that would take one into your house with you, and take the labor of their conversion on yourselves! No; when it comes to that, they are dirty and disagreeable, and it 's too much care, and so on.
Oph. Augustine, you know I did n't think of it in that light. Well, it might be a real missionary work. But I really did n't see the need of buying this one--there are enough now, in your house, to take all my time a nd skill.
St. C. Well, then, Cousin, I ought to beg your pardon for my good-for-nothing speeches. You are so good, after all, that there 's no sense in them. Why, the fact is, this concern belonged to a couple of drunken creatures that keep a low restaurant that I have to pass by every day, and I was tired of hearing her screaming, and them beating and swearing at her. She looked bright and funny, too, as if something might be made of her; so I bought her, and I 'll give her to you. Try, now, and give her a good orthodox New England bringing up, and see what it 'll make of her. You know I have n't any gift that way; but I 'd like you to try.
The Christian Slave: A Drama Page 5