CHAPTER IX
ILLUSTRATING THE TRACTIVE POWER OF BASIL
On the twenty-fourth day of December, 1803, at two o'clock, P.M., thethermometer standing at 79, hygrometer 17, barometer 29.880, sky partlyclouded, wind west, light, the apothecary of the rue Royale, nowsomething more than a month established in his calling, might have beenseen standing behind his counter and beginning to show embarrassment inthe presence of a lady, who, since she had got her prescription filledand had paid for it, ought in the conventional course of things to havehurried out, followed by the pathetically ugly black woman who tarriedat the door as her attendant; for to be in an apothecary's shop at allwas unconventional. She was heavily veiled; but the sparkle of her eyes,which no multiplication of veils could quite extinguish, her symmetricaland well-fitted figure, just escaping smallness, her grace of movement,and a soft, joyous voice, had several days before led Frowenfeld to theconfident conclusion that she was young and beautiful.
For this was now the third time she had come to buy; and, though thepurchases were unaccountably trivial, the purchaser seemed not so. Onthe two previous occasions she had been accompanied by a slender girl,somewhat taller than she, veiled also, of graver movement, a bearingthat seemed to Joseph almost too regal, and a discernible unwillingnessto enter or tarry. There seemed a certain family resemblance between hervoice and that of the other, which proclaimed them--he incautiouslyassumed--sisters. This time, as we see, the smaller, and probably elder,came alone.
She still held in her hand the small silver which Frowenfeld had givenher in change, and sighed after the laugh they had just enjoyed togetherover a slip in her English. A very grateful sip of sweet the laugh wasto the all but friendless apothecary, and the embarrassment that rushedin after it may have arisen in part from a conscious casting about inhis mind for something--anything--that might prolong her stay aninstant. He opened his lips to speak; but she was quicker than he, andsaid, in a stealthy way that seemed oddly unnecessary:
"You 'ave some basilic?"
She accompanied her words with a little peeping movement, directing hisattention, through the open door, to his box of basil, on the floor inthe rear room.
Frowenfeld stepped back to it, cut half the bunch and returned, with thebold intention of making her a present of it; but as he hastened back tothe spot he had left, he was astonished to see the lady disappearingfrom his farthest front door, followed by her negress.
"Did she change her mind, or did she misunderstand me?" he askedhimself; and, in the hope that she might return for the basil, he put itin water in his back room.
The day being, as the figures have already shown, an unusually mild one,even for a Louisiana December, and the finger of the clock drawing byand by toward the last hour of sunlight, some half dozen of Frowenfeld'stownsmen had gathered, inside and out, some standing, some sitting,about his front door, and all discussing the popular topics of the day.For it might have been anticipated that, in a city where so very littleEnglish was spoken and no newspaper published except that beneficiaryof eighty subscribers, the "Moniteur de la Louisiane," the apothecary'sshop in the rue Royale would be the rendezvous for a select company ofEnglish-speaking gentlemen, with a smart majority of physicians.
The Cession had become an accomplished fact. With due drum-beatings andact-reading, flag-raising, cannonading and galloping of aides-de-camp,Nouvelle Orleans had become New Orleans, and Louisiane was Louisiana.This afternoon, the first week of American jurisdiction was onlysomething over half gone, and the main topic of public debate was stillthe Cession. Was it genuine? and, if so, would it stand?
"Mark my words," said one, "the British flag will be floating over thistown within ninety days!" and he went on whittling the back ofhis chair.
From this main question, the conversation branched out to the subject ofland titles. Would that great majority of Spanish titles, derived fromthe concessions of post-commandants and others of minor authority,hold good?
"I suppose you know what ---- thinks about it?"
"No."
"Well, he has quietly purchased the grant made by Carondelet to theMarquis of ----, thirty thousand acres, and now says the grant is twohundred _and_ thirty thousand. That is one style of men GovernorClaiborne is going to have on his hands. The town will presently be asfull of them as my pocket is of tobacco crumbs,--every one of them witha Spanish grant as long as Clark's ropewalk and made up since the rumorof the Cession."
"I hear that some of Honore Grandissime's titles are likely to turn outbad,--some of the old Brahmin properties and some of theMandarin lands."
"Fudge!" said Dr. Keene.
There was also the subject of rotation in office. Would this provisionalgovernor-general himself be able to stand fast? Had not a man bettertemporize a while, and see what Ex-Governor-general Casa Calvo andTrudeau were going to do? Would not men who sacrificed old prejudices,braved the popular contumely, and came forward and gave in theirallegiance to the President's appointee, have to take the chances oflosing their official positions at last? Men like Camille Brahmin, forinstance, or Charlie Mandarin: suppose Spain or France should get theprovince back, then where would they be?
"One of the things I pity most in this vain world," drawled DoctorKeene, "is a hive of patriots who don't know where to swarm."
The apothecary was drawn into the discussion--at least he thought hewas. Inexperience is apt to think that Truth will be knocked down andmurdered unless she comes to the rescue. Somehow, Frowenfeld's reallyexcellent arguments seemed to give out more heat than light. They weremerciless; their principles were not only lofty to dizziness, butprecipitous, and their heights unoccupied, and--to the commonsight--unattainable. In consequence, they provoked hostility and evenresentment. With the kindest, the most honest, and even the most modest,intentions, he found himself--to his bewilderment and surprise--sniffedat by the ungenerous, frowned upon by the impatient, and smiled down bythe good-natured in a manner that brought sudden blushes of exasperationto his face, and often made him ashamed to find himself going over thesesham battles again in much savageness of spirit, when alone with hisbooks; or, in moments of weakness, casting about for such unworthyweapons as irony and satire. In the present debate, he had just provokeda sneer that made his blood leap and his friends laugh, when DoctorKeene, suddenly rising and beckoning across the street, exclaimed:
"Oh! Agricole! Agricole! _venez ici_; we want you."
A murmur of vexed protest arose from two or three.
"He's coming," said the whittler, who had also beckoned.
"Good evening, Citizen Fusilier," said Doctor Keene. "Citizen Fusilier,allow me to present my friend, Professor Frowenfeld--yes, you are aprofessor--yes, you are. He is one of your sort, Citizen Fusilier, a manof thorough scientific education. I believe on my soul, sir, he knowsnearly as much as you do!"
The person who confronted the apothecary was a large, heavily built, butwell-molded and vigorous man, of whom one might say that he was adornedwith old age. His brow was dark, and furrowed partly by time and partlyby a persistent, ostentatious frown. His eyes were large, black andbold, and the gray locks above them curled short and harsh like thefront of a bull. His nose was fine and strong, and if there was anydeficiency in mouth or chin, it was hidden by a beard that swept downover his broad breast like the beard of a prophet. In his dress, whichwas noticeably soiled, the fashions of three decades were hinted at; heseemed to have donned whatever he thought his friends would most haveliked him to leave off.
"Professor," said the old man, extending something like the paw of alion, and giving Frowenfeld plenty of time to become thoroughly awed,"this is a pleasure as magnificent as unexpected! A scientific man?--inLouisiana?" He looked around upon the doctors as upon agraduating class.
"Professor, I am rejoiced!" He paused again, shaking the apothecary'shand with great ceremony. "I do assure you, sir, I dislike to relinquishyour grasp. Do me the honor to allow me to become your friend! Icongratulate my downtrodden country on the acquisition of
such acitizen! I hope, sir,--at least I might have hoped, had not Louisianajust passed into the hands of the most clap-trap government in theuniverse, notwithstanding it pretends to be a republic,--I might havehoped that you had come among us to fasten the lie direct upon a lateauthor, who writes of us that 'the air of this region is deadly tothe Muses.'"
"He didn't say that?" asked one of the debaters, with pretendedindignation.
"He did, sir, after eating our bread!"
"And sucking our sugar-cane, too, no doubt!" said the wag; but the oldman took no notice.
Frowenfeld, naturally, was not anxious to reply, and was greatlyrelieved to be touched on the elbow by a child with a picayune in onehand and a tumbler in the other. He escaped behind the counter andgladly remained there.
"Citizen Fusilier," asked one of the gossips, "what has the newgovernment to do with the health of the Muses?"
"It introduces the English tongue," said the old man, scowling.
"Oh, well," replied the questioner, "the Creoles will soon learn thelanguage."
"English is not a language, sir; it is a jargon! And when this youngsimpleton, Claiborne, attempts to cram it down the public windpipe inthe courts, as I understand he intends, he will fail! Hah! sir, I knowmen in this city who would rather eat a dog than speak English! I speakit, but I also speak Choctaw."
"The new land titles will be in English."
"They will spurn his rotten titles. And if he attempts to invalidatetheir old ones, why, let him do it! Napoleon Buonaparte" (Italianpronounciation) "will make good every arpent within the next two years._Think so?_ I know it! _How?_ H-I perceive it! H-I hope the yellow fevermay spare you to witness it."
A sullen grunt from the circle showed the "citizen" that he had presumedtoo much upon the license commonly accorded his advanced age, and by wayof a diversion he looked around for Frowenfeld to pour new flatteriesupon. But Joseph, behind his counter, unaware of either the offense orthe resentment, was blushing with pleasure before a visitor who hadentered by the side door farthest from the company.
"Gentlemen," said Agricola, "h-my dear friends, you must not expect anold Creole to like anything in comparison with _la belle langue_."
"Which language do you call _la belle?_" asked Doctor Keene, withpretended simplicity.
The old man bent upon him a look of unspeakable contempt, which nobodynoticed. The gossips were one by one stealing a glance toward that whichever was, is and must be an irresistible lodestone to the eyes of allthe sons of Adam, to wit, a chaste and graceful complement of--skirts.Then in a lower tone they resumed their desultory conversation.
It was the seeker after basil who stood before the counter, holding inher hand, with her purse, the heavy veil whose folds had beforeconcealed her features.
The Grandissimes Page 10