Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “Really! Well now, that does seem to be a very queer idea, to be sure, let who will have invented it!” said Mrs. Beauchamp, with a little air of disdain. “But pray, ma’am, are gentlemen ever admitted?”

  “Certainly they are,” replied Mrs. Allen Barnaby with dignity. “Such, I mean, as have been presented at court.”

  “Oh! then Mr. Robert Owen goes to see the caps and bonnets, I expect,” said Annie Beauchamp, innocently.

  “If he is a man of fashion, I dare say he does,” answered the not-too-well-informed Mrs. Allen Barnaby.

  The young lady did not reply, but closed her eyes as if disposed to sleep. The conversation, however, proceeded between the other ladies, who all, with the exception of Miss Louisa, seemed anxious to hear what further Mrs. Allen Barnaby would say, and Mrs. Beauchamp answer.

  “It was but a day or two before we quitted London,” said the former lady, “that we paid our compliments for the last time this season to her Majesty Queen Victoria, and a sweet, pretty, amiable creature she is, I assure you. It is a great advantage, ma’am, especially where one has a young daughter to bring out, to have the privilege of going to court. There is nothing in the whole world will stand in the place of that — positively nothing.”

  “I will tell you what, my good lady,” returned Mrs. Beauchamp, her handsome eyes looking rather fierce, and her complexion considerably heightened—” I will tell you one thing out of pure cleverness and good nature. I expect you won’t find it answer coming over American ladies with long stories about going to court, because it is the very thing of all creation that we most hate, despise, and abominate. You can’t, I expect, though you do come from the old country, you can’t be so unaccountable ignorant as not to know that a court is a thing we would no more permit in this country than we would the putting of poison into our bread; that the very name of it turns us sick, and that all the unfortunate people, that God, in one of his mysteries, permits still to be the pitifying victims of such unnatural and degrading oppression, ought never to mention such a thing in the presence of a free citizen, any more than they would any other disgraceful or indecent misfortune that unhappily belonged to them.”

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby was so completely thunderstruck and overpowered by this unexpected burst of eloquence, that almost for the first time in her life she felt unable to answer a word. It is probable that Mrs. Beauchamp, who, excepting when her patriotic feelings (upon which she particularly prided herself) were touched, was really a very amiable woman — it is highly probable that she not only saw, but lamented the very violent effect she had produced. She would have scorned and hated herself had she, upon hearing a person actually boast of having been at a court (without being forced to go there by political necessity, like the American ministers) — she would have scorned, hated, and belittered herself for ever, had she heard this without raising the hallowed voice of freedom to express her sense of its baseness. But she did not the least in the world wish to be otherwise than exceedingly polite and genteel in her demeanour to Mrs. Allen Barnaby, and all other European ladies. Such were now her secret feelings as she watched the perturbed and puzzled countenance of Mrs. Allen Barnaby, and had she known them, she would very likely have parodied against herself the famous lines —

  Perhaps it was right to dissemble your love,

  But why did you kick me down stairs?

  Under the influence of feelings such as these, Mrs. Beauchamp determined to make it manifest to the strangers, that a perfect “American female” could be as much celebrated and distinguished for her politeness and her literature, as for her patriotism and political superiority. With this view, she at once changed her heroic tone for one of familiar kindness, and said, “I must not let you, Mrs. Allen Barnaby, and these other ladies, who have come such a curious long way to see our western wonder of the world — I must not let you all fancy that the patriotic warmth of our free notions blinds us to all those accomplishments as have nothing to do with the government. It is quite the contrary, I assure you, and I expect that you’ll realise this fact before you have been long in the country. The great point of all with us is your literature, you know, which we make a most particular principle of studying. And that, to our honour be it spoken, even now, when we are quite availed of the fact that we have for some months past, by our native productions, gone far beyond anything that ever was printed or written in the old world. But this, of course, can’t touch any of us in the manner of a surprise, because all philosophical people know that a soil that is close worked up and worn out, can’t be expected to produce things as fine and flourishing as new soil. There is nobody, I expect, that will venture to contradict that, now-a-days. But never a bit the less for that, we are still ready to extend the hand of patronage to European talent. And, I’ll tell you what, ladies, there is still, notwithstanding the terrible great advance which our authors have lately made before the English, there is still one way in which an English gentlemen, or lady either, might put everybody of all countries in the world behind them in the point of fame; and that is by writing an out-and-out good book of travels upon the United States. I calculate that there is nobody bold enough to deny that it is the finest subject in the world, and so it would have been, no doubt of it, if nobody had ever put pen to paper about it. But when one thinks of all the lies that have got to be contradicted, one must be a fool not to see that such a book might be made as would render the author’s name as glorious throughout the Union as that of General Lafayette himself. And as to dollars! Oh, my! There would be no end to the dollars as would be made by it.”

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby, through all the various changes and chances of her life, must ever have appeared to the reader what she really was — namely, a woman of very extraordinary acuteness. Though in general, perhaps, more of a talker than a listener, she felt as she now listened to Mrs. Beauchamp, that at the present moment much more was to be gained by acquiring than by giving information; and when her first dismay, occasioned by Mrs. Beauchamp’s patriotic outbreak, had subsided, she gave her earnest and undivided attention to every syllable she uttered.

  It must elevate the characters of both Major Allen Barnaby and his lady in the mind of my readers, when they are told that they were at this period of their lives on much more confidential terms together than at any former time since their union.

  Both these excellent persons had their peculiarities, and though on many points it was quite impossible that any two people could assimilate better, there were others respecting which the major had felt when they first married, that they might not perhaps, from the difference of their previous habits of life, hold precisely the same opinions. Under this impression he had, in many cases, entirely concealed some little circumstances which he thought might possibly startle his lady, and so managed others, as gently to bring before her eyes whatever he wished should become familiar to them, and thus by degrees, had gradually led her to a degree of independent thinking on most subjects, hardly inferior to his own — so that now he had really scarcely a thought that he concealed from her, and she was quite as well aware that his position was at this time a little critical as he could be himself. It was doubtless for this reason that she now listened to Mrs. Beauchamp with such deep attention. The major had given her very clearly to understand, that their well-doing for the future depended altogether upon their being able to establish themselves in the esteem and good-liking of the inhabitants of the land in which they had in fact taken refuge, from a good deal that might have made it difficult for them to find an agreeable abode elsewhere. Every word that her new acquaintance uttered, therefore, seemed to be big with important meaning, and before she had ceased to speak, an effect had been produced on the mind of Mrs. Allen Barnaby, which as she afterwards said, in communicating it to the major, was likely to have an influence on the whole of her future life.

  When deep impressions are made upon the soul, it often appears, for a time, as if the effect produced were working so strongly within as to prevent any portion of
the result from being left visible without. And so it was on the present occasion with Mrs. Allen Barnaby. Neither Mrs. Beauchamp herself, nor any other person present, were in the least degree, aware of what was going on in the secret recesses of her mind. Nevertheless, she had sufficient command of herself to retain the appearance of being perfectly present to everything that was passing. When Mrs. Grimes remarked to her that “there was no country in the world that enjoyed the luxury of iced water in the same elegant manner as New Orlines,” she bowed and smiled exactly with a proper degree of acquiescence; and when Mrs. Hucks, holding out her foot for inspection, said that she supposed the ladies had heard that American females were famous for their beauty in that particular part of the person, any one in the world who had seen her, might have supposed that she knew what had been said. But, in point of fact, she had not the slightest idea what the observation meant, yet with a sort of instinctive cleverness made a little action with her hand towards Miss Matilda Perkins, who was sitting near her, as if to refer the matter to her, from thinking her a person peculiarly well calculated to discuss it. This instantly carried the attention of every American lady present, except the sleeping Annie, towards Miss Matilda; and as that graceful young lady was blessed by having a long slender foot, which might have defied the toes of nine-tenths of her female fellow-creatures to get into her shoe, though there was “stuff enough” in one of her long slippers to make a pair for many, it answered very well, as it brought on a long discussion upon long feet and short feet, and broad feet and narrow feet, and round feet and square feet — all of which sheltered the revery of Mrs. Allen Barnaby from observation, and enabled her very satisfactorily to arrange her thoughts before she was called upon by Mrs. Carmichael to decide whether she would take coffee or tea.

  By that time she had sufficiently recovered her usual state of mind to be aware that of all the party which had dined together, her own set and the portly lady of the mansion were all that remained in the saloon, and it was not without a sensation of envy that she learned they were all gone to various evening parties, of which a vast number were nightly given in the town. The only gentleman who reappeared was the young Englishman, Mr. Egerton; but having looked round the large half-lighted room in search of some one whom, as it appeared, he did not find, he rambled into the moonlit balcony for a few minutes, then passed through the saloon again, and disappeared.

  Dulness seemed now to settle heavily upon the party. Mrs. Carmichael, after subjecting Miss Matilda Perkins, who chanced to be the one seated next her, to the usual transatlantic process of interrogation, as to everything about her goings and doings, past and future, did not appear to consider herself obliged to do the honours of her mansion any further; and having caused a female slave to bring in a large square of light-green gauze, and so to arrange it round her head, neck, and arms as to protect her from the attacks of mosquitoes, she deliberately prepared herself for sleep.

  Had Mrs. Allen Barnaby, therefore, been at that moment inclined for conversation (which she certainly was not), she would not have indulged in it; her fixed and steadfast resolution to conciliate every man, woman, and child in the Union, being quite sufficient to prevent her running the risk of keeping any of them awake when they wished to sleep; so she quietly prepared herself to follow her gigantic hostess’s example. But she soon found that there were two causes which would render this impossible. The first and most important was the absence of the green gauze — for no sooner had she lain herself in an attitude of rest, than a sharp threatening buzz became audible around her; and in the next, that irritating paroxysm of feverish unrest supervened, which none can conceive or comprehend who have not been exposed to the torment. The second cause of prevention to her desired repose was the voice of her daughter, who now began, in accents less soft than those of the forsaken wood-pigeon, first to deplore the cruel absence of her lord, and then to predict how he should be treated when she got him again.

  So Mrs. Allen Barnaby reared herself up again, and, looking round her, conceived the very rational idea that, let the hour be what it might, the best thing they could do would be to go to bed; for the eldest Miss Perkins was looking so pale, so wobegone, that a heart of stone might have felt an interest in getting her deposited where there was the best chance of her forgetting all the thoughts and all the feelings that now seemed to have hold of her; while the youngest, “her hopes all flat,” had much the aspect of a ghost who waits to be spoken to before he avows his purpose. And as to Patty, she was bemoaning herself so piteously, that it was evidently much better she should be alone than in company.

  “What do you say, my dears, to our all going to bed?” said Mrs. Allen Barnaby, rising from her recumbent posture, and shaking the envenomed host that tormented her from her person. “There is no good in our waiting for the men, for I know of old, Patty, dear, that when they once get roaming about a new place, it is not a short time that will bring them back again.”

  The two Miss Perkinses rose instantly, and might, perhaps, have looked comforted, could the features of either at that moment have taken suddenly so agreeable an expression; but Patty’s reply to the question was almost a scream, from the tone in which she uttered —

  “What I before Tornorino comes back? What a brute you must be, mamma, to think of such a thing!”

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby, however, admirable mother as she was, seldom made up her mind to do one thing, because she liked it best herself, and then did something else because her daughter liked it better; and now, therefore, proceeding to a small table in a corner of the room, on which stood several night-lamps, she took one, saying, “Very well, my dear, you will do as you like. Just ring the bell, Louisa — will you? I can’t do without having the black woman to show me the way.”

  Patty pulled out her pocket-handkerchief, and actually began to sob; but the black woman appeared, her mother and “the dear Perkinses” began to move, and Patty rose and followed them, scolding her mother, though, all the time very heartily. How soon the various individuals of the party found consolation for their different sorrows in sleep, is not easily known; but Mrs. Allen Barnaby, whose career it is the historian’s especial business to follow, was soon snugly and contentedly ensconced within her mosquito-net, and though she had too much to say to her husband not to wish for his presence, she nevertheless would not allow herself to regret his absence, knowing too well the nature of the city he had selected for his residence, not to feel thoroughly persuaded that, stranger as he was, he must be nevertheless already well employed. And as she nestled her head on her pillow, she muttered, without intending any quotation, “He is about it.”

  CHAPTER IX.

  IT was nearly two hours past midnight when Major Allen Barnaby mounted very quietly to his chamber, yet not so noiselessly, either, as to avoid waking his wife. The thoughts she wished to communicate to him, however, were both too important and too voluminous to be opened upon at such an hour, and nearly all the words which passed between them were — on her side, “Well, Donny, have you done anything?” and on his, “Yes, pretty well; but I am devilish tired. You shall hear more to-morrow. Good night.”

  The morrow came, and found them both in the best possible humour for conjugal confidence. As soon as the fact of their both being wide awake was mutually ascertained, Mrs. Allen Barnaby resumed the questioning of the preceding night by saying, “Well, dear, and what did you do?”

  “Why, tolerably well for just the first setting off, and Tornorino is a much better hand than Foxcroft. I am devilish glad I refused to bring that fellow — he is so confounded clumsy, he can’t give one a look without staring one full in the face. But Patty’s Don is quite another style of aide-de-camp; though he generally looks, you know, as if he were half asleep, I promise you I found him perfectly wide awake. So much so, indeed, that I asked him how it happened that we found him so confoundedly poor, and why he had never tried the sort of thing before?”

  “And what did he say, major?” demanded his wife, rather eagerly.


  “He answered, with the most perfect frankness, that he had never had capital enough since he left Spain to attempt the sort of thing at all in the style of a gentleman. I really like the young fellow exceedingly.” —

  “I am monstrous glad to hear it,” replied his wife, “for Patty perfectly dotes upon him. So that’s all as it should be. But now, my dear, do tell me a little about the style in which you find they do things here? Do you think it will suit you, Donny? Do you think you will find it answer?”

  “Answer?” repeated the major, significantly. “I dare say enough may be done to repay time and trouble; but, if by answer you mean anything like the glorious opportunities one had in London in the way we were going on, I must certainly say NO. Nothing at all approaching even the sum that fool Ronaldson had in his pocket-book is ever likely to be got by one job, I’ll venture to say, without a word about the checks he was willing enough to have given if that confounded jade had not stopped him. No, nothing of this magnitude, my Barnaby — nothing near it can ever be hoped for. But we must make the best of it now, my dear, and do as well as we can. You know now, wife, the real state of my purse, which I did not think it right to mention as long as you were so mad about dressing up Patty to get her married. But that’s all over now, and I am willing to make you acquainted with everything. I don’t think I am a man likely to lose money, even here, but devilish sharp they are, I promise you, and I could no more do single-handed than I could fly. It is a great piece of good luck my having Tornorino. And you will have your part to play too, my Barnaby, for it’s plain to see that the first-raters, the planters, and such like from the south, who are sporting men, and come to New Orleans for a few weeks’ lark, won’t sit down with the first that comes by — not they — I saw that plain enough, and your post must be to make a large acquaintance, and keep up a good appearance and make yourself as popular as you can.”