Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “As popular as I can,” repeated Mrs. Allen Barnaby, with a long deep breath that seemed necessary to relieve the overpowering fulness of her heart. “What shall you say, Major Allen Barnaby, if I have already been put upon a scent, and devised a scheme that shall not only insure our popularity, but bring us in lots of dollars besides; what should you say to that?”

  “Why, I should say that my Barnaby was a jewel,” replied the major, with an eager expression of satisfaction, which showed him by no means disposed to doubt her boasted discovery; for, to say truth, he had really great confidence in the excellence of her understanding, which he had for many years been in the habit of watching, and always with increasing admiration. “But make haste, and tell me,” he added, “for, as you may imagine, I am pretty eager to understand you.”

  “I will be as explicit as possible, my dear love,” replied the lady, with a little dignity of manner, which well became her at that moment; “but you must be patient with me, or I shall not have the happiness of making you understand me. The thing I am about to propose is so perfectly new to us both, that at the first contemplation of it I feel it possible that you may testify more surprise than pleasure — more diffidence than hope. But hear all I have to say, and I think the final result will be different.

  “You doubtless observed at table yesterday that very handsome woman, Mrs. Beauchamp; she is the wife, you know, of Colonel Beauchamp, and from all I can gather from what has been dropped by Mrs. Carmichael and the other ladies, the Beauchamps are people of quite first-rate consequence, not only here, but at Washington, and New York, and Charlestown, and indeed everywhere. Well, I last night had a great deal of most interesting conversation with her, both about Europe and America. It is quite evident that she is a woman of a very superior mind, and her feelings of patriotic love and admiration for her own country are something so sublime, that she almost frightened me. Now, it is as plain as the sun at noon-day, Donny, that it won’t do playing the same game here that we did at Sydney. What I mean is, that it won’t do for us to be boasting of our high family and connections in the old country; for it was easy to see that she despised everything in England, even the Queen herself, just as if it was all so much dirt under her feet. But after she made this clear enough for the dullest to understand, she told me that nevertheless there was one set among the English that was still very much considered in the United States, and that was the authors.”

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby here paused for a moment in her speech, in order to discover, either from the looks or words of her husband, whether any of those ideas suggested themselves to him which swelled her own heart almost to bursting. But no! nothing seemed to occur to the major, but that he must listen further, in order to comprehend what his lady was talking about. She slightly sighed, and then went on.

  “Well, my dear major, Mrs. Beauchamp then proceeded to say, that there was a book which might be written by one of the old country, which, if composed in a proper spirit, would make the name of the author as popular throughout the Union as that of General Lafayette himself, and bring in such a flood of wealth to the author as had never before been realised by any literary publication whatever. This book must be ‘Travels through the United States of America.’”

  “I should have thought there had been enough of these written already,” said the major, coldly.

  “That is precisely the reason why another is wanted,” replied his wife, eagerly; “for Mrs. Beauchamp declares that there has never yet been a single volume written upon the United States that was not crammed with the most abominable lies from beginning to end, and, as she most justly observes, anybody who would come forward to contradict all these wicked and most scandalous falsehoods, would be rewarded in the very noblest manner possible, first, by a great quantity of money, and, next, by the admiration and respect of all the people in the country.”

  “But how can all this affect us, my dear?” demanded the provoking major, with the most innocent air in the world. “I do assure you, wife, that my writing a book is a thing altogether out of the question. I am quite certain that I have no capacity for it.”

  “But I, on my part, am by no means prepared to say so much for myself. Major Allen Barnaby,” returned his wife, with some little asperity; “on the contrary, you must excuse whatever appearance of presumption you may possibly find in it; but I must, in justice to myself, declare that I feel conscious of the power and the talent necessary to the undertaking. You will not, I trust, oppose it.”

  “Oppose it! No, certainly, my dear, I shall not oppose it; why should I? It can do neither of us any harm, at any rate. You have my free leave to begin your book whenever you like, and I am sure I heartily wish you success with it.”

  Although the major pronounced this speech in a manner some-what too jocose for the matter of it, his wife took it in very good part, declaring herself perfectly satisfied, and declaring also that she should lose no time in beginning her interesting and very important task.

  “I shall of course,” she added, “greatly want some competent person to assist me with information on many points wherein it will be impossible for me immediately to obtain it myself! but what I hope and trust to, is, that I shall be able to form a close intimacy with that charming woman, Mrs. Beauchamp; and you, my dearest major, must help me to obtain this object. I know nobody in the world so capable of putting a thing in a good light as you are, when you have a mind to do it. You know what I mean, my dear Donny — a little embellishment, and the least bit in the world of invention, will make everything easy to me. All I want you to do is just to say to Mrs. Beauchamp, in your clever, easy way, that I have been rather celebrated in my own country as an author, but that hitherto, from modesty, I have always published under a feigned name. And then, you know, if you like it, you may just hint at any one particular author you please, saying enough to put her upon the scent, but without committing yourself by absolutely pronouncing any particular name.”

  “Yes, certainly, I could do that,” answered the major, “if you thought it would do any good.”

  “Good? Trust me, Donny, it would do all the good in the world; and if you will only help me so far, you shall see that I know how to help myself tool I’ll take care, major, not to disgrace whatever you may take it into your head to say of me.”

  “Very well, my dear, then you have only to tell me in what direction my hints are to go. I shall not like to begin till I am quite sure of putting you and your side-Saddle upon the right horse. Who, of all the lady-writers, would you best like to be taken for?”

  Mrs. Allen Barnaby mused for a moment or two before she replied, and then said —

  “Mrs. Hemings, I am afraid, is dead; isn’t she?”

  “Yes, my dear, she is,” said the major.

  “And Miss Austin? What’s become of Miss Austin?”

  “I am afraid she is dead, too, my Barnaby,” said he.

  “Dear me, how provoking!” returned the lady; “but it does not signify, there are lots more. Let us see — there is Miss Edgeworth.”

  “But you know, my dear, she has never been married. How should we manage about Patty? It will be downright scandal to make out that our Patty is the child of an unmarried lady,” said the conscientious Major Allen Barnaby.

  “Then I don’t care a straw who it is,” returned his wife. “You must make out I am somebody famous, and that will do.”

  “Very well, my dear, I really think I do understand you now perfectly; and you are such a devilish clever woman, that I dare say, somehow or other, you will make the scheme answer. I’ll do my best, at any rate, to help you. But hark! — there is the thundering breakfast-bell! Now watch me, and see if I don’t set about my part of the job without losing time.”

  CHAPTER X.

  AT ten o’clock, or thereabouts, the comfortable inmates, that is to say, the white inmates of Mrs. Carmichael’s establishment, usually met for breakfast. Most of them obeyed the summons of the great bell on this occasion simultaneously, entering th
e room almost at the same moment, and were proceeding to take their places at the table in the same order as at the dinner of yesterday, when Major Allen Barnaby, with that sort of easy good humour which all lands find it so difficult to resist, turned from the place he had before occupied beside his lady, and dropping into the chair next Mrs. Beauchamp, said —

  “It is too cruel, ladies and gentlemen, to condemn a poor Englishman, who has crossed the Atlantic expressly for the purpose of making acquaintance with persons whose national character he considers as the first in the world, it will be much too cruel if you insist upon all our party sitting together, so that we can speak to none other. Shall I be forgiven if I break through the established order of things, and, begging Mr. Washington Tomkins to take my seat beside Mrs. Allen Barnaby, venture to place myself next the lady of Colonel Beauchamp?”

  It is probable, by the smile and the bow which were exchanged, as this was said, between the colonel and the major, that some progress towards acquaintance had been made between them during the rambling of the preceding evening; at any rate, the overture was well received. Mrs. Beauchamp smiled very graciously upon the major as he took his seat, and the elegant Mr. Washington Tomkins muttered something about “vastly happy,” as he looked full in the face of the beautiful Annie, and sat down in the chair opposite to her.

  Major Allen Barnaby, doubtless, flattered himself that the chitchat of a breakfast-table would give him the opportunity he wanted of communicating a little information respecting the high literary reputation of his wife, and it is probable that the massive appearance of the viands on the table, suggesting the necessity of length of time for their consumption, might have made him feel sure of having ample time before him for that purpose.

  But in this he deceived himself altogether; beefsteaks of an inch and a half in thickness disappeared, it was impossible to guess how, with the rapidity of an omelette soufflée; coffee, as hot as Mrs. Carmichael could make it, was poured down the uninjured throats of the Louisianian ladies and gentlemen, with the impunity of cooling sherbet, and enormous platters of scalding hot bread vanished with a celerity that really suggested the idea of magic.

  In short, every American lady and gentleman had breakfasted, and very sufficiently, before Major Allen Barnaby had done more towards leading the conversation to the point he aimed at, than saying that he hoped Mrs. Allen Barnaby would be fortunate enough to make an acquaintance of some intimacy with the lady he had the happiness of addressing, as it was highly essential to the particular objects she had in view, that she should know and be known to the most distinguished persons in the Union.

  Mrs. Beauchamp seemed by no means displeased at this. She bowed and she smiled; but before it was possible she could speak, all the gentlemen of the party rose, and all the ladies immediately followed their example, and rose after them. The breakfast was over, and the heavily-laden table cleared.

  Major Allen Barnaby was startled, but not defeated. He spoke of the luxury of Mrs. Carmichael’s large, cool saloon, and said he hoped the ladies did not entirely forsake it in the mornings.

  “Why, it isn’t very often, I expect, that you’ll find American ladies there, major, unless they are just quite literary people, who give up everything for the sake of conversing with gentlemen about books; I don’t calculate that, except these, you’ll often find American ladies out of their own chambers in a morning anywhere.”

  “Then I trust that you and your charming daughter are altogether devoted to literature?” he replied. “You will, indeed, in that case find a most suitable and truly congenial companion in Mrs. Allen Barnaby. She has never yet published anything under her own name but—”

  Here all the party having begun to move off, Mrs. Beauchamp felt obliged to move off too; which the major perceiving, again expressed his hope that she and her daughter, who had now taken er arm, were going to the saloon.

  “Well, I don’t care if I do take a spell in the keeping-room this morning,” she replied; her curiosity being in truth as vividly awakened as Major Allen Barnaby himself could desire by the words he had spoken.

  They therefore moved on together, and the balcony with its fine orange-trees being now in perfect shade, the attentive major led the way into it, and was presently happy enough to find himself seated on a bench with the charming Mrs. Beauchamp.

  “As yet,” he immediately resumed, “Mrs. Allen Barnaby has never published any work with her own name; but entre nous, and as a very great secret, I will whisper in your ear that she does not mean always to go on in that way; and in fact, for I see no reason why I should not confess it to a lady so evidently of superior mind as you are, — in fact, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, our chief object in now visiting your glorious country is to give her an opportunity of writing her remarks upon it. You have no idea how admirable her style is, and in just appreciation of character I will venture to say that she has no equal. If she succeeds in this undertaking, as I fully hope and expect she will do, I have told her plainly that I will not permit her any longer to conceal her name. You must not think me a tyrant, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, because I speak thus authoritatively; but like all persons of genius, Mrs. Allen Barnaby appreciates her own talents with a degree of modesty that is absolutely absurd; and really, in my opinion, it has become a duty, for the sake of her daughter, and the noble Spanish family with whom we have been so happy as to ally ourselves, that a fame so richly earned, should not be thrown away upon a supposititious name. Do you not agree with me? Do you not think I am right?”

  “Indeed, and indeed, I do, sir!” replied the greatly excited Mrs. Beauchamp; “but may I just ask you the favour of telling me under what name your lady has hitherto published?”

  Major Allen Barnaby looked in the lady’s handsome face with a very intelligent smile, and raising his fore-finger to the side of his nose, said —

  “There are some things, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, that I dare not do; but I will tell you one thing for your satisfaction, that if you shall be induced to bestow as much of your valuable friendship upon my admirable wife, as I am inclined to flatter myself you will do, I will venture to say that you will not be long before you discover her secret. Her manner of thinking, her manner of speaking, will be sure to betray her — and I will not deny that I shall be heartily glad of it; for in this distinguished country, at any rate, she will then enjoy the possession of the fame which she had so wantonly sported with, and I may say, thrown away in Europe. Yes, Mrs. Beauchamp, though I know she would quarrel with me for saying so, I really shall be delighted if you find her out.”

  “And so, I guess, shall I be too!” returned Mrs. Beauchamp, with great animation. “Oh! it would be first-rate delightful to turn round some day, smack upon her, and call her by her false name. I shall enjoy it to be sure! And you must not refuse, major, to give me a little token, now and then, if you see I am in the right way, and cry ‘Burn!’ as the children do when they are playing hide-and-seek.”

  “As much as I can venture to do so without getting into a scrape, I certainly will,” he replied; “for, depend upon it, I shall enjoy the joke as much as you will. And may I then hope, my dear madam, that now you are aware what Mrs. Allen Barnaby’s object is in coming to this country, you will extend a helping hand to her, and by giving her the assistance of native information (without which it is absolutely impossible that such a work can be satisfactorily produced) enable her at once to do justice to her own talents, and to the magnificent subject she has undertaken.”

  “There is nothing in all creation, sir, that I should so much like to do,” eagerly returned Mrs. Beauchamp. “All the women in the Union — the white women, of course, I mean — are counted good patriots; indeed, they are pretty considerable famous for it; but I expect that you won’t light upon one from Maine to Georgia, as out-tops me in that respect; and what my mind has undergone in the way of rage at all the horrible, scandalous, lying books, as nave been spit out by the envy of the old country against us, is a great deal more than I will choose
to describe. But it is quite droll to think what I said to your lady last evening, major; why she must have thought I was a witch to be sure!”

  “What did you say to her, madam?” demanded he, with every appearance of eager curiosity.

  “What, then,” said Mrs. Beauchamp, “she never mentioned to you — she never told you, that I had been talking exactly of such a book as what you have now been speaking of, and saying what an outrageous beautiful success it was sure to have in the Union, if it was but written with decent attention to truth, and such a conformity to the merits of the country as the in-dwellers in it, who everybody must allow are the only proper judges, would be likely to approve? Did not your lady say anything about this, major?”

  “No, not a word,” he replied.

  “Dear me, how very odd!”

  “Not the least odd in the world, my dear lady,” he replied, “as you would be ready to allow, did you know Mrs. Allen Barnaby better. She has so much delicate reserve about her on every point at all relative to her literary pursuits, that I am persuaded nothing could have prevailed upon her to touch upon the subject.”