Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  “My! How unaccountably remarkable that a lady of such first-rate smart talents should be so uncommon shy about it! But it seems to me, sir, as if what you was so kind as to mention just now, could never come to pass, I mean as regarding any use I might be of about making her take the right view of things. How will she ever be able to abide my telling her that I know what she is about?” demanded the anxious female patriot.

  “Your question, my dear Mrs. Beauchamp, enables me, while I reply to it, to give you another characteristic trait of my admirable wife — you must forgive my calling her so. The fact is, that exactly in proportion as she avoids all allusion to her own great literary success with all who are incapable of assisting her efforts, she sedulously cultivates every possible opportunity of entering into discussion with those whom she imagines can give her any species of information on the themes about which she is engaged. Doubt not, therefore, that if you will have the excessive kindness to give her the advantage of your knowledge of the country and its inhabitants, she will not only enter with you on the subject with the most open-hearted frankness, but will listen to every word you utter with equal respect and gratitude; and thus, my dearest lady, you will be the means of at length sending into the world such a work upon the United States of America as may safely be depended on as authentic.”

  “Then I wish I may be flogged like a nigger if I don’t devote myself to the business, body and soul!” replied Mrs. Beauchamp, her whole countenance kindling with patriotic energy. “Mrs. Allen Barnaby has nothing to do, but just to say when she wants me, and I’ll be ready to give up all the frolics in creation, rather than not be ready to go to her. Yes, major, please Heaven, the Stars and the Stripes shall have justice done to them at last! Let your lady only do as you say, and mind me, and all that I have got to tell her, and if her book don’t prove to her worth a precious deal more than its weight in gold, then say that I am a falsehearted woman, and send me to the Penitentiary.”

  Major Allen Barnaby felt that if he talked all day he could add nothing to the impression he had already made; he therefore rose, and took a most respectful leave, saying that he should immediately announce to his fortunate wife the happiness that awaited her.

  While this conversation had been going on at one end of the long balcony, a tête-à-tête equally exclusive was proceeding at the other. Annie Beauchamp, who had taken her mother’s arm as they left the breakfast-room, retained it till they reached the balcony: but there she dropped it, because Mrs. Beauchamp walked towards a seat which had no orange-tree in full flower near it; and therefore the young lady turned her steps the other way, and seated herself where one of those fragrant shrubs was in the greatest Malaprop perfection. Perhaps, Major Allen Barnaby’s being at her mother’s side, might have made this movement rather more decided than it would have been without it; for Annie, too, was a patriot, and though a kind-hearted and sweet-tempered girl in other respects, certainly nourished, ay, and carefully nourished, too, a pretty considerable strong prejudice and dislike, not only to the whole English nation in general, but to each and all of the unfortunate individuals from that country with whom she had ever made acquaintance. In fact, if a stranger were presented to her, it was enough for Annie to know that he was an Englishman, in order to set all her faculties to work, in order “to read him backwards.”

  If such a one, enchanted by her very uncommon beauty, inadvertently permitted his eye to rest for a moment on her lovely face, “he was the most ill-bred and impertinent of men.” Did an English traveller venture to mention any beauty, either of nature or of art, that he had left behind him, she would exclaim to her neighbour —

  “Only listen to him! Can you conceive any thing more absurd and insufferable? Instead of employing his time in examining our glorious and unequalled country, there he sits, you see, talking of his own! Poor, paltry, miserable, little atom of an island as it is!”

  If her beautiful eyes beheld a tall Englishman, “he looked like the mast of a ship” — if a short one encountered the same doubtful blessing, “he was a caricature of Tom Thumb” — if gracious and graceful as the Apollo, she was “convinced he must be a dancing-master;” and if his conversation betrayed any traces of learning, she would exclaim to her nearest friend —

  “Oh! for mercy’s sake take me out of hearing of that odious schoolmaster. I am as certain as that I live that he comes from one of those hateful abysses of superstition and slavery that they call Oxford and Cambridge! — the very sight of him makes me ill!”

  Such being the state of her feelings, it was not very surprising that she preferred her favourite orange-tree to being seated near Major Allen Barnaby.

  But if Annie’s chief motive for the preference, was simply getting out of the way of an Englishman, she was unlucky; for scarcely had she placed herself at her ease, with a little tabouret for her pretty feet, and a cushion for her elbow to rest upon, than Mr. Egerton, not only an Englishman, but a Cantab to boot, had the audacity to approach her. Now, to say the truth, Mr. Egerton, notwithstanding talents of a very high order, excellent principles, and a heart replete with a multitude of amiable qualities, was fully as much under the influence of prejudice as Annie Beauchamp herself.

  In common with a multitude of young Englishmen, whose ripening faculties during the last ten years have enabled them to look on upon the perilous political drama which has been performing, with clear judgment, and views unobscured by early preconceptions of any kind, Mr. Egerton, in common with a vast majority of these sages of his own age, felt too deep-rooted a reverence for the monarchical institutions of his own country, to tolerate the antagonist principles so loudly vaunted throughout the United States of America. Moreover, he was deeply convinced of the political, as well as of the religious necessity of an established faith, for the perfect working of the social contract which binds men together under one government. Moreover, again, the system of slavery was abhorrent to every feeling and faculty of his head, heart, and soul. Moreover, again, he was greatly disposed to misdoubt the honesty — public and individual — of any country where bankruptcy — public and individual — was a matter of constant recurrence and constant indifference. Moreover, again, he exceedingly disliked listening to the human voice, when it came to him through the nose of the speaker; and finally, approved no dialect of English, but that which was held to be the standard language of his native land.

  With all these, so “strong against the deed,” it may seem strange that the young man, after having well-nigh satiated himself with travel, through pretty nearly every country in Europe, should have taken it into his head to cross the Atlantic in order to visit the land he did not love, instead of enjoying the noble fortune and beautiful residence which he had inherited in that which he did.

  But the wisest and best among us have their whims, and this expedition of Egerton’s must, I suppose, be reckoned among them.

  The immediately propelling cause, however, of his setting off, arose at a dinner-party, where he met with a pretty-considerably-famous American author, who not content with entertaining the company by a good set speech of half an hour long, in praise of the glorious and immortal institutions of his own country — slavery and all — concluded it (not being in one of his best humours that day, on account of an English duke having entered the dining-room before him) by rather a savage attack on the inglorious and perishable ones of this.

  Mr. Egerton ventured to make an observation or two on the opposite side; but the American celebrity cut him short, by saying, “I beg your pardon, sir, if I can’t count your opinion as any way suitable to stand against mine; and my reason is this; — you have seen only one of the two countries you are comparing together, and I have seen both, and I leave it to any man to say which has the best right to be listened to.”

  “I submit, sir, to the force of your argument,” replied Egerton; “you must have it your own way.”

  But he left not the dinner-table without making a resolution, that however great the bore might be, he wo
uld steam to New York as early as possible, and not steam back again till he had visited every state in the Union.

  Perhaps there might have been some little irritation of feeling in the mood which dictated this resolve; but he had pledged the promise to himself in earnest, and would not have revoked it, even had his after thoughts led to still greater repugnance as to the keeping it than they did.

  “At any rate, I shall see Niagara,” said he, “there is an overwhelming force of consolation in that.”

  So Mr. Egerton set forth, and had already very nearly performed his destined task at the time of our meeting him at New Orleans.

  Excepting the person of Miss Beauchamp, which, with a degree of candour of which he really felt proud, he acknowledged to himself was by far the loveliest he had ever seen in any land; and, perhaps, excepting also, her dress (the capricious sort of plainness of which rather piqued his taste to the acknowledgment that no garment more meretricious ever so well became a female form); with these two exceptions made, Mr. Egerton was by no means disposed to think that Miss Beauchamp was in any degree better suited to his taste than the rest of her countrywomen. He had dined twice in her company, and his attention had been particularly drawn to her by the uncommon beauty which scarcely a child could have passed by unheeded; but he had thought her manner exceedingly defective. There was no amenity, no tranquil grace, no smoothness in it. Whatever she said, seemed spoken fearlessly, as if from very perfect indifference as to whether she might give thereby pleasure or not. And then her voice, though nature had really given her organs which should have rendered it a very sweet one, had something in its intonation which grated, as it were, against his feelings. It could hardly be called a nasal voice, but yet there was a sort of singing cadence in it, which drew off the attention (at least of stranger-ears so constituted as those of Frederic Egerton) from what she said, to her manner of saying it, and he was perfectly ready to call the flexible young voice detestable. Yet for all that, he was ready to acknowledge, that he had hitherto not seen quite enough of her to judge her fairly; and he gravely determined that he would not be unjust, no, not even on a point of so absolutely no importance, as whether a trumpery American girl were a little more or a little less disagreeable.

  In conformity with this high principled resolve, he had sought to converse with her on more occasions than one, but hitherto with very little success; and, upon seeing her accompany her mother into the balcony, while nearly all the rest of the company were scattering themselves elsewhere, he followed for the purpose of advancing his philosophical study of this peculiar specimen of the race he had crossed the Atlantic to scrutinise.

  CHAPTER XI.

  THE vulgar, but expressive, old phrase, “There is no love lost between them,” might have been applied with the most perfect correctness to Miss Annie Beauchamp and Mr. Frederic Egerton; but they wore their dislike, such as it was, with a difference.

  The gentleman, as we have seen, being rather persevering in his purpose of knowing more of the young lady, while the young lady, If left to herself, would have been perfectly well contented had she been assured that she should never see the young gentleman again. Nor did this difference arise from the fact on his part that he was ready to acknowledge her the most beautiful person he had ever seen; for, on hers, she was equally ready to acknowledge that he was, by many degrees, the handsomest person she had ever seen, and at the centre of both hearts there was the thought, “But oh! so perfectly American!” and—” But oh! so perfectly English!” the difference, therefore, arose from temper.

  Annie was less speculative than Mr. Egerton; at least, when her mind was so completely made up on a subject as she felt it to be on the present occasion; and Mr. Egerton was more disposed to analyse, even though conscious that he already knew what the result must be.

  “I suppose this is about the coolest place in New Orleans, Miss Beauchamp,” said Egerton, venturing to seat himself on the farthest extremity of the long wooden sort of sofa which the young lady occupied.

  “I dare say there may be a great many much cooler, for those who know anything about the place. Strangers never know where to look JOT anything,” returned Miss Annie Beauchamp, without condescending to turn her eyes towards him.

  “Your observation is in contradiction to the remark generally made upon travellers, Miss Beauchamp. It has been often said that we almost all of us know more of the countries we visit than the natives themselves. For travellers, you know, make it their especial business to find out everything, while those who remain at home find only what happens to come in their way.”

  Annie drew her beautiful lips together for a moment, as if she did not intend to make any reply; but, upon second thoughts, she said, “I believe that would be perfectly true, particularly if speaking of English travellers, provided the word disagreeable were added to the word thing.”

  “What an odious girl!” mentally exclaimed the young man; “and with such profound ignorance too! What on earth does she know of English travellers?”

  And then he cast a glance towards her, and took in at that glance, certainly without intending it, such a face, such a form, and such an attitude, as are only exhibited on the earth at intervals to show what a woman may be when no earthly accidents have arisen to injure the original intention of Heaven.

  It is rather an old observation that “beauty will have its effect,” but it is not the less true for its antiquity, and Frederic Egerton at that moment, if he did not quite forgive her, felt more disposed to hear her speak again than he had ever done before.

  “Have you travelled much yourself, Miss Beauchamp?” said he, in a very gentle accent, and not at all as if he were angry.

  “Alas, no!” she replied, without any caustic accent either, as if regardless that it was only a detestable Englishman who asked the question; but it was one that touched feelings with which his nation had nothing to do, and she forgot herself.

  “You have not, however, lost much time as yet. If you love travelling, what is there to prevent your enjoying it?”

  “Oh, there is nothing in the world, I expect, to prevent my enjoying it, except our not being able to set out. But if I can’t make it convene to travel in a coach, I’ll travel in a wagon, and if that won’t do, I’ll just get along on foot; for, living as we do, in the finest country in the world, it’s a first-rate sin not to see it all over.”

  “Then you have no inclination to go beyond your own country? — you do not wish to travel in Europe?”

  Annie looked up at him for a moment, and it was a very saucy glance which shot from her sparkling eye as she did so. She seemed on the eve of saying something very particularly anti-European, but she restrained it, and only turned aside her head and laughed.

  “I should like to know what you are laughing at,” said Egerton, quite determined upon not condescending to be angry with anything so exceedingly ignorant and silly as the opinions of Miss Annie Beauchamp, and at the same time feeling it quite fair to make her talk, that he might have the twofold amusement of looking at and quizzing her. “Pray tell me,” he continued, “what there is laughable in the idea of travelling beyond the United States?”

  “The joke lies,” she answered, after a moment’s consideration, “in the notion of any one’s wanting to see that musty, fusty, little bit of the old world which you call Europe, when they may remain to explore the opening glories of this bright, young world, which we call America, and that, too, with the proud privilege of being one of its citizens.”

  “Poor little fool!” thought Egerton. “What a pity that such eyes as those should have nothing better to inspire their wonderful expression than the fables of a handful of crackbrained, conceited republicans!”

  Yet still he wished her to say more, and therefore resumed the conversation with great civility.

  “Do you mean, Miss Beauchamp, that after having become well acquainted with the land of your birth, you shall feel no curiosity to see any other? — particularly that, for instance, whence t
he first white inhabitants of your own highly-approved land derived their origin?”

  There was something in the wording of this speech that seemed to irritate the young American. She did not look either as if she meant not to answer it, but she paused a moment or two as if to select words for the purpose.

  “Curiosity? Shall I have any curiosity to visit the tombs of my vastly respectable great-grandfathers? Why, upon my word, sir, if no better reward can be proposed to me for the trouble and fatigue of crossing the Atlantic, than seeing the crumbling relics of a thoroughly worn-out race, I really think it would be a great deal wiser to stay at home.”

  Mr. Egerton now smiled a little to himself; upon perceiving which, the colour of the beautiful Annie mounted to her temples, and the glance she gave him certainly amounted to a flash of indignation. This was hardly fair; he had borne her laugh more patiently. However, he thought it was very amusing to look at her in all her various moods, and thinking, perhaps, that he should not greatly mind it even if she boxed his ears, he looked as grave as he could, and replied —

  “Of course you have studied, as an elementary part of your education, the present state of the mother-country relatively to the rest of Europe, or rather to the rest of the world? I believe the comprehensive plan of American female education considers this study as absolutely indispensable?”

  “Yes, sir,” she very gravely replied, “it does; and I do assure you that of all our studies, it is this which most awakens in our hearts that most excellent gift of pity, and those gentle feelings of commiseration, which Christian teachers consider it one of their first duties to create and cultivate. We are quite aware that the noble race of men which now people the broad surface of the United States, must have derived their origin from a stock possessing the materials of greatness. And we look back upon this race with such moderate feelings of affectionate interest as a rational man experiences for the dust of his great-great-great-grandfather. But as we know that it pleased the Almighty Mover of nations to cause the estimable remnant of the community to forsake the falling country, when they perceived that it was become unworthy of them, and to seek refuge here, our affections naturally and rationally fix themselves upon the brave transatlantic portion of the race, not only because they are the fathers of the people to whom we belong, but also because the very reason for the original separation, as well as for the immortal secondary one, proves beyond the reach of any question on the subject, that they are worthy of all reverence and affection, and that those they left are not — though they are indeed, and ever will be, while they are permitted to retain their political existence at all, the objects of very sincere compassion.”