CHAPTER XXXII. MRS. WADHAM'S PARTY.
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Mr. Greenwood, as we have already heard, had been
away, just when his help was wanted, in correspondence
with the Russian Ambassador. He did not, however,
stay away for ever, and had, some time since, come back,
ready (and perhaps a little more than ready) to lend
himself to the carrying out of the projected party, and
all that belonged to it.
Yet weeks had gone on into the Uncounted Past,
since the first forecasting, in Mrs. Wadham's parlor,
and still the party had not come. This delay could not
have been owing to any fear of expense, for, as we have
seen, the lady was not niggardly. It was not owing
to the want of Mr. Greenwood, for Mr. Greenwood had
for some time been upon the spot; yet already all the
almanacs had counted into December. The Trustees
had appointed “Benefactors' Day” to come on the
Fifteenth.
The truth was, that Mrs. Wadham herself had been
away, on a short visit to the city.
Before going down, she had expressed to Rector
Warren her sympathy for “that young motherless boy
that they called a Russian,” and had got leave for him
to come to her house to dinner. She had had him all
by himself; had had a most excellent chance to impress
upon him, with delicacy and good judgment, the
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loneliness of a boy who had “no mother to come and tell
his little secrets to, and lay his head on her bosom;”
and then, when doubtless his heart was tender, she had
adroitly touched upon languages, and asked him how
many he knew. To this Brade, like any reasonably
modest fellow, and also a free-hearted boy, as he was,
had answered that he supposed he did not know any
one language really, but he was learning; and so he
gave her a short list of the tongues which a boy commonly
learns at school, in fitting for college. Russian
was not among them.
In making his answer, it may be, indeed, that he recalled
to his mind, with some tenderness, his late work
on “The Analogy of Languages;” and he may have
been even more tenderly conscious of his share in the
authorship of a whole Language; but his list took in
a couple of old-time tongues, and a couple of those of
to-day, and there it stopped.
Mrs. Wadham had drawn things very skilfully to
this point; and, now, to get one step further! This she
did also skilfully, by saying that “there were some fine
languages that they did not teach at St. Bartholomew's
School,” and then suddenly, but with great delicacy,
springing upon him the word “Russian.”
For an instant, Brade looked as if he thought that she
was making fun of him; but presently he laughed, and
confessed that “he ought to know Russian, but he did
not.” And when she asked him slowly, — not with
“archness,” which was not her style, but with broadness
and massiveness, lightened by a smile of intelligence, —
“`Smis nryai, isn't it? Smis nryai?'” then,
as she would have said, she “had got him.” As
soon as he fairly took in the two cabalistic words, he
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laughed, to be sure; but at the same time he blushed
all over. She had touched a tender place. — “It's all
safe with me,” she said, to reassure him.
“That was a secret,” Brade told her. “That was a
kind of unknown tongue;” but Mrs. Wadham, though
(as she might have said) “very much the mother in her
disposition,” was a woman of observation and experience.
She saw for herself his blushes; she saw his embarrassment.
She might, perhaps, with some reason,
think that she had the key in the very wards of the
lock now.
If the reader will remember that these two words represented,
in the private language which we saw undergoing
its making, the beginning of a letter, — “Miss
Ryan, I,” — he will not wonder at a little confusion, on
the boy's part; but if he recalls that wish expressed
when “The Language” was made, that the Postmaster-General,
or some great person, might light upon
it, he will believe that our young author must have felt
a stir and glow of pleasurable mystery and importance
at seeing Mrs. Wadham try her teeth upon the secret.
“Are we beginning to have a little confidence?” she
asked; and then, applying the method which she had
announced from the beginning, cemented the “confidence:”
“That'll do for the present. It's all perfectly safe
with me;” and put him under her daughter's charge to
look at flowers and books, and whatever he liked.
Then Mrs. Wadham had made a visit to the city.
Her daughter cautioned her, beforehand, “not to make
a fool of herself with that language,” and was assured
that she “would do just right about it, exactly, — no
more and no less.”
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Mrs. Wadham had been away from home, day after
day, for a good many days. No letters came from her;
and it was thought at home, by Mr. Greenwood, who
smiled over it, and Miss Minette, who assented with a
smile, that “she must be pretty hard at work.” “He
thought the first one she met, with a Russian Bible and
Dictionary under his arms, would satisfy her.”
At length she had come back. “One thing,” she
said, “she had found out, at any rate: it wasn't Russian, —
that was a clear case. It wasn't Russian.”
“Well, let's see: how did the impression first get
about that the boy was a Russian?” asked Mr. Greenwood,
thoughtfully.
Mrs. Wadham was not easily stirred from her strong
and solid standing, wherever she might have set herself.
“I hope you don't think I mean to give up every
thing, when I say he ain't a Russian?” she said. “A
boy may be a foreign nobleman, without being a Russian,
I suppose.”
“Oh, certainly!” said Mr. Greenwood, whose stores
of education were always at his command, “a Livonian,
Lithuanian, Esthonian, Tongusian” —
“Well, we'll take the rest for granted,” said Mrs.
Wadham. “He can be something besides Russian?”
“Why, he can be something else and Russian, too,”
said Mr. Greenwood. “He can be a Finnish gentleman, —
that is, a gentleman from Finland, — or he
may be a Kalmuc Tartar, that's harder to catch than
a Parisian accent, or Greek, either. The Emperor's
`Emperor of All the Russias:' there are plenty of 'em.
They all talk different tongues, and one can't understand
a word the other says, and not more than every
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other word he says himself. I doubt if I could have
understood the Russian Ambassador. It would depend
upon what part of the country he came from, — it
would be just as it happened.”
“I thought you knew Russian?” said the lady, whose
memory was good.
“Ah! I don't make myself clear,” he said. “I was
just saying that one Russian don't understand another,
and he may be a Russian in every hair of his head.
If you can't know 'em all, you take any one. I chose
Old Muscovite, as central, including Cossack.”
“I don't see much use in having Russians, at that
rate,” said Mrs. Wadham. — “Well, that doesn't any
ways excuse the Russian Ambassador. My note was
English; and there's only one English, I think.”
What methods she had used in her research —
whether she had shown her manuscript to some one in
the peculiar guise of a Russian seafarer, as Mr. Greenwood
thought likely, or had been in correspondence
with men learned in languages — she carefully kept to
herself. From her saying that “she had naturally,
during her visit, met with several distinguished scholars,”
it might be thought that she had communicated
with professors of the neighboring university.
One thing she was emphatic about: that “she herself
was as near to that boy, and as near to his secret,
as anybody was: she had touched a chord; she had
opened an avenue.”
Mr. Greenwood and Miss Minette were anxious about
the party and the tableaux and the fun; but Mrs.
Wadham set all apprehensions at rest. “The party,”
she assured them, “would go on. She should give a
particular character to it. The boy might not be
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Russian; but that didn't matter. He was something. Mr.
Parmenter had, most likely, thought it was pretty
sharp, going to Mr. Bates. Who couldn't go to Mr.
Bates? Anybody would think of that. Mr. Bates
didn't know any thing. All Mr. Bates knew was the
money was sent him, twice a year, as regular as the
clock. If he wanted more, all he had to do was to
say so. That was what Mr. Bates knew. The party
was for her sons and their friends, and she should give
a particular character to it.”
Mrs. Wadham needed no long time to feel again the
influences of home and habit; to be full of herself
again and of her plans; to be well seated, and to get
the reins of things well into her hands, and well-charged
with electric sympathy between the driver and
the animated and inanimate things that she controlled.
The eyes of Eastham had soon followed her progress
on more than one errand to and from the pretty cottage
in which Mrs. Ryan lived with Kate and one domestic.
The general mind of Eastham, too, to which that of
Eldridge contributed, and also that of Uncle Nat Borrows,
who hobbled about Mrs. Ryan's out-door chores,
exercised itself daily, at store or post-office, with these
and other things. It knew that one of Mrs. Wadham's
visits — and this, as it happened, on a very raw
and chilly December's day — had been “to see the fruit-trees;”
and recalled the fact that “there wasn't but
about one old gnarled apple-tree and two-three damsonplums,
on that place; and they couldn't be expected
to be doing a dreadful sight, not at that season of the
year.” The general mind drew forth from its stores
the fact that “there was some folks that wanted to
make out that there was something underhand between
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the Ryans and that handsome-looking Brade boy, up
there, to the School.”
So, in discussing this visit, the general face of Eastham
wore a smile of wonder; and it was “guessed
them fruit-trees wa'n't all.”
Much the same process was gone through with, in
the discussion of another visit, “to taste Mrs. Ryan's
water.” The public said: “To be sure, there wa'n't no
water in Eastham but what was good; but, if there
was any water in Eastham that most gen'lly had a
kind of a washy taste, spring and fall times, it was on
that Farebrother place. Most likely Miss Wadham
wanted something more'n that.”
Therefore the public smiled at this also.
Then there was at least one other visit, “to ask
Miss Kate to take part in a tableau at her house”
(Mrs. Wadham's). “This,” in the opinion of the same
public, “looked all square and business-like; but it
was well known to them (the public) she'd praised up
the Roossians to Miss Ryan, and Miss Ryan told her she
didn't know nothing about the Roossians. Now, what
she wanted was to find out if there was any thing
between that boy and them; and, if she'd only asked
the neighbors, they could ha' told her fast enough that
he'd been seen with one or t'other of 'em more'n once”
(“yes, time an' time again,” Jake Moody said) “'thout
any smellin' round apples an' plums that wa'n't there,
an' drinkin' water that wa'n't no great, no time o' year;”
“an' that wouldn't show that he was a Roossian,” added
the public; “if any thing, jest the exact contrary, for
the Ryans wasn't Roossians.”
The public, therefore, felt reasonably hurt at Mrs.
Wadham's taking such a method, without availing
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herself of the information already possessed by the
public.
The lady had her own way of going on, and went
her own way.
As for the coming festivity at her house, we know
what amount of information she has shared with Mr.
Don, and we remember how she enjoined secrecy upon
Mr. Greenwood. Now Mrs. Wadham had given it to
be understood that the forthcoming affair at her house
“was not going to be a great climax of a party, — a
ball, or any thing like that. It was just a pleasant little
entertainment, — that's what you might call it, — an
entertainment, pleasant and agreeable, of course (she
couldn't have any thing that wasn't pleasant and
agreeable). It was for her sons' friends, and to show
a little attention to that young stranger in Albert's
Form.”
Now, to the Eastham circle that festivity, however
it might rank in its relations to the great world of
fashion, was not a small thing. It was an approaching
event; and intimations had been fleeting through the
community, keeping men's minds, and maiden's minds,
astir.
As before the strong wind from the north comes
down and possesses the lands, we see, up towards the
pole, a flashing and glancing like that from icy scimitars
and javelins of a dread spectral army of fleet Scythians,
gathering from all the frozen seas and lands; or as, on
or about the morning of the great St. Martin of Tours,
the wise eyes that greet the earlier day see everywhere
a staid, still-standing fog, and brighten with the
hope of “Indian Summer,” and, hoping, watch the
hours until the sun, all things now being ready, sends
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off the fog, by this time thinned to mist, and lays all-open
the smoky haunts of vales and woodlands where,
never to be caught, if followed after, all things seem
offering up their incense; or, as when beneath the
league-deep and unlighted seas, while one or other continent
is trembling with the shock of hosts, or feels the
crash of rotten empire or of heart-eaten party going
down, the Nereid or Triton, whose head is pillowed on
the twisted cable, conscious, in sleep, of thrilling messages
that are passing to and fro between the two
halves of the world, turns on the other side, — so, before
Mrs. Wadham's “entertainment,” there were flashing
intimations and waiting hopes and thrilling communications,
and watching of signs and tokens.
The boys of St. Bartholomew's had caught an inkling
of the preparations that “Wadham's mother was
making for a jolly show;” and we are very sure that
the lucky fellows, of the three upper forms, who, it was
understood, were going, wished it might come, although
they took the time between in comfort. Blake regretted
that “he had an engagement for that afternoon, but he
hoped to see part of it.”
On the other hand, of the younger girls of Eastham,
those who, under the self-adjusting machinery for intaking
and out-shutting the rising candidates for “society,”
might look forward to being present, some
doubtless felt, as some good and pretty girls, elsewhere,
that “they didn't want to see those nasty boys
(or those great ugly boys),” while, to others, these
youthful men were radiant with all that gelatinous and
phosphorescent glory and beauty which, to the females
of different degrees of age, dwelling in college towns,
clothe the young forms of Juniors, Sophomores (shall
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we say Freshmen too?) preparing to be the hope and
light of the world.
Mrs. Wadham had become all strong again, evenly
weighted, equal to every thing.
The party came. Between the hours of half-past
two and half-past five o'clock in the afternoon, all was
to begin, go on, and be done.
The boys were early, and the elders were not late.
The lady of the house was red and hot, in contrast to
the wondrous coldness out of which her guests came in;
for of the energetic atoms of her blood great numbers
were rushing this way and that, and of these a great
many were crowded behind the thick, but porous
covering of her face, and busied themselves with putting
forth, in countless beady drops, a dew like that
upon the garden's broader leaves; but, hot or otherwise,
she was Mrs. Wadham.
Miss Minette had on a gay company manner, and was
very lively with the gentlemen from St. Bartholomew's,
and with some of its boys.
The house was fragrant with sweet flowers, and warm
as the balmiest days of spring; and so Mr. Parmenter,
and so others, told the hostess.
Mr. Greenwood, bright and bustling, moved about
the rooms with prompt and lively bow and recovery,
making every one feel at home and curious for the
pleasant little entertainment, which was to make one
of the chief occupations of the afternoon.
Among the guests the city-gentlemen of the neighborhood,
with their families, appeared, of course. Mr.
Manson, with the Rector of the School and one or two
of the Trustees (of course, Dr. Farwell, and his Committee),
were there. There, too, of course, was Mr.
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Parmenter. A select number of the younger Eastham
people, including the young Misses Bemis and Miss
Ryan, were there; and, not to be too particular, there
was the estimable widow, Mrs. Osborn, sought out
by all the more gallant gentlemen as very bright and
chatty.
Brade was presented to Mrs. Osborn and some
younger ladies, and satisfied all reasonable demands,
in being neither pert nor sheepish. Remsen shared in
the attention paid to his friend. Brade himself put
forward Peters, and brought him out as much as he
would bear.
Russell was there, and Lamson, and Gaston, and
Meadows, and Hutchins, and Towne. Our friend Blake
was missed.
Boys, with fresh-trimmed hair and careful neck-ties,
in twos and threes and half-dozens, ready for fun, and
more or less full of it, were everywhere.
The Russian Ambassador, “without,” as Mrs. Wadham
said, “affording any explanation — not the least”—
was absent. “Mr. Greenwood,” she said, “had done
the best he could, under the circumstances;” and this
information Mr. Greenwood supplemented by saying
modestly that “he had told 'em to scare up the foreignest-looking
fellow they could find, among those Russian
consuls, and send him on.”
This was Mr. Greenwood's information to the company;
but to Mrs. Wadham he had given privately a
much more important piece of intelligence: “He was
sure, he told her, there was something between Brade
and that Count Blakisoff.”
“How do you mean something between 'em?” she
asked, gravely, being not disposed to accept statements
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without sufficient examination, even when time was
very pressing, and not disposed to have other people
thread her mysteries for her, or get the start of her in
finding information.
“Nearly connected,” said Mr. Greenwood, feeling the
pressure of time, — “family relation. That's why the
Count's round here incog. He's under an assumed
name.”
“What do you mean by an assumed name?” she
asked. “You mean that Blacksop isn't his name?
What is his name?”
It was evident that, even if time pressed, she felt the
importance of using time.
“I don't believe it's very far off, a little disguised.
When there was a king of Naples, he travelled as Conte
di Palermo; King of France, Comte de Versailles;
Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford. — Must have an
eye to this fellow. Watch him with Brade.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Wadham, receiving his information
without any formal acknowledgment, and reserving
herself for her own judgment and guidance.
This hurried conversation had been snatched in the
very midst of the throng of duties.
The Count Blakisoff's remarkable appearance more
than confirmed Mr. Greenwood's account of the standard
by which he had been picked out for a guest of
Mrs. Wadham. Although, like many eminent men
from other lands, he was not large, yet he had his
sandy, northern hair brushed down over his forehead,
and yet brushed out to right and left with such perfect
soldierly smoothness, and on his face bore such
an amount of sand-colored hairy clothing, trimmed
to so great variety of ornamental shape, — as
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whiskers sweeping out over his shoulders; lip-locks drawn
across each way so stiffly and so far as to seem
to court collision and affront; his very eyebrows
spreading out strongly to each side beyond his temples;
beside these a chin-beard going down and
tapering to a strong point; to say nothing of his
yellow gloves and the “frogs” upon his queer-looking
coat, enough to overrun half Lower Egypt, — that whoever
lifted up his eyes in any direction could not fail to
see this wondrous man. Many were looking at him almost
all the time; and some of them, considering that he
was a foreigner, took turns in staring at him and then
facing about and making fun of him. The lady of the
house herself talked of him at a short distance, much
as she might talk of a horse or a lamp-post.
She carefully discharged the duties of a hostess by
bringing up one and another with the address “Count—
(I don't remember his name), this is my friend
(Dr. Farwell, or Mr. Parmenter, or Mr. Merritt, or Mr.
Don),” and commending them (to herself) as they
bowed and were bowed at with the brief words, halfaside,
“That's it,” as if both she and they had acquitted
themselves well in a foreign language.
Of all the Russian nationalities, the general conclusion
was that this gentleman was a Cossack; and most
people were satisfied with Mr. Greenwood's assurance
that “he himself was one of the few persons in this
country, probably, to whom the Cossack language
presented no difficulty whatever.”
Now, foreigners are not insensible; and, where their
honest ears have never been attuned to the jargon of
our English speech, their eyes are delicate of intuition,
and their hearts quick to feel, in a strange land. Mr.
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Greenwood was not unmindful of the claims of hospitality,
but came from time to time (of course his time
was precious), and made a point of treating the well-bearded
guest with marked attention. He told Mrs.
Wadham, aside, on one of those excursions, that “he
had not shown him Brade, till by and by; and this was
the most extraordinary fellow, — Russian to the backbone, —
not an English word in him.”
To Mr. Greenwood's ceremonious attentions, the
foreigner responded, mostly, by solemn inclinations of
the body. His words were very few, although these
few were often so effective as to amuse the only intelligent
hearer (Mr. Greenwood) very much, and make
him, before returning a sprightly answer, look round to
see whether some little intelligence of the wit or wisdom
might not make its way to others. “He's a Russian
of the first water, — or rather ice,” he assured the
company, on leaving him. It added to the force of the
Cossack gentleman's wit that he was never once seen
to smile.
“But how's he going to do business at the Custom
House,” asked one of the city-men, “if he don't know
any English?”
Antony Brade, of whom all the guests had doubtless
heard more or less, not only had much made of him
by the hostess, and was encouraged by Mrs. Osborn's
amusing herself with him, and was introduced to the
Misses Bemis and others, but also, we may be sure, exchanged
a look or two (not many), and a word or two
(under a little embarrassment) with Miss Kate Ryan, who
was with them. As it was he, chiefly, with whom this
“entertainment” of Mrs. Wadham's was associated, he
was well looked at and admired, — mostly by the female
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part of the company, — while there were some, both
male and female, who said that he looked much like
any other boy. He certainly took things very quietly,
and enjoyed himself simply and freely, as a boy with
fresh clean blood in him ought to enjoy himself. The
boys, generally, talked and laughed, among themselves,
and moved about; and so did Brade.
Mr. Don confessed that he had two desires which he
hoped, somehow, to have gratified, in the course of the
evening; and these were to have a little communication
with the Count Blakisoff, “who had to him,” he
said, “very much the appearance of the ideal Russian,”
and to bring young Brade into communication with that
nobleman.
The hostess had arranged for the boys having a good
feed, soon after they got to the house. “Boys like to
eat,” she said, “and I'd give 'em plenty. 'Taint as 'tis
with grown-up people: after they've eaten, boys want
to go right at something. We can put 'em to acting
right away. My Edmund and Albert'll both be there,
among 'em,” she added.
This plan, therefore, was adopted; and while the elder
guests, among themselves, talked of the last change of
hours upon the Railway; of whether anybody could remember
a year in which the Rock-crystal Ice Company
had begun cutting so early as that year (having, as one
of the city-men said, a heavy contract to fill); of the
last demand of “The Welded Workingmen” (of whom
Mr. Greenwood absurdly said that “he would rather
hear of a few well-doing workingmen, than of any number
that had well-did”); and while they handled the
statuettes, and pulled some leaves of the geraniums,
there came in to them such sounds as a crowd of boys
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make, when they are stuffing their mouths so fast and
so full that the words have to climb over lumps of
frozen cream or salad, and junks of cake, and yet are
jabbering with every mouth of them all. These things,
taken together, were appetizing to mouths and stomachs
more advanced in years.
“Did you ever observe,” asked Dr. Farwell of Mr.
Manson, — and his eyes twinkled merrily, — “what a
sympathy there is between people's stomachs? You
may convince their heads” (emphatic, with an accompanying
gesture of the shut hand, with the thumb on
top, brought toward the breast), “you may persuade
their hearts” (with like emphasis and gesture); “but
give 'em roast turkey” (emphasis and gesture as before),
“give 'em fried oysters, give 'em chicken salad, and you've
got 'em `ung rapaw!'* (Now, Merritt, don't you be
laughing at my French: it's very good French).”
Mr. Parmenter was mannerly and inclined to impressive
conversation. His approach to Mrs. Osborn was
particularly ceremonious and polite; Mr. Don, at the
same time, retiring from her side with the remark that
“he was glad to have his place so well occupied.”
The din of boys began to slacken; and Mr. Greenwood,
who had appeared and disappeared, continually,
announced from the middle of the folding-doors, “An
entertainment consisting of a piece of the life of a great
foreign people, — the Russian.” The word caught the
general ear; and a little buzz of questioning, together
with a looking round to see where the exhibition was
or what place it was to come from, followed. Boys
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with marks of feeding on them began to come in; little
Meadows, with his mouth still full and active, and with
a piece of cake in his hand.
A most inspiriting strain from a French horn, which
the boys all greeted, with subdued acclamation, as
“Ned Prouty, from the village,” stirred up the blood
in an instant, and then stopped as suddenly, in the
midst of a note, as if it had been killed. Then, at a
side of one of the larger rooms, into what some of the
gentlemen, who were not unintelligent, thought was
surely the supper-room, but afterwards determined to be
“that big library-room of Mrs. Wadham's,” folding-doors
were opened, and then silence crept over almost all the
company. A movement took place to secure good
stands for seeing; Mr. Parmenter gallantly helping
Mrs. Osborn forward, and Hutchins and Remsen and
Towne and Wadham First doing the same for the
Misses Bemis and others. Kate Ryan, who, as Hutchins
said, was, by all odds, the prettiest girl in the room, was
not to be found.
The hostess, having seen her guests arranged, took
the foreign nobleman, with words in English, and a
wave of the hand in the language of nature, and stationed
herself and him at a side door from the entry, in
full view.
Mrs. Wadham announced that “all this was Mr.
Greenwood's, she had left it all to him.”
The room which had just been opened had been
wondrously fitted up. An ice-hill, down which a host
of capped and furred and mittened people were going
on hand-sleds, as if for their lives, made a side scene.
An icy plain stretched from this side to the other, with
booths and tents, and a prospect of domes and towers
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beyond. At the left side was a throne, gorgeous to
look at, and on it sat a royally-dressed young person,
with a resplendent and far flashing diadem above his
commanding brow. Over his head was a rich canopy, on
whose front was an eagle, with a most imperial crown.
“The river Neva, in winter,” said Mr. Greenwood.
“St. Petersburg close by!”
It was a splendid scene of ice and snow.
“It makes you cold all over, doesn't it?” said a boy's
voice. It was from Peters, whose fancy was lively, and
whose speech was impulsive. He had not heeded the
general stillness, and was abashed, when he found that
he had made himself heard by the whole company.
“Wouldn't I like to be on one of those hand-sleds?”
said Towne, with much less unconsciousness.
“Who's that king or whatever he is?” asked a good
many of the company. “Is this Master Brade?” Mr.
Parmenter asked.
The boys applauded; a buzz of approbation went
over the whole room; while in a little louder voice,
but not obtrusively, Mr. Parmenter called Mrs. Osborn's
attention to “the happy effects of the various-colored
booths;” and Mr. Don, to Miss Minette, admired the
general gorgeousness of every thing. Mrs. Wadham
announced that Mr. Greenwood would explain.
Mr. Greenwood, the Master of Ceremonies, spoke
aloud: —
“It had been the purpose of his Majesty, the Emperor,”
said he, “in providing this entertainment, to have
it accompanied by a series of Russian airs; but, as the
Russian air is harsher than we are accustomed to
breathe (and our own” — shrugging his shoulders —
“is cold enough, just now, in all conscience), it was
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thought best to modify the programme. You have before
you, ladies and gentlemen, in a compact form, `the
Heir of all the Russias.'”
Miss Minette made her part of the room very lively,—
a little noisy, perhaps, but very lively.
There was a general good-nature, and everybody
laughed, unless, perhaps, the Cossack gentleman; and
then a dead silence came again, into which was uttered
the last part of some pointed sentence which Mr. Merritt
was uttering to Dr. Farwell, under cover of the
general excitement.
“— the air of it, hasn't he?”
As soon as a new buzz of applause, at the Czarevitch's
graceful salutation of the company, offered another
“cover,” the Doctor reciprocated (for wise men show
their wisdom in nothing better than in their unbending)
by saying, with his eyes twinkling, “He's an airrogant-looking
fellow, certainly.”
So the divines were evidently not without their share
of the general hilarity.
The Master of Ceremonies continued: —
“The Czarevitch (vitch is the Czar that's going to
be), on coming to his throne, takes it out with him, and
seats himself upon it. The scene that follows is to
exhibit to the world the fact that that which is supposed
to be one of the strictest despotisms is consistent with
the most absolute democracy. You will see the Russians
exercise one of their dearest prerogatives, — that
of shooting at the crown. This privilege is common to
the lowest and the highest, and lasts three days. We
shall let you off with two of them. The weather, you
observe, is wintry; but it's warm work, as you may
suppose; so the Czarevitch will be able to keep himself
comfortable, in that respect.”
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Mr. Don, while the amateur Master of Ceremonies
was giving this information, had, on his tiptoes, lightly
found his way across, and taken his silent stand beside
the Cossack, to whom, on approaching, he had gone
through with a lavish dumb show, of bows and wavings
of the hand; and pointing to himself and then to the
floor, by way of implying, in the language of universal
nature, that he intended to occupy that spot; while a
third pointing, to the courteous foreigner, implied that
its being near him gave the place its great attraction.
Mr. Don was not wrong in expecting to be met half-way,
in the language of universal nature. The foreign
gentleman talked it with shoulders and elbows, and
hand laid to his frog-covered heart, wonderfully.
The performance divided the attention of a considerable
part of the company, even with the lively Master
of Ceremonies and the counterfeit presentment of
the Czarevitch; and the sight of this intelligent foreigner
engaged in a well-meant attempt to exchange courtesies
with a polite American was too much for the self-control
of most of the younger, and a good many of the
older witnesses of it. It must be confessed that there
was something extremely droll — at times, perhaps, to
excitable spirits, overpoweringly droll — in the look of
the distinguished guest.
Our young friend who represented Russian empire
showed himself made of stuff like other mortals, when
the man happened, while looking his very solemnest, to
lay his foreign forefinger by his nose. The Cossack
gentleman was again the object of thoughtless mirth.
His own behavior, meanwhile, was exceedingly dignified,
as he employed his hands on the abundant hair
of his face.
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The breach of good manners grieved those who had
good manners most at heart. Mr. Parmenter had not
been unobservant or indifferent; and, in behalf of propriety
and hospitality, uttered aloud the statement
that “he should be sorry to see any forgetfulness of the
laws of courtesy, and was confident that nothing of
that sort would take place.”
The lady of the house was herself mistress of the
occasion.
“Tell him,” she said, “that we enjoy him” (“His appearance
is certainly peculiar,” she said, without much
sinking of voice, to those about her, because she knew
that he could not understand more than one person in
the room, or, possibly, two), “and tell him there'll be
refreshments after the play about his country. That
goes to foreigners' hearts as quick as anybody's: everybody
understands eating.”
While Mr. Greenwood was giving this agreeable
message to the noble foreigner, a voice was heard, in
moderate but prevailing tones, from a corner in which
a number of gentlemen were gathered: —
“That's singular, now. How can you account for
that coincidence? That's the very thing I was saying
a little while ago.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Manson, “and you observe she says
there'll be `ung repaw' pretty soon, too.”
“Not quite the Parisian accent, perhaps, but” —
“Pretty good!” said Mr. Merritt, who, as we have
seen, can make some pretensions in the languages:
“un repas, a feed.”
Mr. Greenwood was quick-witted and ready enough
to devote a little side attention to his Cossack nobleman.
He interrupted himself: —
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“My friend,” he said, “the Count Ultrovian Blakisoff
has the remarkable versatility and the wonderful facility
for languages which make his countrymen so desirable
to colleges and places of education. Entirely unacquainted
with English, he can instantly master the
phonetic signs, when written distinctly, which represent
it on paper. While the Czarevitch is waiting impatiently,
as you see him, for the performances of his
dilatory subjects to begin, the Count may, perhaps, be
persuaded to gratify us in a way that will astonish
those to whom opportunities of witnessing such accomplishments
are rare.”
There was now a decent silence, and the faces of the
company were generally smoothed. The representative
of Muscovite majesty recovered himself. Mr. Greenwood,
with an elegant stride, and placing the heel of
his right foot in the hollow of his left, with such an
air as almost to disturb again the general gravity,
planted himself in front of the Count, and, drawing
with a flourish from his pocket a paper on which were
a few musical notes and some words, presented it with
a low bow to the foreigner, and said something which
was not English. He then hastened to the side of
the scenes, and apparently gave a direction.
The Count took the paper with as much gesture as
he had before bestowed upon Mr. Don, held it at arm's
length, and suddenly burst forth in song: —
“Mee langguidge ees the Roosshin tongs:
Hi spake hit like a buck;”
And then, with the modesty and simplicity characteristic
of accomplished foreigners when they have distinguished
themselves, solemnly handed the paper back.
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“Do they grow Cossacks in Ireland?” asked one of
the city-men; and to more purpose was heard the
wise voice of Dr. Farwell, asking whether a phenomenon
of that sort — a man's singing right off, in a
language that was perfectly strange to him — was to
be explained in the same way that a stutterer could
sing a thing that he couldn't read a word of.
This revelation was, as Mr. Greenwood had predicted,
sufficiently astonishing; and the rooms were all in a
flutter. It would be too much to say that all faces
were serious; for there had been something a little
peculiar, after all, in the pronunciation and accent,
and the voice — for a voice coming out of such an
ambush of hair — was rather slender; but just then
Ned Prouty's all-enlivening horn took captive every
ear, as it struck up “March to the Battle-field!”
Mr. Don was a man ready for occasions. With an
intelligent look he presented to the eyes of the foreign
linguist a soiled and crumpled bit of paper, like the
“document” which we have seen, to which paper he
pointed, and of which he asked, with a most expressive
raising of the eyebrows and throwing of the head on
one side, a question whose “waste” alone, like water
from a mill-wheel, ran out in the words: “This? anything?”
its strength having been spent in the face
above.
The stranger, with his hand again upon his frogenveloped
heart, looked at the paper, and to the question
in the universal language assented strongly with
his head.
This scene had not been lost upon the eyes of Mrs.
Wadham, who turned and watched it closely.
Suddenly a shot was heard, and the representative of
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majesty put his hand to his head. Of course all eyes
were fixed upon the stage, and all was still; a smell
of gunpowder mingled itself with the sweet scents
of flowers and pocket-handkerchiefs.
This time no harm had been done apparently.
Mrs. Wadham declared that “she supposed her time
was come: she never could stand fire-arms.” Some of
the gentlemen jocosely asked “Champagne?”
The Manager assured the company that “probably
few, if any, bullets of lead remained in the rifles, as he
had employed a careful hand, with a No. 3 Faber's
lead-pencil, to draw all the balls, and substitute something
more comfortable.”
The little descent from dignity in this about the
pencil was probably intended for a certain class of
minds. The boys appreciated it.
“I think I may safely assure the ladies, on Mr. Greenwood's
authority,” said Mr. Parmenter, “there is not
the slightest danger.”
A voice from the group of Trustees in the corner,
which our readers may be able to assign to its owner,
said, “I think I should bawl if I was that chap on the
throne.”
The ladies moved uneasily. Some of the gentlemen,
laughingly, thought it was time to adjourn. A
lovely female figure rushed upon the stage, in splendid
robes that matched the Czarevitch's. “That's Miss
Ryan!” said the Bemises; and then a Russian of the
Russians, with sheepskin hat, coat, trousers, mittens,
and boots, and a beard of much the same general
character, appeared. He and his wife and seven children,
in a line, bore his formidable weapon. He kneeled
upon his knees, first took off his hat in obeisance to his
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liege lord, and then, resuming it, he and his family
arranged the gun upon their shoulders, in a slope up to
the wife! and so it reached from him, squatting at one
side of the stage, close up to the princely potentate's
crown, with his head inside, at the other.
“Your scene is very well got up indeed, sir,” said
Mr. Don; “but I hardly think they would let the man
get quite so close.”
“True, sir,” said the Master of Ceremonies. “In
point of fact they do not allow such dangerous proximity.
It's only the exigency of circumstances. Our
room is so narrow that we have to crowd a little. You
see a gun fifteen feet long (the usual length of the weapons
used on these occasions), in a room eighteen or
twenty feet wide, crowds us.”
This was a mere mimic scene; and yet, when this
long, dreadful-looking weapon reached to such fatal
neighborhood of the boy's head, the Count, clasping his
hands, threw himself into a marvellous foreign attitude
of despair. This Mr. Don, as we should expect, appreciated;
while the boys, and many beside them, seemed
not at all touched by the gravity of the situation.
Mrs. Wadham, almost pale at the appearance of the
gun, but bravely keeping her ground, at the crisis,
turned away from the threatening weapon; but did
not forget to see what the Count was doing.
Mr. Parmenter gallantly advanced Mrs. Osborn
nearer to the scene, remarking that “there was a
great deal of merit in it, — it would bear inspection.”
He delicately replaced her light shawl which had fallen
from one shoulder.
“The Grand Duchess Alexandrovna” (explained Mr.
Greenwood) “interposes her efforts (which the law of
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Russia provides for) to persuade this resolute Muscovite
to forego his privilege. You see her appealing to his
veneration for the sacred person on the throne: he
squats unmoved: to his humanity: he puts tobacco in
his cheek, and lays his finger — I should say his mitten—
on the trigger!”
Here Mr. Greenwood made what might be called a
rhetorical pause, to let the scene take its full effect.
“That fellow with the gun's Gaston — or Lamson:
where's Lamson?” said Tom Hutchins. — “Ain't Brade
good?” said Peters.
The Czarevitch sat with a lofty indifference to danger
becoming his high blood: his look of disgust, as he
saw the death-dealing muzzle so near, and glanced
down the sloping backs of the enterprising family
which bore it, and as he shook out his dainty pocket-handkerchief
and held it between the frightful instrument
and himself, called forth immediate and universal
applause.
“A good deal of the dramatic gift there,” said Mr.
Parmenter, who generally spoke well. “That fellow's
got it in him.” “There's fun in that boy,” said the
city-gentlemen: and indeed he was excellent, and handsome,
too. The Grand-duchess, who at the applause
had glanced that way, seemed struck, and apparently
forgot herself; and then came back with a little
start.
While this was going on, the Count (not unobserved
by that considerate man, Mr. Don) was restless, and
seemed about to go forward. The mind of Mr. Don
was active, and doubtless weighed the emotions by
which the bosom of the foreigner was agitated.
Did he understand that this was only “acting”?
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[figure description] Page 368.[end figure description]
Perhaps he was a partner in the scene. Mr. Don
humanely and politely (whatever might be the case
with the Count) addressed him, and accompanied the
address with lucid gesture. He smiled also, at the
same time, as if to show that he knew perfectly how
intelligent the Count was.
“Of course, sir, there's no danger,” he said; “they've
taken all precautions,” shaking his head vehemently,
and throwing his hands asunder, rapidly, several times.
“Ha! I can't make him understand. I suppose he
knows.” Then to the stranger again, with new energy,
“Of course it's all make-believe!” and he shook his
head vehemently again. “Nothing in it, sir.” Then
he smiled strongly, and said, “You understand, of
course.”
Mrs. Wadham, divided between alarm for the issue
of the Princess's entreaties to stay the deadly firearm,
and her interest in the secret whose development was,
perhaps, to be hastened by the progress of the play,
held up her fan between herself and the actors, and from
time to time looked over it. Mr. Greenwood went on: —
“The Princess having failed in her appeal to his veneration,
and to his humanity, now addresses the father
of a family with another argument. See how she lays
her hand first upon the bending wife, looking appealingly
to him; and then upon each successive bearer
of that frightful weapon, from the first-born daughter,
down through alternate sons and daughters to the last,
the joy of his father's eyes, whom you see innocently
occupied and amused with his own small nose. At
each she utters a few heart-moving words, and casts the
same pathetic and appealing glance to the father. She
is urging upon him the likelihood (too often warranted
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[figure description] Page 369.[end figure description]
by melancholy facts, in that country) that his gun will
burst, and so kill every member of his household. He
is unmoved. Now, having, with the instinctive sagacity
of a woman, reserved her crowning argument for the
last, she shows him that, in all probability, it will kill
him, too. He wavers. He might get along without his
family; how could he get along without himself? Now
she lays her gentle hand upon the instrument of death,
to draw it from its fatal aim.”
The “Princess Alexandrovna,” of this little stage,
was certainly a lovely being. If royal or imperial
houses have so fair daughters often, they are happy;
and so the company seemed to think; for, led by Mr.
Parmenter, there was a general round of applause, in
which Tom Hutchins and the boys helped, to the echo.
Even the Count joined the prevailing enthusiasm; but,
in his foreign way, checked himself, after a few most
hearty clappings of his yellow-gloved hands, while all
the rest were going on, and stood mute and wonderful to
look at as before; but every one, unless the Czarevitch,
was looking at the stage. No one seemed to enjoy himself
with more quiet thoroughness than the Rector of the
School, to whom Mr. Manson called his neighbors'
attention.
The Czarovna Alexandrovna was drawing the gun
with a gentle energy, by its barrel, at a point somewhere
between the second son and third daughter, when the
extraordinary weapon gave way in the middle, and, at
the same time, the catastrophe against which she had
warned the unreflecting Muscovite took place: there
was an explosion, — not loud, but effectual, — and the
whole family, father, seven children, mother, struck
with a marvellous accuracy, fell at once to the
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ground, and lay motionless. The Princess, to the joy
of the audience, shown by much clapping of hands
and waving of handkerchiefs (from Mrs. Osborn first,
and then from all the ladies), in this happy administration
of poetical justice, stood unharmed, and, of course,
lovelier than before. She was very modest, and yet
became her part extremely well.
“There ought to be a patent for that powder,” said
one of the city-gentlemen.
“Very moderate cost of ammunition,” said Mr.
Parmenter.
“How are we meant to account for it,” said a sagacious-sounding
voice from the corner, which, though
doubtless addressed to some particular neighbor, was
permitted by the speaker, in a friendly way, to pervade
the several rooms, “that a whole family — a whole Russian
family, or, you may say, any other family, can be
put out of existence by a puff— by a flash” —
“I am glad that firin's over,” said Mrs. Wadham,
“and no more harm done.”
The Count with an animated action of the foot
showed that he would like to kick the prostrate father
of a family.
“The accident which has just occurred, such as very
often happens on these occasions,” said the gentleman
manager, “will release the Czarevitch and give him command
of his time. He attends the funeral, in state, accompanied
by the nation at large. (“Neighborly people!”
said Mr Merritt.) “The Princess and the Czarevitch,”
continued Mr. Greenwood, “congratulate one another;
and presently, with your permission, ladies and gentlemen,
our little play will come to an end.”
“I don't see as we've discovered much,” said Mrs.
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[figure description] Page 371.[end figure description]
Wadham, without much reserve, “unless you can make
something out of that Count.”
“Well, keep an eye to the Count,” said Mr. Greenwood,
privately.
A lovely blush suffused the cheek of the representative
of the Princess Alexandrovna, as also those of
the young representative of imperial majesty, who now
descended from his throne and took her by the hand.
The reigning house of Romanoff is counted handsome,
but we doubt whether it ever appeared to better advantage
in any two of its members, than here. One
thing distinguished these young persons from many
others: they were very delicate and distant in their
intercourse with each other. “Make a handsome
couple, — that boy and girl, wouldn't they? eh! Mrs.
Osborn,” said a city-gentleman.
Mrs. Osborn, who carried on a lively conversation
with three or four gentlemen at once, as well as with
Mr. Parmenter, remarked pleasantly that “she liked
Mr. Greenwood's disposal of his characters better than
Shakespeare's; for here he killed off only just those that
were wanted out of the way.” Mr. Greenwood bowed,
with much flourish. Mrs. Wadham was not a person
to lose sight of a great purpose.
“What did you make out of that Count?” she asked,
turning promptly to the intelligent inquirer, Mr. Don.
“Did he understand that paper?”
“Well, ma'am, I can judge only by the eye, you
know,” he answered, “as I unfortunately cannot talk
Cossack. He seemed to recognize it, instantly, and to
be quite struck by it. The impression upon my mind
was a strong one; though, as I say, I couldn't hold
conversation with him.”
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“Mother,” said Miss Minette, behind her fan, having
worked her way to the neighborhood, “I'd let that
language go.”
“I'll do what's right;” said the mother. — “Who's
found out most about it, so far?”
Instead of being ready to dismiss the pretty pageant
at the end, the public, if it might be judged by its
uproarious and long-kept-up applause, would gladly
have had the whole thing over again; but the good
sense of the elders was convinced, and yielded. The folding
doors were slowly closing on the imperial pair; and
Ned Prouty, who had a soul of music in him, and a
sure taste which came of no passing fashion, sounded,
with really delicate feeling and tenderness, an Irish air,
which was lost, perhaps, on most of the company, but
to which Mrs. Osborn at once gave its name, and a
little more, — “Though 'twas all but a dream at the
best, And still, when happiest, soonest o'er.”
Mr. Parmenter assured her that “her way of uttering
the words (certainly very clear and graceful) gave them
a charm.”
Everybody called for keeping the doors open till it
was done, and for the Czarevitch and Czarovna to stay
before admiring eyes; but things in this world march
with inexorable steadiness toward their endings; and
so, while Prouty's bright coil of brass was making all
the unseen air musical, certain young fellows in the
attire of pages rushed in upon the stage and set themselves
to the dragging off of the lifeless bodies of the
Muscovite family sacrificed in the exercise of their prerogative.
The jolting shook out from the father some
words which had, perhaps, lodged in his throat: “Heu,
me mis —.” To which of the many tongues of the Great
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[figure description] Page 373.[end figure description]
Empire they belong, our young readers must find
out.
In the hasty and rather rough handling which these
remains received, a mitten worked off from the hand of
the youngest born and fell near Mrs. Osborn's feet. She
picked it up, smiling, and examined it; while Mr.
Greenwood, whose eyes were quick, begged her to keep
it as a little token of the afternoon's amusement.
Mr. Parmenter suggested that a mitten was an awkward
present to receive; and Mrs. Osborn, in her prettiest
way, told him that “she must ask him to relieve
her of it;” and persisted, prettily, in making over to
him all her property in it.
At this the city-men made some pleasant remarks
among themselves; and, as good jokes always bear
repetition, one of them good-humoredly told Mr.
Parmenter “they were just saying Mrs. Osborn had
given him the mitten.”
“We'll call it a glove,” said Mr. Parmenter,
gallantly, and putting it in his bosom: “any thing
from Mrs. Osborn is worth keeping.”
While this lively scene was going on, the hostess
was expressing to the two chief actors her solid approval
and thanks for their performance. The Czarevitch
was in good spirits, but not inclined to accept
any praise “for just sitting still. Gaston and the rest
had done something.” The Princess Alexandrovna was
a good deal excited at what she had been through.
“I hear the Count understands that unknown language
we talked about the other day,” said Mrs.
Wadham to the former. The Czarevitch looked embarrassed.
The two young authors and owners of “The
Language” glanced at each other, but said nothing.
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[figure description] Page 374.[end figure description]
Mrs. Wadham went on: “Mr. Don showed it to him. —
Don't go, Miss Ryan: we ain't going to talk any secrets;”
and when Kate, like a simple girl, expressed
her anxiety “to change those things for her own,”
Mrs. Wadham assured her strongly: —
“They're monstrously becoming, though, let me tell
you, young lady.”
As Kate Ryan disappeared, the representative of the
Czarevitch, whom we may now, we suppose, call Antony
Brade, hastened to tell Mrs. Wadham, like an ingenuous
boy, something to which she listened, very gravely,
looking him steadily in the face, in such a way as almost
to disconcert him. A sort of working seemed to be
going on in her, as palpably as that of swallowing goes
on: the whole Wadhamic system seemed to be engaged
in appropriating the communication.
“Yes,” she said, taking a breath, when he had done;
then, after looking at him another moment, to see if he
had any thing more to say, “Of course that's what it
was, — of course it was. It was fun. — Now we'll have
something else! Yes.”
The boys' time was not up, nor were Mr. Greenwood's
resources for their amusement exhausted.
“It was our intention,” said Mr. Greenwood, “to
give you a list of all the passages from history which
we have omitted to represent to-day, and which are, of
course, reserved; but the list was rather long” (here he
showed a monstrous roll. At which some shrewd
observer said, “Have you got 'em all there? No, you
don't, then!”) Mr. Greenwood went on: “The reading
will therefore be dispensed with.”
The party was chiefly for the boys: the Muse of History
must therefore condescend with a good grace in
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[figure description] Page 375.[end figure description]
speaking of the entertainment. Charades were acted,
in which “buff-fell-oh!” and “hip-hop-pop-what-a-muss,”
and “blunder-buss,” and “mag-pie” and “fileand-throw-pie,”
and others, were spelled out, with great
energy; but they have no special bearing upon our
story, and we shall therefore ask the reader to fancy
and act them over for himself.
When the boys went away, Brade, at Mrs. Wadham's
solicitation, had special leave (considering his part, considering,
also, his yet undiscovered relationship to the
Count) to stay an hour longer. Mr. Parmenter, who was
not now confining himself to any one person, but taking
a general interest in things, congratulated Brade, with
dignity, upon this privilege, as well as upon his acting;
of which the boy, like an intelligent and ingenuous fellow,
as before, said that “being dressed up and keeping
still wasn't any thing.” He looked pleased, of course, at
having succeeded.
“It's a great part of king-craft, though;” said Mr.
Manson, going into high thought.
“The effect of blood, I suppose;” said Mr. Parmenter,
partly but not wholly aside, and with a bow.
eaf637n15* The French of our excellent divine is a little peculiar.
Judged by the ear, this was probably meant for what some would
pronounce “en rapport.”
-- -- p637-389
CHAPTER XXXIII. WHAT THE COUNT IS TO BRADE.
[figure description] Page 376.[end figure description]
A little ceremony was to be used in going to the
dining-room. It was understood that the late Czarevitch
should lead in the late Princess Alexandrovna;
the Cossack Count, of course, conducting the lady of the
house.
Mr. Don, before this took place, was apprised of a
discovery which Mrs. Wadham had made, nearly affecting
his document: “I suppose you know that strange
language everybody was puzzled about was all made
up. Oh, yes! entirely, — altogether. A pretty good
language to be made up for fun?”
“You surprise me, ma'am!” Mr. Don said, a good
deal astonished. “Well, I think with you it was worthy
of a better fate.”
He at once explained the state of things to the Rev.
Mr. Merritt.
“Then my Anglo-Saxon goes to the bottom;” Mr.
Merritt said good-naturedly, as if a great part of the
world was still standing.
The Count seemed not quite to understand the duty
expected of him.
Mr. Greenwood was for the moment not to be found.
Thereupon, the lady, in a very purpose-like way, walked
up to the eminent foreigner, and showed, in the same
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[figure description] Page 377.[end figure description]
way in which Robinson Crusoe expressed himself to
the savages, that she would take his arm, and they
would go yonder, and, as she explained by forcible
action of the jaws, would there put their mouths to the
best use that most mouths are capable of. The Count,
with his facility at language, caught the meaning
readily; and having gone through with the same
symbolic representation in his turn, and occasioned
another breach of good manners on the part of the
impulsive young people and others, he made a profound
bow and gave the hostess his arm.
It was a disappointment to the company that Brade
and Kate Ryan had abandoned their splendid dresses
(for the boy had been as much in a hurry to get back
to his own, as the girl had shown herself); but it was
still generally agreed that they were an uncommonly
good-looking couple, and well matched.
They were not at all upon the easy and familiar
footing with each other that we once saw, but rather
on that which Kate made a condition of their correspondence
in “The Language.” He addressed her as
“Miss Ryan;” and she (we believe) called him “Mr.
Brade.” They talked together with plenty of reserve
and courteous distance.
The mysterious link of relationship between the
Count and Brade had not been broken when the unknown
tongue was stripped of all mystery; and it was
arranged that they should come next each other, in the
dining-room. The clerical party were not far off; and
Dr. Farwell, very happily, as usual, hit the feeling of
the guests by saying, in his pleasant way, —
“Now here's a place where action is better than
speech.”
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The Count's formal salutation of his young kinsman
(if Brade was his kinsman), and the look with which it
was accompanied, had a strangely exhilarating effect
upon the boy and those near, although Brade, as we
know, was no giggling fellow, to be carried off his
gravity by every trifle.
Mr. Merritt saw the state of the case, and considerately
came in: —
“The foreign Count will be too much for that youngster,”
he said: “some of us older people better take
him.”
Meantime the foreigner, unwilling to remain a stranger,
and wishing to tighten the cords of human brotherhood,
had adopted the readiest way he knew to that
end; and forgetting even, for an instant, the immediate
claims of the lady of the house, whom he had had the
honor to bring in, presented Brade ceremoniously
with a card. But this was only for a moment: then
he turned diligently to the discharge of his duties,
and showed himself more practised in the arts of civilization
and usages of the table than many of his titled
brethren have appeared in this country.
It has been already said that the Rev. Mr. Merritt
professed to have kept by him a good deal of his school-boy
associations; in like manner he had not forgotten
his school-boy manners. He now beckoned for a sight
of this paper, much as any of Brade's comrades might
have done. Brade, smiling, handed him the card; and
Mr. Merritt, turning his back and drawing some of his
neighbors to do the same, evidently enjoyed himself
heartily. The Count, getting no answer, devoted himself
the more strenuously to the comfort and refreshment
of the hostess.
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[figure description] Page 379.[end figure description]
“This is about as good as my unknown tongue —
Anglo-Saxon and all,” Mr. Merritt said.
“`Kollidg tis kontra gif digri tu mi on languidg?'”
“`Give degree,' sir, is what he means evidently;”
said Mr. Don, good-naturedly giving his help.
“That's plain enough,” said Mr. Merritt; “but what
does the rest of it mean? Will a college in this country
give a degree in his language, or to a man of his
language? I should say he ought to be encouraged,
somehow, to go on. — I thought,” he said, showing the
card to Mr. Greenwood, who happened to pass, “you
told us he didn't know a word of English.”
“I said `there wasn't an English word in him:' well,
I don't see any thing there against it.”
Dr. Farwell's wisdom was close at hand, and came to
the rescue: —
“But these,” said he, “are the phonetic signs: he
sings by the phonetic signs; he spells by the phonetic
signs. `K-o-l-l-i-d-g' isn't according to our spellingbooks;
but isn't it according to another principle, — perhaps
a better principle? The American child says `B'e'd,'
when he's hungry; and `Bed,' when he's sleepy. Now
may not that sound — I put the question as a question
in science — may not that sound represent to that
child — be associated in that child's mind — with the
general idea of comfort? — comfort?”
While this thoughtful speculation was going on,
emphasized, at emphatic points, with the peacefullyshut
fist, across the chest, the great order of things had
also been going on. Ices, salads, jellies, oysters, confectioneries,
in many a tempting form, were carried
about; and trustees and clergymen could not keep
their backs set against them. It happened ill for
-- 380 --
[figure description] Page 380.[end figure description]
science that this strong diversion came just as the
Reverend Doctor had been called upon by Mr. Pettie
or some one, to explain “how the Cossack Count
could spell `college,' or `give,' or any of his other
words, in `phonetic signs,' if he hadn't first got the
words that he wanted to spell.” The answer was lost
in the general occupation that followed.
The Count by no means confined himself in his
attentions to his young relative, nor to the lady of the
house; but in active dumb show, with a noble flourish
of manner, he helped half the young ladies near him,
before their attendant gentlemen knew where they
were, — to the amused fright of the young ladies
themselves.
Mr. Merritt's wit was alive, and found vent, confidentially,
but in a pretty loud confidence, to his friend
the Doctor (and a few others): —
“Though the Count don't understand English, I
think, looking at his performances, we should hold him
a-count-able, shouldn't we?”
“I was expecting to make two or three very good
jokes out of that word,” said Dr. Farwell; “and now
here's Merritt spoiled one of 'em, right off.”
The Count, who, of course, heard but a confused
jargon of speech all about him, unless when, like a
warble from his native woods, or a strain from his own
ancestral halls, or, in short, like just what it was, a word
or two came to him from Mr. Greenwood, did not despair
of communicating, in his own way, with the intelligent
life around him. Again he presented a card to
Brade, and accompanied it with a look of inquiry, and
an inquiring attitude of the different members of the
body, eminently foreign. The card this time bore upon
its face the words: —
-- 381 --
[figure description] Page 381.[end figure description]
“Konow Russik?”
The Trustees happened at the moment to be engaged
in discussing the arrangement for “Benefactors'
Day,” — the “Triumphal Arch,” or the “Arch of Welcome,”
or whatever it should be called; the Latin
speech, to be in two parts, for Gaston and Brade, but
very short, so as to be fitted for out-door delivery, if
the weather should not be too cold or stormy. Dr.
Farwell was just settling things in their places, as they
ought to be settled, — “that seems conclusive as to
that thing, at that point,” — when Mr. Merritt nudged
his elbow, and it was astonishing, considering the speed
and force with which he moved, how soon he checked
himself to see what Mr. Merritt wished him to see.
Brade, not thinking himself seen, was answering
Count Blakisoff's card as well as he could; showing,
in his eyes, a feeling of the drollness of his own appearance,
and that of the Count, who was gesticulating in
sympathy, and with that gravity which belongs to well-bred
foreigners. Catching sight of the clerical party,
Brade politely presented them with the card, and, leaving
them busy, took the opportunity to make his
modest leave-taking and get away. A more conspicuous
part was played by the Count, who hastily followed
him, after a very low bow to the hostess, and
another to the company; Mr. Greenwood explaining
that “he was drawn by strong ties.”
The air was sharp and biting, as Brade, followed
closely by the noble foreigner, left behind the house
full of pleasant warmth, and sounds of mirth.
“Brade!” said the Count, in a strange accent; and,
as Antony turned, he could see that some change had
taken place in the stranger.
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“Ha!” said the Count, in the cold air, but speaking
as good English as Russian, and putting his hand to
his face.
Antony waited to join him; and, as the Count withdrew
his hand, a great part of the hair of his face came
with it.
“`Kollidg gif digri tu mi on languidge,'” said the
Count, making out pretty well to repeat the words on
his first card.
Brade laughed. “Ulterior College might do it, I suppose,”
he said.
“Didn't you find me out before?” asked Blake, —
for Blake it was, rid of his hair, but still wearing his
frogged coat. “Really? — The trouble about getting
an `honorary' from Ulterior,” said he, running on, in
his old way, “is, if you haven't been there four years,
you've got to prove you wa'n't bright enough to get
through College; or you want to preach or teach, and
people think you don't know enough.”
Some boys, who were out with their sleds, espied
the two, and, after gazing at them, broke forth in shouts:
“Hooraw for Count Blakisoff!” — “Hooray!” “Hooraw
for Imperial Highness!” and escorted them home
in triumph.
-- -- p637-396
Lowell, Robert, 1816-1891 [1874], Antony Brade. (Roberts Brothers, Boston) [word count] [eaf637T].
