Part 25
There was “Yankey Doodle” as interestin’ as I always knew that yankey was; I never see him look better than he did here; there stood three generations with the soul of 1776 a shinin’ through their faces, and the oldest face of all was lit up with the deepest glow and inspiration. It was a dretful animatin’ and inspirin’ picture to me and to Josiah. And then there was another picture called “Elaine” that dealt both my mind and my heart fearful blows. I had heerd Thomas J. read about her so much that she seemed almost like one of the relations on the side of the Smiths. She was a handsome girl, and likely as she could be, but she got disappointed, fell in love with Mr. Launcelot—and he, bein’ in love with another man’s wife, couldn’t take to her, so she died off. But her last request was to be laid, after she died, in a boat with a letter in her hand for him she died off for, biddin’ him good-bye; and that the boat—steered by her father’s dumb hired man—should float off down to Camelot where he was a stayin’ a visitin’. (I don’t s’pose I have told it in jest exactly the words, Thomas J. reads so much, but I have probable got the heads of the story right). And there she lay, perfectly lovely—in her right hand, the lily, and in her left the letter; the dead steered by the dumb, floatin’ down the still waters. It was exceedinly affectin’ to me, and I was jest a goin’ to take out my white cotton handkerchief to cry onto it, when all of a sudden I heerd behind me the voice of the Editor of the Auger a sayin’:
“It is a false perspective.”
“Yes,” says Cornelius Cork, in the same fault-findin’ tone: “it’s awful false, not a mite of truth in it.”
“A perfect lie,” says Shakespeare Bobbet.
“The tone is too low down,” says the Editor of the Auger again, in a complainin’ way.
“Low down again as it ort to be,” says old Bobbet.
I declare for’t, I jest locked arms with Josiah and hurried him off, and never stopped till we got clear into Austria. But on the way there, I says, “How mad it makes me, Josiah Allen, to see anybody find fault and sneer at things they can’t understand.”
“Well,” says Josiah mildly, “you know they have got a reputation to keep up, and they are bound to do it. Why, they say if anybody haint dressed up a mite, if you see ’em a lookin’ at handsome pictures, or statutes, or anything of that sort, with a cold and wooden look to their faces, and turning their noses up, and finding fault, you may know they are somebody.” “I s’pose” says Josiah, “the ‘Creation Searchers’ can’t be outdone in it; I s’pose they put on as hauty and superior-silly-ous looks as anybody ever did, that haint had no more practice than they have.”
Josiah will make a slip sometimes, and says I, “you mean super-silly, Josiah.”
“Well, I knew there was a silly to it. They say,” says Josiah, “that runnin’ things down is always safe; _that_ never hurts anybody’s reputation. The pint is, they say, in not bein’ pleased with anything, or if you be, to conceal it, look perfectly wooden, and not show your feelins a mite; that is the pint they say.”
Says I, “The pint is, some folks always did make natteral fools of themselves, and always will I s’pose.”
“Well,” says Josiah, “there must be _sunthin’_ in it, Samantha, or there wouldn’t be such a lot a gittin’ up a reputation for wisdom in that way.”
I couldn’t deny it without lyin’, and so bein’ in Austria, as I said, I commenced lookin’ round me. Comin’ right out of the United States I couldn’t help thinkin’ that Austria had a meller, rich look, sunthin’ like Autumn in the fall of the year, while the United States looked considerable like Summer. The picture that arrested my attention first and foremost in Austria was, “Venice paying homage to Caterina Cornaro.” It was a noble big picture, as big as one hull side of our house a most. I looked at that picture very admirinly and so did Josiah. We see a Emperor on a bust, and other interestin’ statutes; we give a glance at a sleepin’ Nymph—she was as handsome as a doll, but I thought then and I think still, that if Nymphs would put on store clothes, they would look better, and feel as well again.
“Convulsed with Grief,” was a beautiful picture but fur too affectin’ for my comfort. It was a bier all covered with flowers, and a dead child lyin’ on it with a veil thrown over its face, but painted in such a way that the beautiful white face was plain to be seen under it; and the mother was settin’ by it with grief, and agony, all painted out on her face. And as I looked on her, the tears jest started on a run down my cheeks, for though I well knew it was one of the sweetest and holiest things in life to become the mother of a baby angel, still I knew it was one of the saddest things too. I knew that mother heart where the pretty head had lain, was as empty and lonesome as a bird’s nest in winter; and the shadder of the little low grave would be high enough to cast its blackness and gloom over the hull earth. I felt for that mother so that I come pretty near cryin’ out loud. But I didn’t; I took out my white cotton handkerchief and wiped both of my eyes, and composed myself down.
And then feelin’ a little tired I seated myself on a bench in the middle of the room, Josiah sayin’ that he wanted to look at the Alps, and one or two convents, and a “Bull Dog.” But I watched him out of one corner of my speck, and I see that he never went nigh ’em, but kep’ a lookin’ at a “Centeur carryin’ off a Nymph” and a “Siesta of a Oriental Woman” and a “Nun’s Revery,” and a “Smilin’ Girl,” and some sirens, and other females. But I didn’t care; I haint got a jealous hair in the hull of my foretop, or back hair; and I well know the state of my pardner’s morals,—brass is no sounder. And I couldn’t help takin’ it as a compliment, and feelin’ flattered in behalf of my sect, to see all through the Sentinal, how sot men did seem to be a lookin’ at the pictures and statutes of wimmen. They looked at ’em as much again as they did at the figgers of their own sect; and it showed plain to me, that though they do some on ’em seem to feel rather hauty and proud-spirited towards us, they do think a sight on us—as a race.
So there I sot bounded by beauty on every side of me, and happy as a queen, when a likely lookin’ woman come in and sot down by me. Says she, “I have jest been a lookin’ at the Gobelin tapistry.”
“Why how you talk!” says I, “I never believed there was any such things as Gobelins or spooks.”
“I mean men;” says she, “men that foller the trade of the Gobelins.”
“Oh Gobblers?” says I in a enquirin’ tone.
“Weavers,” says she. “They set at the back of their frame and never see the right side of their work till the picture is finished, and each color they weave in has twenty different shades.”
“How you talk!” says I, and seein’ she had a kind of a knowin’ look, as if she would understand episodin’; (I hate to episode to anybody that don’t know what I’m a doin’.) I says to her, “That is a good deal like our lives, haint it; we set in the dark a weavin’ in our actions day by day, every act havin’ more’n forty different shades and motives to it, and we can’t tell how the picture looks from the other side till our work is done, and the frame laid down.”
“That is so,” says she. And then we both went to look at ’em, and Josiah went too; and such weavin’ I never see before, nor never expect to again. One of ’em was Mrs. Penelope settin’ a weavin’ her web. A likely creeter she was. After her husband was dragged off to war she would set and weave all day, and rip it all out at night, for she had promised to marry again when she had got her weavin’ done; and hated to. I have heerd Thomas J. read about her, and always took right to her. We had jest finished lookin’ at her, and I was a goin’ to tackle some of the pictures, when a slimmish sort of a girl, by the side of us says to another one, in reply to a question:
“Yes, I have jest come from there; it is the greatest exhibition of Antique art ever seen in this country. Pottery, crockery ware, marbles, and jewelry, twenty-three hundred years old, some of it.”
Josiah hunched me, and give me a wink; as excited and agitated a wink as I ever see wunk. And says I, “What is the matter Josiah, you scare me.”
Says he in a loud excitable whisper:
“Now is my time, Samantha. You have wanted me to buy sunthin’ for Tirzah Ann to remember the Sentinal by, and I can probable git some things here cheap as dirt, if they are as old as that, and they’ll be jest as good for her as new; they’ll last till she gits sick of ’em. I will see old Antique, and try to make a dicker with him.”
Says I, “If I had a only girl by my first wife, and was as well off as _you_ be, I wouldn’t try to git second hand jewelry or old crockery for ’em, because I could git ’em for little or nothin’.”
But he was sot on it, and so we went in and looked round, tryin’ to find sunthin’ that would suit her. There was lots and lots of things, but I couldn’t see a article that I thought she would want and told him so; there was some big platters with humbly faces painted on ’em, and bowls and vases and jars. One little bowl was marked “Anno Jubilee 1600,” and Josiah says, “Don’t you s’pose that would do, Samantha? S’posen Ann has used it, she haint hurt it, and it would be handy to feed the—”
Says I, “Josiah Allen, it don’t look half so well as bowls she has got by her now.”
“Well,” says he, “I could git it cheap, its bein’ so awful old, and I believe it would be as good for her, as a new one.”
“Well,” says I, “before you decide, less look round a little more.”
It does beat all how many things was marked Anno Domina; Josiah said he wondered what under the sun Ann wanted of so much jewelry and stuff, and he thought it looked extravagant in her.
Says he with a dreamy look “Mebby Ann would have left sunthin’ to our girl, if she had known she was named after her—as it were.”
Says I, “Josiah Allen don’t try to git off on that track.” Says I, “It is bad enough to buy second-handed jewelry without plottin’ round tryin’ to git it for nothin’.”
So finally he picked out a ring of carved stone, sardonic, I think I heerd it called, and says he: “this will be just as good for Tirzah Ann as sunthin’ that would cost a dollar or ten shillin’,” says he “I will give old Antique ten cents for it, and not try to beat him down. Do you s’pose the old man would ask any more for it?” says he, addressin’ a middle aged, iron grey man a standin’ near us. “He dug ’em out of old graves and ruins, I hear; they can’t be worth much to him.”
“You can learn the price from Signor Alessandro Castellani.”
“Who?” says Josiah.
“The gentleman who owns the collection, the head of the Italian Commission. There he is a comin’ this way now.” He was a good lookin’ chap, with a animated eager look to his face. And when he got up to us Josiah says to him, “How much is that little sardonic ring?”
Says he, in a pleasant way though sort o’ foreign in axent, “That ring sir, is eight hundred dollars.”
My pardner stood with his head bent forward, and his arms hangin’ down straight, in deep dumb founder. Finally he spoke, and says he in low agitated axents, “How much do you call the hull lot of old stuff worth?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” says he.
Says Josiah, “I thought five dollars would buy the hull. I guess we had better be goin’ Samantha.” After we got out, I says “I guess, Josiah Allen, you wish you had heerd to me.”
“Dummit! who thought they were such fools?” says he.
Says I sternly, “Josiah Allen, it scares me to think you have got to be such a profane swearer,” says I “you never swore such profane oaths in your hull life before, as you have sense you have been on your tower. What would your pasture say if he could hear you? And you call ’em fools,” says I, “I guess they haint the only fools in the world!”
“Who said they _wuz_,” says he. And then he spoke up and says he, “I guess I will go out and look at some mules, and steers.”
“Well,” says I more mildly, “Mebby you had better.” And we agreed when it was time to go home, to meet at the Department of Public Comfort.
So Josiah went to look at the live stock, (he seemed to enjoy himself better when he was in that situation) and I wandered round through them wildernesses of entrancin’ beauty, perfectly happy (as it were.) I had roamed round mebby an hour, lookin’ at the pictures and statutes that lined the walls on every side, not mindin’ the crowd a mite, some of the time a laughin’ and some of the time a cryin’ (entirely unbeknown to me.) I was a standin’ in Germany, enjoyin’ myself dretfully, for the Germans are a affectionate, social race, and their pictures of home life are exceedin’ly interestin’ and agreeable, to one who loves home as does she, whose name was once Smith. And then there was pictures that would make you smile, such as “Buying the Cradle,” and “The Disagreement.” And there was lovely landscapes, and grand and inspirin’ pictures. I had jest been a lookin’ at “Christ Appearing to Mary Magdelane,” a noble picture; our Saviour clad in white like Eternal Purity, and she rushing forward with outstretched arms and her face all lit up with joy and adoration. I had jest left this picture and was a lookin’ at “Luther Intercepted,” and thinkin’ how sort o’ lonesome the woods looked, and how sorry I was for Luther—when all of a sudden I heerd a awe-stricken whisper on the nigh side of me:
[Sidenote: INTERVIEW WITH DOM PEDRO]
“There is the Emperor of Brazil! There is Dom Pedro!”
And lookin’ up I see a tall man with greyish whiskers and mustache, come in in a quiet way with a little book in his hand, and go to lookin’ at the pictures. For nearly three quarters of a moment I felt strange, curious, exceedingly so. But Principle showed me jest what to do, to do right, and Duty locked arms with me and bore me onwards, right up in front of that noblest of men, for I felt that I ort to make some move towards gettin’ acquainted with him. I took it right to myself; he was a literary man; I was a literary woman; he was on a tower of investigation and principle; I too, was on such a tower; and I knew if I should go to Brazil to get Brazil nuts or anything, if I should happen to go to his neighborhood to any doin’s where he was, and he shouldn’t make any move towards gettin’ acquainted with me, I should feel hurt. I shouldn’t be mad, but it would grieve me—work on my feelin’s. And so thinks’es I, I wont stand on no ceremony but do as I would be done by, and scrape acquaintance with him.
I am very polite when I set out to be. Anybody to see me appear sometimes, would almost think I was born in a meetin’ house. I have a very noble way to me sometimes, it comes natural, and I put on now, the very best mean I had by me, and curchied nobly. And though I do say it that shouldn’t, I can make as good lookin’ a curchy as any woman of my age and size when I set out. Of course I can’t put in all the little curious motions I could if I weighed less than two hundred, but I did well. And jest as I got through curchyien I spoke up in a very polite, but calm tone: “How do you do Mr. Pedro?”
They call him Dom, a nickname for Dombey, I s’pose. But I always think it looks better for females to be sort o’ reserved and dignified, and so I called him Mr. Pedro. And says I, “I will make you acquainted with Josiah Allen’s wife.”
He looked at me kinder searchin’ like, and then when I had a full look at him, I could see that he looked well. Though, like myself, he couldn’t be called handsome, he had a good look to his face. His eyes had that sort of a weary look, considerable sad, and considerable hopeful too, and very deep and searchin’, jest as if they had looked a good deal at things that worried and perplexed him; just as if they had looked at bigotry, and prejudice, and ignorance, and then seen, clear acrost ’em the sunlight of education, and freedom, and true religion a dawnin’ on the land he loved. I don’t know when I have seen a face that I liked better. And my admirin’ and reverential emotions riz up so that I never spoke about the weather—or asked him whether he was enjoyin’ good health, or whether Miss Pedro and the rest of his folks was as well as could be expected, or anything—but I spoke right up and says I in tones tremblin’ with emotion:
“I have been on towers before, Mr. Pedro, and have felt noble and grand on ’em, but never did I feel so lifted up on any tower as I do now. Never, never, did I meet a literary man that I feel such emotions towards, either on a tower or offon it.”
And as I went on I grew more and more agitated, and eloquent; why, I felt so eloquent that I see there wasn’t no use to try to stop myself, and I says in fearfully noble axents:
“When a man in a lofty station like yourn, instead of spendin’ his days admirin’ himself, works earnest, hard work to benefit the people God placed in his keepin’; studies day and night how to advance their interests, in every way, and raise them up and make them prosperous and happy; that man Mr. Pedro, raises himself from 35 to 40 cents in my estimation. And when that literary, and noble minded man gets down out of his high chair—soft as royalty and a people’s devotion can make it—and sets off on a tower to collect information to still further benefit them, he raises himself still further up in my estimation, he still further endears himself to her whose name was formally Smith. For,” says I wipin’ my heated forward, “I feel a sympathizin’ feelin’ for him; I too, am literary, and a investigator in the cause of right, I too am on a tower.”
He looked dretful sort o’ earnest at me, and surprised. I s’pose it kind o’ took him back, and almost skairt him to see a woman so awful eloquent. But I kep’ right on, unbeknown to me. Says I “Some kings look down on the people as if they was only dust for their throne to rest on; while _they_ set up on it, with their crown on, a playin’ with their septer, and countin’ over their riches and admirin’ themselves. But,” says I, “such feelin’s felt towards the people makes the waves of angry passions rise up below, muddy waves of feelin’, underminin’ the throne, and tottlin’ it right over. But when a ruler plants the foundations of his throne in Justice, and goodness, and the hearts of his people, they are firm foundations, and will stand a pretty good shakin’ before tumblin’ down.”
Says I (still entirely unbeknown to me) “Some folks thinks it lifts ’em up and makes ’em higher and nobler, if they have somebody beneath ’em to look down on and feel contemptuous towards; but it haint Christ-like. And they who are the most like Him, the loftiest, truest souls, have the most generous and helpful spirit, the tenderest compassion for them who are accounted beneath them. They would much rather offend an equal, than to add, by a word or a look, to the burdens of those already burdened by a sense of their poverty and inferiority. And that is one reason why I always liked the sun Mr. Pedro, why I always fairly took to him: because he is so great and noble and royal hearted, and with all his kingly and soarin’ grandeur, has such awful tender streaks to him, so thoughtful and helpful to the little neglected cast off things of the earth. If he turns the cold shoulder to any one, it is to the high, the hauty, and the big feelin’. How different he appears how much more cold and icy his mean is to the loftiest mountain peaks, to what it is to the little cowslip blow and blue-eyed violet down by the swamp, or the low grasses growin’ in fence corners and by the door-steps of the poor. How warm and almost tender he is to them, never twittin’ them of their worthlessness and how much he has done for them, but smilin’ right down on ’em, helpin’ ’em to grow, and makin’ no fuss about it. Not a mite afraid of losin’ his dignity the sun haint, when he is bendin’ himself down to lift up a myrtle blow, or encourage a skairt little dandelion, trampled down by the side of the road. He has got a big job of shinin’ on his hands. He has took the job of lightin’ the world, and he haint got no time or disposition to be exclusive and nurse his dignity, as little naters do, and he don’t need to.”
I knew by the expression of Mr. Pedro’s face, that he mistrusted that I was comparin’ him to the sun, and bein’ so modest—jest like all great naters—it was fairly distressin’ to him. And givin’ a glance round the room, at the noble pictures, and gorgeous doin’s, he says:
“I congratulate you all Madam, on your great display. I see much to admire.”
That man is a perfect gentleman, if there ever was one. But I wasn’t goin’ to be outdone in politeness; I wasn’t goin’ to have him feel uncomfortable because we had better doin’s than he had to home. And so says I, “Yes, we have got up a pretty fair show, but you mustn’t think we have such doin’s every day Mr. Pedro. Columbia has got her high heeled shoes on, as you may say, and is showin’ off, tryin’ to see what she can do. She has been keepin’ house for a hundred years, and been a addin’ to her house every year, and repairin’ of it and gettin’ housen stuff together, and now she is havin’ a regular house warmin’, to show off, what a housekeeper she is.”
Again he said with that courteous and polite look of hisen: that “it was a grand, and instructive scene; nothing like it had met his eyes in his own land. He didn’t blame the nation for the pride they felt, it was deserved; the display was grand, magnificent, and the country was prosperous; in traveling through it he had been delighted and amazed.”
I thought then, he was so generous, and praised us up so, it would be polite for me to sort o’ run ourselves down, a very little. Principle wouldn’t let me run far, and says I:
“Yes, our American Eagle has laid quite a pile of eggs and hatched out quite a quantity of likely growin’ states and territories, and I don’t know as she ort to be blamed too much if she does cackle pretty loud, and look as wise, and satisfied, and knowin’ as a hen turkey.”
And then thinkin’ it would be very polite in me to turn the subject away from our national and personal glory, I spoke out in as friendly a tone as I had by me—for I truly felt as if the nation and I couldn’t do too much, or say too much to show our admiration and appreciation for the smartest and sensiblest monarch we ever had amongst us. Says I in a real neighborly tone:
“How is your wife, Mr. Pedro? How glad I should be if you and she could come to Jonesville before you go down home, and make us a good visit;” says I, “I would love to git acquainted with her and so would Josiah; and I don’t s’pose I shall ever git so far from home as Brazil, for Josiah and me don’t visit much anyway, and South America seems to be sort o’ out of our way. But”—says I, in that same friendly, and almost affectionate manner—“don’t wait for us Mr. Pedro, if you and she can come now, or after you git home, come right up; we shall be glad and proud to see you at any time.” And then I happened to think, what I had heerd about her enjoyment of poor health, and says I, “How is Theresy’s lameness now, does she git any the better of it?”
He thanked me dretful polite, and said she “wasn’t any better.”
“Did she ever try any arneky?” says I, “I do believe if she should try that and yarrer, she would git help.”
He said he didn’t think she ever had.