Chapter 9

Here she burst out laughing again; while the poor Sennaar Ambassador stood erect, and utterly confounded by what was going on.

“I’m sure--I didn’t know--I didn’t--I wouldn’t--Mrs. Gnu knows;” said he, in the greatest embarrassment. “I beg your pardon sincerely, madame.” And he looked so humble and repentant that I was really sorry for him; but I saw Mr. Firkin laughing afresh every time he looked at the Ambassador, as if he saw something sly behind his penitence.

“Perhaps,” said Firkin at last, “Kurz Pacha means to say that to offer flowers to a lady who has already so beautiful a bouquet, would be to carry coals to Newcastle.”

“That is it,” cried the Pacha; “to Newcastle,”--and he bowed to Mrs. Gnu.

“Come, Mrs. Gnu, it’s only a mistake,” said Mrs. Potiphar.

But Mrs. Gnu looked rather angry still, although Gauche Boosey tried very hard to console her, saying as many _bon mots_ as he could think of--and you know how witty he is. He said at last;

“Why is Mrs. Gnu like Rachel?”

“Rachel who?” asked I. -- I’m sure it was an innocent question; but they all fell to laughing again, and Mr. Firkin positively cried with fun.

“D’ye give it up?” asked Mr. Boosey.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Potiphar.

“Why, because she will not be comforted.”

There wasn’t half so much laughing at this as at my question--although Mrs. Potiphar said it was capital, and I thought so too, when I found out who Rachel was.

But Mrs. Gnu continued to be like Rachel, and Mr. Boosey continued to try to amuse her. I think it was very hard she wouldn’t be amused by such a funny man; and he said at last aloud to her, meaning all of us to hear:

“Well, Mrs. Gnu, upon my honor, it is no epicure to try to console you.”

She did laugh at this, however, and so did the others.

“Have you ever been in Sennaar, Mr. Boosey?” said Kurz Pacha.

“No; why?”

“Why, I thought we might have learned English at the same school.”

Mr. Boosey looked puzzled; but Mr. Potiphar broke in:

“Well, Mrs. Gnu, I’m glad to see you smile at last. After all, the remark of the Ambassador’s was only what they would call in France, ‘a perfect bougie of a joke.’”

“Good evening, Mrs. Potiphar,” cried the Sennaar Minister, rising suddenly, and running toward the door. We heard him next under the window going off in great shouts of laughter, and whistling in the intervals, “Hail Columbia!” What shocking habits he has for a minister! I don’t know how it was that Mr. Potiphar was in such good humor; but he promised his wife that she should go to Paris, and that she might select her party. So she invited us all who were at the table. Mrs. Gnu declined: but I knew mamma would let me go with the Potiphars.

“Dear Pot.,” said Mrs. P., “we shall be gone so short a time, and shall be so busy, and hurrying from one place to another, that we had better leave little Freddy behind. Poor, dear little fellow, it will be much better for him to stay.”

Mr. P. looked a little sober at this; but he said nothing except to ask:

“Shall you all be ready to sail in a fortnight?”

“Certainly, in a week,” we all answered.

“Well, then, we must hurry home to prepare,” said he. “I shall write for state-rooms for us in Monday’s boat, Polly.”

“Very well; that’s a dear Pot.,” said she; and as we all rose she went up to him, and took his arm tenderly. It was an unusual sight: I never saw her do it before. Mrs. Gnu said to me:

“Well, really, that’s rather peculiar. I think people had better make love in private.”

“No, by Jove,” whispered Mr. Boosey to me; “and I am afraid he had drank freely, as I have once or twice before heard that he did; but the world is such a gossip!--no, she doesn’t let _her_ good works of that kind shine before men.”

“Why, Mr. Boosey,” said I, “how can you?”

“Will you believe, darling Mrs. Downe, that instead of answering, he sort of winked at me, and said, under his voice, ‘Good night, Caroline.’ I drew myself up, you may depend, and said coldly:

“Good evening, Mr. Boosey.”

He drew himself up too, and said:

“I called you Caroline, you called me Mr. Boosey.”

And then looking straight and severely at me, he actually winked again.

Then of course, I knew he was not responsible for his actions.

Ah me, what things we are! Just as I was leaving the room with Mrs. Gnu, who had matronized me, Mr. Boosey came up with such a soft, pleading look in his eyes that seemed to say, “please forgive me,” and put out his hand so humbly, and appeared so sorry and so afraid that I would not speak to him, that I really pitied him: but when, in his low, rich voice, he said:

“Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembered!”--

I couldn’t hold out; wasn’t it pretty? So I put out my hand, and he shook it tenderly, and said “tomorrow” in a way--well, dear Mrs. Downe, I will be frank with you--that made me happy all night.

At this rate I shall never get to Paris. But the next day it was known everywhere we were going and everybody congratulated us. Our party met at the Bowling Alley, and we began to make all kinds of plans.

“Oh! _we’ll_ take care of all the arrangements,” said Mr. Boosey, nodding toward Mr. Croesus and Mr. Firkin.

“Mr. Boosey, were you presented to the Emperor?” inquired Kurz Pacha.

“Certainly I was,” replied he; “I have a great respect for Louis Napoleon. Those Frenchmen didn’t know what they wanted; but he knew well enough what he wanted: they didn’t want him, perhaps, but he did want them, and now he has them. A true nephew of his uncle, Kurz Pacha; and you can see what a man the great Napoleon must have been, when the little Napoleon succeeds so well upon the strength of the name.”

“Why, you are really enthusiastic about the Emperors,” said the Ambassador.

“Certainly,” replied Mr. Boosey, “I have always been a great Neapolitan.”

Kurz Pacha stared at him a moment, and then took a large pinch of snuff solemnly. I think it’s very ill bred to stare as he does sometimes, when somebody has made a remark. I saw nothing particular in that speech of Mr. Boosey’s; and yet D’Orsay Firkin smiled to himself as he told Mrs. Gnu it was her turn.

“I wonder, my dear Mrs. Potiphar,” said the Sennaar Minister seating himself by her side, as the game went on, “that Europeans should have so poor an idea of America and Americans, when such crowds of the very best society are constantly crossing the ocean. Now, you and your friends are going to Paris, perhaps to other parts of Europe, and I should certainly suppose that, without flattery, (taking another pinch of snuff,) the foreigners whom you meet might get rid of some of their prejudices against the Americans. You will go, you know, as the representatives of a republic where social ranks are not organized to the exclusion of any; but where talent and character always secure social consideration. The simplicity of the republican idea and system will appear in your manners and modes of life. Leaving to the children of a society based upon antique and aristocratic principles, to squander their lives in an aimless luxury, you will carry about with you, as it were the fresh airs and virgin character of a new country and civilization. When you go to Paris, it will be like a sweet country breeze blowing into a perfumer’s shop. The customers will scent something finer than the most exquisite essence, and will prefer the fresh fragrance of the flower to the most elaborate distillation. Roses smell sweeter than attar of roses. You and your party, estimable lady, will be the roses. You will not (am I right _this_ time?) carry coals to Newcastle; for if any of your companions think that the sharp eye of Paris will not pierce their pretensions, or the satiric tongue of Paris fail to immortalize it, they mistake greatly. You cannot beat Paris with its own weapons; and Paris will immensely respect you if you use your own. Poor little Mrs. Vite thinks she passes for a _Parisienne_ in Paris. Why, there is not a _chiffonier_ in the street at midnight that couldn’t see straight through the little woman, and nothing would better please the _Jardin Mabille_ than to have her for a butt. My dear madame, the ape is a very ingenious animal, and his form much resembles the human. Moles, probably, and the inhabitants of the planet Jupiter, do not discern the difference; but I rather think we do. A ten-strike by Venus! well done, Mrs. Gnu,” cried the Ambassador; “now, Mrs. Potiphar.”

The Pacha didn’t play; but he asked Mr. Firkin what was a good average for a man, in the game.

“Well, a spare every time,” said he.

“Mr. Firkin,” asked Mrs. Gnu, “what is a good woman’s average?”

“Does any lady here know that?” inquired the Pacha, looking round.

“No,” said Mr. Boosey; “we must send and inquire of Miss Tattle.” “How pleasantly the game goes on, dear Mrs. Gnu,” said the Pacha; “but Miss Minerva ought to be here, she always holds such a good hand at every game.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Gnu, “that if she once got a good hold of any hand, she wouldn’t let it go immediately.”

“Good!” shouted Mr. Boosey.

“Hi! hi!” roared Mr. Potiphar.

The Pacha took snuff placidly, and said quietly:

“You’ve fairly trumped my trick, and taken it, Mrs. Gnu.”

“I should say the trick has taken her,” whispered Mr. Firkin at my elbow to Kurz Pacha.

The Sennaar Ambassador opened his eyes wide, and offered Mr. Firkin his snuff-box.

Monday came at length. It was well known that we were all going--the Potiphars and the rest of us. Everybody had spoken of the difficulty of getting state-rooms on the steamer to town, and hoped we had spoken in time.

“I have written and secured my rooms,” said Mr. Potiphar to everybody he met; “I am not to be left in the lurch, my dear sir, it isn’t my way.” And then he marched on, Gauche Boosey said, as if at least both sides of the street were his way. He’s changed a great deal lately.

The De Familles were going the same day. “Hope you’ve secured rooms, De Famille,” said Mr. Potiphar blandly to him.

“No,” answered he, shortly; “no, not yet; it isn’t my way; I don’t mean to give myself trouble about things; I don’t bother; it isn’t my way.”

And each went his own way up and down the street. But early on Monday afternoon Mr. De Famille and his family drove toward Fall Kiver, from which place the boat starts.

Monday evening the Potiphars and the rest of us went to the wharf at Newport, and presently the boat came up. We bundled on board, and as soon as he could get to the office Mr. Potiphar asked for the keys of his rooms.

“Why, sir,” said the clerk, “Mr. De Famille has them. He came on board at Fall Eiver and asked for your keys, as if the rooms had been secured for him.”

“What does that mean?” demanded Mr. Potiphar.

“Oh! ah! I remember now,” said Mr. Boosey. “I saw the De Familles all getting into a carriage for a little drive, as Mr. De F., said, about two o’clock this afternoon.”

Mr. Potiphar looked like a thunder-storm. “What the devil does it mean?” asked he of the clerk, while the passengers hustled him, and punched him, and the hook of an umbrella-stick caught in his cravat-knot, and untied it.

“Send up immediately, and say that Mr. Potiphar wants his state-rooms,” said he to the clerk.

In a few minutes the messenger returned and said--

“Mr. De Famille’s compliments to Mr. Potiphar. Mr. De Famille and his family have retired for the night, but upon arriving in the morning he will explain everything to Mr. Potiphar’s satisfaction.

“Jolly!” whispered Mr. Boosey, rubbing his hands, to Mr. Firkin, on whose arm I was leaning.

“Are you fond of the Italian opera, Mr. Potiphar?” inquired Kurz Pacha, blandly, Mrs. P. sat down upon a settee and looked at nothing.

“O Patience! do verify the quotation and smile,” said the Ambassador to her.

“It’s a mean swindle,” said Mr. Potiphar. “I’ll have satisfaction. I’ll go break open the door,” and he started.

“My dear, don’t be in a passion,” said Mrs. Potiphar, “and don’t be a fool. Remember that the De Familles are not people to be insulted. It won’t do to quarrel with the De Familles.”

“Splendid!” ejaculated Kurz Pacha.

“I’ve no doubt he’ll explain it all in the morning,” continued Mrs. Potiphar, “there’s some mistake; why not be cool about it? Besides, Mr. De Famille is an elderly gentleman and requires his rest. I do think you’re positively unchristian, Mr. Potiphar. The idea of insulting the De Familles!”

And Mrs. Potiphar patted her little feet upon the floor in front of the ladies’ cabin, where we were all collected.

“Where are you going to sleep?” asked Mr. Potiphar mildly.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” answered she.

We had an awful night. It was worse than any night at sea. Mrs. P. was propped up in one corner of a settee and I in the other, and when I was fixed comfortably there would come a great sea, and the boat would lurch, and I had to disarrange my position. It was horrid. But Mr. Potiphar was very good all night. He kept coming to see if Polly wanted anything, and if she were warm enough, and if she were well. Gauche Boosey, who was on the floor in the saloon, said he saw Mr. P. crawl up softly and try his state-room door. But it was locked, “and the snoring of old De Famille, who was enjoying his required rest,” said he, “came in regular broadsides through the blinds.”

I don’t know how Mr. De Famille explained. I only know Mrs. P. charged old Pot. to be satisfied with anything.

“There are some people, my darling Caroline,” she said to me, “with whom it does not do to quarrel. It isn’t christian to quarrel. I can’t afford to be on bad terms with the De Familles.”

“It is odd, isn’t it,” said Kurz Pacha to Mrs. P., as we were sailing down the harbor on our way to Europe, and talking of the circumstance of the state-rooms, “it is so odd, that in Sennaar, where to be sure, civilization has scarcely a foothold--I mean such civilization as you enjoy--this proceeding would have been called dishonest! They do have the oddest use of terms in Sennaar! Why, I remember that I once bought a sheep, and as it was coming to my fold in charge of my shepherd, a man in a mask came out of a wood and walked away with the sheep, and appropriated the mutton-chops to his own family uses. And those singular people in Sennaar called it stealing. Shall I ever get through laughing at them when I return! There ought to be missionaries sent to Sennaar. Do you think the Rev. Cream Cheese would go? How gracefully he would say: ‘Benighted brethren, in my country when a man buys a sheep or a state-room, and pays money for it, and another man appropriates it, depriving the rightful buyer of his chops and sheep, what does the buyer do? Does he swear? Does he rail? Does he complain? Does he even ask for the cold pickings? Not at all, brethren; he does none of these things. He sends Worcestershire sauce to the thief, or a pillow of poppies, and says to him, Friend, all of mine is thine, and all of thine is thine own. This, benighted people of Sennaar, is the practice of a Christian people. As one of our great poets says, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’ Think how delicately the Rev. Cream would pat his mouth with the fine cambric handkerchief, after rounding off such a homily! He might ask you and Mrs. Potiphar to accompany him as examples of this Christian pitch of self-sacrifice. On the whole, I wouldn’t advise you to go. The rude races of Sennaar, might put that beautiful forgiveness of yours to extraordinary proofs. Holloa! there’s a sea!”

We were dismally sea-sick. And I cared for nothing but arriving. Oh! dear, I think I would even have given up Paris, at least I thought so. But, oh! how _could_ I think so! Just fancy a place where not only your own maid speaks French, but where everybody, the porters, the coachmen, the chambermaids, can’t speak anything else! Where the very beggars beg, and the commonest people swear, in French! Oh! it’s inexpressibly delightful. Why, the dogs understand it, and the horses--“everybody,” as Kurz Pacha said to me, the morning after our arrival (for he insisted upon coming, “it was such a freak,” he said,) “everybody rolls in a luxury of French, and, according to the boarding-school standard, is happy.”

Everybody--but poor Mr. Potiphar!

He has a terrible time of it.

When we arrived we alighted at Meurice’s,--all the fashionable people do; at least Gauche Boosey said Lord Brougham did, for he used to read it in Galignani and I suppose it is fashionable to do as Lord Brougham does. D’Orsay Firkin said that the Hotel Bristol was more _récherché_.

“Does that mean cheaper?” inquired Mr. Potiphar.

Mr. Firkin looked at him compassionately.

“I only want,” said Mr. Potiphar, in a kind of gasping way, for it was in the cars on the way from Boulogne to Paris that we held this consultation--“I only want to go where there is somebody who can speak English.”

“My dear sir, there are Commissionaires at all the hotels who are perfect linguists,” said Mr. Firkin in a gentlemanly manner.

“Oh! dear me!” said Mr. P. wiping his forehead with the red bandanna that he always carries, despite Mrs. P., “what is a commissionaire?”

“An interpreter, a cicerone,” said Mr. Firkin.

“A guide, philosopher, and friend,” said Kurz Pacha.

“Kurz Pacha, do you speak French?” inquired Mr. P. nervously, as we rolled along.

“Oh! yes,” replied he.

“Oh! dear me!” said Mr. Potiphar, looking disconsolately out of the window.

We arrived soon after.

“We are now at the _Barrière_” said Mr. Firkin.

“What do we do there?” asked Mr. Potiphar.

“We are inspected,” said Mr. Firkin.

Mr. Potiphar drew himself up with a military air.

We alighted and walked into the room where all the baggage was arranged.

“_Est-ce qu’il y a quelque chose à déclarer?_” asked an officer, addressing Mr. Potiphar.

“Good heavens! what did you say?” said Mr. P., looking at him.

The officer smiled, and Kurz Pacha said something, upon which he bowed and passed on. We stepped outside upon the pavement, and I confess that even I could not understand everything that was said by the crowd and the coachmen. But Kurz Pacha led the way to a carriage, and we drove off to Meurice’s.

“It’s awful, isn’t it?” said Mr. Potiphar, panting.

When we reached the hotel, a gentleman (Mr. Potiphar said he was sure he was a gentleman, from a remark he made--in English) came bowing out. But before the door of the carriage was opened, Mr. P. thrust his head out of the window, and holding the door shut, cried out, “Do you speak English here?”

“Certainly, sir,” replied the clerk; and that was the remark that so pleased Mr. Potiphar.

My room was next to the Potiphars, and I heard a great deal, you may be sure. I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it. The next morning, when they were about coming down, I heard Polly say--

“Now, Mr. Potiphar, remember, if you want to speak of your room it is _numero quatre-vingt cinq_” and she pronounced it very slowly. “Now try, Mr. P.”

“Oh! dear me. Kattery vang sank,” said he.

“Very good,” answered she; “_au troisième_; that means, on the third floor. Now try.”

“O tror--Otrorsy--O trorsy--Oh! dear me!” muttered he in a tone of despair.

“_ème_,” said Mrs. P.

“Aim,” said he.

“Well?” said Mrs. P.

“O trorsyaim,” said he.

“That’s very well, indeed!” said Mrs. Potiphar, and they went out of the room. I joined them in the hall, and we ran on before Mr. P., but we soon heard some one speaking, and stopped.

“_Monsieur, veut il prendre un commissionaire?_”

“Kattery--vang--sank,” replied Mr. Potiphar, with great emphasis.

“_Comment?_” said the other.

“O tror--O tror--Oh! Polly--seeaim--seeaim!” returned Mr. P.

“You speak English,” said the commissionaire.

“Why! good God! do _you?_” asked Mr. P., with astonishment.

“I speaks every languages, sare,” replied the other, “and we will use the English, if you please. But Monsieur speaks _très bien_ the French language.”

“Are you speaking English now?” asked Mr. Potiphar.

The commissionaire answered him that he was,--and Mr. P. thrust his arm through that of the commissionaire and said--

“My dear sir, if you are disengaged I should be very glad if you would accompany me in my walks through the town.”

“Mr. Potiphar!” said Polly, “come!”

“Coming, my dear,” answered he, as he approached with the commissionaire. It was in vain that Mrs. P. winked and frowned. Her husband would not take hints. So taking his other arm, and wishing the commissionaire good morning, she tried to draw him away. But he clung to his companion and said,

“Polly, this gentleman speaks English.”

“Don’t keep his arm,” whispered she; “he is only a servant.”

“Servant, indeed!” said he; “you should have heard him speak French, and you see how gentlemanly he is.”

It was some time before Polly was able to make her husband comprehend the case.

“Ah!” said he, at length; “Oh! I understand.”

All our first days were full of such little mistakes. Kurz Pacha come regularly to see us, and laughed more than I ever saw him laugh before. The young men were away a great deal, which was hardly kind. But they said they must call upon their old acquaintances; and Polly and I expected every day to be called upon by their lady friends.

“It’s very odd that the friends of these young men don’t call upon us,” said Mrs. Potiphar to Kurz Pacha; “it would be only civil.”

The Ambassador laughed a good deal to himself and then answered,

“But they are not visiting ladies.”

“What do you mean,” said she.

“Ask Mr. Firkin,” replied he.

So when we saw them next, Mrs P. said,

“Mr. Firkin, I remember you used to tell me of the pleasant circles in which you visited in Paris, and how much superior French society is to American.”

“Infinitely superior,” replied Mr. Firkin.

“Much more _spirituel_,” said Mr. Boosey.

“Well,” said Mrs. Potiphar, “we are going to stay only a short time to be sure, but we should like very much to see a little good society.”

“Ah!” said Mr. Firkin.

“Oh! yes, certainly,” said Mr. Boosey; and the corners of his eyelids twitched.

“Perhaps you might suggest that you have some friends staying in town,” said Mrs. P. “You know we’re all intimate enough for that.”

“Yes--oh yes,” said Mr. Firkin, slowly; “but the truth is, it’s a little awkward. These ladies are kind enough to receive us; but to ask favors of them, is, you see, different.”

“Oh! yes,” interrupted Mr. Boosey; “to ask favors of them is a very different thing,” and his eyes really glistened.

“These are ladies, you see, dear Mrs. Potiphar,” said Kurz Pacha, “who don’t grant favors.”

“But still,” continued Mr. Firkin, “if you only wanted to see them, you know, and be able to say at home that you knew Madame la Marquise So-and-so, and Madame la Comtesse So-and-so, and describe their dresses, why, we can manage it well enough; for we are engaged to a little party at the opera this evening with the Countess de Papillon and Madame Casta Diva, two of the best known ladies in Paris. But they never visit.”

“How superbly exclusive!” said Mrs. Potiphar; “I wonder how that would do at home! However, I should be glad to see the general air and the toilette, you know. If we were going to pass the whole winter I would know them of course. But things are different where you stay so short a time. Eh, Kurz Pacha?”

“Very different, Madame. But you are quite right. Make hay while the sun shines; use your eyes if you can’t use your tongue. Eyes are great auxiliaries, you can use the tongue afterward. You’ve no idea how well you can talk about French society if you only go to the opera with a friend who knows people, and to your banker’s soirées. If you chose to read a little of Balzac, beside, your knowledge will be complete.”