by Owen Wister
III: Kings Port Talks
Of course I had at once left the letters of introduction which AuntCarola had given me; but in my ignorance of Kings Port hours I hadfound everybody at dinner when I made my first round of calls betweenhalf-past three and five--an experience particularly regrettable, sinceI had hurried my own dinner on purpose, not then aware that the hours atmy boarding-house were the custom of the whole town. (These hourseven since my visit to Kings Port, are beginning to change. But suchbacksliding is much condemned.) Upon an afternoon some days later,having seen in the extra looking-glass, which I had been obliged toprovide for myself, that the part in my back hair was perfect, I setforth again, better informed.
As I rang the first doorbell, another visitor came up the steps, abeautiful old lady in widow's dress, a cardcase in her hand.
"Have you rung, sir?" said she, in a manner at once gentle andvoluminous.
"Yes, madam."
Nevertheless she pulled it again. "It doesn't always ring," sheexplained, "unless one is accustomed to it, which you are not."
She addressed me with authority, exactly like Aunt Carola, and with evengreater precision in her good English and good enunciation. Unlike thegirl at the Exchange, she had no accent; her language was simplythe perfection of educated utterance; it also was racy with the freecensoriousness which civilized people of consequence are apt to exercisethe world over. "I was sorry to miss your visit," she began (she knewme, you see, perfectly); "you will please to come again soon, andconsole me for my disappointment. I am Mrs. Gregory St. Michael, and myhouse is in Le Maire Street (Pronounced in Kings Port, Lammarree) as youhave been so civil as to find out. And how does your Aunt Carola do inthese contemptible times? You can tell her from me that vulgarization isdescending, even upon Kings Port."
"I cannot imagine that!" I exclaimed.
"You cannot imagine it because you don't know anything about it, younggentleman! The manners of some of our own young people will soon be asdishevelled as those in New York. Have you seen our town yet, or is itall books with you? You should not leave without a look at what isstill left of us. I shall be happy if you will sit in my pew on Sundaymorning. Your Northern shells did their best in the bombardment--didyou say that you rang? I think you had better pull it again; all theway out; yes, like that--in the bombardment, but we have our oldchurch still, in spite of you. Do you see the crack in that wall? Theearthquake did it. You're spared earthquakes in the North, as you seemto be spared pretty much everything disastrous--except the prosperitythat's going to ruin you all. We're better off with our poverty thanyou. Just ring the bell once more, and then we'll go. I fancy Julia--Ifancy Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael--has run out to stare at the Northernsteam yacht in the harbor. It would be just like her. This house ishistoric itself. Shabby enough now, to be sure! The great-aunt of mycousin, John Mayrant (who is going to be married next Wednesday, to sucha brute of a girl, poor boy!), lived here in 1840, and made an answerto the Earl of Mainridge that put him in his place. She was our famousKings Port wit, and at the reception which her father (my mother'suncle) gave the English visitor, he conducted himself as so manyEnglishmen seem to think they can in this country. Miss Beaufain(pronounced in Kings Port, Bowfayne), as she was then, asked the Earlhow he liked America; and he replied, very well, except for the people,who were so vulgar. 'What can you expect?' said Miss Beaufain; 'we'redescended from the English.' Mrs. St. Michael is out, and the servanthas gone home. Slide this card under the door, with your own, and comeaway."
She took me with her, moving through the quiet South Place with aleisurely grace and dignity at which my spirit rejoiced; she was sobeautiful, and so easy, and afraid of nothing and nobody! (This must bemodified. I came later to suspect that they all stood in some dread oftheir own immediate families.)
In the North, everybody is afraid of something: afraid of thelegislature, afraid of the trusts, afraid of the strikes, afraid of whatthe papers will say, of what the neighbors will say, of what the cookwill say; and most of all, and worst of all, afraid to be differentfrom the general pattern, afraid to take a step or speak a syllable thatshall cause them to be thought unlike the monotonous millions of theirfellow-citizens; the land of the free living in ceaseless fear! Well,I was already afraid of Mrs. Gregory St. Michael. As we walked and shetalked, I made one or two attempts at conversation, and speedily foundthat no such thing was the lady's intention: I was there to listen; andtruly I could wish nothing more agreeable, in spite of my desire to hearfurther about next Wednesday's wedding and the brute of a girl. But tothis subject Mrs. St. Michael did not return. We crossed Worship Streetand Chancel Street, and were nearing the East Place where a cannon wasbeing shown me, a cannon with a history and an inscription concerningthe "war for Southern independence, which I presume your prejudice callsthe Rebellion," said my guide. "There's Mrs. St. Michael now, cominground the corner. Well, Julia, could you read the yacht's name withyour naked eye? And what's the name of the gambler who owns it? He'sa gambler, or he couldn't own a yacht--unless his wife's a gambler'sdaughter."
"How well you're feeling to-day, Maria!" said the other lady, with agentle smile.
"Certainly. I have been talking for twenty minutes." I was now presentedto Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael, also old, also charming, in widow's dressno less in the bloom of age than Mrs. Gregory, but whiter and verydiminutive. She shyly welcomed me to Kings Port. "Take him home withyou, Julia. We pulled your bell three times, and it's too damp for youto be out. Don't forget," Mrs. Gregory said to me, "that you haven'ttold me a word about your Aunt Carola, and that I shall expect you tocome and do it." She went slowly away from us, up the East Place, tall,graceful, sweeping into the distance like a ship. No haste about herdignified movement, no swinging of elbows, nothing of the present hour!
"What a beautiful girl she must have been!" I murmured aloud,unconsciously.
"No, she was not a beauty in her youth," said my new guide in her shyvoice, "but always fluent, always a wit. Kings Port has at times thoughther tongue too downright. We think that wit runs in her family, foryoung John Mayrant has it; and her first-cousin-once-removed put theEarl of Mainridge in his place at her father's ball in 1840. MissBeaufain (as she was then) asked the Earl how he liked America; and hereplied, very well, except for the people, who were so vulgar. 'What canyou expect?' said Miss Beaufain; 'we're descended from the English.'I am very sorry for Maria--for Mrs. St. Michael--just at present. Heryoung cousin, John Mayrant, is making an alliance deeply vexatious toher. Do you happen to know Miss Hortense Rieppe?"
I had never heard of her.
"No? She has been North lately. I thought you might have met her. Herfather takes her North, I believe, whenever any one will invite them.They have sometimes managed to make it extend through an unbroken year.Newport, I am credibly informed, greatly admires her. We in KingsPort have never (except John Mayrant, apparently) seen anything in herbeauty, which Northerners find so exceptional."
"What is her type?" I inquired.
"I consider that she looks like a steel wasp. And she has the assuranceto call herself a Kings Port girl. Her father calls himself a general,and it is repeated that he ran away at the battle of Chattanooga. I hopeyou will come to see me another day, when you can spare time from thebattle of Cowpens. I am Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael, the other lady isMrs. Gregory St. Michael. I wonder if you will keep us all straight?"And smiling, the little lady, whose shy manner and voice I had found toveil as much spirit as her predecessor's, dismissed me and went up hersteps, letting herself into her own house.
The boy in question, the boy of the cake, John Mayrant, was coming outof the gate at which I next rang. The appearance of his boyish figureand well-carried head struck me anew, as it had at first; from his wholeperson one got at once a strangely romantic impression. He looked at me,made as if he would speak, but passed on. Probably he had been hearingas much about me as I had been hearing about him. At this house theblack servant had not gone home for the night, and if the mistress hadbeen out to take
a look at the steam yacht, she had returned.
"My sister," she said, presenting me to a supremely fine-looking oldlady, more chiselled, more august, than even herself. I did not catchthis lady's name, and she confined herself to a distant, though perhapsnot unfriendly, greeting. She was sitting by a work-table, and sheresumed some embroidery of exquisite appearance, while my hostess talkedto me.
Both wore their hair in a simple fashion to suit their years, which musthave been seventy or more; both were dressed with the dignity that suchyears call for; and I may mention here that so were all the ladies abovea certain age in this town of admirable old-fashioned propriety. In NewYork, in Boston, in Philadelphia, ladies of seventy won't be old ladiesany more; they're unwilling to wear their years avowedly, in quietdignity by their firesides; they bare their bosoms and gallopegregiously to the ball-rooms of the young; and so we lose a particulargraciousness that Kings Port retains, a perspective of generations.We happen all at once, with no background, in a swirl of haste andsimilarity.
One of the many things which came home to me during the conversationthat now began (so many more things came home than I can tell you!) wasthat Mrs. Gregory St. Michael's tongue was assuredly "downright" forKings Port. This I had not at all taken in while she talked to me, andher friend's reference to it had left me somewhat at a loss. That betterprecision and choice of words which I have mentioned, and the mannerin which she announced her opinions, had put me in mind of several fineladles whom I had known in other parts of the world; but hers was anindividual manner, I was soon to find, and by no means the Kings Portconvention. This convention permitted, indeed, condemnations of one'sneighbor no less sweeping, but it conveyed them in a phraseology farmore restrained.
"I cannot regret your coming to Kings Port," said my hostess, after wehad talked for a little while, and I had complimented the balmy Marchweather and the wealth of blooming flowers; "but I fear that Fanning isnot a name that you will find here. It belongs to North Carolina."
I smiled and explained that North Carolina Fannings were useless to me."And, if I may be so bold, how well you are acquainted with my errand!"
I cannot say that my hostess smiled, that would be too definite; but Ican say that she did not permit herself to smile, and that she letme see this repression. "Yes," she said, "we are acquainted with yourerrand, though not with its motive."
I sat silent, thinking of the Exchange.
My hostess now gave me her own account of why all things were knownto all people in this town. "The distances in your Northern cities aregreater, and their population is much greater. There are but few of usin Kings Port." In these last words she plainly told me that those "few"desired no others. She next added: "My nephew, John Mayrant, has spokenof you at some length."
I bowed. "I had the pleasure to see and hear him order a wedding cake."
"Yes. From Eliza La Heu (pronounced Layhew), my niece; he is my nephew,she is my niece on the other side. My niece is a beginner at theExchange. We hope that she will fulfil her duties there in aworthy manner. She comes from a family which is schooled to meetresponsibilities."
I bowed again; again it seemed fitting. "I had not, until now, known thecharming girl's name," I murmured.
My hostess now bowed slightly. "I am glad that you find her charming."
"Indeed, yes!" I exclaimed.
"We, also, are pleased with her. She is of good family--for theup-country."
Once again our alphabet fails me. The peculiar shade of kindness, ofrecognition, of patronage, which my agreeable hostess (and all KingsPort ladies, I soon noticed) imparted to the word "up-country" cannot beconveyed except by the human voice--and only a Kings Port voice at that.It is a much lighter damnation than what they make of the phrase "fromGeorgia," which I was soon to hear uttered by the lips of the lady. "Andso you know about his wedding cake?"
"My dear madam, I feel that I shall know about everything."
Her gray eyes looked at me quietly for a moment. "That is possible. Butalthough we may talk of ourselves to you, we scarcely expect you to talkof ourselves to us."
Well, my pertness had brought me this quite properly! And I received itproperly. "I should never dream--" I hastened to say; "even without yourwarning. I find I'm expected to have seen the young lady of his choice,"I now threw out. My accidental words proved as miraculous as the staffwhich once smote the rock. It was a stream, indeed, which now brokeforth from her stony discretion. She began easily. "It is evident thatyou have not seen Miss Rieppe by the manner in which you allude toher--although of course, in comparison with my age, she is a younggirl." I think that this caused me to open my mouth.
"The disparity between her years and my nephew's is variously stated,"continued the old lady. "But since John's engagement we have all of usrealized that love is truly blind."
I did not open my mouth any more; but my mind's mouth was wide open.
My hostess kept it so. "Since John Mayrant was fifteen he has had manyloves; and for myself, knowing him and believing in him as I do, I feelconfident that he will make no connection distasteful to the family whenhe really comes to marry."
This time I gasped outright. "But--the cake!--next Wednesday!"
She made, with her small white hand, a slight and slighting gesture."The cake is not baked yet, and we shall see what we shall see." Fromthis onward until the end a pinkness mounted in her pale, delicatecheeks, and deep, strong resentment burned beneath her discreetlyexpressed indiscretions. "The cake is not baked, and I, at least, am notsolicitous. I tell my cousin, Mrs. Gregory St. Michael, that she mustnot forget it was merely his phosphates. That girl would never havelooked at John Mayrant had it not been for the rumor of his phosphates.I suppose some one has explained to you her pretensions of birth. Awayfrom Kings Port she may pass for a native of this place, but they comefrom Georgia. It cannot be said that she has met with encouragementfrom us; she, however, easily recovers from such things. The presentgeneration of young people in Kings Port has little enough to remind usof what we stood for in manners and customs, but we are not accountablefor her, nor for her father. I believe that he is called a general. Hisconduct at Chattanooga was conspicuous for personal prudence. Both ofthem are skillful in never knowing poor people--but the Northernersthey consort with must really be at a loss how to bestow their money.Of course, such Northerners cannot realize the difference between KingsPort and Georgia, and consequently they make much of her. Her featuresdo undoubtedly possess beauty. A Newport woman--the new kind--has eventaken her to Worth! And yet, after all, she has remained for John. Weheard a great deal of her men, too. She took care of that, of course.John Mayrant actually followed her to Newport.
"But," I couldn't help crying out, "I thought he was so poor!"
"The phosphates," my hostess explained. "They had been discovered on hisland. And none of her New York men had come forward. So John rushedback happy." At this point a very singular look came over the face ofmy hostess, and she continued: "There have been many false reports (andfalse hopes in consequence) based upon the phosphate discoveries. It wasI who had to break it to him--what further investigation had revealed.Poor John!"
"He has, then, nothing?" I inquired.
"His position in the Custom House, and a penny or two from his mother'sfortune."
"But the cake?" I now once again reminded her.
My hostess lifted her delicate hand and let it fall. Her resentment atthe would-be intruder by marriage still mounted. "Not even from thatpair would I have believed such a thing possible!" she exclaimed; andshe went into a long, low, contemplative laugh, looking not at me, butat the fire. Our silent companion continued to embroider. "That girl,"my hostess resumed, "and her discreditable father played on my nephew'syouth and chivalry to the tune of--well, you have heard the tune."
"You mean--you mean--?" I couldn't quite take it in.
"Yes. They rattled their poverty at him until he offered and theyaccepted."
I must have stared grotesquely now. "That--that--the cake
--and that sortof thing--at his expense?
"My dear sir, I shall be glad if you can find me anything that they haveever done at their own expense!"
I doubt if she would ever have permitted her speech such freedom hadnot the Rieppes been "from Georgia"; I am sure that it was anger--familyanger, race anger--which had broken forth; and I think that hersilent, severe sister scarcely approved of such breaking forth to me,a stranger. But indignation had worn her reticence thin, and I hadhappened to press upon the weak place. After my burst of exclamation Icame back to it. "So you think Miss Rieppe will get out of it?"
"It is my nephew who will 'get out of it,' as you express it."
I totally misunderstood her. "Oh!" I protested stupidly. "He doesn'tlook like that. And it takes all meaning from the cake."
"Do not say cake to me again!" said the lady, smiling at last."And--will you allow me to tell you that I do not need to have mynephew, John Mayrant, explained to me by any one? I merely meant to saythat he, and not she, is the person who will make the lucky escape. Ofcourse, he is honorable--a great deal too much so for his own good. Itis a misfortune, nowadays, to be born a gentleman in America. But, asI told you, I am not solicitous. What she is counting on--becauseshe thinks she understands true Kings Port honor, and does not in theleast--is his renouncing her on account of the phosphates--the badnews, I mean. They could live on what he has--not at all in her way,though--and besides, after once offering his genuine, ardent, foolishlove--for it was genuine enough at the time--John would never--"
She stopped; but I took her up. "Did I understand you to say that hislove was genuine at the lime?"
"Oh, he thinks it is now--insists it is now! That is just precisely whatwould make him--do you not see?--stick to his colors all the closer."
"Goodness!" I murmured. "What a predicament!"
But my hostess nodded easily. "Oh, no. You will see. They will all see."
I rose to take my leave; my visit, indeed, had been, for very interest,prolonged beyond the limits of formality--my hostess had attended quitethoroughly to my being entertained. And at this point the other, themore severe and elderly lady, made her contribution to my entertainment.She had kept silence, I now felt sure, because gossip was neitherher habit nor to her liking. Possibly she may have also felt that herdispleasure had been too manifest; at any rate, she spoke out of hersilence in cold, yet rich, symmetrical tones.
"This, I understand, is your first visit to Kings Port?"
I told her that it was.
She laid down her exquisite embroidery. "It has been thought a placeworth seeing. There is no town of such historic interest at the North."
Standing by my chair, I assured her that I did not think there could be.
"I heard you allude to my half-sister-in-law, Mrs. Weguelin St. Michael.It was at the house where she now lives that the famous Miss Beaufain(as she was then) put the Earl of Mainridge in his place, at thereception which her father gave the English visitor in 1840. The Earlconducted himself as so many Englishmen seem to think they can in thiscountry; and on her asking him how he liked America, he replied, verywell, except for the people, who were so vulgar.
"'What can you expect?' said Miss Beaufain; 'we're descended from theEnglish.'"
"But I suppose you will tell me that your Northern beauties can easilyoutmatch such wit."
I hastened to disclaim any such pretension; and having expressed myappreciation of the anecdote, I moved to the door as the stately ladyresumed her embroidery.
My hostess had a last word for me. "Do not let the cake worry you."
Outside the handsome old iron gate I looked at my watch and found thatfor this day I could spend no more time upon visiting.
