by Owen Wister
XXIII: Poor Aunt Carola!
And now here goes my language back into the small-clothes that it woreat the beginning of all, when I told you something of that colonialsociety, the Selected Salic Scions, dear to the heart of my Aunt. Itwere beyond my compass to approach this august body of men and womenwith the respect that is its due, did I attire myself in that moderngarment which, in the phrase of the vulgar, is denoted pants.
You will scarce have forgot, I must suppose, the importance set by myAunt Carola upon the establishing of the Scions in new territories,wherever such persons as were both qualified by their descent and inthemselves worthy, should be found; and you will remember that Iwas bidden by her to look in South Carolina for members of the Bomboconnection which she was inclined to suspect existed in that state. Myneglect to make this inquiry for my kind Aunt now smote me sharply whenall seemed too late. John Mayrant had spoken of Kill-devil Bombo, thevery personage through whom lay Aunt Carola's claim to kingly lineage,and I had let John Mayrant go away upon his honeymoon without everquestioning him upon this subject. As I looked back upon the easewith which I might have settled the matter, and forward to my returnempty-handed to the generous relative to whom I owed this agreeableexperience of travel, I felt guilty indeed. I wrote a letter to followJohn Mayrant into whatever retreat of bliss he had betaken himself to,and I begged him earnestly to write me at his early convenience all thathe might know of Bombos in South Carolina. Consequently, I was able, onreaching home, to meet Aunt Carola with some sort of countenance, and toassure her that I expected presently to be furnished with authentic andvaluable particulars.
I now learned that the Selected Salic Scions had greatly increased innumbers during my short absence. It appeared that the origin of thewhole movement had sprung from a needy but ingenious youth in somemanufacturing town of New England. This lad had a cousin, who hadamassed from nothing a noble fortune by inventing one day a speedyand convenient fashion of opening beer bottles; and this cousin'sachievement had set him to looking about him. He soon discovered that inour great republic everywhere there were living hundreds and thousandsof men and women who were utterly unaware that they were descended fromkings. Borrowing a little money to float him, he set up The AmericanAlmanach de Gotha and began (for the minimum sum of fifty dollarsa pedigree) to reveal to these eager people the chain of links thatconnected them with royalty. Thus, in a period of time the brevity ofwhich is incredible, this young man passed from complete indigence toa wife and four automobiles, or an automobile and four wives--I don'tremember which he had the four of. There was so much royal blood aboutthat it had spilled into several rival organizations, each bitterlywarring with the other; but my Aunt assured me that her society was theonly one that any respectable person belonged to.
I am minded to announce a rule of discreet conduct: Never read aloudany letter that you have not first read to yourself. Had I observed thisrule--but listen:--
It so happened that Aunt Carola was at luncheon with us when the postmanbrought John Mayrant's answer to my inquiry, and at the sight of hishandwriting I thoughtlessly exclaimed to my Aunt that here at last wehad all there was to be known concerning the Bombos in South Carolina;with this I tore open the missive and embarked upon a reading of itfor the edification of all present. I pass over the beginning of John'scommunication, because it was merely the observations of a man uponhis honeymoon, and was confined to laudatory accounts of scenery andweather, and the beauty of all life when once one saw it with his eyestruly opened.
"No Bombos ever came to Carolina," he now continued, "that I know of, orthat Aunt Josephine knows of, which is more to the point. Aunt Josephinehas copied me a passage from the writings of William Byrd, Esq., ofWestover, Virginia, in which mention is made, not of the family, but ofa rum punch which seems to have been concocted first by Admiral Bombo,from a New England brand of rum so very deadly that it was not inaptlystyled 'kill-devil' by the early planters of the colony. That the punchdrifted to Carolina and still survives there, you have reason to know.Therefore if any remote ancestors of yours contracted an alliance withKill-devil Bombo, I can imagine no resulting offspring of such union buta series of severe attacks of delir--"
"What?" interrupted Aunt Carola, at this point, in her most formidablevoice. "What's that stuff you're reading, Augustus?"
I shook in my shoes. "Why, Aunt, it's John--"
"Not another word, sir! And never let me hear his name again. Tothink--to think--" But here Aunt Carola's face grew extremely red, andshe choked so decidedly that Uncle Andrew poured her a glass of water.
The rest of our luncheon was conducted with remarkable solemnity.
As we were rising from table, my Aunt said:--
"It was high time, Augustus, that you came home. You seem to have gotinto very strange company down there."
This was the last reference to the Bombos that my Aunt ever made in myhearing. Of course it is preposterous to suppose that she traces herdescent from a king through a mere bowl of punch, and her being stillthe president of the Selected Salic Scions is proof irrefutable that herclaim rests upon a more solid foundation.
XXIV: Post Scriptum
I think that John Mayrant, Jr., is going to look like his mother. I wasvery glad to be present when he was christened, and at this ceremony Idid not feel as I had felt the year before at the wedding; for then Ihad known well enough that if the old ladies found any blemish onthat occasion, it was my being there! To them I must remain forever a"Yankee," a wall perfectly imaginary and perfectly real between us; andthe fact that young John could take any other view of me, was to them asign of that "radical" tendency in him which they were able to forgivesolely because he was of the younger generation and didn't know anybetter.
And with these thoughts in my mind, and remembering a certain very gravetalk I had once held with Eliza in the Exchange about the North and theSouth, in which it was my good fortune to make her see that there is onour soil nowadays such a being as an American, who feels, whereverhe goes in our native land, that it is all his, and that he belongseverywhere to it, I looked at the little John Mayrant, and then I saidto his mother:--
"And will you teach him 'Dixie' and 'Yankee Doodle' as well?"
But Eliza smiled at me with friendly, inscrutable eyes.
"Oh," said John, "you mustn't ask too much of the ladies. I'll see toall that."
Perhaps he will. And an education at Harvard College need not causethe boy to forget his race, or his name, or his traditions, but only tovalue them more, as they should be valued. And the way that they shouldbe valued is this: that the boy in thinking of them should say tohimself, "I am proud of my ancestors; let my life make them proud ofme."
But, in any case, is it not pleasant to think of the boy being broughtup by Eliza, and not by Hortense?
And so my portrait of Kings Port is finished. That the likeness is notperfect, I am only too sensible. No painter that I have heard of eversatisfies the whole family. But, should any of the St. Michaels seethis picture, I trust they may observe that if some of the touches arefaulty, true admiration and love of his subject animated the artist'shand; and if Miss Josephine St. Michael should be pleased with anyof it, I could wish that she might indicate this by sending me a LadyBaltimore; we have no cake here that approaches it.
