The Red City: A Novel of the Second Administration of President Washington

by S. Weir Mitchell

  III

  On reaching Mrs. Swanwick's home in the afternoon, the vicomtesse wentat once to her room, where the cleanliness and perfect order met hertacit approval, and still more the appetizing meal which the hostessherself brought to the bedside of her tired guest.

  Mr. Schmidt, the other boarder, was absent at supper, and the eveningmeal went by with little talk beyond what the simple needs of the mealrequired. De Courval excused himself early and, after a brief talk withhis mother, was glad of a comfortable bed, where he found himselfthinking with interest of the day's small events and of the thin, ruddyfeatures, bright, hazel eyes and red hair, of the tall Virginiastatesman, the leader of the party some of whose baser members had giventhe young vicomte unpleasant minutes at Oeller's Hotel.

  When very early the next day De Courval awakened and looked eastwardfrom his room in the second story of Mrs. Swanwick's home, he began tosee in what pleasant places his lot was cast. The house, broad androomy, had been a country home. Now commerce and the city's growth werecontending for Front Street south of Cedar, but being as yet on the edgeof the town, the spacious Georgian house, standing back from thestreet, was still set round with ample gardens, on which just now fellthe first sunshine of the May morning. As De Courval saw, the ground atthe back of the house fell away to the Delaware River. Between him andthe shore were flowers, lilacs in bloom, and many fruit-trees. Amongthem, quite near by, below the window, a tall, bareheaded man inshirt-sleeves was busy gathering a basket of the first roses. He seemedparticular about their arrangement, and while he thus pleased himself,he talked aloud in a leisurely way, and with a strong voice, now to ablack cat on the wall above him, and now as if to the flowers. DeCourval was much amused by this fresh contribution to the strangeexperiences of the last two days. The language of the speaker was alsoodd.

  As De Courval caught bits of the soliloquy under his window, he thoughtof his mother's wonder at this new and surprising country.

  What would she write Rochefoucauld d'Entin? She was apt to be on paper,as never in speech, emotional and tender, finding confession to whitepaper easy and some expression of the humorous aspects of life possible,when, as in writing, there needed no gay comment of laughter. If shewere only here, thought the son. Will she tell the duke how she is"thou" to these good, plain folk, and of the prim welcomes, and of thisGerman, who must be the Friend Schmidt they spoke of,--no doubt aQuaker, and whom he must presently remind of his audience? But for alittle who could resist so comic an opportunity? "Gute Himmel, but youare beautiful!" said the voice below him. "Oh, not you," he cried tothe cat, "wanton of midnight! I would know if, Madame Red Rose, you arejealous of the white-bosomed rose maids. If all women were alike fair asyou, there would be wild times, for who would know to choose? Off withyou, Jezebel, daughter of darkness! 'Sh! I love not cats. Go!" and hecast a pebble at the sleepy grimalkin, which fled in fear. This singulartalk went on, and De Courval was about to make some warning noise whenthe gardener, adding a rose to his basket, straightened himself, saying:"Ach, Himmel! My back! How in the garden Adam must have ached!"

  Leaving his basket for a time, he was lost among the trees, to reappearin a few minutes far below, out on the water in a boat, where heundressed and went overboard.

  "A good example," thought De Courval. Taking a towel, he slipped outnoiselessly through the house where no one was yet astir, and finding alittle bathhouse open below the garden, was soon stripped, and, wadingout, began to swim. By this time the gardener was returning, swimmingwell and with the ease of an expert when the two came near one another acouple of hundred yards from shore.

  As they drew together, De Courval called out in alarm: "Look out! Takecare!"

  Two small lads in a large Egg Harbor skiff, seeing the swimmer in theirway, made too late an effort to avoid him. A strong west wind wasblowing. The boat was moving fast. De Courval saw the heavy bow strikethe head of the man, who was quite unaware of the nearness of the boat.He went under. De Courval struck out for the stern of the boat, and inits wake caught sight of a white body near the surface. He seized it,and easily got the man's head above water. The boat came about, the boysscared and awkward. With his left hand, De Courval caught the lowgunwale and with his right held up the man's head. Then he felt the longbody stir. The great, laboring chest coughed out water, and the man,merely stunned and, as he said later, only quarter drowned, drew deepbreaths and gasped, "Let them pull to shore." The boys put out oars inhaste, and in a few minutes De Courval felt the soft mud as he droppedhis feet and stood beside the German. In a minute the two were on thebeach, the one a young, white figure with the chest muscles at relievingplay; the other a tall, gaunt, bronzed man, shaking and still coughingas he cast himself on the bordering grass without a word.

  "Are you all right?" asked De Courval, anxiously.

  For a moment the rescued man made no reply as he lay looking up at thesky. Then he said: "Yes, or will be presently. This sun is a good doctorand sends in no bill. Go in and dress. I shall be well presently. Myboat! Ah, the boys bring it. Now my clothes. Do not scold them. It wasan accident."

  "That is of the past," he said in a few moments as De Courval rejoinedhim, "a contribution to experience. Thank you," and he put out a handthat told of anything but the usage of toil as he added: "I waswondering, as I dressed, which is the better for it, the helper or thehelped. Ach, well, it is a good introduction. You are mein Herr deCourval, and I am Johann Schmidt, at your honorable service now andever. Let us go in. I must rest a little before breakfast. I have knownyou,"--and he laughed,--"shall we say five years? We will not troublethe women with it."

  "I? Surely not."

  "Pardon me. I was thinking of my own tongue, which is apt to gabble,being the female part of a man's body."

  "May I beg of you not to speak of it," urged De Courval, gravely.

  "How may I promise for the lady?" laughed Schmidt as they moved throughthe fruit-trees. "Ah, here is the basket of roses for the Frau VonCourval."

  A singular person, thought the vicomte, but surely a gentleman.

  Madame de Courval, tired of looking for a home, had resolved to give notrouble to this kindly household and to accept their hours--thebreakfast at seven, the noonday dinner, the supper at six. She wasalready dressed when she heard the step outside of her door, and lookingup from her Bible, called "_Entrez_, my son. Ah, roses, roses! Did yougather them?"

  "No; they are for you, with the compliments of our fellow-lodger, aGerman, I believe, Mr. Schmidt; another most strange person in thisstrange land. He speaks English well, but, _mon Dieu_, of the oddest. Awell-bred man, I am sure; you will like him."

  "I do not know, and what matters it? I like very few people, as youknow, Rene; but the place does appear to be clean and neat. That mustsuffice."

  He knew well enough that she liked few people. "Are you ready, _maman?_Shall we go down?"

  "Yes, I am ready. This seems to me a haven of rest, Rene--a haven ofrest, after that cruel sea."

  "It so seems to me, _maman_; and these good Quakers. They _tutoyer_every one--every one. You must try to learn English. I shall give youlessons, and there is a note from Mr. Wynne, asking me to call ateleven. And one word more, _maman_--"

  "Well, my son?"

  "You bade me put aside the past. I shall do so; but you--can not youalso do the same? It will be hard, for you made me make it harder."

  "I know--I know, but you are young--I old of heart. Life is before you,my son. It is behind me. I can not but think of my two lonely littleones in the graveyard and the quiet of our home life and, my God! ofyour father!" To his surprise, she burst into tears. Any such outwarddisplay of emotion was in his experience of her more than merelyunusual. "Go down to breakfast, Rene. I shall try to live in your life.You will tell me everything--always. I shall follow you presently. Wemust not be late."

  "Yes," he said; but he did not tell her of his morning's adventure. Evenhad he himself been willing to speak of it, the German would not likeit, and already Schmidt began to exercise
over him that influence whichwas more or less to affect his life in the years yet to come. As he wentdown to the broad hall, he saw a floor thinly strewn with white sand,settles on both sides, a lantern hanging overhead, and the upper half ofthe front door open to let the morning air sweep through to the garden.

  A glance to right and left showed on one side a bare, whitewashed frontroom, without pictures or mirrors, some colonial chairs with shellscarved on feet and knees, and on a small table a china bowl of roses.The room to right he guessed at once to be used as a sitting-room bySchmidt.

  The furniture was much as in the other room, but there were shiningbrass fire-dogs, silver candlesticks on the mantel, and over it a pairof foils, two silver-mounted pistols, and a rapier with a gold-inlaidhandle. Under a window was a large secretary with many papers. Therewere books in abundance on the chairs and in a corner case. Theclaw-toed tables showed pipes, tobacco-jars, wire masks, and a pair offencing-gloves. On one side of the hall a tall clock reminded him thathe was some ten minutes late.

  The little party was about to sit down at table when he entered. "Thisis Friend de Courval," said the widow.

  "We have met in the garden," returned Schmidt, quietly.

  "Indeed. Thou wilt sit by me, Friend de Courval, and presently thymother on my right." As she spoke, Madame de Courval paused at the doorwhile the hostess and her daughter bent in the silent grace of Friends.The new-comer took her place with a pleasant word of morning greeting inher pretty French; an old black woman brought in the breakfast. Atranquil courtesy prevailed.

  "Will thy mother take this or that? Here are eggs my uncle sent from thecountry, and shad, which we have fresh from the river, a fish weesteem."

  There was now for a somewhat short time little other talk. The girl ofover sixteen shyly examined the new-comers. The young man approved thevirginal curves of neck and figure, the rebellious profusion of darkchestnut-tinted hair, the eyes that could hardly have learned their busyattentiveness in the meeting-house. The gray dress and light gray silkkerchief seemed devised to set off the roses which came out in wanderingisles of color on her cheeks. Madame's ignorance of English kept hersilent, but she took note of the simple attire of her hostess, theexquisite neatness of the green apron, then common among Friends, andthe high cap. The habit of the house was to speak only when there wasneed. There was no gossip even of the mildest.

  "June was out all night," said Mrs. Swanwick. "That is our cat," sheexplained to De Courval.

  "But she brought in a dead mouse," said the girl, "to excuse herself, Isuppose." Schmidt smiled at the touch of humor, but during their firstmeal was more silent than usual.

  "I did not tell thee, Margaret," said Mrs. Swanwick, "that WilliamWestcott was here yesterday at sundown. I have no liking for him. Isaid thou wert out."

  "But I was only in the garden."

  "I did say thou wert out, but not in the garden."

  Schmidt smiled again as he set his teaspoon across his cup, theconventional sign that he wished no more tea.

  Then the girl, with fresh animation, asked eagerly: "Oh, mother, Iforgot; am I to have the book Ann Bingham thought delightful, and herfather told thee I should read?"

  "I am not so minded," replied the mother, and this seemed to end thematter. De Courval listened, amused, as again the girl asked cheerfully:

  "Aunt Gainor will be here to take me with her to see some china, mother,at twelve. May I not go?"

  "No, not to-day. There is the cider of last fall we must bottle, and Ishall want thy help. The last time," she said, smiling, "thou didstfetch home a heathen god--green he was, and had goggle eyes. What wouldFriend Pennington say to that?"

  "But I do not pray to it."

  "My child!" said the mother, and then: "If thou didst pray to all AuntGainor's gods, thou wouldst be kept busy. I have my hands full with theeand Gainor Wynne's fal-lals and thy Uncle Langstroth's follies." Shesmiled kindly as she spoke, and again the girl quietly accepted thedenial of her request, while De Courval listened with interest andamusement.

  "I shall go with Miss Wynne," said Schmidt, "and buy you a brigade ofchina gods. I will fill the house with them, Margaret." He laughed.

  "Thou wilt do nothing of the kind," said Mrs. Swanwick.

  "Well, Nanny would break them pretty soon. Brief would be the lives ofthose immortals. But I forgot; I have a book for thee, Pearl."

  De Courval looked up. "Yes," he thought; "the Pearl, Marguerite. It doesseem to suit."

  "And what is it?" said the mother. "I am a little afraid of thee and thybooks."

  "'The Vicar of Wakefield' it is called; not very new, but you will likeit, Pearl."

  "I might see it myself first."

  "When Pearl and I think it fit for thee," said Schmidt, demurely. "I didsee also in the shop Job Scott's 'The Opening of the Inward Eye, orRighteousness Revealed.' I would fetch thee that--for thyself."

  The hostess laughed. "He is very naughty, Friend de Courval," she said,"but not as wicked as he seems." Very clearly Schmidt was a privilegedinmate. Madame ate with good appetite, pleased by the attention shownher, and a little annoyed at being, as it were, socially isolated forwant of English. As she rose she told her son that she had a long lettershe must write to Cousin Rochefoucauld, and would he ask Mr. Wynne howit might be sent. Then Schmidt said to De Courval: "Come to my room.There we may smoke, or in the garden, not elsewhere. There is here adespotism; you will need to be careful."

  "Do not believe him," said the Pearl. "Mother would let him smoke inmeeting, if she were overseer."

  "Margaret, Margaret, thou art saucy. That comes of being with theWilling girls and Gainor, who is grown old in sauciness--world'speople!" and her eyebrows went up, so that whether she was quite inearnest or was the prey of some sudden jack-in-the-box of pure humor, DeCourval did not know. It was all fresh, interesting, and somehowpleasant. Were all Quakers like these?

  He followed Schmidt into his sitting-room, where his host closed thedoor. "Sit down," he said. "Not there. These chairs are handsome. I keepthem to look at and for the occasional amendment of slouching manners.Five minutes will answer. But here are two of my own contrivance,democratic, vulgar, and comfortable. Ah, do you smoke? Yes, a pipe. Ilike that. I should have been disappointed if you were not a user of thepipe. I am going to talk, to put you in _pays de connaissance_, as youwould say. And now for comments! My acquaintance of five years,--or fiveminutes, was it, that I was under water?--may justify the unloading ofmy baggage of gossip on a man whom I have benefited by the chance ofdoing a good deed, if so it be--or a kind one at least. You shall learnin a half hour what otherwise might require weeks."

  De Courval, amused at the occasional quaintness of the English, which hewas one day to have explained, blew rings of smoke and listened.

  "I shall be long, but it will help you and save questions."

  "Pray go on, sir. I shall be most thankful."

  "_Imprimis_, there is Mrs. Swanwick, born in the Church of England, ifany are born in church--Cyrilla Plumstead. She was brought up in luxury,which came to an end before they married her to a stiff Quaker man whodeparted this life with reasonable kindness, after much discipline ofhis wife in ways which sweeten many and sour some. She has held to itloyally--oh, more or less. That is the setting of our Pearl, a creatureof divine naturalness, waiting until some Quaker Cupid twangs his bow.Then the kiss-defying bonnet will suffer. By the way, Mrs. Swanwick is afair French scholar, but a bit shy with you as yet.

  "Soon thou wilt see Josiah Langstroth, uncle of Mrs. Swanwick. Ah,there's a man that mocks conjecture; for, being a Quaker by pride ofancestral damnation, he goes to meeting twice a year, swears a little toease his soul, toasts George the Third of Sundays, and will surely tellyou how, driven out of the country, he went to London and was presentedto the king and triumphantly kept his hat on his head. He is rich andwould provide for his niece, who will take help from no one. He does attimes offer money, but is ever well pleased when she refuses. As forHugh Wynne, I will go with you to
see him, a Welsh squire to this day,like the best of them here. I shall leave you to make him out. He is afar-away cousin of Margaret's mother.

  "It is a fine menagerie. Very soon you will hear of Aunt GainorWynne,--every one calls her aunt; I should not dare to do so,--a sturdyFederalist lady, with a passion for old china, horses, and matchmaking,the godmother of Mrs. Swanwick. Take care; she will hate or love you atsight, and as great a maker of mischief as ever perplexed good sense; astender an old woman at times as ever lacked need of onions to fetchtears; a fine lady when she chooses.

  "There, I have done you a service and saved your wits industry. Youlisten well. There is a savor of grace in that. It is a virtue of thesmoker. Question me if you like."

  Nothing could better have pleased the young man.

  "I would know more of this town, sir," and he told of his quest of atavern. The German laughed.

  "A good lesson--Federalists and ape democrats--wild politics of a nationin its childhood. Three great men,--Washington, Hamilton, James Wilson,and perhaps John Adams; well--great merchants, Willings, Bingham, andGirard; and besides these, Quakers, many of them nobler for a creedunworkable in a naughty world, with offshoots of 'world's people,' whichsaved some fortunes in the war; and, ah, a sect that will dieaway,--Free Quakers, high-minded gentlemen who made up for a century ofpeace when they elected to draw the sword. I fear I have been tedious."

  "No, not at all; you are most kind, sir, and most interesting. I am sureto like it all. I hope my mother will be contented. We have never oflate years been used to luxuries."

  "She can hardly fail to be satisfied; but it is a simple life. There areonly two servants, Cicero, and Nanny, once a slave, now, as Mrs.Swanwick says, a servant friend--ah, and a stiff Episcopal. She hasnever ceased to wonder why her mistress ever became a Quaker. I am muchof her way of thinking. Are you of a mind to walk and see a little ofthe city? Later we will call upon Mr. Wynne." As they rose, he added: "Idid not speak of the wrecks of French nobles cast on these shores--onlya few as yet. You will see them by and by. They are various--but ingeneral perplexed by inheritance of helplessness. Once for all you areto understand that my room is always and equally yours. Of course youuse the foils. Yes; well, we shall fence in the garden. And now come;let us go out."

  "I forgot, sir. My mother bade me thank you for the roses. She has asyet no English, or would herself have thanked you."

  "But I myself speak French--of a kind. It will serve to amuse madame;but never will you hear French at its best until Miss Wynne does talkit."