The Marrow of Tradition

by Charles W. Chesnutt

  II

  THE CHRISTENING PARTY

  They named the Carteret baby Theodore Felix. Theodore was a family name,and had been borne by the eldest son for several generations, the majorhimself being a second son. Having thus given the child two beautifulnames, replete with religious and sentimental significance, they calledhim--"Dodie."

  The baby was christened some six weeks after its birth, by which timeMrs. Carteret was able to be out. Old Mammy Jane, who had been broughtup in the church, but who, like some better informed people in all ages,found religion not inconsistent with a strong vein of superstition, felther fears for the baby's future much relieved when the rector had madethe sign of the cross and sprinkled little Dodie with the water from thecarved marble font, which had come from England in the reign of KingCharles the Martyr, as the ill-fated son of James I. was known to St.Andrew's. Upon this special occasion Mammy Jane had been provided with aseat downstairs among the white people, to her own intense satisfaction,and to the secret envy of a small colored attendance in the gallery, towhom she was ostentatiously pointed out by her grandson Jerry, porter atthe Morning Chronicle office, who sat among them in the front row.

  On the following Monday evening the major gave a christening party inhonor of this important event. Owing to Mrs. Carteret's still delicatehealth, only a small number of intimate friends and family connectionswere invited to attend. These were the rector of St. Andrew's; old Mrs.Polly Ochiltree, the godmother; old Mr. Delamere, a distant relative andalso one of the sponsors; and his grandson, Tom Delamere. The major hadalso invited Lee Ellis, his young city editor, for whom he had a greatliking apart from his business value, and who was a frequent visitor atthe house. These, with the family itself, which consisted of the major,his wife, and his half-sister, Clara Pemberton, a young woman of abouteighteen, made up the eight persons for whom covers were laid.

  Ellis was the first to arrive, a tall, loose-limbed young man, with aslightly freckled face, hair verging on auburn, a firm chin, and honestgray eyes. He had come half an hour early, and was left alone for a fewminutes in the parlor, a spacious, high-ceilinged room, with largewindows, and fitted up in excellent taste, with stately reminiscences ofa past generation. The walls were hung with figured paper. The ceilingwas whitewashed, and decorated in the middle with a plastercentre-piece, from which hung a massive chandelier sparkling withprismatic rays from a hundred crystal pendants. There was a handsomemantel, set with terra-cotta tiles, on which fauns and satyrs, nymphsand dryads, disported themselves in idyllic abandon. The furniture wasold, and in keeping with the room.

  At seven o'clock a carriage drove up, from which alighted an elderlygentleman, with white hair and mustache, and bowed somewhat with years.Short of breath and painfully weak in the legs, he was assisted from thecarriage by a colored man, apparently about forty years old, to whomshort side-whiskers and spectacles imparted an air of sobriety. Thisattendant gave his arm respectfully to the old gentleman, who leanedupon it heavily, but with as little appearance of dependence aspossible. The servant, assuming a similar unconsciousness of the weightresting upon his arm, assisted the old gentleman carefully up the steps.

  "I'm all right now, Sandy," whispered the gentleman as soon as his feetwere planted firmly on the piazza. "You may come back for me at nineo'clock."

  Having taken his hand from his servant's arm, he advanced to meet a ladywho stood in the door awaiting him, a tall, elderly woman, gaunt andangular of frame, with a mottled face, and high cheekbones partiallycovered by bands of hair entirely too black and abundant for a person ofher age, if one might judge from the lines of her mouth, which arerarely deceptive in such matters.

  "Perhaps you'd better not send your man away, Mr. Delamere," observedthe lady, in a high shrill voice, which grated upon the old gentleman'sears. He was slightly hard of hearing, but, like most deaf people,resented being screamed at. "You might need him before nine o'clock. Onenever knows what may happen after one has had the second stroke. Andmoreover, our butler has fallen down the back steps--negroes are socareless!--and sprained his ankle so that he can't stand. I'd like tohave Sandy stay and wait on the table in Peter's place, if you don'tmind."

  "I thank you, Mrs. Ochiltree, for your solicitude," replied Mr.Delamere, with a shade of annoyance in his voice, "but my health is verygood just at present, and I do not anticipate any catastrophe which willrequire my servant's presence before I am ready to go home. But I haveno doubt, madam," he continued, with a courteous inclination, "thatSandy will be pleased to serve you, if you desire it, to the best of hispoor knowledge."

  "I shill be honored, ma'am," assented Sandy, with a bow even deeper thanhis master's, "only I'm 'feared I ain't rightly dressed fer ter wait ontable. I wuz only goin' ter pra'r-meetin', an' so I didn' put on mybes' clo's. Ef Mis' Ochiltree ain' gwine ter need me fer de nex' fifteenminutes, I kin ride back home in de ca'ige an' dress myse'f suitable ferde occasion, suh."

  "If you think you'll wait on the table any better," said Mrs.Ochiltree, "you may go along and change your clothes; but hurry back,for it is seven now, and dinner will soon be served."

  Sandy retired with a bow. While descending the steps to the carriage,which had waited for him, he came face to face with a young man justentering the house.

  "Am I in time for dinner, Sandy?" asked the newcomer.

  "Yas, Mistuh Tom, you're in plenty er time. Dinner won't be ready till_I_ git back, which won' be fer fifteen minutes er so yit."

  Throwing away the cigarette which he held between his fingers, the youngman crossed the piazza with a light step, and after a preliminary knock,for an answer to which he did not wait, entered the house with the airof one thoroughly at home. The lights in the parlor had been lit, andEllis, who sat talking to Major Carteret when the newcomer entered,covered him with a jealous glance.

  Slender and of medium height, with a small head of almost perfectcontour, a symmetrical face, dark almost to swarthiness, black eyes,which moved somewhat restlessly, curly hair of raven tint, a slightmustache, small hands and feet, and fashionable attire, Tom Delamere,the grandson of the old gentleman who had already arrived, was easilythe handsomest young man in Wellington. But no discriminating observerwould have characterized his beauty as manly. It conveyed no impressionof strength, but did possess a certain element, feline rather thanfeminine, which subtly negatived the idea of manliness.

  He gave his hand to the major, nodded curtly to Ellis, saluted hisgrandfather respectfully, and inquired for the ladies.

  "Olivia is dressing for dinner," replied the major; "Mrs. Ochiltree isin the kitchen, struggling with the servants. Clara--Ah, here she comesnow!"

  Ellis, whose senses were preternaturally acute where Clara wasconcerned, was already looking toward the hall and was the first to seeher. Clad in an evening gown of simple white, to the close-fittingcorsage of which she had fastened a bunch of pink roses, she was toEllis a dazzling apparition. To him her erect and well-moulded form wasthe embodiment of symmetry, her voice sweet music, her movements theperfection of grace; and it scarcely needed a lover's imagination toread in her fair countenance a pure heart and a high spirit,--thetruthfulness that scorns a lie, the pride which is not haughtiness.There were suggestive depths of tenderness, too, in the curl of her lip,the droop of her long lashes, the glance of her blue eyes,--depths thatEllis had long since divined, though he had never yet explored them. Shegave Ellis a friendly nod as she came in, but for the smile with whichshe greeted Delamere, Ellis would have given all that hepossessed,--not a great deal, it is true, but what could a man do more?

  "You are the last one, Tom," she said reproachfully. "Mr. Ellis has beenhere half an hour."

  Delamere threw a glance at Ellis which was not exactly friendly. Whyshould this fellow always be on hand to emphasize his own shortcomings?

  "The rector is not here," answered Tom triumphantly. "You see I am notthe last."

  "The rector," replied Clara, "was called out of town at six o'clock thisevening, to visit a dying man, and so
cannot be here. You are the last,Tom, and Mr. Ellis was the first."

  Ellis was ruefully aware that this comparison in his favor was the onlyvisible advantage that he had gained from his early arrival. He had notseen Miss Pemberton a moment sooner by reason of it. There had been acertain satisfaction in being in the same house with her, but Delamerehad arrived in time to share or, more correctly, to monopolize, thesunshine of her presence.

  Delamere gave a plausible excuse which won Clara's pardon and anotherenchanting smile, which pierced Ellis like a dagger. He knew very wellthat Delamere's excuse was a lie. Ellis himself had been ready as earlyas six o'clock, but judging this to be too early, had stopped in at theClarendon Club for half an hour, to look over the magazines. Whilecoming out he had glanced into the card-room, where he had seen hisrival deep in a game of cards, from which Delamere had evidently notbeen able to tear himself until the last moment. He had accounted forhis lateness by a story quite inconsistent with these facts.

  The two young people walked over to a window on the opposite side ofthe large room, where they stood talking to one another in low tones.The major had left the room for a moment. Old Mr. Delamere, who waswatching his grandson and Clara with an indulgent smile, proceeded torub salt into Ellis's wounds.

  "They make a handsome couple," he observed. "I remember well when hermother, in her youth an ideally beautiful woman, of an excellent family,married Daniel Pemberton, who was not of so good a family, but had mademoney. The major, who was only a very young man then, disapproved of thematch; he considered that his mother, although a widow and nearly forty,was marrying beneath her. But he has been a good brother to Clara, and acareful guardian of her estate. Ah, young gentleman, you cannotappreciate, except in imagination, what it means, to one standing on thebrink of eternity, to feel sure that he will live on in his children andhis children's children!"

  Ellis was appreciating at that moment what it meant, in cold blood, withno effort of the imagination, to see the girl whom he loved absorbedcompletely in another man. She had looked at him only once since TomDelamere had entered the room, and then merely to use him as a spur withwhich to prick his favored rival.

  "Yes, sir," he returned mechanically, "Miss Clara is a beautiful younglady."

  "And Tom is a good boy--a fine boy," returned the old gentleman. "I amvery well pleased with Tom, and shall be entirely happy when I see themmarried."

  Ellis could not echo this sentiment. The very thought of this marriagemade him miserable. He had always understood that the engagement wasmerely tentative, a sort of family understanding, subject toconfirmation after Delamere should have attained his majority, which wasstill a year off, and when the major should think Clara old enough tomarry. Ellis saw Delamere with the eye of a jealous rival, and judgedhim mercilessly,--whether correctly or not the sequel will show. He didnot at all believe that Tom Delamere would make a fit husband for ClaraPemberton; but his opinion would have had no weight,--he could hardlyhave expressed it without showing his own interest. Moreover, there wasno element of the sneak in Lee Ellis's make-up. The very fact that hemight profit by the other's discomfiture left Delamere secure, so far ashe could be affected by anything that Ellis might say. But Ellis did notshrink from a fair fight, and though in this one the odds were heavilyagainst him, yet so long as this engagement remained indefinite, solong, indeed, as the object of his love was still unwed, he would notcease to hope. Such a sacrifice as this marriage clearly belonged in thecatalogue of impossibilities. Ellis had not lived long enough to learnthat impossibilities are merely things of which we have not learned, orwhich we do not wish to happen.

  Sandy returned at the end of a quarter of an hour, and dinner wasannounced. Mr. Delamere led the way to the dining-room with Mrs.Ochiltree. Tom followed with Clara. The major went to the head of thestairs and came down with Mrs. Carteret upon his arm, her beautyrendered more delicate by the pallor of her countenance and morecomplete by the happiness with which it glowed. Ellis went in alone. Inthe rector's absence it was practically a family party which sat down,with the exception of Ellis, who, as we have seen, would willingly haveplaced himself in the same category.

  The table was tastefully decorated with flowers, which grew about thehouse in lavish profusion. In warm climates nature adorns herself withtrue feminine vanity.

  "What a beautiful table!" exclaimed Tom, before they were seated.

  "The decorations are mine," said Clara proudly. "I cut the flowers andarranged them all myself."

  "Which accounts for the admirable effect," rejoined Tom with a bow,before Ellis, to whom the same thought had occurred, was able to expresshimself. He had always counted himself the least envious of men, but forthis occasion he coveted Tom Delamere's readiness.

  "The beauty of the flowers," observed old Mr. Delamere, with sententiousgallantry, "is reflected upon all around them. It is a handsomecompany."

  Mrs. Ochiltree beamed upon the table with a dry smile.

  "I don't perceive any effect that it has upon you or me," she said; "Andas for the young people, 'Handsome is as handsome does.' If Tom here,for instance, were as good as he looks"--

  "You flatter me, Aunt Polly," Tom broke in hastily, anticipating thecrack of the whip; he was familiar with his aunt's conversationalidiosyncrasies.

  "If you are as good as you look," continued the old lady, with a cunningbut indulgent smile, "some one has been slandering you."

  "Thanks, Aunt Polly! Now you don't flatter me."

  "There is Mr. Ellis," Mrs. Ochiltree went on, "who is not half sogood-looking, but is steady as a clock, I dare say."

  "Now, Aunt Polly," interposed Mrs. Carteret, "let the gentlemen alone."

  "She doesn't mean half what she says," continued Mrs. Carteretapologetically, "and only talks that way to people whom she likes."

  Tom threw Mrs. Carteret a grateful glance. He had been apprehensive,with the sensitiveness of youth, lest his old great-aunt should make afool of him before Clara's family. Nor had he relished the comparisonwith Ellis, who was out of place, anyway, in this family party. He hadnever liked the fellow, who was too much of a plodder and a prig to makea suitable associate for a whole-souled, generous-hearted younggentleman. He tolerated him as a visitor at Carteret's and as a memberof the Clarendon Club, but that was all.

  "Mrs. Ochiltree has a characteristic way of disguising her feelings,"observed old Mr. Delamere, with a touch of sarcasm.

  Ellis had merely flushed and felt uncomfortable at the reference tohimself. The compliment to his character hardly offset the reflectionupon his looks. He knew he was not exactly handsome, but it was notpleasant to have the fact emphasized in the presence of the girl heloved; he would like at least fair play, and judgment upon the subjectleft to the young lady.

  Mrs. Ochiltree was quietly enjoying herself. In early life she had beenaccustomed to impale fools on epigrams, like flies on pins, to see themwriggle. But with advancing years she had lost in some measure thefaculty of nice discrimination,--it was pleasant to see her victimssquirm, whether they were fools or friends. Even one's friends, sheargued, were not always wise, and were sometimes the better for beingtold the truth. At her niece's table she felt at liberty to speak hermind, which she invariably did, with a frankness that sometimes borderedon brutality. She had long ago outgrown the period where ambition orpassion, or its partners, envy and hatred, were springs of action in herlife, and simply retained a mild enjoyment in the exercise of an oldhabit, with no active malice whatever. The ruling passion merely grewstronger as the restraining faculties decreased in vigor.

  A diversion was created at this point by the appearance of old MammyJane, dressed in a calico frock, with clean white neckerchief and apron,carrying the wonderful baby in honor of whose naming this feast had beengiven. Though only six weeks old, the little Theodore had grown rapidly,and Mammy Jane declared was already quite large for his age, anddisplayed signs of an unusually precocious intelligence. He was passedaround the table and duly admired. Clara thought his hair was fine.El
lis inquired about his teeth. Tom put his finger in the baby's fist totest his grip. Old Mr. Delamere was unable to decide as yet whether hefavored most his father or his mother. The object of these attentionsendured them patiently for several minutes, and then protested with avocal vigor which led to his being taken promptly back upstairs.Whatever fate might be in store for him, he manifested no sign of weaklungs.

  "Sandy," said Mrs. Carteret when the baby had retired, "pass that traystanding upon the side table, so that we may all see the presents."

  Mr. Delamere had brought a silver spoon, and Tom a napkin ring. Ellishad sent a silver watch; it was a little premature, he admitted, butthe boy would grow to it, and could use it to play with in the meantime. It had a glass back, so that he might see the wheels go round.Mrs. Ochiltree's present was an old and yellow ivory rattle, with ahandle which the child could bite while teething, and a knob screwed onat the end to prevent the handle from slipping through the baby's hand.

  "I saw that in your cedar chest, Aunt Polly," said Clara, "when I was alittle girl, and you used to pull the chest out from under your bed toget me a dime."

  "You kept the rattle in the right-hand corner of the chest," said Tom,"in the box with the red silk purse, from which you took the gold pieceyou gave me every Christmas."

  A smile shone on Mrs. Ochiltree's severe features at this appreciation,like a ray of sunlight on a snowbank.

  "Aunt Polly's chest is like the widow's cruse," said Mrs. Carteret,"which was never empty."

  "Or Fortunatus's purse, which was always full," added old Mr. Delamere,who read the Latin poets, and whose allusions were apt to be classicalrather than scriptural.

  "It will last me while I live," said Mrs. Ochiltree, adding cautiously,"but there'll not be a great deal left. It won't take much to supportan old woman for twenty years."

  Mr. Delamere's man Sandy had been waiting upon the table with thedecorum of a trained butler, and a gravity all his own. He had changedhis suit of plain gray for a long blue coat with brass buttons, whichdated back to the fashion of a former generation, with which he wore apair of plaid trousers of strikingly modern cut and pattern. With hiswhiskers, his spectacles, and his solemn air of responsibility, he wouldhave presented, to one unfamiliar with the negro type, an amusinglyimpressive appearance. But there was nothing incongruous about Sandy tothis company, except perhaps to Tom Delamere, who possessed a keen eyefor contrasts and always regarded Sandy, in that particular rig, as avery comical darkey.

  "Is it quite prudent, Mrs. Ochiltree," suggested the major at a momentwhen Sandy, having set down the tray, had left the room for a littlewhile, "to mention, in the presence of the servants, that you keep moneyin the house?"

  "I beg your pardon, major," observed old Mr. Delamere, with a touch ofstiffness. "The only servant in hearing of the conversation has been myown; and Sandy is as honest as any man in Wellington."

  "You mean, sir," replied Carteret, with a smile, "as honest as any negroin Wellington."

  "I make no exceptions, major," returned the old gentleman, withemphasis. "I would trust Sandy with my life,--he saved it once at therisk of his own."

  "No doubt," mused the major, "the negro is capable of a certain doglikefidelity,--I make the comparison in a kindly sense,--a certain personaldevotion which is admirable in itself, and fits him eminently for aservile career. I should imagine, however, that one could more safelytrust his life with a negro than his portable property."

  "Very clever, major! I read your paper, and know that your feeling ishostile toward the negro, but"--

  The major made a gesture of dissent, but remained courteously silentuntil Mr. Delamere had finished.

  "For my part," the old gentleman went on, "I think they have done verywell, considering what they started from, and their limitedopportunities. There was Adam Miller, for instance, who left acomfortable estate. His son George carries on the business, and theyounger boy, William, is a good doctor and stands well with hisprofession. His hospital is a good thing, and if my estate were clear, Ishould like to do something for it."

  "You are mistaken, sir, in imagining me hostile to the negro," explainedCarteret. "On the contrary, I am friendly to his best interests. I givehim employment; I pay taxes for schools to educate him, and forcourt-houses and jails to keep him in order. I merely object to beinggoverned by an inferior and servile race."

  Mrs. Carteret's face wore a tired expression. This question was herhusband's hobby, and therefore her own nightmare. Moreover, she had herpersonal grievance against the negro race, and the names mentioned byold Mr. Delamere had brought it vividly before her mind. She had nodesire to mar the harmony of the occasion by the discussion of adistasteful subject.

  Mr. Delamere, glancing at his hostess, read something of this thought,and refused the challenge to further argument.

  "I do not believe, major," he said, "that Olivia relishes the topic. Imerely wish to say that Sandy is an exception to any rule which you mayformulate in derogation of the negro. Sandy is a gentleman in ebony!"

  Tom could scarcely preserve his gravity at this characterization of oldSandy, with his ridiculous air of importance, his long blue coat, andhis loud plaid trousers. That suit would make a great costume for amasquerade. He would borrow it some time,--there was nothing in theworld like it.

  "Well, Mr. Delamere," returned the major good-humoredly, "no doubt Sandyis an exceptionally good negro,--he might well be, for he has had thebenefit of your example all his life,--and we know that he is a faithfulservant. But nevertheless, if I were Mrs. Ochiltree, I should put mymoney in the bank. Not all negroes are as honest as Sandy, and anelderly lady might not prove a match for a burly black burglar."

  "Thank you, major," retorted Mrs. Ochiltree, with spirit, "I'm not yettoo old to take care of myself. That cedar chest has been my bank forforty years, and I shall not change my habits at my age."

  At this moment Sandy reentered the room. Carteret made a warninggesture, which Mrs. Ochiltree chose not to notice.

  "I've proved a match for two husbands, and am not afraid of any manthat walks the earth, black or white, by day or night. I have arevolver, and know how to use it. Whoever attempts to rob me will do soat his peril."

  After dinner Clara played the piano and sang duets with Tom Delamere. Atnine o'clock Mr. Delamere's carriage came for him, and he went awayaccompanied by Sandy. Under cover of the darkness the old gentlemanleaned on his servant's arm with frank dependence, and Sandy lifted himinto the carriage with every mark of devotion.

  Ellis had already excused himself to go to the office and look over thelate proofs for the morning paper. Tom remained a few minutes longerthan his grandfather, and upon taking his leave went round to theClarendon Club, where he spent an hour or two in the card-room with acouple of congenial friends. Luck seemed to favor him, and he went homeat midnight with a comfortable balance of winnings. He was fond ofexcitement, and found a great deal of it in cards. To lose was only lessexciting than to win. Of late he had developed into a very successfulplayer,--so successful, indeed, that several members of the clubgenerally found excuses to avoid participating in a game where he madeone.