Pencil Sketches: or, Outlines of Character and Manners

The walls were hung with a dozen bad lithographic prints, tastefully suspended by bows of gauze ribbon. Among these specimens of the worst style of the modern French school, was a Cupid and Psyche, with a background that was the most prominent part of the picture, every leaf of every tree on the distant mountains being distinctly defined and smoothly finished. The clouds seemed unwilling to stay behind the hills, but had come so boldly forward and looked so like masses of stone, that there was much apparent danger of their falling on the heads of the lovers and crushing them to atoms. Psyche was an immensely tall, narrow woman, of a certain age, and remarkably strong features; and Cupid was a slender young man, of nineteen or twenty, about seven feet high, with long tresses descending to his waist.

Another print represented a huge muscular woman, with large coarse features distorted into the stare and grin of a maniac, an enormous lyre in her hand, a cloud of hair flying in one direction, and a volume of drapery exhibiting its streaky folds in another; while she is running to the edge of a precipice, as if pursued by a mad bull, and plunging forward with one foot in the air, and her arms extended above her head. This was Sappho on the rock of Leucate. These two prints Mr. Franchimeau (who professed connoisseurship, and always talked when pictures were the subject – that is, French pictures) pointed out to his visiters as magnificent emanations of the Fine Arts. "The coarse arts, rather," murmured Uncle Philip.

The guests were received with much suavity by the French ladies and the vieux papa; and Capt. Kentledge was introduced by Madame Franchimeau to three little black-haired girls, with surprisingly yellow faces, who were designated by the mother as "mon aimable Lulu, ma mignonne Mimi, and ma petite ange Gogo."52 Uncle Philip wondered what were the real names of these children.

After this, Madame Franchimeau left the room for a moment, and returned, leading in a very pretty young girl, whom she introduced as her très chère niece, Mademoiselle Robertine,53 orphan daughter of a brother of her respectable Alphonse.

Robertine had a neat French figure, a handsome French face, and a profusion of hair arranged precisely in the newest style of the wax figures that decorate the windows of the most fashionable coiffeurs.54 She was dressed in a thin white muslin, with a short black silk apron, embroidered at the corners with flowers in colours. Mr. Franchimeau resigned to her his chair beside Uncle Philip, to whom (while her aunt and the Ravigotes were chattering and shrugging to Mrs. Clavering) she addressed herself with considerable fluency and in good English. People who have known but little of the world, and of the best tone of society, are apt, on being introduced to new acquaintances, to talk to them at once of their profession, or in reference to it; and Robertine questioned Uncle Philip about his ships and his voyages, and took occasion to tell him that she had always admired the character of a sailor, and still more that of a captain; that she thought the brown tinge given by the sea air a great improvement to a fine manly countenance; that fair-complexioned people were her utter aversion, and that a gentleman was never in his best looks till he had attained the age of forty, or, indeed, of forty-five.

"Then I am long past the age of good looks," said Uncle Philip, "for I was sixty-two the sixth of last June."

"Is it possible!" exclaimed Robertine. "I had no idea that Captain Kentledge could have been more than forty-three or forty-four at the utmost. But gentlemen who have good health and amiable dispositions, never seem to grow old. I have known some who were absolutely charming even at seventy."

"Pshaw!" said Uncle Philip, half aside.

Robertine, who had been tutored by her aunt Franchimeau, ran on with a tirade of compliments and innuendos, so glaring as to defeat their own purpose. Sam, who sat opposite, and was a shrewd lad, saw in a moment her design, and could not forbear at times casting significant looks towards his uncle. The old captain perfectly comprehended the meaning of those looks, and perceived that Mademoiselle Robertine was spreading her net for him. Determining not to be caught, he received all her smiles with a contracted brow; replied only in monosyllables; and, as she proceeded, shut his teeth firmly together, closed his lips tightly, pressed his clenched hands against the sides of his chair, and sat bolt upright; resolved on answering her no more.

About nine o'clock, the door of the back parlour was thrown open by the little mulatto girl, and Madame Franchimeau was seen seated at the head of the supper-table. Mr. Franchimeau led in Mrs. Clavering; Mr. Ravigote took Fanny; Madame Ravigote gave her hand to Sam, and Robertine, of course, fell to the lot of Uncle Philip, who touched with a very ill grace the fingers that she smilingly extended to him.

In the centre of the supper-table was a salad decorated with roses, and surrounded by four candles. The chief dish contained blanquettes of veal; and the other viands were a fricandeau of calves' ears; a purée of pigs' tails; a ragout of sheep's feet, and another of chickens' pinions interspersed with claws; there was a dish of turnips with mustard, another of cabbage with cheese, a bread omelet, a plate of poached eggs, a plate of sugar-plums, and a dish of hashed fish, which Madame Franchimeau called a farce.

As soon as they were seated, Robertine took a rose from the salad, and with a look of considerable sentiment, presented it to Uncle Philip, who received it with a silent frown, and took an opportunity of dropping it on the floor, when Sam slyly set his foot on it and crushed it flat. The young lady then mixed a glass of eau sucré55 for the old gentleman, saying very sweet things all the time; but the beverage was as little to his taste as the Hebe that prepared it.

The French children were all at table, and the youngest girl looking somewhat unwell, and leaving her food on her plate, caused Mrs. Clavering to make a remark on her want of appetite.

"N'importe,"56 said Madame Franchimeau; "she is not affamished; she did eat very hearty at her tea; she had shesnoot for her tea."

"Chestnuts!" exclaimed Mrs. Clavering.

"Oh, yes; we have them at times. N'importe, my little Gogo; cease your supper, you will have the better appetite for your breakfast. You shall have an apple for your breakfast – a large, big apple. Monsieur Philippe, permit me to help you to some of this fish; you will find it a most excellent farce:57 I have preserved it from corruption by a process of vinegar and salt, and some charcoal. Madame Colavering, I will show you that mode of restoring fish when it begins to putrefy: a great chemist taught it to my assassined Alphonse."

Uncle Philip pushed away his plate with unequivocal signs of disgust, and moved back his chair, determined not to taste another mouthful while he stayed in the house. Suspicious of everything, he even declined Robertine's solicitations to take a glass of liqueur which she poured out for him, and which she assured him was genuine parfait amour.58 During supper, she had talked to him, in a low voice, of the great superiority of the American nation when compared with the French; and regretted the frivolity and inconsequence of the French character; but assured him that when French ladies had the honour of marrying American gentlemen, they always lost that inconsequence, and acquired much depth and force.

After supper, Mr. Franchimeau, who, notwithstanding his taciturnity and brusquerie, was what Uncle Philip called a Jack of all trades, sat down to an old out-of-tune piano, that stood in one of the recesses of the back parlour, and played an insipid air of "Paul at the Tomb of Virginia," singing with a hoarse stentorian voice half-a-dozen namby-pamby stanzas, lengthening out or contracting some of the words, and mispronouncing others to suit the measure and the rhyme. This song, however, seemed to produce great effect on the French part of his audience, who sighed, started, and exclaimed – "Ah! quels sont touchans, ces sentimens sublimes!"59

"Ma chère amie," continued Madame Franchimeau, pressing the hand of Mrs. Clavering, "permettez que je pleure un peu le triste destin de l'innocence et de la vertu – infortuné Paul – malheureuse Virginie;"60 and she really seemed to shed tears.

Uncle Philip could no longer restrain himself, but he started from his chair and paced the room in evident discomposure at the folly and affectation that surrounded him; his contempt for all men that played on pianos being much heightened by the absurd appearance of the huge black-whiskered, shock-headed Monsieur Franchimeau, with his long frock-coat hanging down all over the music-stool. Robertine declined playing, alleging that she had none of her own music with her; and she privately told Uncle Philip that she had lost all relish for French songs, and that she was very desirous of learning some of the national airs of America – for instance, the Tars of Columbia. But still Uncle Philip's heart was iron-bound, and he deigned no other reply than, "I don't believe they'll suit you."

A dance was then proposed by Madame Ravigote, and Robertine, "nothing daunted," challenged Uncle Philip to lead off with her; but, completely out of patience, he turned on his heel, and walked away without vouchsafing an answer. Robertine then applied to Sam, but with no better success, for as yet he had not learned that accomplishment, and she was finally obliged to dance with old Mr. Ravigote, while Madame Franchimeau took out her mother; Fanny danced with the lovely Lulu, and Mimi and Gogo with each other; Mr. Franchimeau playing cotillions for them.

Uncle Philip thought in his own mind that the dancing was the best part of the evening's entertainment, and old Madame Ravigote was certainly the best of the dancers; though none of the family were deficient in a talent which seems indigenous to the whole French nation.

The cotillions were succeeded by cream of tartar lemonade, and a plate of sugar-plums enfolded in French mottoes, from which Robertine selected the most amatory, and presented them to Uncle Philip, who regularly made a point of giving them all back to her in silence, determined not to retain a single one, lest she might suppose he acknowledged the application.

The old gentleman was very tired of the visit, and glad enough when Mrs. Clavering proposed departing. And all the way home his infatuated niece talked to him in raptures of the elegance of French people, and the vast difference between them and the Americans.

"There is, indeed, a difference," said Uncle Philip, too much fatigued to argue the point that night.

Next morning, after they had adjourned to the cabin, Sam addressed the old gentleman with, "Well, Uncle Philip, I wish you joy of the conquest you made last evening of the pretty French girl, Miss Robertine."

"A conquest of her," replied Uncle Philip, indignantly; "the report of my dollars has made the conquest. I am not yet old enough to be taken in by such barefaced manœuvring. No, no; I am not yet in my dotage; and I heartily despise a young girl that is willing to sell herself to a man old enough to be her father."

"I am glad you do," observed Sam; "I have often heard my mother say that such matches never fail to turn out badly, and to make both husband and wife miserable. We all think she talks very sensibly on this subject."

"No doubt," said Uncle Philip.

"I really wonder," pursued Sam, "that a Frenchwoman should venture to make love to you."

"Love!" exclaimed Uncle Philip; "I tell you, there's no love in the case. I am not such a fool as to believe that a pretty young girl could fall in love with an old fellow like me. No, no; all she wants is, that I should die as soon as possible and leave her a rich widow: but she will find her mistake; she shall see that all her sweet looks and sweet speeches will have no effect on me but to make me hate her. She might as well attempt to soften marble by dropping honey on it."

"You'll be not only marble, but granite, also, won't you, Uncle Philip?" said Sam.

"That I will, my boy," said the old gentleman; "and now let's talk of something else."

After this, no persuasion could induce Uncle Philip to repeat his visit to the Franchimeaus; and when any of that family came to Mrs. Clavering's he always left the room in a few minutes, particularly if they were accompanied by Robertine. In short, he now almost lived in his cabin, laying strict injunctions on Mrs. Clavering not to bring thither any of the French.

One morning, while he was busy there with Sam, Dick, and Neptune, the boys, happening to look out, saw Robertine listlessly rambling on the bank of the river, and entirely alone. There was every appearance of a shower coming up. "I suppose," said Dick, "Miss Robertine intends going to our house; and if she does not make haste, she will be caught in the rain. There, now, she is looking up at the clouds. See, see – she is coming this way as fast as she can."

"Confound her impudence!" said Uncle Philip; "is she going to ferret me out of my cabin? Sam, shut that door."

"Shall I place the great chest against it?" said Sam.

"Pho – no," replied the old gentleman. "With all her assurance, she'll scarcely venture to break in by force. I would not for a thousand dollars that she should get a footing here."

Presently a knock was heard at the door.

"There she is," said Dick.

"Let us take no notice," said Sam.

"After all," said Uncle Philip, "she's a woman; and a woman must not be exposed to the rain, when a man can give her a shelter. We must let her in; nothing else can be done with her."

Upon this, Sam opened the door; and Robertine, with many apologies for her intrusion, expressed her fear of being caught in the rain, and begged permission to wait there till the shower was over.

"I was quite lost in a reverie," said she, "as I wandered on the shore of the river. Retired walks are now best suited to my feelings. When the heart has received a deep impression, nothing is more delicious than to sigh in secret."

"Fudge!" muttered Uncle Philip between his teeth.

"Uncle Philip says fudge," whispered Dick to Sam.

"I'm glad of it," whispered Sam to Dick.

Uncle Philip handed Robertine a chair, and she received this common-place civility with as much evident delight as if he had proffered her "the plain gold ring."

"Sam," said the old gentleman, "run to the house as fast as you can, and bring an umbrella, and then see Miss Robertine home."

"That I will, uncle," said Sam, with alacrity.

Robertine then began to admire the drawings on the wall, and said – "Apparently, these are all ships that Captain Kentledge has taken in battle?"

"No," replied Uncle Philip, "I never took any ship in battle; I always belonged to the merchant service."

Robertine was now at fault; but soon recovering herself, she continued – "No doubt if you had been in battle, you would have taken ships; for victory always crowns the brave, and my opinion is, that all Americans are brave of course; particularly if they are gentlemen of the sea."

"And have plenty of cash," Uncle Philip could not avoid saying.

Robertine coloured to the eyes; and Uncle Philip checked himself, seeing that he had been too severe upon her. "I must not forget that she is a woman," thought he; "while she stays, I will try to be civil to her."

But Robertine was too thoroughly resolved on carrying her point to be easily daunted; and, in half a minute, she said with a smile – "I see that Captain Kentledge will always have his jest. Wit is one of the attributes of his profession."

Her admiration of the ships not having produced much effect, Robertine next betook herself to admiring the dog Neptune, who was lying at his master's feet, and she gracefully knelt beside him and patted his head, saying – "What a magnificent animal! The most splendid dog I ever saw! What a grand and imposing figure! How sensible and expressive is his face!"

Dick found it difficult to suppress an involuntary giggle, for it struck him that Robertine must have heard the remark which was very current through the village, of Neptune's face having a great resemblance to Uncle Philip's own.

Where is the man that, being "the fortunate possessor of a Newfoundland dog," can hear his praises without emotion? Uncle Philip's ice began to thaw. All the blandishments that Robertine had lavished on himself, caused no other effect than disgust; but the moment she appeared to like his dog, his granite heart began to soften, and he felt a disposition to like her in return. He cast a glance towards Robertine as she caressed old Neptune, and he thought her so pretty that the glance was succeeded by a gaze. He put out his hand to raise her from her kneeling attitude, and actually placed a chair for her beside his own. Robertine thought herself in Paradise, for she saw that her last arrow had struck the mark. Uncle Philip's stubborn tongue was now completely loosened, and he entered into an eloquent detail of the numerous excellencies of the noble animal, and related a story of his life having been saved by Neptune during a shipwreck.

To all this did Robertine "most seriously incline." She listened with breathless interest, was startled, terrified, anxious, delighted, and always in the right place; and when the story was finished, she pronounced Newfoundland dogs the best of all created animals, and Neptune the best of all Newfoundland dogs.

Just then Sam arrived with the umbrella.

"Sam," said Uncle Philip, "you may give me the umbrella; I will see Miss Robertine home myself. But I think she had better wait till the rain is over."

This last proposal Robertine thought it most prudent to decline, fearing that if she stayed till the rain ceased, Uncle Philip might no longer think it necessary to escort her home. Accordingly the old gentleman gave her his arm, and walked off with her under the umbrella. As soon as they were gone, Sam and Dick laughed out, and compared notes.

In the afternoon, after spending a considerable time at his toilet, Uncle Philip, without saying anything to the family, told one of the servants that he should not drink tea at home, and sallied off in the direction of Franchimeau's. He did not return till ten o'clock, and then went straight to bed without entering the sitting-room. The truth was, that when he conveyed Robertine home in the morning, he could not resist her invitation into the house; and he sat there long enough for Madame Ravigote (who, in frightful dishabille, was darning stockings in the parlour) to see that things wore a promising aspect. The old lady went to the school-room door, and called out Madame Franchimeau to inform her of the favourable change in the state of affairs: and it was decided that le vieux Philippe61 (as they called him behind the scenes, for none of them, except Robertine, could say Kentledge), should be invited to tea, that the young lady might have an immediate opportunity of following up the success of the morning.

Next morning, about eleven o'clock, Uncle Philip disappeared again, and was seen no more till dinner-time. When he came in, he took his seat at the table without saying a word, and there was something unusually queer in his look, and embarrassed in all his motions; and the children thought that he did not seem at all like himself. Little Anne, who sat always at his right hand, leaned back in her chair and looked behind him, and then suddenly exclaimed – "Why, Uncle Philip has had his queue cut off!"

There was a general movement of surprise. Uncle Philip reddened, hesitated, and at last said, in a confused manner, "that he had for a long time thought his queue rather troublesome, and that he had recently been told that it made him look ten years older than he really was; and, therefore, he had stopped at the barber's, on his way home, and got rid of it."

Mrs. Clavering had never admired the queue; but she thought the loss of it, just at this juncture, looked particularly ominous.

In the afternoon she received a visit from her friend, Mrs. Slimbridge, who was scarcely seated when she commenced with – "Well, Mrs. Clavering, I understand you are shortly to have a new aunt, and I have come to congratulate you on the joyful occasion."

"A new aunt?" said Mrs. Clavering; "I am really at a loss to understand your meaning!" looking, however, as if she understood it perfectly.

"Why, certainly," replied Mrs. Slimbridge, "it can be no news to you that Captain Kentledge is going to be married to Madame Franchimeau's niece, Mademoiselle Robertine. He was seen, yesterday morning, walking with her under the same umbrella!"

"Well, and what of that?" interrupted Mrs. Clavering, fretfully; "does a gentleman never hold an umbrella over a lady's head unless he intends to marry her?"

"Oh, as yet they do," replied Mrs. Slimbridge, "but I know not how much longer even that piece of civility will be continued – gentlemen are now so much afraid of committing themselves. But seriously, his seeing her home in the rain is not the most important part of the story. He drank tea at Franchimeau's last evening, and paid a long visit at the house this morning; and Emilie, their mulatto girl, told Mrs. Pinxton's Mary, and my Phillis had it direct from her, that she overheard Miss Robertine, persuading Captain Kentledge to have his queue cut off. The good gentleman, it seems, held out for a long time, but at last consented to lose it. However, I do not vouch for the truth of that part of the statement. Old seafaring men are so partial to their hair, and it is a point on which they are so obstinate, that I scarcely think Miss Robertine would have ventured so far."

"Some young girls have boldness enough for anything," said Mrs. Clavering, with a toss of her head, and knowing in her own mind that the queue was really off.

"Well," continued Mrs. Slimbridge, "the story is all over town that it is quite a settled thing; and, as I said, I have hastened to congratulate you."

"Congratulate me! For what?" said Mrs. Clavering; with much asperity.

"Why," returned Mrs. Slimbridge, "you know these French people are your bosom friends, and of course you must rejoice in the prospect of a nearer connexion with them. To be sure, it would be rather more gratifying if Miss Robertine was in a somewhat higher walk of life. You know it is whispered, that she is only a mantua-maker's girl, and that the dear friend whom Madame Franchimeau talks about, as having adopted her beloved Robertine (though she takes care never to mention the name of that dear friend), is in reality no other than the celebrated Madame Gigot, in whose dressmaking establishment Mademoiselle is hired to work."

"Horrible!" was Mrs. Clavering's involuntary exclamation; but recovering herself, she continued – "But I can assure you, Mrs. Slimbridge, that I am perfectly convinced there is not a word of truth in the whole story. Captain Kentledge has certainly his peculiarities, but he is a man of too much sense to marry a young wife; and besides, his regard for my children is so great, that I am convinced it is his firm intention to live single for their sakes, that he may leave them the whole of his property. He thinks too much of the family to allow his money to go out of it."

"All that may be," answered Mrs. Slimbridge; "but when an old man falls in love with a young girl, his regard for his own relations generally melts away like snow before the fire. I think you had better speak to Captain Kentledge on the subject. I advise you, as a friend, to do so, unless you conclude that opposition may only render him the more determined. Certainly one would not like to lose so much money out of the family, without making a little struggle to retain it. However, I must now take my leave. As a friend, I advise you to speak to Captain Kentledge."

"I can assure you," replied Mrs. Clavering, as she accompanied her guest to the door, "this silly report gives me not the slightest uneasiness, as it is too absurd to merit one serious thought. I shall dismiss it from my mind with silent contempt. To mention it to Captain Kentledge would be really too ridiculous."