"Indeed we can," said Chester.
"To what bitternesses _grandpere_ had to return!"
"Aline!" Mme. De l'Isle called; "a table!"
"Yes, madame. Tell me--you, Mr. Chester--to your vision, how all thatmust have been."
"Paint in your sketch? Let me try. Maybe only because you tell thestory, but maybe rather because it's so easy to see in you areincarnation of your _grand'mere_--a Creole incarnation of that young'Maud'--what I see plainest is she. I see her here, two thousand milesfrom home, with but three or four friends among a quarter of a millionenemies. I see her on the day the city fell, looking up and down RoyalStreet from a balcony of the hotel, while from the great dome a fewsteps behind her the Union fleet could be seen, rounding the first tworiver bends below the harbor, engaging a last few Confederate guns atthe old battle-ground, and coming on, with the Stars and Stripes atevery peak. I see her----"
"She was beautiful, you know--_grand'mere_."
"Yes, I see her so, looking down from that balcony, awestruck, notfearstruck, on the people who in agonies of rage and terror fled thecity by pairs and families, or in armed squads and unarmed mobs sweptthrough the streets and up and down the levee, burning, breaking, andplundering."
"But that was the worst anybody did, you know."
"Oh, yes. We never knew till to-day's war came how humane that warwas. It wasn't a war in which beauty, age, and infancy were hideousperils."
"Ah, never mind about that to-day. But about _grandpere_ and_grand'mere_ go on. Let me see how much you can imagine correctly,h'm?"
"Please, mademoiselle, no. Time has made you--through your father'seyes--they say you have them--an eye-witness. So next you see your_grandpere_ getting back at last, by ship--go on."
"Yes, I see that, in a harbor whose miles of wharfs without ships criedto him: 'our occupation and your fortune are gone!' Also I see himagain in the streets--Royal, Chartres, Canal, Carondelet--where oldfriends pass him with a stare. I see him and _grand'mere_ married atlast, in a church nearly empty and even the priest unfriendly."
"Had he no new friends, Unionists?"
"Not yet, at the wedding. There he said: 'Old friends or none.' Andthat was right, don't you think? Later 'twas different. You see, inthe navy, both of the rivers and the sea, as likewise the army,_grand'mere_ had uncles and cousins; and when the hotel was made amilitary hospital she was there every day. And naturally thosecousins, whether from hospital or no, would call and even bringfriends. Well, of course, _grandpere_ was, at the least, courteous!And then there was his word of honor, to Mr. Lincoln, as also his owndesire, to bring the State back into the Union."
"Of course. Don't hurry, please."
"Was I hurrying? Pardon, but I'm afraid they'll be calling us again."The pair rose, but stood. "Well, when a kind of government was made ofthat part of the State held by the Union, and the military governorwanted both _grandpere_ and his father to take some public offices, hisfather made excuse of his age and of a malady--taken from thathospital--which soon occasioned him to die."
"I've seen his tomb, in St. Louis cemetery, with its epitaph of barelytwo words--'Adieu, Chapdelaine.' Who supplied that? Old friends,after all?"
"A few old, a few new, and one the governor."
"Did the governor propose the words?"
"No. If I tell you you won't tell? Ovide. But _grandpere_ he tookthe office. And so that put him yet more distant from old friendsexcept just two or three who believed the same as he did."
"And our Royal Street coterie, of course."
"Ah, not those you see now; but their parents, yes. They werefaithful; though sometimes, some of them, sympathizing differently.Well, and so there was _grandpere_ working to repair a _piece_ of theState, when at last the war finished and the reconstruction of thewhole State commenced. He and Ovide were both of that State conventionthey mobbed in the 'July riot.' Some men were killed in that riot._Grandpere_ was wounded, also Ovide. Those were awful times to_grand'mere_, those years of the reconstruction. _Grandpere_ he--"The girl glanced backward, then turned again, smiling. The fourchaperons were going indoors without them.
"Yes," Chester said, "your _grandpere_ I can imagine----"
"Well, go ahead; imagine, to me."
"No. No, except just enough to see him with no choice of partyallegiance but between a rabble up to the elbows in robbery and an oldregime red-handed with the rabble's blood."
"Ah, so papa told me, after _grandpere_ was long gone, and me on hisknee asking questions. 'Reconstruction, my dear child--' once heanswered me, ''twas like trying to drive, on the right road, a frantichorse in a rotten harness, and with the reins under his tail!' Ah, Iwish you could have known him, Mr. Chester--my father!"
"I know his daughter."
"Well, I suppose--I suppose we must go in."
"With the story almost finished?"
"We'll, maybe finish inside--or--some day."
XXIV
T. CHAPDELAINE & SON
The seniors were found at a table for four.
Mme. De l'Isle explained: "But! with only four to sit down there, howwas it possib' to h-ask for a tab'e for six? That wou'n' be logical!"
When the waiter offered to add a smaller table and make one snug boardfor six--"No," she said; "for feet and hands that be all right; but forthe _mind_, ah! You see, Mr. Chezter, M. De l'Isle he's also precizelyin the mi'l' of a moze overwhelming story of his own------"
"Hiztorical!" the aunts broke in. "Well-known! abbout old house! inthe _vieux carre_!"
"And," madame insisted, "'twould ruin that story, to us, to commenze tohear it over, while same time 'twould ruin it to you to commenze tohear it in the mi'l'. And beside', Aline, you are doubtlezz yet in themi'l' of your own story and--waiter! make there at that firz' window atab'e for two, and" [to the pair] "we'll run both storie' ad the sametime--if not three!"
"Like that circ'"--the aunts fell into tears of laughter. They touchedeach other with finger-tips, cried, "Like that circuz of Barnum!" andrepeated to the De l'Isles and then to Aline, "Like that circuz ofBarnum an' Bailey!"
At the table for two, as the gumbo was uncovered and Chester asked howit was made, "Ah!" said Aline, "for a veritable gumbo what you wantmost is enthusiasm. The enthusiasm of both my aunts would not be toomuch. And to tell how 'tis made you'd need no less, that would be astory by itself, third ring of the circus."
"Then tell me, further, of '_grandpere_'"
"And grand'mere? Yes, I must, as I learned about them on papa's knee.Mamma never saw them; they had been years gone when papa first knewher. But Sidney I knew, when she was old and had seen all thosedreadful times; and, though she often would not tell me the story, shewould tell me what to ask papa; you see? You would have liked to talkwith Sidney about old buildings. Mr. Chester, I think it is not thatin New Orleans we are so picturesque, but that all the rest of ourcountry--in the cities--is so starved for the picturesque. Sidneywould have told you that story monsieur is telling now as well as allthe strange history of that old Hotel St. Louis. First, after the warit was changed back from a hospital to a hotel. I think 'twas thenthey called it Hotel Royal. Anyhow 'twas again very fine. Grandpereand grand'mere were often in that salon where he had first--as theysay--spoken. Because, for one thing, there they met people of theoutside world without the local prejudices, you know?"
"At that time bitter and vindictive?"
"Oh, ferocious! And there they met also people of the most--dignity."
"Above the average of the other hotels?"
"Well, not so--so brisk."
"Not so American?"
"Ah, you know. Well, maybe that's one reason the St. Charles, forexample, continued, while the Royal did not. Anyhow theRoyal--grandpere had the life habit of it and 'twas just across thestreet. Daily they ate there; a real economy."
"But they kept the old home."
"Yes. 'Twas furnished the same but not 'run' the same. 'Twas verydifficult to keep it,
even with all three stories of the servants' wingshut up, you know?--like"--a glance indicated the De l'Isles.
"But you say Hotel Royal was soon closed."
"Yes, and then, in the worst of those days, it became the capitol.There, in the most elegant hotel for the most elegant planters of theSouth--anyhow Southwest--sat their slaves, with white men even moreabhorred, and made the laws. In that old dome, second story, they puta floor across, and there sat the Senate! Just over that auction-blockwhere grandpere had bought Mingo."
"Where was he--Mingo?"
"Dead--of drink. Grandpere was in that government! Long time he wassenator. Mr. Chester, _for that_ papa was proud of him, and I amproud."
The listener was proud of her pride. "I know," he said, "from my ownpeople, that in such an attitude--as your grandfather's--there washonor a plenty for any honorable man. Ovide tells me the negroes neverwanted negro supremacy. I wonder if that's so. They were often, hesays, madly foolish and corrupt; yet their fundamental lawmaking wasmostly good. I know the State's constitution was; it was ahead of thetimes."
Aline made a quick gesture: "And any of the old masters who agreed tothat could help lead!"
"Mademoiselle, how could they agree to it? Some did, I know, butthat's the wonder. Those that could not--who can blame them?"
"Ah! 'tis no longer a question of blame but of judgment. So papa usedto say. Anyhow grandpere agreed, accepted, led; until at the last, oneday, that White League--you've heard of them, how they armed anddrilled and rose against that reconstruction police in a battle on thesteamboat landing? Grandpere was in that. He commanded part of thereconstruction forces. And papa was there, though only thirteen.Grandpere was bayonet-wounded. They carried him away bleeding. Onlyat the State-house a surgeon met them, and there, under that dome, justas papa brought grand'mere and Sidney, he died." Mademoiselle ceased.
Chester waited, but she glanced to the other table. Monsieur had endedhis recital. Madame and the aunts chatted merrily. Smilingly theniece's eyes came back.
"Don't stop," said Chester. "What followed--for 'Maud'--Sidney--yourboy father--your little-girl aunts? Did the clock in the sky call themNorth again?"
"No." The speaker rose. "I'll tell you on the train; I hear itcoming."
XXV
"There's a train every half-hour," Chester said.
"Yes, but the day-laborer must be home early."
On the train--"Well," the youth urged, "your _grand'mere_ stayed in theold home, I hope, with the three children--and Sidney?"
"Only till she could sell it. But that was nearly three years, andthey were hard, those three. But at last, by the help of that RoyalStreet coterie--who were good friends, Mr. Chester, when friends werescarce--she sold both house and furniture--what was by that timeremaining--and bought that place where we are now living."
"Was there no life-insurance?"
"A little. We have the yearly interest on it still. 'Tis very small,yet a great help--to my aunts. I tell that only to say that papa wouldnever touch it when he and my aunts--and afterward mamma--were in verynarrow places."
Chester perceived another reason for the telling of it; the niecewanted to escape the credit of being the sole support of her aunts.She read his thought but ignored it.
"Papa was very old for his age," she continued. "You may see that byhis being in the battle with _grandpere_ at thirteen years. Andbecause of that precocity he got much training of the mind--andspirit--from _grandpere_ that usually is got much later. I think thatis what my aunts mean when they tell you papa's life was dramatic. It_was_ so, yet not in the manner they mean, the manner of _grandpere's_life; you understand?"
"You mean it was not melodramatic?"
"Ah! the word I wanted! Mr. Chester, when we get over being children,those of us who do, why do we try so hard to live without melodrama?"
"Oh, mademoiselle, you know well enough. You know that's whatmelodrama does, itself? What is it, in essence, but a struggle to riseout of itself into a higher drama, of the spirit----?"
"A divine comedy! Yes. Well, that is what my father's life seems tome."
"With tragic elements in it, of course?"
"Oh! How could it be high comedy without? But except that one battlethe tragedy was not--eh--crude, like _grandpere's_; was not physical.Once he said to me: 'There are things in life, in the refined life,very quiet things, that are much more tragic than bloodshed or death orthe defying of death.'"
"In the refined life," Chester said musingly.
"Yes! and he _was_ refined, yet never weak. 'Strength,' he said,'valor, truth, they are the foundations; better be dead than withoutthem. Yet one can have them, in crude form, and still better be dead.The noble, the humane, the chaste, the beautiful, 'tis with them webuild the superstructure, the temple, of life--Mr. Chester, if you knewFrench I could tell you that better."
"I doubt it. Go on, please, time's a-flying."
"Well, you see how tragic was that life! Papa saw it and said: 'Itshall not be tragic alone. I will build on it a comedy higher, finer,than tragedy. That's what life is for; mine, yours, the world's,' hesaid to me. Mr. Chester, you can imagine how a daughter would love afather like that, and also how mamma loved him--for years--before theycould marry."
"Your mother was a Creole, I suppose?"
"No, mamma was French. After _grand'mere_ had followed_grandpere_--above--papa, looking up some of the once employees of T.Chapdelaine & Son, to raise the old concern back to life, arranged withthem that while they should reinstitute it here he would go live inFrance, close to the producers of the finest goods possible. You see?And he did that many years with a kind of success; but smaller andsmaller, because little by little the taste for those refinements waspassing, while those department stores and all that kind of thing--youunderstand--h'm?"
The train stopped in Rampart Street, and when one aunt, with madame,and one with monsieur, had followed the junior pair out of thesnarlings and hootings of Canal Street's automobiles and to the quietsidewalks of the old quarter----
"Well?" said Chester, slowing down, and----
"Well," said Aline, "about mamma: ah, 'tis wonderful how they weresuited to each other, those two. Almost from the first of his livingthere, in France, they were acquainted and much together. She was of afine ancestry, but without fortune; everything lost in the German war,eighteen seventy. They were close neighbor to a convent very famousfor its wonderful work of the needle and of the bobbin. 'Twas thereshe received her education. And she and papa could have married anytime if he could promise to stay always there, in France. But thebusiness couldn't assure that; and so, for years and years, you see?"
"Yes, I see."
"But then, all at once, almost in a day, mamma, she found herself anorphan, with no inheritance but poor relations and they with alreadytoo many orphans in their care. For, as my aunts say, joking, thatseems to run in our family, to become orphans.
"They are very fond of joking, my aunts. And so, because to thoseFrench relations America seemed a cure for all troubles, they allowedpapa to marry mamma and bring her here to live, where I was born, andwhere they lived many, many years so happily, because so bravely----"
"And in such refinement--of spirit?"
"Ah, yes, yes. And where we are yet inhabiting, as you perceive, myaunts and me, and--as you see yonder this moment waiting us in thegate--Hector and Marie Madeleine!"
Alone with the De l'Isles in Royal Street Chester asked, "And thebusiness--Chapdelaine & Son?"
"Ah, sinz' long time liquidate'! All tha'z rim-aining is Mme.Alexandre. Mr. Chezter, y' ought to put that! That ought to go in thebook," said monsieur.
"If we could only avoid a disjointed effect."
"Dizjoin'--my dear sir! They are going to read thad book _biccause_the dizjointed--by curio-zity. You'll see! That Am-erican pewblicthey have a passion, an _insanitie_, for the dizjointed!"
XXVI
The week so blissfully begun in the
Chapdelaines' garden and at SpanishFort was near its end.
The _Courier des Etats-Unis_ had told the Royal Street coterie ofmighty doings far away in Italy, of misdoings in Galicia, and ofhorrors on the Atlantic fouler than all its deeps can ever cleanse; butnothing was yet reported to have "tranzpired" in the _vieux carre_.The fortunes of "the book" seemed becalmed.
It was Saturday evening. The streets had just been lighted. Mlles.Corinne and Yvonne, dingy even by starlight, were in one ofthem--Conti. Now they turned into Royal, and after them turned Chesterand Aline. Presently the four entered the parlor of the Castanados.Their coming made its group eleven, and all being seated Castanado rose.
After the proper compliments--"They were called," he said, "toreceive----"
"And discuss," Chester put in.
"To receive and discuss the judgment of their----"
"The suggestions," Chester amended.
"The judgment and suggestion' of their counsel, how tha'z best topublish the literary treasure they've foun' and which has egspand' fromone story to three or four. Biccause the one which was firzt acquire'is laztly turn' out to be the only one of a su'possibleincompat'--eh--in-com-pat-a-bil-ity--to the others." His bow yieldedthe floor to Chester. "Remain seated, if you please," he said.
"In spite of my wish to save this manuscript all avoidable delay,"Chester began, "I've kept it a week. I like it--much. I think that inquieter times, with the reading world in a more contemplative mood, anypublisher would be glad to print it. At the same time it seems to meto have faults of construction that ought to come out of it before itgoes to a possibly unsympathetic publisher. Yet after--was Mme.Alexandre about----?"