CHAPTER XXIV
FROWENFELD MAKES AN ARGUMENT
On the afternoon of the same day on which Frowenfeld visited the houseof the philosophe, the weather, which had been so unfavorable to hislate plans, changed; the rain ceased, the wind drew around to the south,and the barometer promised a clear sky. Wherefore he decided to leavehis business, when he should have made his evening weather notes, to thecare of M. Raoul Innerarity, and venture to test both MademoiselleClotilde's repellent attitude and Aurora's seeming cordiality at Number19 rue Bienville.
Why he should go was a question which the apothecary felt himself butpartially prepared to answer. What necessity called him, what good wasto be effected, what was to happen next, were points he would have likedto be clear upon. That he should be going merely because he was invitedto come--merely for the pleasure of breathing their atmosphere--that heshould be supinely gravitating toward them--this conclusion hepositively could not allow; no, no; the love of books and the fear ofwomen alike protested.
True, they were a part of that book which is pronounced "the properstudy of mankind,"--indeed, that was probably the reason which hesought: he was going to contemplate them as a frontispiece to thatunwriteable volume which he had undertaken to con. Also, there was acharitable motive. Doctor Keene, months before, had expressed a deepconcern regarding their lack of protection and even of daily provision;he must quietly look into that. Would some unforeseen circumstance shuthim off this evening again from this very proper use of time andopportunity?
As he was sitting at the table in his back room, registering his sunsetobservations, and wondering what would become of him if Aurora should beout and that other in, he was startled by a loud, deep voice exclaiming,close behind him:
"_Eh, bien! Monsieur le Professeur!_"
Frowenfeld knew by the tone, before he looked behind him, that he wouldfind M. Agricola Fusilier very red in the face; and when he looked, theonly qualification he could make was that the citizen's countenance wasnot so ruddy as the red handkerchief in which his arm was hanging.
"What have you there?" slowly continued the patriarch, taking his freehand off his fettered arm and laying it upon the page as Frowenfeldhurriedly rose, and endeavored to shut the book.
"Some private memoranda," answered the meteorologist, managing to getone page turned backward, reddening with confusion and indignation, andnoticing that Agricola's spectacles were upside down.
"Private! Eh? No such thing, sir! Professor Frowenfeld, allow me" (aclassic oath) "to say to your face, sir, that you are the most brilliantand the most valuable man--of your years--in afflicted Louisiana! Ha!"(reading:) "'Morning observation; Cathedral clock, 7 A.M. Thermometer 70degrees.' Ha! 'Hygrometer l5'--but this is not to-day's weather? Ah! no.Ha! 'Barometer 30.380.' Ha! 'Sky cloudy, dark; wind, south, light.' Ha!'River rising.' Ha! Professor Frowenfeld, when will you give yoursplendid services to your section? You must tell me, my son, for I askyou, my son, not from curiosity, but out of impatient interest."
"I cannot say that I shall ever publish my tables," replied the "son,"pulling at the book.
"Then, sir, in the name of Louisiana," thundered the old man, clingingto the book, "I can! They shall be published! Ah! yes, dear Frowenfeld.The book, of course, will be in French, eh? You would not so affront themost sacred prejudices of the noble people to whom you owe everything asto publish it in English? You--ah! have we torn it?"
"I do not write French," said the apothecary, laying the torn edgestogether.
"Professor Frowenfeld, men are born for each other. What do I beholdbefore me? I behold before me, in the person of my gifted young friend,a supplement to myself! Why has Nature strengthened the soul of Agricolato hold the crumbling fortress of this body until these eyes--which wereonce, my dear boy, as proud and piercing as the battle-steed's--havebecome dim?"
Joseph's insurmountable respect for gray hairs kept him standing, buthe did not respond with any conjecture as to Nature's intentions, andthere was a stern silence.
The crumbling fortress resumed, his voice pitched low like the beginningof the long roll. He knew Nature's design.
"It was in order that you, Professor Frowenfeld, might become my vicar!Your book shall be in French! We must give it a wide scope! It shallcontain valuable geographical, topographical, biographical, andhistorical notes. It shall contain complete lists of all the officialsin the province (I don't say territory, I say province) with theirsalaries and perquisites; ah! we will expose that! And--ha! I will writesome political essays for it. Raoul shall illustrate it. Honore shallgive you money to publish it. Ah! Professor Frowenfeld, the star of yourfame is rising out of the waves of oblivion! Come--I dropped inpurposely to ask you--come across the street and take a glass of_taffia_ with Agricola Fusilier."
This crowning honor the apothecary was insane enough to decline, andAgricola went away with many professions of endearment, but secretlyoffended because Joseph had not asked about his wound.
All the same the apothecary, without loss of time, departed for theyellow-washed cottage, Number 19 rue Bienville.
"To-morrow, at four P.M.," he said to himself, "if the weather isfavorable, I ride with M. Grandissime."
He almost saw his books and instruments look up at him reproachfully.
The ladies were at home. Aurora herself opened the door, and Clotildecame forward from the bright fireplace with a cordiality never before sounqualified. There was something about these ladies--in their simple,but noble grace, in their half-Gallic, half-classic beauty, in a jocundbuoyancy mated to an amiable dignity--that made them appear to thescholar as though they had just bounded into life from the garlandedprocession of some old fresco. The resemblance was not a little helpedon by the costume of the late Revolution (most acceptably chastened andbelated by the distance from Paris). Their black hair, somewhat heavieron Clotilde's head, where it rippled once or twice, was knotted _enGrecque_, and adorned only with the spoils of a nosegay given toClotilde by a chivalric small boy in the home of her music scholar.
"We was expectin' you since several days," said Clotilde, as the threesat down before the fire, Frowenfeld in a cushioned chair whosemoth-holes had been carefully darned.
Frowenfeld intimated, with tolerable composure, that matters beyond hiscontrol had delayed his coming, beyond his intention.
"You gedd'n' ridge," said Aurora, dropping her wrists across each other.
Frowenfeld, for once, laughed outright, and it seemed so odd in him todo so that both the ladies followed his example. The ambition to be richhad never entered his thought, although in an unemotional, German way,he was prospering in a little city where wealth was daily pouring in,and a man had only to keep step, so to say, to march into possessions.
"You hought to 'ave a mo' larger sto' an' some clerque," pursued Aurora.
The apothecary answered that he was contemplating the enlargement of hispresent place or removal to a roomier, and that he had already employedan assistant.
"Oo it is, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?"
Clotilde turned toward the questioner a remonstrative glance.
"His name," replied Frowenfeld, betraying a slight embarrassment,"is--Innerarity; Mr. Raoul Innerarity; he is--"
"Ee pain' dad pigtu' w'at 'angin' in yo' window?"
Clotilde's remonstrance rose to a slight movement and a murmur.
Frowenfeld answered in the affirmative, and possibly betrayed the faintshadow of a smile. The response was a peal of laughter from both ladies.
"He is an excellent drug clerk," said Frowenfeld defensively.
Whereat Aurora laughed again, leaning over and touching Clotilde's kneewith one finger.
"An' excellen' drug cl'--ha, ha, ha! oh!"
"You muz podden uz, M'sieu' Frowenfel'," said Clotilde, with forcedgravity.
Aurora sighed her participation in the apology; and, a few momentslater, the apothecary and both ladies (the one as fond of the abstractas the other two were ignorant of the concrete) were engaged in ananimated, running dis
cussion on art, society, climate, education,--allthose large, secondary _desiderata_ which seem of first importance toyoung ambition and secluded beauty, flying to and fro among thesesubjects with all the liveliness and uncertainty of a game ofpussy-wants-a-corner.
Frowenfeld had never before spent such an hour. At its expiration, hehad so well held his own against both the others, that the three hadsettled down to this sort of entertainment: Aurora would make anassertion, or Clotilde would ask a question; and Frowenfeld, moved bythat frankness and ardent zeal for truth which had enlisted the earlyfriendship of Dr. Keene, amused and attracted Honore Grandissime, wonthe confidence of the f.m.c., and tamed the fiery distrust and enmity ofPalmyre, would present his opinions without the thought of a reservationeither in himself or his hearers. On their part, they would sit in deepattention, shielding their faces from the fire, and responding toenunciations directly contrary to their convictions with an occasional"yes-seh," or "ceddenly," or "of coze," or,--prettier affirmationstill,--a solemn drooping of the eyelids, a slight compression of thelips, and a low, slow declination of the head.
"The bane of all Creole art-effort"--(we take up the apothecary's wordsat a point where Clotilde was leaning forward and slightly frowning inan honest attempt to comprehend his condensed English)--"the bane of allCreole art-effort, so far as I have seen it, is amateurism."
"Amateu--" murmured Clotilde, a little beclouded on the main word anddistracted by a French difference of meaning, but planting an elbow onone knee in the genuineness of her attention, and responding with a bow.
"That is to say," said Frowenfeld, apologizing for the homeliness of hisfurther explanation by a smile, "a kind of ambitious indolence that laysvery large eggs, but can neither see the necessity for building a nestbeforehand, nor command the patience to hatch the eggs afterward."
"Of coze," said Aurora.
"It is a great pity," said the sermonizer, looking at the face ofClotilde, elongated in the brass andiron; and, after a pause: "Nothingon earth can take the place of hard and patient labor. But that, in thiscommunity, is not esteemed; most sorts of it are contemned; the humblersorts are despised, and the higher are regarded with mingled patronageand commiseration. Most of those who come to my shop with their effortsat art hasten to explain, either that they are merely seeking pastime,or else that they are driven to their course by want; and if I advisethem to take their work back and finish it, they take it back and neverreturn. Industry is not only despised, but has been degraded anddisgraced, handed over into the hands of African savages."
"Doze Creole' is _lezzy_," said Aurora.
"That is a hard word to apply to those who do not _consciously_ deserveit," said Frowenfeld; "but if they could only wake up to the fact,--findit out themselves--"
"Ceddenly," said Clotilde.
"'Sieur Frowenfel'," said Aurora, leaning her head on one side, "somepipple thing it is doze climade; 'ow you lag doze climade?"
"I do not suppose," replied the visitor, "there is a more delightfulclimate in the world."
"Ah-h-h!"--both ladies at once, in a low, gracious tone ofacknowledgment.
"I thing Louisiana is a paradize-me!" said Aurora. "W'ere you goin' fin'sudge a h-air?" She respired a sample of it. "W'ere you goin' fin' sudgea so ridge groun'? De weed' in my bag yard is twenny-five feet 'igh!"
"Ah! maman!"
"Twenty-six!" said Aurora, correcting herself. "W'ere you fin' sudge areever lag dad Mississippi? _On dit_," she said, turning to Clotilde,"_que ses eaux ont la propriete de contribuer meme a multiplier l'especehumaine_--ha, ha, ha!"
Clotilde turned away an unmoved countenance to hear Frowenfeld.
Frowenfeld had contracted a habit of falling into meditation wheneverthe French language left him out of the conversation.
"Yes," he said, breaking a contemplative pause, "the climate is _too_comfortable and the soil too rich,--though I do not think it is entirelyon their account that the people who enjoy them are so sadly in arrearsto the civilized world." He blushed with the fear that his talk wasbookish, and felt grateful to Clotilde for seeming to understandhis speech.
"W'ad you fin' de rizzon is, 'Sieur Frowenfel'?" she asked.
"I do not wish to philosophize," he answered.
"_Mais_, go hon." "_Mais_, go ahade," said both ladies, settlingthemselves.
"It is largely owing," exclaimed Frowenfeld, with sudden fervor, "to adefective organization of society, which keeps this community, and willcontinue to keep it for an indefinite time to come, entirely unpreparedand disinclined to follow the course of modern thought."
"Of coze," murmured Aurora, who had lost her bearings almost at thefirst word.
"One great general subject of thought now is human rights,--universalhuman rights. The entire literature of the world is becoming tincturedwith contradictions of the dogmas upon which society in this section isbuilt. Human rights is, of all subjects, the one upon which thiscommunity is most violently determined to hear no discussion. It haspronounced that slavery and caste are right, and sealed up the wholesubject. What, then, will they do with the world's literature? They willcoldly decline to look at it, and will become, more and more as theworld moves on, a comparatively illiterate people."
"Bud, 'Sieur Frowenfel'," said Clotilde, as Frowenfeld paused--Aurorawas stunned to silence,--"de Unitee State' goin' pud doze nigga'free, aind it?"
Frowenfeld pushed his hair hard back. He was in the stream now, andmight as well go through.
"I have heard that charge made, even by some Americans. I do not know.But there is a slavery that no legislation can abolish,--the slavery ofcaste. That, like all the slaveries on earth, is a double bondage. Andwhat a bondage it is which compels a community, in order to preserve itsestablished tyrannies, to walk behind the rest of the intelligent world!What a bondage is that which incites a people to adopt a system ofsocial and civil distinctions, possessing all the enormities and none ofthe advantages of those systems which Europe is learning to despise!This system, moreover, is only kept up by a flourish of weapons. We havehere what you may call an armed aristocracy. The class over which theseinstruments of main force are held is chosen for its servility,ignorance, and cowardice; hence, indolence in the ruling class. When aman's social or civil standing is not dependent on his knowing how toread, he is not likely to become a scholar."
"Of coze," said Aurora, with a pensive respiration, "I thing id is dozeclimade," and the apothecary stopped, as a man should who finds himselfunloading large philosophy in a little parlor.
"I thing, me, dey hought to pud doze quadroon' free?" It was Clotildewho spoke, ending with the rising inflection to indicate the tentativecharacter of this daringly premature declaration.
Frowenfeld did not answer hastily.
"The quadroons," said he, "want a great deal more than mere free paperscan secure them. Emancipation before the law, though it may be a rightwhich man has no right to withhold, is to them little more than amockery until they achieve emancipation in the minds and good will ofthe people--'the people,' did I say? I mean the ruling class." Hestopped again. One must inevitably feel a little silly, setting uptenpins for ladies who are too polite, even if able, to bowl them down.
Aurora and the visitor began to speak simultaneously; both apologized,and Aurora said:
"'Sieur Frowenfel', w'en I was a lill girl,"--and Frowenfeld knew thathe was going to hear the story of Palmyre. Clotilde moved, with theobvious intention to mend the fire. Aurora asked, in French, why she didnot call the cook to do it, and Frowenfeld said, "Let me,"--threw onsome wood, and took a seat nearer Clotilde. Aurora had the floor.