 | CHAPTER XIII. Home as found |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
“Nay we must longer kneel; I am a suitor.”
Queen Katherine.
The Effinghams were soon regularly domesticated,
and the usual civilities had been exchanged. Many
of their old friends resumed their ancient intercourse,
and some new acquaintances were made. The few
first visits were, as usual, rather labored and formal;
but things soon took their natural course, and as the
ease of country life was the aim of the family, the
temporary little bustle was quickly forgotten.
The dressing-room of Eve overlooked the lake, and,
about a week after her arrival, she was seated in it
enjoying that peculiarly lady like luxury, which is to be
found in the process of having another gently disposing
of the hair. Annette wielded the comb, as usual, while
Ann Sidley, who was unconsciously jealous that any
one should be employed about her darling, even in this
manner, though so long accustomed to it, busied herself
in preparing the different articles of attire that
she fancied her young mistress might be disposed to
wear that morning. Grace was also in the room, having
escaped from the hands of her own maid, in order
to look into one of those books which professed to give
an account of the extraction and families of the higher
classes of Great Britain, a copy of which Eve happened
to possess, among a large collection of books,
Almanachs de Gotha, Court Guides, and other similar
works that she had found it convenient to possess as
a traveller.
“Ah! here it is,” said Grace, in the eagerness of
one who is suddenly successful after a long and vexatious
search.
“Here is what, coz?”
Grace coloured, and she could have bitten her tongue
for its indiscretion, but, too ingenuous to deceive, she
reluctantly told the truth.
“I was merely looking for the account of Sir George
Templemore's family; it is awkward to be domesticated
with one, of whose family we are utterly ignorant.”
“Have you found the name?”
“Yes; I see he has two sisters, both of whom are
married, and a brother who is in the Guards. But—”
“But what, dear?”
“His title is not so very old.”
“The title of no Baronet can be very old, the order
having been instituted in the reign of James I.”
“I did not know that. His ancestor was created a
baronet in 1701, I see. Now, Eve—”
“Now, what, Grace?”
“We are both—” Grace would not confine the remark
to herself—“we are both of older families than
this! You have even a much higher English extraction;
and I think I can claim for the Van Cortlandts
more antiquity than one that dates from 1701!”
“No one doubts it, Grace; but what do you wish
me to understand by this? Are we to insist on preceding
Sir George, in going through a door?”
Grace blushed to the eyes, and yet she laughed,
involuntarily.
“What nonsense! No one thinks of such things in
America.”
“Except at Washington, where, I am told, `Senators'
ladies' do give themselves airs. But you are
quite right, Grace; women have no rank in America,
beyond their general social rank, as ladies or no ladies,
and we will not be the first to set an example of breaking
the rule. I am afraid our blood will pass for nothing,
and that we must give place to the baronet,
unless, indeed, he recognizes the rights of the sex.”
“You know I mean nothing so silly. Sir George
even Mr. Powis treats him, in all respects, as an equal,
and Sir George seems to admit it to be right.”
Eve's maid, at the moment, was twisting her hair,
with the intention to put it up; but the sudden manner
in which her young mistress turned to look at Grace,
caused Annette to relinquish her grasp, and the shoulders
of the beautiful and blooming girl were instantly
covered with the luxuriant tresses.
“And why should not Mr. Powis treat Sir George
Templemore as one every way his equal, Grace?” she
asked, with an impetuosity unusual in one so trained in
the forms of the world.
“Why, Eve, one is a baronet, and the other is but a
simple gentleman.”
Eve Effingham sat silent for quite a minute. Her
little foot moved, and she had been carefully taught,
too, that a lady-like manner, required that even this
beautiful portion of the female frame should be quiet
and unobtrusive. But America did not contain two
of the same sex, years, and social condition, less alike
in their opinions, or it might be said their prejudices,
than the two cousins. Grace Van Cortlandt, of the
best blood of her native land, had unconsciously imbibed
in childhood, the notions connected with hereditary
rank, through the traditions of colonial manners,
by means of novels, by hearing the vulgar reproached
or condemned for their obtrusion and ignorance, and
too often justly reproached and condemned, and by
the aid of her imagination, which contributed to throw
a gloss and brilliancy over a state of things that singularly
gains by distance. On the other hand, with
Eve, every thing connected with such subjects was a
matter of fact. She had been thrown early into the
highest associations of Europe; she had not only seen
royalty on its days of gala and representation, a mere
raree-show that is addressed to the senses, or purely an
observance of forms that may possibly have their meaning,
but she had lived long and intimately among the
high-born and great, and this, too, in so many different
countries, as to have destroyed the influence of the
particular nation that has transmitted so many of its
notions to America as heir-looms. By close observation,
she knew that arbitrary and political distinctions
made but little difference between men of themselves;
and so far from having become the dupe of the
glitter of life, by living so long within its immediate
influence, she had learned to discriminate between the
false and the real, and to perceive that which was truly
respectable and useful, and to know it from that which
was merely arbitrary and selfish. Eve actually fancied
that the position of an American gentleman might
readily become, nay that it ought to be the highest of
all human stations, short of that of sovereigns. Such
a man had no social superior, with the exception of
those who actually ruled, in her eyes, and this fact
she conceived, rendered him more than noble, as nobility
is usually graduated. She had been accustomed
to see her father and John Effingham moving in the
best circles of Europe, respected for their information
and independence, undistinguished by their manners,
admired for their personal appearance, manly, courteous,
and of noble bearing and principles, if not set
apart from the rest of mankind by an arbitrary rule
connected with rank. Rich, and possessing all the
habits that properly mark refinement, of gentle extraction,
of liberal attainments, walking abroad in the dignity
of manhood, and with none between them and the
Deity, Eve had learned to regard the gentlemen of her
race as the equals in station of any of their European
associates, and as the superiors of most, in every thing
that is essential to true distinction. With her, even
titular princes and dukes had no estimation, merely as
princes and dukes; and, as her quick mind glanced
over the long catalogue of artificial social gradations,
to the equivocal and purely conventional condition of
an English baronet, a strong sense of the ludicrous
connected itself with the idea.
“A simple gentleman, Grace!” she repeated slowly
after her cousin; “and is not a simple gentleman, a
simple American gentleman, the equal of any gentleman
on earth—of a poor baronet, in particular?”
“Poor baronet, Eve!”
“Yes, dear, poor baronet; I know fully the extent
and meaning of what I say. It is true, we do not
know as much of Mr. Powis' family,” and here Eve's
colour heightened, though she made a mighty effort to
be steady and unmoved, “as we might; but we know
he is an American; that, at least, is something; and
we see he is a gentleman; and what American gentleman,
a real American gentleman, can be the inferior
of an English baronet? Would your uncle, think you;
would cousin Jack; proud, lofty-minded cousin Jack,
think you, Grace, consent to receive so paltry a distinction
as a baronetcy, were our institutions to be so
far altered as to admit of such social classifications?”
“Why, what would they be, Eve, if not baronets?”
“Earls, Counts, Dukes, nay Princes! These are the
designations of the higher classes of Europe, and such
titles, or those that are equivalent, would belong to the
higher classes here.”
“I fancy that Sir George Templemore would not be
persuaded to admit all this!”
“If you had seen Miss Eve, surrounded and admired
by princes, as I have seen her, Miss Grace,” said Ann
Sidley, “you would not think any simple Sir George
half good enough for her.”
“Our good Nanny means, a Sir George,” interrupted
Eve, laughing, “and not the Sir George in question.
But, seriously, dearest coz, it depends more on ourselves,
and less on others, in what light they are to
regard us, than is commonly supposed. Do you not
to raise any objections beyond those that are purely
personal, would object to baronets, and the wearers
of red ribands, as unfit matches for their daughters,
on the ground of rank? What an absurdity would it
be, for a Sir George, or the Sir George either, to object
to a daughter of a President of the United States for
instance, on account of station; and yet I'll answer for
it, you would think it no personal honour, if Mr. Jackson
had a son, that he should propose to my dear father
for you. Let us respect ourselves properly, take care
to be truly ladies and gentlemen, and so far from titular
rank's being necessary to us, before a hundred lustres
are past, we shall bring all such distinctions into
discredit, by showing that they are not necessary to
any one important interest, or to true happiness and
respectability any where.”
“And do you not believe, Eve, that Sir George
Templemore thinks of the difference in station between
us?”
“I cannot answer for that,” said Eve, calmly.
“The man is naturally modest; and, it is possible,
when he sees that we belong to the highest social condition
of a great country, he may regret that such has
not been his own good fortune in his native land; especially,
Grace, since he has known you.”
Grace blushed, looked pleased, delighted even, and
yet surprised. It is unnecessary to explain the causes
of the three first expressions of her emotions; but the
last may require a short examination. Nothing but time
and a change of circumstances, can ever raise a province
or a provincial town to the independent state of
feeling that so strikingly distinguishes a metropolitan
country, or a capital. It would be as rational to expect
that the inhabitants of the nursery should disregard
the opinions of the drawing-room, as to believe
that the provincial should do all his own thinking. Political
dependency, moreover, is much more easily
therefore, that Grace Van Cortlandt, with her
narrow associations, general notions of life, origin, and
provincial habits, should be the very opposite of Eve,
in all that relates to independence of thought, on subjects
like those that they were now discussing. Had
Grace been a native of New England, even, she would
have been less influenced by the mere social rank of
the baronet than was actually the case; for, while the
population of that part of the Union feel more of the
general subserviency to Great Britain than the population
of any other portion of the republic, they probably
feel less of it, in this particular form, from the circumstance
that their colonial habits were less connected
with the aristocratical usages of the mother country.
Grace was allied by blood, too, with the higher classes
of England, as, indeed, was the fact with most of the
old families among the New York gentry; and the
traditions of her race came in aid of the traditions of
her colony, to continue the profound deference she
felt for an English title. Eve might have been equally
subjected to the same feelings, had she not been removed
into another sphere at so early a period of life,
where she imbibed the notions already mentioned—
notions that were quite as effectually rooted in her
moral system, as those of Grace herself could be in
her own.
“This is a strange way of viewing the rank of a
baronet, Eve!” Grace exclaimed, as soon as she had
a little recovered from the confusion caused by the
personal allusion. “I greatly question if you can induce
Sir George Templemore to see his own position with
your eyes.”
“No, my dear; I think he will be much more likely
to regard, not only that, but most other things, with
the eyes of another person. We will now talk of
more agreeable things, however; for I confess, when
I do dwell on titles, I have a taste for the more
scarce excite a feeling that such is the theme.”
“Nay, Eve,” interrupted Grace, with spirit, “an
English baronet is noble. Sir George Templemore
assured me that, as lately as last evening. The heralds,
I believe, have quite recently established that fact to
their own satisfaction.”
“I am glad of it, dear,” returned Eve, with difficulty
refraining from gaping, “as it will be of great
importance to them, in their own eyes. At all events,
I concede that Sir George Templemore, knight or
baronet, big baron or little baron, is a noble fellow;
and what more can any reasonable person desire. Do
you know, sweet coz, that the Wigwam will be full to
overflowing next week?—that it will be necessary to
light our council-fire, and to smoke the pipe of many
welcomes?”
“I have understood Mr. Powis, that his kinsman,
Captain Ducie, will arrive on Monday.”
“And Mrs. Hawker will come on Tuesday, Mr. and
Mrs. Bloomfield on Wednesday, and honest, brave,
straight-forward, literati-hating Captain Truck, on
Thursday, at the latest. We shall be a large countrycircle,
and I hear the gentlemen talking of the boats,
and other amusements. But I believe my father has a
consultation in the library, at which he wishes us to
be present; we will join him, if you please.”
As Eve's toilette was now completed, the two ladies
rose, and descended together to join the party below.
Mr. Effingham was standing at a table that was covered
with maps, while two or three respectable-looking
men, master-mechanics, were at his side. The
manners of these men were quiet, civil, and respectful,
having a mixture of manly simplicity, with a proper
deference for the years and station of the master of
the house; though all but one, wore their hats. The
one who formed the exception, had become refined by
a long intercourse with this particular family; and his
as well as for decency, rendered it necessary to observe
the long-established rules of decorum, in his intercourse
with others. His companions, though without
a particle of coarseness, or any rudeness of intention,
were less decorous, simply from a loose habit, that is
insensibly taking the place of the ancient laws of propriety
in such matters, and which habit, it is to be
feared, has a part of its origin in false and impracticable
political notions, that have been stimulated by the
arts of demagogues. Still, not one of the three hard-working,
really civil, and even humane men, who
now stood covered in the library of Mr. Effingham,
was probably conscious of the impropriety of which he
was guilty, or was doing more than insensibly yielding
to a vicious and vulgar practice.
“I am glad you have come, my love,” said Mr. Effingham,
as his daughter entered the room, “for I find
I need support in maintaining my own opinions here.
John is obstinately silent; and, as for all these other
gentlemen, I fear they have decidedly taken sides
against me.”
“You can usually count on my support, dearest
father, feeble as it may be. But what is the disputed
point to-day?”
“There is a proposition to alter the interior of the
church, and our neighbour Gouge has brought the
plans, on which, as he says, he has lately altered several
churches in the county. The idea is, to remove
the pews entirely, converting them into what are called
`slips,' to lower the pulpit, and to raise the floor, amphitheatre
fashion.”
“Can there be a sufficient reason for this change?”
demanded Eve, with surprise. “Slips! The word has
a vulgar sound even, and savours of a useless innovation.
I doubt its orthodoxy.”
“It is very popular, Miss Eve,” answered Aristabulus,
advancing from a window, where he had been
and is getting to prevail in all denominations.”
Eve turned involuntarily, and to her surprise she
perceived that the editor of the Active Inquirer was
added to their party. The salutations, on the part of
the young lady, were distant and stately, while Mr.
Dodge, who had not been able to resist public opinion,
and had actually parted with his moustachios, simpered,
and wished to have it understood by the spectators,
that he was on familiar terms with all the
family.
“It may be popular, Mr. Bragg,” returned Eve, as
soon as she rose from her profound curtsey to Mr.
Dodge; “but it can scarcely be said to be seemly.
This is, indeed, changing the order of things, by elevating
the sinner, and depressing the saint.”
“You forget, Miss Eve, that under the old plan, the
people could not see; they were kept unnaturally
down, if one can so express it, while nobody had a
good look-out but the parson and the singers in the
front row of the gallery. This was unjust.”
“I do not conceive, sir, that a good look-out, as
you term it, is at all essential to devotion, or that one
cannot as well listen to instruction when beneath the
teacher, as when above him.”
“Pardon me, Miss;” Eve recoiled, as she always
did, when Mr. Bragg used this vulgar and contemptuous
mode of address; “we put no body up or down;
all we aim it is a just equality—to place all, as near
as possible, on a level.”
Eve gazed about her in wonder; and then she
hesitated a moment, as if distrusting her ears.
“Equality! Equality with what? Surely not
with the ordained ministers of the church, in the performance
of their sacred duties! Surely not with
the Deity!”
“We do not look at it exactly in this light, ma'am.
The people build the church, that you will allow,
Both the parties appealed to, bowed a simple assent
to so plain a proposition, but neither spoke.
“Well, the people building the church very naturally
ask themselves for what purpose it was built?”
“For the worship of God,” returned Eve with a
steady solemnity of manner that a little abashed even
the ordinarily indomitable and self-composed Aristabulus.
“Yes, Miss; for the worship of God and the accommodation
of the public.”
“Certainly,” added Mr. Dodge; “for the public accommodation
and for public worship;” laying due emphasis
on the adjectives.
“Father, you, at least, will never consent to this?”
“Not readily, my love. I confess it shocks all my
notions of propriety to see the sinner, even when he
professes to be the most humble and penitent, thrust
himself up ostentatiously, as if filled only with his own
self-love and self-importance.”
“You will allow, Mr. Effingham,” rejoined Aristabulus,
“that churches are built to accommodate the
public, as Mr. Dodge has so well remarked.”
“No, sir; they are built for the worship of God,
as my daughter has so well remarked.”
“Yes, sir; that, too, I grant you—”
“As secondary to the main object—the public convenience,
Mr. Bragg unquestionably means;” put in
John Effingham, speaking for the first time that morning
on the subject.
Eve turned quickly, and looked towards her kinsman.
He was standing near the table, with folded
arms, and his fine face expressing all the sarcasm and
contempt that a countenance so singularly calm and
gentlemanlike, could betray.
“Cousin Jack,” she said earnestly, “this ought not
to be.”
“Cousin Eve, nevertheless this will be.”
“Surely not—surely not! Men can never so far
forget appearances as to convert the temple of God
into a theatre, in which the convenience of the spectators
is the one great object to be kept in view!”
“You have travelled, sir,” said John Effingham, indicating
by his eye that he addressed Mr. Dodge, in
particular, “and must have entered places of worship
in other parts of the world. Did not the simple
beauty of the manner in which all classes, the great
and the humble, the rich and the poor, kneel in a
common humility before the altar, strike you agreeably,
on such occasions; in Catholic countries, in particular?”
“Bless me! no, Mr. John Effingham. I was disgusted
at the meanness of their rites, and really
shocked at the abject manner in which the people
knelt on the cold damp stones, as if they were no better
than beggars.”
“And were they not beggars?” asked Eve, with
almost a severity of tone: “ought they not so to consider
themselves, when petitioning for mercy of the
one great and omnipotent God?”
“Why, Miss Effingham, the people will rule; and
it is useless to pretend to tell them that they shall not
have the highest seats in the church as well as in the
state. Really, I can see no ground why a parson
should be raised above his parishioners. The new-order
churches consult the public convenience, and
place every body on a level, as it might be. Now,
in old times, a family was buried in its pew; it could
neither see nor be seen; and I can remember the
time when I could just get a look of our clergyman's
wig, for he was an old-school man; and as for his
fellow-creatures, one might as well be praying in his
own closet. I must say I am a supporter of liberty,
if it be only in pews.”
“I am sorry, Mr. Dodge,” answered Eve, mildly,
of the Mussulmans, where most Christian sects might
get some useful notions concerning the part of worship,
at least, that is connected with appearances.
There you would have seen no seats, but sinners
bowing down in a mass, on the cold stones, and all
thoughts of cushioned pews and drawing-room conveniences
unknown. We Protestants have improved
on our Catholic forefathers in this respect; and the
innovation of which you now speak, in my eyes is an
irreverent, almost a sinful, invasion of the proprieties
of the temple.”
“Ah, Miss Eve, this comes from substituting forms
for the substance of things,” exclaimed the editor.
“For my part, I can say, I was truly shocked with
the extravagancies I witnessed, in the way of worship,
in most of the countries I visited. Would you
think it, Mr. Bragg, rational beings, real bonâ fide living
men and women, kneeling on the stone pavement,
like so many camels in the Desert,” Mr. Dodge loved
to draw his images from the different parts of the world
he had seen, “ready to receive the burthens of their
masters; not a pew, not a cushion, not a single comfort
that is suitable to a free and intelligent being, but
every thing conducted in the most abject manner, as
if accountable human souls were no better than so
many mutes in a Turkish palace.”
“You ought to mention this in the Active Inquirer,”
said Aristabulus.
“All in good time, sir; I have many things in reserve,
among which I propose to give a few remarks,
I dare say they will be very worthless ones, on the
impropriety of a rational being's ever kneeling. To my
notion, gentlemen and ladies, God never intended an
American to kneel.”
The respectable mechanics who stood around the
table did not absolutely assent to this proposition, for
one of them actually remarked that “he saw no great
inclined to the opinion that the new-school of
pews was far better than the old.
“It always appears to me, Miss Effingham,” said one,
“that I hear and understand the sermon better in one
of the low pews, than in one of the old high-backed
things, that look so much like pounds.”
“But can you withdraw into yourself better, sir?
Can you more truly devote all your thoughts, with a
suitable singleness of heart, to the worship of God?”
“You mean in the prayers, now, I rather conclude?”
“Certainly, sir, I mean in the prayers and the
thanksgivings.”
“Why, we leave them pretty much to the parson;
though I will own it is not quite as easy leaning on
the edge of one of the new-school pews as on one of
the old. They are better for sitting, but not so good
for standing. But then the sitting posture at prayers
is quite coming into favour among our people, Miss
Effingham, as well as among yours. The sermon is
the main chance, after all.”
“Yes,” observed Mr. Gouge, “give me good,
strong preaching, any day, in preference to good
praying. A man may get along with second-rate
prayers, but he stands in need of first-rate preaching.”
“These gentlemen consider religion a little like a
cordial on a cold day,” observed John Effingham,
“which is to be taken in sufficient doses to make the
blood circulate. They are not the men to be pounded
in pews, like lost sheep, not they?”
“Mr. John will always have his say;” one remarked:
and then Mr. Effingham dismissed the party,
by telling them he would think of the matter.
When the mechanics were gone, the subject was
discussed at some length between those that remained—all
the Effinghams agreeing that they would oppose
unsuited to the retirement and self-abasement that best
comported with prayer, and opposed to the delicacy
of their own habits; while Messrs. Bragg and Dodge
contended to the last that such changes were loudly
called for by the popular sentiment—that it was unsuited
to the dignity of a man to be `pounded,' even
in a church—and virtually, that a good, `stirring'
sermon, as they called it, was of far more account,
in public worship, than all the prayers and praises
that could issue from the heart or throat.
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