University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
A GRAND PARTY AT MR. WINKLE'S CHATEAU.

During the passage to Babbleton, Mr. Tom Snobson entertained
Winkle and Parke with narrations of his innumerable
adventures with the belles at the different watering-places, all
of which he had visited within the last six weeks. His career
had been an unbroken triumph. He had been cordially welcomed
by the keepers of the hotels, and had received only
smiles from the ladies. His father was excessively rich, and
every body knew it. But of all the young ladies it had ever
been his good fortune to admire, the unknown beauty whom
he had traced to Babbleton seemed to have made the deepest
impression on his susceptible heart. He declared upon his
honor, that he dreamt of her incessantly, and really felt that
he might be capable of loving her dearly, and only her—provided
she came of a good family. He did not deem it necessary
to reflect that his own father had served an apprenticeship
in a counting-room, since he was now a universally acknowledged
aristocrat.

George Parke's curiosity became excited to behold the paragon
of Babbleton, whose charms Snobson delighted so much
to portray; and Walter, assuming a dubious gravity, as if
not quite sure he had ever seen the unparalleled creature, and
knowing perfectly well that Parke had never met with Lucy,
meditated only the means of realizing the greatest possible
amount of sport from the discovery. He assured them, therefore,
that if it had not been his good fortune hitherto, to know
so lovely an inhabitant of the village, there would be no difficulty

in procuring an introduction, and then his friends, and
especially the enamored Snobson, should enjoy the delight of
an immediate presentation.

Arrived at the village inn, Walter contrived under some
pretence or other to separate himself for a short time from
his companions, and hastened to his mother's house to learn
the exact condition of affairs. From the manner in which his
aunt had spoken in condemnation of the alliance, it might be
a matter of doubt whether his mother and sister, or either of
them, had accompanied the bride to his uncle's mansion after
the celebration of the nuptials at the altar. Lucy's letter
had informed him of her intention to witness the ceremony;
but nothing further in regard to her subsequent purposes.

Walter's mother, however, related every thing that had
transpired. The church had been thronged by spectators,
whom Gusset had invited thither to witness her triumph.
And it appeared that such a consummation of her ambitious
projects had not been unforeseen; for she was decked in the
usual habiliments of matrimony, and seemed to attract the admiration
of many of her neighbors, who had not been accustomed
to regard the retired milliner as worthy of any special
attention. But Mrs. Winkle declared that the bride appreciated
the importance of her position. She was not embarrassed.
There were no symptoms of delicate timidity in her
carriage or speech. On the contrary, the expressions of her
countenance were rather indicative of imperious feeling, and
a proud consciousness of the elevated station she was henceforth
to assume, as the spouse of the wealthiest man in the
country. On the other hand, her lord manifested indications
of awe and terror in the novelty of his situation. As if he
had utterly surrendered his independence in becoming a wedded
man, he yielded an unhesitating obedience to whatever
was signified as her will. He seemed, indeed, to have no will
of his own, but to obey. And she, that her sway might not
be diminished for the want of exercise, taxed her ingenuity
to devise demands, that her power might be exhibited to the
public.

Although the groom, attended by his neighbors, had
arrived on horseback, the bride was not satisfied to accompany
her lord to his home in the same unostentatious manner.
The old heavy coach had to be sent for. It was drawn
by four horses, and driven by a servant in livery. She mounted

the steps with the air of a princess, amidst the gazes of
admiring friends, and the envy of many ancient maidens who
witnessed with dismay her sudden exaltation. The equipage
halted at the widow's door, and Lucy was required to occupy
a seat beside her “new-made aunt,” as the lady herself
expressed it within the hearing of the widow. That was the
substance of the information Walter obtained from his mother.
But he learned a very large party would be assembled at
the chateau that evening, and thither he lost no time in
conducting his companions.

They proceeded on foot, as the distance was not great, and
arrived in front of the mansion just after the hall had been
illuminated.

“Now, boys,” said Walter, “from what I could learn in
the village, the beauty we are in quest of must be among
my uncle's—no, my aunt's—guests. But since it seems
probable that I would have known the lady, and doubtless
have been captivated by her irresistible charms, if there
were not some impediment in the way, I think we should
proceed with circumspection, until certain suspicions which
have arisen in my mind are dispelled. She may be, possibly,
the daughter of an honest shoemaker—”

“No!” cried Snobson, “that would be a d—l of a
joke! and I almost in love with her!”

“Or,” continued Walter, “some milliner's apprentice;
and, as my `new-made aunt,' was once a milliner herself—”

“That is the reason she was invited,” said Parke. “But
if she is as beautiful as Tom says, I want a chat with her, no
matter who she is.”

“Of course,” responded Walter. “But then, let me urge
you not to cast too many curious looks at her if she chances
to appear before us unexpectedly, and should equal or surpass
Tom's description. And above all, do not for the world ask
any one who she is, or what is her name. It might cause you
to be sneered at by some of the ton. Leave every thing to
me. I will find a proper time and opportunity to introduce
you.”

They entered the hall just when the last word was uttered;
and Walter, under the pretext of seeking information where
his uncle and aunt were to be found, left his companions for
a few moments to themselves, promising to return immediately

and conduct them into the presence of the lord and lady of
the palace.

When Walter passed out of the great hall, the first person
he met was Lucy, who, in high spirits threw her arms round
his neck before he had recognized her.

“O ho,” cried he, “suppose it had been Snobson or
Parke.”

“Who are they?” demanded Lucy.

Walter told her, and she instantly promised to co-operate
with him in his innocent project for their mutual diversion.
It was arranged that they should all sit on the same side of
the table at dinner, so that Lucy's identification by Snobson
might be delayed. She might, in the meantime, however,
for the especial gratification of her own curiosity, and for the
purpose of knowing the gentleman, once flit across their vision
as they stood in the hall, and while Walter sought his uncle
and aunt in the next room, and obtained permission to present
his friends.

This was speedily accomplished; and when Walter re-entered
the hall to conduct the young gentlemen into the
presence of the married couple, he found them transported
with the lingering effects of the bright vision which had been
vouchsafed them. “Was she the beauty you saw on the boat
and followed into — street?” asked Walter.

“Yes,” cried Snobson, “only more angelic than ever. I
hope she is no mechanic's daughter, no milliner's apprentice.
I care not how poor she may be—my father is rich enough—
I will marry her. George, recollect, I am in love, honorably
in love! And you, Winkle, I warn you to keep your eyes off
—she was discovered by me, and should be mine.”

“Warning me against gazing at one whom I don't know!
You need not fear. All I apprehend is that she will turn out
one of the nobodies you despise so much. But, come; it is
the hour for dinner, and you must be presented.”

Walter led them into the presence of the host and hostess,
where they were very cordially received.

“Taken at last, uncle? I hope you will be happy in your
captivity,” said Walter.

“Not taken, sir—no capitulation, sir—but a convention—
an alliance—with secret stipulations. In the domestic department
my ally will rule, whilst I direct the military and
diplomatic affairs.”

“I forget, Mr. Winkle,” said his imperious spouse—for
she seemed to become more haughty at every new development
of her newly acquired power and importance—“whether or
not the secret stipulations were to be divulged by either of us.”

“Oh, I beg pardon, my dear Gusset.”

“Recollect!” cried she, in his ear, “you were never to mention
that name again.”

“True—true. You must not hesitate to remind me of
any neglect of duties, Mrs. Winkle, or infraction of the treaty.
But as for secret stipulations—”

Here dinner was announced, and the emperor's speech
was cut short. He conducted his spouse in advance of the
company, and a chair was reserved near them at the table for
Lucy, who, in pursuance of the plan agreed upon, remained
in concealment until all the guests were seated.

But that his companions might not be idle, Walter introduced
them to a great many of his acquaintances, and among
the rest, to the sisters Bell and Blanche Arum, rich and
fashionable daughters of a retired patent pill manufacturer,
which was quite a different personage from the manufacturer
of shoes; to the sisters Susan and Sally Crudle, whose father
was still more wealthy than the haughty Arum; but then he
made his fortune by the manufacture of beer. Arum had long
since sunk the shop, while Crudle could not be prevailed on
to relinquish his business. Therefore his name was still over
the door of the shop in the city; and while it remained there,
Mrs. C. opposed every attempt of her daughters to prevail on
their coachman to wear a broad band on his hat and extra
bright buttons on his coat. Crudle listened very patiently to
every argument advanced, both by his wife and daughters, in
favor of an entire relinquishment of business: the demonstrations
of a sufficiency of wealth to produce an ample income
at simple interest; the delights of leisure: the advantages of
dignified retirement, and the better opportunity of effecting
advantageous alliances, etc. To all such protestations and
pleadings, Mr. Crudle would reply, by casting a check for
$1000 into the midst of his family, for the purchase of new
articles of furniture, jewels, etc, and alleging that quadruple
that amount had been realized from his business since the last
discussion of the subject, and that if he had taken their advice,
he would have been a poorer man by so many thousands.

Lucy had glided into the saloon, and quietly taken possession

of the chair which had been reserved for her; the clatter
of knives and forks having overwhelmed all other sounds.
The young gentlemen had sipped their wine with the bride,
with their eyes glancing from the Arums to the Crudles, who
sent back flashes of equal intensity; and all the time Lucy
sat demurely at the side of her protuberant uncle, slyly exchanging
signals with her brother, who was nearly opposite his
companions, and occasionally obtaining a stealthy view of Snobson
and Parke who were incessantly addressed by the Crudles
and Arums across the table.

Nor was it long before the enterprising daughters of the
rich men learned that Tom Snobson was the son of the great
banker Snobson, whose position in society was fixed, and whose
name had been in the newspapers. Nor was it less interesting
to ascertain—which they did—that young Parke was a student
at Princeton College, destined to the legal profession,
and a scion of one of the great southern families, who possessed
their hundreds of slaves. True, slavery in the abstract
was condemned—but in the hymenial concrete, it might not be
an irreconcilable evil. Hence, a battery was unmasked against
both young gentlemen, from the flashing eyes of the daughters
of the pill and beer nabobs.

Far away at the opposite end of the table sat Ralph Roland,
never gazing towards Lucy but between his fingers, and
unperceived by her. Edmund Lowe, pale, thoughtful and
abstemious, was not so far removed, nor so careful in concealing
the direction of his eyes, which wandered over the whole
assembly, and dwelt the longest upon the fair brow and perfect
form of Lucy. He sat beside old John Dowly—the
melancholy discarded lover of Lucy's mother.

After the last course had disappeared, Roland arose with
a foaming goblet and proposed the health of the bride, which
was loudly cheered and heartily responded to by all but Lucy,
who was glancing slyly at Walter's excited friends, whose heads
were dodging under the artillery of Blanche and Bell, and
Susan and Sally.

“Be attentive, Lucy!” said her aunt. “Did you not hear
what Mr. Roland said?”

“I beg pardon, Gusset,” replied Lucy, quickly, resuming
her former attitude, but not before Snobson had perceived
her.

“Miss Winkle!” said Griselda, “I beg that you will

hereafter forget that I was ever called Gusset. That name
has been extinguished, and I shall expect none but my enemies
to make use of it hereafter.”

“She is now my spouse, and your aunt, Lucy,” said Mr.
Winkle.

“I forgot, uncle.”

“I know it. Of course you could never be the enemy of
my wife—although she says some of my family will never treat
her with respect.”

Lucy was silent, while her aunt looked steadily at her.

Then Colonel Oakdale proposed three cheers for Napoleon
Winkle; and amidst the rapturous applause—for the colonel,
being a widower himself, and the junior of the bridegroom,
had intimated his purpose of following Napoleon's example—
there was heard a startling crash about midway down the table,
which was followed by slight shrieks from the Arums and
Crudles. It had been occasioned by the fall of Snobson, who,
in leaning back to obtain another view of the glorious eyes
of Lucy that had been momentarily fixed upon him, lost his
equilibrium, and fell over on his back.

This incident was followed by uncontrollable laughter, on
the part of Walter, who understood the cause of it, and which
was signalled by him to Lucy, whose ill suppressed convulsions
gave her aunt serious vexation, and subjected herself to
several terse lectures upon the subject of propriety.

The scene had not escaped the notice of Roland, whose
brows were contracted fiercely, as he endeavored in vain to
catch the eye of the offending young gentleman. The glance
he launched at Lucy, was repulsed with something like disdain,
certainly with indifference.

Without form or ceremony,—for Napoleon had most unaccountably
abandoned the helm of command, and his spouse
had never before mingled with, much less been a principal
actor in so large an assembly of gay people, the company arose
and proceeded to the parlors in promiscuous groups, with no
regard to precedence, and much to the chagrin of the Arums,
who vented their spleen openly. But it afforded delight to
the Crudles, who appreciated the utmost freedom of social
enjoyment.

Walter lingered in the hall to intercept his companions,
where, upon meeting him, they contrived to escape from their
belles.

“It was her eyes!” said Snobson, trembling with real
perturbation. “They drew me over. The chair-back was
broken off, and that made the crash. It was magnetism. She
attracted me. You could see her, Winkle, from where you
sat. Who is she?”

“There were several of the milliner's old acquaintances
in that neighborhood. Don't be a fool, and fall in love with
a girl beneath you. You shall be introduced to the one you
admire so much. But be calm. Cool yourself in the air.
She'll turn out a nobody I'm afraid.”

“If she is the one I saw flit across the hall,” said Parke,
“you may rely upon it Tom has reason for his madness. Milliner's
apprentice or not, she has the most fascinating features
and carriage of any girl in the company, if not in the universe.”

“You, too! I'm sorry I brought you here. Your parents
will never forgive me. In love with some poor obscure village
girl, whose fingers may be pricked into nutmeg graters by the
point of her needle! You had the aristocracy by you. The
Arums and the Crudles.”

“We learned they were rich in a few minutes,” said Parke;
“for they spoke unconsciously of their fathers' houses and lots,
horses and carriages, and their fine dresses and jewelry—and
the sums that had been paid for them. We learned every
thing but the manner in which their fortunes had been made.”

“And they were au fait as to the standing and means
of my family—and of yours, Winkle,” he added, rather
gravely.

“But not of mine,” said Parke. “They could not find
out how many acres and woolly heads I had. Yet they seemed
disposed to take me on trust. And perhaps one of them, the
younger Crudle—Sally, I believe—may have a chance for me.
My income they tell me is to be small, whenever the cotton
crop fails. A mile square in Georgia, don't produce as much
revenue as a lot in the city of twenty-five feet front. I shall
not lose sight of the Crudles, for they are capable of refinement,
and our people in the South won't be too inquisitive if
I bring home an heiress.”

When the young gentlemen entered the parlors, the first
object that attracted the attention of Snobson, was Lucy.
She sat in an alcove of a window, conversing with Lowe. Old
Mr. Dowly was seated apart, with his large lustrous eyes

fixed upon the interesting pair. Roland was talking to Miss
Bell Arum, while Blanche was looking over the music at the
piano. The Crudles, contriving to be disengaged, seemed to
be awaiting the approach of our party of young gallants. At
the extreme end of the long apartment, on a luxuriously cushioned
sofa, were seated Mr. and Mrs. Winkle, receiving the
felicitations of their acquaintance.

“There she is!” whispered Snobson. “Is she not an
angel?”

“She surpasses all the beauties I ever beheld,” said Parke.

“Oh, that lady in the recess, conversing with Mr. Lowe?”
responded Walter.

“Yes!” said Parke, with animation. “But if the fellow's
name be Lowe, he does not seem to be a low fellow. I
noticed him at the table, and I think I never beheld a gentleman
of better polish or more refined manners. He has a fine
countenance, and the young lady must be of high breeding.
Walter, none of your humbug! I suspect she is one of your
favorites. You seem to have them every where. I shall know
what to say to Miss Virginia, when I return to the city.”

“You are mistaken, George; upon my honor you are, if
you suppose I have matrimonial designs upon that creature.
I know her well. You shall be introduced. Come along.”

“But who is she? her name?” demanded the young men.

“Oh, Miss what-do-you-call-her! Come!” he continued,
leading them towards the alcove, seeing Lowe withdraw with
a smile on his beautiful pale lip, and convinced that Lucy had
revealed to him the mischievous plot.

“But if she should not be a proper acquaintance for me to
make in such a public place?” said Snobson, hesitatingly.

“Oh, come along. She is quite genteel enough. Sister
Lucy,” he continued, with gravity, “let me introduce my
friends, Mr. Snobson, of Philadelphia, and Mr. Parke, of
Georgia.”

Lucy bowed very kindly, while the young gentlemen
blundered in their salutations, and knew not what to say.
They looked at each other, at Walter, at Miss Winkle,
blushed and trembled. They might have felt and acted
differently, if it had occurred to them that Walter had deliberately
meditated so embarrassing a surprise for them.

“I think I have enjoyed the pleasure of seeing Mr. Snobson
before,” said Lucy; “and I do not remember where

And yet I am sure it has not been very long since. Oh! did
I not see you on the boat the other day?”

Snobson was under the necessity of confessing that he
was on the boat the day alluded to, for had he not told Walter
that he followed the charming creature through several
streets? But the poor fellow was so nearly stricken dumb
that he could only utter monosyllables.

“And I have often heard my brother speak with enthusiasm
of his friend from Georgia. Perhaps Mr. Parke may
have detected Walter in some insidious praise of his poor
sister?”

“No—hang me if ever he did!” said Walter.

“True,” said Parke, recovering his accustomed composure,
“but I wonder he did not. I am sure I would have
lauded one of mine to him if he had dwelt so near her, provided
she had been so—I mean fair, and accomplished.”

“That would have been a different matter altogether,”
said Walter. “And no doubt I should have mentioned
Lucy, if—don't frown, sister!”

“Go, sir. I dismiss you,” said Lucy, affecting a look of
displeasure.

“I will, good sister,” said Walter; “for I see Sergeant
Blore beckoning me through the window. But, Lucy, where
are the guards? I see no bayonets.”

“Our aunt has ordered them not to appear to-night.”

“She is to be general, then? We'll see. Don't be alarmed
at any thing you hear to-night, Lucy.” Saying this, Walter
withdrew. He was followed by Snobson, and overtaken on
the terrace.

“Mr. Winkle,” said Snobson, “I want to make you an
humble apology; and I hope you won't be offended afterwards.
I do beg your pardon. I didn't know it was your
sister I was talking about, and was following in the street.
I am willing to make any reparation in my power—”

“Reparation?”

“Upon my honor I will! I am sure, if father could once
see her—”

“You would marry her, if he gave his consent?”

“Upon my word and honor I would! And you may say
so to her, if you choose—”

“Oh, my dear fellow, you must say such things to her
yourself. And as for apologizing for what you did the other

day, I beg you won't think of it. It is gratifying to any girl
to be admired and followed. You have no idea what fine
spirits my sister enjoyed when she observed it.”

“Did she see me?”

“Yes—and she boasted of it. The girls are as fond of
making conquests as ever Alexander was.”

“And she knew it! I feel like a detected sheep-killing
dog! What shall I do?”

“Why, tell her she carried your heart by storm; that
the attraction was too powerful to be resisted; and hence you
could not avoid following her. She will be flattered, I assure
you.”

“I shall never have the boldness to speak to her in that
way. But you will not be offended, I hope?”

“Nonsense, Tom. I would do the same if I were like
you, no doubt. But excuse me, now; I have an appointment
out here under the chestnut tree.”

Snobson returned to the gay company within, while Walter
joined the sergeant, with whom he found Bill Dizzle, and both
were anxiously awaiting him.

The new mistress of the establishment had truly exerted
her power over her lord, and obtained an order that there
should be no military display in the vicinity of the mansion.
But the retainers of the house had permission to get drunk
at the barracks, called the camp of Bologne, near the scene
of the late invasion of John Bull, and to send up a few noiseless
rockets in honor of the merry occasion. The subject of
the conference under the chestnut tree on the lawn, may be
developed in the progress of this history. Suffice it to say,
that the sergeant was much chagrined at the conduct of his
general's spouse; and was conscious of well founded apprehensions,
that she was not only capable of subduing all the
other females about the house, but would not be likely to
pause in the career of ambition, until she had obtained the
supreme command of the entire establishment. At all events
he was quite as impatient as Walter could be, to ascertain by
some well-conceived experiments the extent of her influence
over her lord.