University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.
BENEFACTORS' DAY.

Mr. Parmenter's “evening,” after Mrs. Wadham,
was handsome and costly. Except the boys, he had
most of her guests, and some others. The weather had
grown still colder; but there was to be a full moon;
and, as snow already covered the ground, the night
would be a fine one, and everybody was in good spirits.
Mrs. Osborn was not there, and there were those who
said that “that giving of the mitten was a genuine
thing;” others “didn't believe it: it was only fun
before people.” But she was not there.

Mrs. Wadham was at Mr. Parmenter's, and gave a
good deal of tone to things, in whatever part of the
house she was. The rumor of Blake's transformation,
and changing-back, had found its way up; and the city-gentlemen,
having got an inkling of the supposed relationship
to Brade, laughed heartily, and said a good
many funny things about “the other boy's Cossack
uncle,” and called him “a first-rate actor.”

Mrs. Wadham, when the intelligence first reached
her, treated it as a deliberative body treats a report from
a committee, and “accepted” it, as it were, for her
own consideration, by saying “Yes.” She changed
color a little, to be sure; and then was silent over it,
until she had disposed of it within herself, and, as it

were, “adopted” it. This all took place at Mr. Parmenter's;
and Mr. Greenwood had been so occupied
with different gentlemen as not to have been able to
exchange any conversation with her, further than a
hurried exclamation, in passing: “How that chap did
impose upon us!”

Mrs. Wadham made her answer, in the hearing of
those who were near: “I'm sure I gave 'em chance
enough to find him out. I introduced Dr. Farwell to
him; and I introduced Mr. Parmenter, and Mr. Merritt,
and Mr. Don. They had chance enough.”

The buzzing of animated conversation; the admiring
exclamations; the compliments paid to the host; the
moral reflections and sagacious observations made
about him and his fortunes; the arrangement of
lights, so as to “bring out” the pictures; the glances
of eyes and of speech, — all this would make a very
good subject for the pen; but we pass it, and even the
talk about Benefactors' Day, and the boys' coming match
on the ice, as not necessary to our story. One happening
we describe, as connected with Brade and with
what is coming.

It had become known throughout the company that
Mr. Parmenter was looking for a very distinguished
guest; the wiser ones said, “for an eminent musician.”
An hour or two late, there was a stir outside, and a
busy-looking movement on the part of the host, and
little eagernesses among the guests; and a man with a
military cloak thrown over his cap, and high boots,
with fur tops, meeting the cloak, was brought through
the rooms, with much ceremony on Mr. Parmenter's
part and very little on his own, and taken into a room
beyond, where, as some of the gentlemen remarked,

“that foreign fellow was getting some grub, after his
sleigh-ride.” “He ain't another Cossack Count, is
he?”

After a while he came out, having his cloak now
hanging from his shoulders (his boots still on), and
was wiping his chops and beard with his fingers. Mr.
Parmenter made it to be understood that this was
“The Maestro!” (with much accent: it was repeated
as “the Maelstrom!” by one of the ready wits)
“Volkov, the great composer!” In that character,
he was looked at and commented upon, as he stood
with his back to the piano, uttering occasional very
“basso” words and laughs. “Queer-looking `company'-rig,”
some said. “Becoming, though,” others
thought. “Genius does so,” was a third opinion. A
crashing sound, from the heavy cords of the piano
behind him, brought a sudden stillness, during which
Mr. Volkov, without heeding either sound or stillness,
kept on, at intervals, uttering his deep-toned speech
and laughter. A tinkling, as of fairy sheep-bells, but
rhythmical and melodious, came from the piano (so Mr.
Manson enthusiastically described it): all ears were
strained to catch it. A sound, as of a fairy people
dancing to the pipe and tabor, followed; then a march;
then a dirge; and while all ears, except of the artist,
were strained to hear, he stood with his back to the
piano, asking questions about the snow in different
winters, — how deep, how early, how late.

“Why don't Parmenter show him his fiddle?” some
asked; and in a moment were answered. There was a
sudden blaze of light thrown on the Stradivarius. The
host had been standing near the artist, and listening,
with bowed head. He now ceremoniously spoke: —

“I'm very sorry to interrupt you, sir, and to deprive
us of the treat we're enjoying; but many of my friends
are a little impatient to have you see a very precious
relic in my possession, — a genuine Stradivarius!”

“Stradivarius!” said the Maestro, leaving the piano,
and following. (Of course the golden thread of music
broke, when he walked away.)

The Stradivarius of Mr. T. Parmenter, as Mr. T.
“Parmenter's fiddle,” was as well known, almost, as
the regalia in Edinburgh Castle, or elsewhere, and the
company flocked over to its stand.

Here, having allowed a little time for things to settle,
Mr. Parmenter drew from his pocket a package of worn
and yellow papers; and, holding them in his hand,
smiling, made a little speech: —

“You know, better than I can tell you, sir, that the
violin of Cremona is very famous and very rare. I
think there were three houses most eminent for making
them. They are so scarce as to command a fabulous
price. — I suppose I ought to be ashamed,” he added,
bashfully, “to confess what I paid for this; but the
evidence” —

The great artist looked glum at the sight of the
papers, as if he feared the having to read them all
through, and proceeded to his own line of evidence.
Taking the “Cremona” from its cushion, he tightened
up the old strings, whose fibre had been toughened by
the goat's milk and mutton of Padan fields, and first
attuned to music in the open night-air of Cathedralleads
or humbler roofs, or in the little-frequented and
much-resounding halls of the University. The Maestro
ran his fingers up and down and across the tightened
strings, faster than common ears could follow; then

rapped hard on the back of the instrument with his
knuckles; then squeezed with his two thumbs the
front, as if he would break it in, like the breast of a
chicken; then, with a nail of one of his many-ringed
fingers, scraped at the dark crust; and then loosened
the strings, and laid down the Stradivarius, saying that
“he was yoost so goot als how he ever was. He never
was goot for nodsing, 't all. — They had sheeted the goot
friend, Parmenter.”

At this candid announcement, the sudden expressions
in the many faces gathered about were worth a painter's
study. Many glances were interchanged; some mouths
were pursed up, and eyelids rounded; some tongues
were thrust into cheeks; a back was significantly
scratched; shoulders were shrugged to the ears. One
face, staring with all its eyes, hearing with all its ears,
was particularly amusing: it was that of Mrs. Wadham's
man, Eldridge, who, somehow, happened to be
among the foremost by-standers. The lady herself had
not observed him. She had received the artist's words
with silent, open mouth, and had closed upon it with a
deep “Um!”

Mr. Parmenter took the event gallantly: —

“I suppose, sir,” he said, smiling, though very red,
“you would hardly care to read these vouchers,” and
he put them back in his pocket. “We must accept the
verdict — unless” (looking round at his guests) “we
can get it amended.” Then, spying Eldridge, now
engaged in searching the faces of the on-lookers, he
said: “You were looking for Mrs. Wadham, I suppose;”
and having recalled that intelligent observer
to himself and his business, he said, pointing to the
Cremona, “This needs a taste for antiquity to appreciate

it. Perhaps, sir, you'll favor us with a little music from
an instrument of to-day, which, you have shown us, can
`discourse' very sweet sounds.”

So, with this pretty speech, Mr. Parmenter turned
off his disappointment. Mr. Don said, “I think he
didn't make allowance for the age of the fiddle, sir. I
think you told me it was three hundred years old.”
Mrs. Wadham asked, “You've kept your vouchers, I
suppose?” much as she might ask if his securities had
escaped a fire.

Mr. Parmenter devoted himself to his guests. The
Maestro, after bestowing an hour or more on this social
gathering, out of his way, was whirled off again to a
railroad station, and in due time the guests were scattered.

The public, in its informal assemblings at the store
and the post-office, did its duty by all parties, — the
host, the great musician, and the fiddle. We have seen
that one of its channels of information lay through
Eldridge; and Eldridge had had special advantages.
Several intelligent persons had also questioned Mr.
Parmenter, before twenty-four hours had gone by,
whether “it was true that that musical man had
knocked the old fiddle all to smash?” and whether
“that foreigner hadn't ben ruther aggravatin'?” and
Mr. Parmenter had taken every thing very quietly, saying
that “the fiddle was safe in its place, where he
should be glad to have any of his neighbors come and
see it;” and that “Volkov was considered the greatest
living authority in music.”

Now, the public, taking the whole thing in hand,
sifting and weighing, came to the conclusion that “Parmenter
was awful cut up, when the Dutchman spoke

up, as pert as could be, and said `his fiddle wa'n't wuth
a snap, then, nor wouldn't be, if he kep' it a thousand
year.'”

All now was looking forward to the new “Benefactors'
Day,” and working for it: the great doings of the
forenoon and the great match on the ice. “An arch was
to be made by Mr. Chambers, the carpenter, and decorated
by the boys, and then set up on one of the
school-roads or paths, and somewhere where it would
be sheltered, because it would have to be all covered
up till it was unveiled, and, if the winds should get at
it, they'd make short work of it.” So ran the talk
of the School; and accordingly Mr. Chambers built it
on the large barn-floor, and Lawrence and Lamson and
Mason were busy for all the spare time of three days,
in illuminating the front with the words “Hail, Benefactors!”
in beautiful Church-text.

A steady, soaking rain set in during this time, threatening
a thaw; but it cleared off, and cold came steadily
on again.

The arch, as decorated, and covered three or four feet
down by canvas which was to be drawn away at “The
Unveiling,” was set where no wind could reach it, and
neatly held up at the back by shores let into the ice-covered
ground. The monitors undertook the charge
of it, in high hope; for all was ready, and the evening
promised a fair morrow. It was dark when the
last cluster of boys broke up; and Brade, in a sudden
freak of liveliness and nimbleness, as soon as the rest
were gone, set out to climb the arch, and climbed it
safely, in spite of Peters's earnest remonstrances, urging
what a risk and how needless a risk he was taking,
“with that canvas on it,” and that he himself “could
not bear to see it.”

As Brade sat astride at the top, and waved his hat in
the faint light of the rising moon, with one hurrah, Mr.
Parmenter, unseen, wished him “Good evening!” and
complimented him as “an aspiring genius;” advising,
however, his speedy coming down, for his own sake
and that of the arch. So Brade made his harmless
boy-brag that he was not afraid, and came down;
receiving the benefactor's very courteous expression of
“hope to see him to-morrow in an honorable position.”
Then, with Peters, who “was glad to see him on dry
land again,” at which blunder both laughed, he went
into the house.

The next dawn rose over the earth as if all things
above and around were ready to make a fine winter's
day for the new holiday.

The younger boys were astir early, their blood all
bustling; and the elders were full also of the great
match and the doings at the arch beforehand, and
talked them over. Gaston and Brade, as we know,
were to come out in Latin; and each had contrived a
little joke to give point to his short speech. One was
going to wish that “it might hail benefactors,” and the
other that “the benefactors might be hale and hearty.”
This latter, being hard to make telling in Latin, was to
be clapped till hands were sore. Some of the Trustees
were to speak, — not too many, the boys hoped.

At ten of the clock in the forenoon, Rector Warren
was at the arch, with his boys: Gaston and Brade wearing
badges of red and blue ribbon. At ten of the
clock, a handsome open sleigh, bearing Mr. Parmenter,
handsomely furred, and Dr. Farwell in a skull-cap and
muffled thoroughly, and Mr. Merritt, and Mr. Don,
drew up. Sleighs full of neighbors, and a small crowd
of neighbors on foot, had gathered, and were gathering.

Mr. Parmenter sat combining a look of dignified indifference
with a look of modest consciousness.

Dr. Farwell rose, and, on a hint from Mr. Merritt,
stood upon the seat.

“I am called upon,” he said, his eyes twinkling from
beside his nose, and from among his mufflings, “to
make a speech. It seems to be thought that I know
how to do that thing which is called a speech.” (His
hands being in his coat-pockets, the gestures were
chiefly made with the shoulders, and by a flapping of
the arms against the sides; and in this way, considering
his greatness of manner, he was stately and
emphatic.) “Have any of the boys who hear me thought
what an occasion is? An `occasion' is a time. If I
act at the proper time, I act on the proper occasion.
Now an occasion may be a great occasion; and men
are said to rise” (here the gesture was easy, — a going
up upon the toes, and down again) “to the greatness
of the occasion. — This is a great occasion! —
Perhaps benefactors need institutions: institutions also
need benefactors. This occasion brings the two together:
the institution welcomes its benefactors with
a simple and significant display” (Mr. Parmenter was
moved, and lifted his hat). “The taste and judgment
of teachers, the zeal and skill of pupils.” — Here,
bowing his head, he gave the signal for withdrawing
the canvas. Russell and Lamson ran it off; and the
arch, with its illuminated inscription, was left bare.
The orator started: everybody was astonished: there
was the illumination; but there was, moreover, dangling
below by a bit of tarred cord, the wreck of a junk
bottle, to which was fastened a great sprawling inscription,
“MELLO TRICK;” and, furthermore, there was a

strange-looking black fiddle, with “Stradle various”
upon it, hanging by another bit of tarred string.

The orator paused; but the intelligent neighbors
began to question: “What d'ye s'pose that's for?” “'S
he goin' to read his dokyments 'n public?” — “You'd
better get a little nearer, Eldridge,” said a resolute
female voice in one of the sleighs.

The reader knows that boys are boys, but will
believe that the St. Bart's boys kept pretty steady.

Meantime, the combined expression of Mr. Parmenter's
face had become simplified and more intense. He
was standing, now, in his sleigh, handsomely furred,
as he was, and spoke with a hastiness unwonted in
him: —

“Any thing like good discipline in the School,” he
said, “would have prevented” —

The orator spoke again: —

“It is hardly to be supposed that boys of Saint Bartholomew's
School” —

Mr. Don also opened his mouth: —

“I can hardly conceive” —

“I saw one young gentleman on top of the arch
after it was set up last night,” said Mr. Parmenter,
still not using his self-control.

“Of course you don't think I did that,” said Brade, as
hastily.

Peters stood forth like a born champion: —

“Brade only climbed up for fun,” he said: “I was
there.”

Mr. Parmenter was either too angry or too much
occupied to answer; and Brade walked straight over
to Rector Warren, who was just coming forward, and
said, “I hope you'll excuse me, sir: I can't speak this!”

Rector Warren, also, seemed too much occupied to
give him much heed, and came forward in a hasty
mood, like the rest, and said: —

“This is some mischievous prank. Of course no boy
in School”—

The orator, who had kept his stand on the seat, here
began again: —

“I can hardly suppose that any one of those” (from
the rhyme he seemed unconsciously to take strength)
“imbued with the spirit of St. Bartholomew's School
would insult this solemnity — I speak advisedly —
this solemnity” —

“If he did, he ought to smoke for it! that's all I've
got to say,” said Mr. Merritt.

By this time Russell, with help from Blake and
others, had rid the arch of its incongruous hangings.
The fiddle (a very rough thing) was handed about
among the boys with some laughter, — Will Hirsett,
with a grin, trying to play upon it like a banjo. Mr.
Parmenter had recovered himself.

“We've had our little interruption,” he said, smiling.
“One of the poets assures us that `the wisest plans of
mice and men often go wrong.' Our young orators
won't be in the mood for speaking. I've just got from
town a quantity of West India fruit. With the consent
of the Trustees and the Rector of the School, I will
ask the Rector's acceptance of it, for the boys, and
propose to adjourn till the great match on the ice,
with three cheers for St. Bartholomew's School.”

“I'd sooner break up the fiddle than break up the
meeting,” said Mrs. Wadham.

Mr. Parmenter's proposition was at once adopted by
everybody, and, after three huzzas, in which the bottleneck

and the fiddle bore a conspicuous part, the gathering
broke up.

“How strangely we are made!” said Dr. Farwell
comfortably, having sunk down in a corner of the
sleigh and drawn up the robes. “Sometimes it seems
as if we had the wrong parts: my heart was meant for
a soldier, — a Cæsar or a Bonaparte. If there'd been a
concealed rebellion under that bottle and that violin, I
felt when I was speaking as if I wanted to face it, to
put it down!” His hands being still in his coat-pockets,
he emphasized by setting his lips firmly together, and
flapping his elbows against his sides.

“It won't do to let that stop here,” said Mr. Merritt.