University of Virginia Library

25. XXV.
Washington Shows Sensibility.

WASHINGTON FUDGE continues in the
exercise of elegant accomplishments. He
is not a little proud of the sensation he can make at
the Ranelagh; he is equally proud of the marked
effect he produces on the minds of such of his countrymen
as encounter him in his drives through the
Bois de Boulogne, in company with the Countess de
Guerlin. He pictures to himself, with infinite satisfaction,
the surprise and delighted admiration which
would overcome the minds of his mamma and of
Wilhe, if they could but feast their eyes upon him
as he adjusts his gloves (couleur de paille), in a front

box of the opera, and brings his lorgnette to bear
upon the established beauties of the house.

But there are some thorns, I have remarked, in
the path of pleasure, even on the asphalte of Paris.
Our elegant cousin has his sources of uneasiness;
among which may be mentioned a disturbed recollection
of very many sight-drafts upon his esteemed
father—an elegant succession of expenses, and a
lively fear of the resentful character of that accomplished
swordsman, the Colonel Duprez.

But Wash is not forsaken by the Countess,
although he has grown timid in his approaches to
the quiet salon of the Rue de Helder. She is kind
to him; I will not say but that she rallies him, now
and then, about attention to new sword-practice;
still, she is kind. She appreciates the embarrassment
of his position. She avows herself greatly
indebted to him; she has become the unwilling
instrument of his losses. How can she ever repay
her cher Fudge? How? It would be hard, at this
point of our history, to say.

No one can be unreasonable enough to think that
the apathetic Solomon, late Mayor, with the gold-bowed
spectacles resting on his forehead, in his snug
counting-room at the bank, could receive notice of
Washington's drafts upon him with indifference.
Very far from it. I have already hinted at various

disturbing causes, in the usually placid level of my
uncle Solomon's thought.

He determined with himself that it was high time
the elegant young gentleman should return to his
own country, and give proof of his accomplishments
upon American soil. I cannot say that he participated
to the full extent in Mrs. Phœbe's pride and
hopes. He wrote as follows:

Now it happened that our cousin Wash found
himself in the receipt of these letters upon a day on
which he was under engagement with the fascinating
Countess de Guerlin, for a drive in the Bois de
Boulogne; and he had but a short time left the

hospitable two-per-cent. caisse of Messieurs. Greene,
and was strolling in a brown study towards the
Champs Elysées, when he was encountered by the
dashing coupé of the Countess.

A French woman is sympathetic by nature, and
very much more so by education. The perplexity of
Wash did not fail to attract the observation of his
companion of the drive. The Countess, with characteristic
kindness, won her way to his full confidence.
She lamented anew those losses of which
she had been unconsciously the occasion; she spoke
with emotion of his probable leave. Washington
was affected deeply. So was the Countess. She
took into her own hands the cruel letters which
compelled his return. She read, with unaffected
surprise, the announcement in respect to her own
name. Subduing her emotion, by an effort of resolution
which did her honor, she pressed a hundred
inquiries respecting this Mr. Quid, and the Bodgers'
estate, and the probable heirs, and having learned
from Master Wash all which it was in his power to
communicate, her feelings again subdued her, and
she threw herself back into the corner of the coupé,
apparently overcome by contending emotions.

The efforts of Washington to assuage the tempest
of feeling were utterly unavailing.

“Cher Fudge, laissez moi pleurer;” and the face

of the Countess was buried in a cambric handkerchief.

The hint of the letter had plainly touched some
sympathetic chord; there was a mysterious connection,
perhaps, between himself and the family of the
Countess, which puzzled our hero greatly. My
curious reader cannot be more anxious to unveil
that profound mystery than was Washington himself.
Life, so far as I have observed, is made up
of entanglements, and of hard knots, not always
easy to untie; and when untied, often showing very
flimsy strands.

The drive in the Bois de Boulogne was, that day,
a very silent one; but Washington, before it was
ended, won from the Countess a promise that she
would reveal all—all. This she did, a few days
afterwards; and I cannot keep my reader from it.

“I never,” said she, “knew my father;” and the
Countess hid her face in her pocket-handkerchief.

I am persuaded that she began her story in a
truthful manner

“My mother was a tall woman,” she continued,
“who wore very elegant jewelry; there is very little
left;” and the Countess pointed with emotion to a
broach she wore. “I think she must have been
very rich, since I had what dresses I chose. It

seems to me that she spoke in English, although I
remember little about it now. Your voice, my dear
Wash, seems to call back the memory of other days
to me [very tenderly].

“We were living mostly in large cities, and I
remember it was by a great river, which I am sure
must have been the Rhine. There were long tables,
too, full of people, at which I sometimes sat down
with my mother, when I was very small; but oftener
I was left with a nurse-maid, who had the sole care
of me. There were many gentlemen who talked
with my mother, and she seemed very gay; and the
gentlemen, who I found afterwards were suitors of
my mother, gave me toys, or patted me under my
chin, calling me a likeness of my mother, and saying
that one day perhaps I would be as pretty as she.
I remember that she was fine-looking.

“At length, a Monsieur de Guerlin married her;
and then we were travelling from city to city; I
was sometimes with them, but oftener left with the
nurse-maid, who was beautiful herself, and who had
a small home in a town by the river, and a daughter
who was nearly of my age. As children, I
remember that we frolicked together, rambling
through the vineyards that were scattered on the
hills above the town.

“Sometimes my mother, with Monsieur de Guerlin,

came there to see me; and very often Monsieur
de Guerlin came by himself, which seemed strange
enough to me, for he was never kind after the marriage,
and cared more for Clara, which was the
name of the nurse-maid's child, than for me.

“The nurse, too, who had been good to me
before, was never so kind after my mother's marriage;
and was angry if I spoke of the handsome
Monsieur de Guerlin as my father; saying that
Clara deserved better to be called his child, than I.
But we were too young to heed such things then,
and Clara was not flattered, nor I disturbed by it.
I soon found that I could not have so fine dresses
as before, and Clara might have been taken for the
richer of the two: indeed, I remember thinking,
that what my mother had sent for me might, perhaps,
be given to the nurse's child.

“So we lived together, until one day the news
came that my mother was very sick, and we went
away to a city, where we found Monsieur de
Guerlin very much disturbed; and he had much to
say very earnestly to the nurse; and the night on
which we arrived, there was a commotion in the
house; and they told me my mother was dead.

“I remember the funeral, and how Clara was
dressed in black, as well as I; and wore a little
brooch which I had seen my mother wear. And

Monsieur de Guerlin was very kind to her. A few
days after, the people of the house told me that
M. de Guerlin had gone, and I found the nurse and
child had gone with him. They directed me to a place
in the town where I was to stay; only strangers to
me were living there, and they, I suppose, were paid
to take care of me. There I grew up, but did not
see, for many years after, either M. de Guerlin, or
the nurse-maid of my mother's. They had forsaken
me, and borne off all that was my mother's with
them, except a few jewels, which you, cher Wash,
have guarded.”

And the Countess betook herself, for some
moments, to strong emotion.

“The money which Monsieur de Guerlin paid for
me was continued only until I grew up. At the
last, he sent to me a large sum with which I was to
begin the world. With the education of a lady, I
could not think of entering into service. The city
in which I was staying, was not far away from
Wiesbaden, and I had heard of the gaming-tables
there. To Wiesbaden, then, I went; and, living
humbly, and doing such needle-work as I could without
being observed, I slipped evening after evening
into the salon of roulette, and from the first was very
fortunate. I began with only pieces of silver, but
grew more bold, and soon staked gold coin; sometimes,

it is true, losing very much, but fortune
favored me mostly. Especially, I was lucky one
evening, when, after losing for several nights in succession,
I determined, in a fit of despair, to risk all
my fortune at rouge et noir.

“The rules of the table did not then limit the
sums staked, so much as now; and I gathered up
all my coin, and even pawned my valuable jewels,
to make the amount as large as possible. I carried
it tremblingly to the hall—a very heavy weight it
was for me—and placed it, after a little hesitation,
upon the rouge. My heart beat violently. I could
not count the cards as they were dealt, my emotion
was too great. I closed my eyes, and dared not
open them, until I heard the clink of the money.

“The red had won; and I was rich.

“The next day, I went to Baden, and established
myself, with a servant, in lodgings. I frequented
the fashionable drives, and sometimes ventured with
success into the gaming-halls. It is not well to be
without a title at the German watering-places: I
was known there as the Countess de Guerlin, though
before only as simple Mademoiselle. With the
wealth that I seemed to enjoy, and with fair beauty”
—and the Countess lowered her voice, as if in apology—“there
were many who admired me. The
poor Baron Schemlinn was, I believe, earnest in his

attentions; nothing could exceed his devotion: but
he had desperate rivals. Ah! my dear Fudge, it
has been my fate to draw many into misfortune!

“The Prince Gorowski, a magnificent Russian,
was at the same time a suitor of mine. Oh! those
fearful Russians! they love as they eat, with prodigality
and with fierceness. They are barbarians in
all their appetites. The Prince would not yield to
the Baron. I saw it, and deplored it. The Prince
sought to quarrel with poor Schemlinn, who was
but an indifferent swordsman. I foresaw the result,
but could do nothing to prevent it.

“They met early at morning: the Baron sent me
a lock of his hair, the dear, poor man! Yet he
stood his ground manfully, and the duel lasted for
an hour. At length, the force of Schemlinn gave
way, and he fell. The Prince, with his sword at his
breast, bade him renounce all claim to my hand:
the poor Baron refused, and was killed with my
name upon his lips.

“As you may suppose, cher Wash, I was desolée.
Gorowski was cruel in his triumph, and claimed my
hand as his reward. How could I yield myself to
his blood-stained arms? He persecuted me by his
demands: there seemed no safety but in flight.
Upon this, then, I was resolved; but the Prince
watched jealously all my motions; I could not

escape him. As a last resource, I determined to
appeal to my neighbor in lodgings. This was a
middle-aged man, of resolute aspect—none other, in
short, my dear Fudge, than that Colonel Duprez,
whom you already have such unfortunate occasion to
know. He saved me, indeed, from the Russian persecution;
but I found myself compelled, by the force
of circumstances, to marry the man of whom I had
only sought temporary aid.

“Why need I tell you more?” said the Countess;
but continued presently: “Clara I saw once again,
under the name of Mademoiselle de Guerlin, which
she had assumed, by what right I know not. She
afterwards married a stranger; perhaps, my dear
Fudge, the gentleman through whom the claim is
now made upon the American estate.

“Monsieur de Guerlin I never saw again; but
the wretched man had traced me out, and upon his
death-bed left me the little fortune which he had
received from his wife, my poor mother; and with
it a paquet of letters, which, I am sure, my dear
Fudge, will satisfy you of the truth of my story,
and convince you, as they have done me, that my
mother must have been the widowed sister of the
old gentleman whose estate is in dispute. Yet, how
little did I think, when first addressing one clandestinely,
in a tempest of admiration that I was not

able to subdue, that, in reality, I was drawn towards
him by ties of kindred; and that in him alone I
should find a truly generous protector, through
whom, at length, my rights should be made good,
and my poor mother's name cleared from all
reproach.”

The Countess was painfully subdued; so was
Washington.

The paquet of letters to which reference had
been made, was produced. They were certainly
suspicious in their contents, and would have satisfied,
perhaps, a less ingenuous and open disposition
than that of my cousin Wash. Many of them were
signed Marie Bodgers; others, still, Marie de Guerlin;
and others, again, in a strong hand, bore the
signature of S. Bodgers. They were letters, generally
of affection: the Countess was melted to tears
as she suffered her eyes to run over them.

As a man of honor, there was but one course
open to Washington. At the same time, as the
Countess intimated, there was need for extreme caution.
First of all, the Colonel Duprez must by no
means be advised. There was not reciprocity of
feeling, at least of affection, between the two.
Young Fudge had perhaps observed this. For
private ends of his own, the Colonel had insisted
that the Countess should retain her original name.

Under connections of that kind, the circumstance
was not unusual.

Most of all, the Countess rejoiced in the opportunity,
which now seemed dawning upon her, of
being able to repay the generous services of her
friend Washy. She should be delighted, indeed, to
give token of her indebtedness to the whole Fudge
connection; and voluntarily bound herself, by a
solemn promise, to relinquish to the dear friends of
the Fudge family a full third of the estates which
she inherited from her mother.

I should do injustice to the tender sensibilities
and innocent heart of my cousin Wash, if I omitted
to say that he was altogether captivated by the
united grace and generosity of the Countess de
Guerlin.

It was arranged that Washington should not
leave the city alone. The presence of the Countess
would doubtless be necessary, in the prosecution of
the legal claims. With generous confidence, he
volunteered his escort. He wrote to his friends at
home of the triumphant discovery which had been
made, and expressing confidence, “that if the estate
was to pass out of their reach, as seemed likely
enough, they could not do better than to poney up
to the Countess.

He felt sure, moreover, that his father would

freely pardon a somewhat larger draft than he had
anticipated, in view of the rather straitened circumstances
of the Countess, and the obligations which
duty enjoined.

The preparations for departure were made with
secresy and dispatch. On a certain evening in the
month of —, our friend Wash set off from
Paris, for his return. He was polished by the gay
capital; taught in the little arts of the world;
scarcely to be recognized by his old friends.

The fond Countess was with him: herself his
gratuitous instructor in very much of that savoir
faire, which was presently to kindle the affections
of his doting mother into transports.

He felt, doubtless, an honest pride in these accomplishments,
and formed pleasant fancies of the surprise
he should excite, and of the astonishment he
was sure to kindle. I am inclined to think that,
like most young New Yorkers on their return from
Paris, he had formed an exaggerated estimate of
the sensation he was about to produce. The town,
taken as a mass, does not, I observe, feel the shock
of such a young gentleman's return. I cannot ascertain
that it creates any decided movement at the
“Board,” or that it influences Mr. Genio Scott's
report of the fashions. These travellers err in
imagining that their air and education is to form a

striking contrast with what they will find around
them. They discover, however, in the majority of
instances, that the tailors and hair-dressers have
been before them; and have already diffused among
the young natives of New York a Parisian aspect
and an elegant air. I should say that the young
gentlemen of the New York Club, of the short
canes, of the new polkas, and of affluence generally,
were as much indebted to a study of the operaartistes,
and the foreign managers of domestic
drapers, as to any principles they imbibe from
returned travellers. And it would not be at all
surprising, if our cousin Wash., upon his very first
entrée in New York society, should be mortified by
a sight of higher shirt-collars, more bushy mustache,
and smaller pantaloons than he brings with
him, in the company of the Countess.

By a hint from the Guerlin, and as a measure of
precaution, Wash accompanies his friend under a
common passport, in which they are designated as
man and wife. It is but a simple bit of illusion,
lasting only as far as their port of embarkation.

They reach Havre a day before the sailing of the
vessel which is to bear them to that free land, where
the Countess shall receive her own, and the elegant
Wash enter upon his brilliant career.

In the beguiling thought of what this may be,

our hero whiles away the evening with his graceful
companion; interrupted, however, once, by a slight
tap at the door.

It is the maid, perhaps.

“Entrez!” says Wash.

There is a tap again.

“Entrez!” repeats Wash.

It is not the maid: but the Colonel Duprez!