University of Virginia Library

41. CHAPTER XLI.
ODDS AND ENDS WITHOUT ENDING.

The night of Mrs. Perkins Anderson's glory has arrived!
This night she is to outshine all her competitors in the fashionable
world of Oyster Point. She is to take the shine out of Mrs.
Artemisia Bluebottle; the wind out of the sails of Mrs. Araminta
Gaylofty; and utterly to outdo and undo sundry other rivals in
fine “society.” She is about to reach her crowning performance.
Finis coronat opus! In other words, she will put the finishing
stroke to her own career.

And you are not to suppose, dear reader, that we use this word
“glory” unwittingly, and without a due regard to its grand significance.
Glory, like wealth, virtue, and other imposing things,
is yet a matter of relative signification. It has its degrees, and is
to be measured by the usual experiences of people, rather than
by any intrinsic standards of its own. The society which rates
pleasure as profit, and gawds as gain; which holds a dance or a
dinner to be the chief end and employment of life; and which aims
at no higher social performance than simply to outshine less clever
circles — in all such society, a fête like that of Mrs. Perkins Anderson,
attempting exhibitions and attractions such as far exceed
all previous aims and achievements, is a thing of glorious anticipation,
and, if successful, unquestionably of most glorious result.
Certainly in our little city of the Carolinas, if she succeeds this
time, people will be sure to say, and to think, that the measure of
her glory has been filled! She so thinks herself.

And this, dear reader, if only with regard to what has been
done already, by those about us, not by those remote.

Now, if you are such a judy as to turn up your ridiculous little
turnipy nose at the performance, after all, and say, “Ah! they
do the thing far otherwise in France and England,” we give you
up as wholly immaterial! “Oyster Point,” or, to speak with more
reverence, Charleston, is not exactly Paris or London. Even to-day,
when we have a far cleverer and vastly larger circle than at
the period of which we write — far more wealth, better education,
better tastes, and a better knowledge of what the world abroad
has done and is doing — even to-day, I say, we must yet fall
within the category of a petty and remote provincial offshoot
from European civilization, striving, greatly in the rear, at the emulation
of its beautiful follies, and graceful and interesting absurdities
of society and fashion. It is “high life below-stairs” at
best; though we have some very simple people among us — very
good, but distressingly simple — who really delude themselves
with the notion that, if the world is not absolutely staring the
eyes out of its head to see what we are doing, the world is making
a very poor and unprofitable use of its vision!

But, even in spite of such good people, the truth may as well
be told. Though nearly two hundred years older now than at
the date of our story, Charleston has not overcome, by its own
forward progress, the relative difference between the two hemispheres.
She is still provincial in her tastes, habits, aims, and
performances; and society — that very society which is most apt
to boast of its possessions — yet tinkers on, tied to the foreign car
of state or fashion, lacking the courage to assert an independent
and well-founded standard of judgment for itself. This is the
great secret, this of social independence, for all really great achievement,
and which we need to-day almost in as great degree as we
did two hundred years ago.

Nay, I am not sure that our need is not greater now than then.
We now know so much more! We have a superior consciousness.
We are not so rude as then, and not so ignorant of the
merits of fig-leaves in the way of costume. We are in closer propinquity
with Europe than in that early day; lack the courage
which ignorance imparts; and dare not assert ourselves independently,
in the face of our own consciousness of deficient resources.

Yet, we have our own intrinsic resources, material and mental,
if we only knew how, and had the courage to apply them. But
we do not! We might show why this is the case, but this is not
the place for it. Enough that, so far as we are concerned, it will
not do for us to sneer at the short-comings, in fashionable or high
life, of the daring little colony at Ashley river in 1684. We make
better displays to-day, no doubt, but we are not a whit less servile
in our imitations of what is done elsewhere. We are but feeble
copyists, after all, of the butterfly-tribes in foreign centres; nay,
we take much of this at second and third hands; and Paris and
London come to us, diluted, through Gotham, and Boston, and
the Quaker-city.

We state all this, if only to protect old Charleston, in its little
social ambitions, from the sneer of young Charleston. You are
to-day, Mrs. Frill, but a development of Mrs. Perkins Anderson.
The tail is longer and broader, and there is something more of
fullness about the pin-feathers; but you are birds of the same
feather. I do not see that Mrs. Loftyhead, of 1684, differs in
much from Mrs. Furbelow, whom I met last week nightly in all
the four fashionable sets of the present city, each of which claims
to be “the society” of the place. The costume was very much
the same. In latitude and longitude of skirt, Mrs. Furbelow had
certainly the advantage. Her hoops were twice the size of those
of Mrs. Loftyhead; and, so far as toggery was concerned, the palm
would unquestionably be carried off by the former. But, to counterbalance
all this, compare the women. The natural red and
white, the portly proportions, the honest bone and muscle, of the
ancient lady, asserted themselves independently of costume: they
needed no plea; asked no indulgence; were superior to all the
help of art. She could have done without a skirt; whalebone
was useless in her case; and paddings about breast and body, and
red varnishes upon the cheeks, were never dreamed of. She had
an honest English bust, which could beat bravely against the bosom
of a true man, in a wrestle whether of love or hate.

Alas, for the fine lady of to-day, the dashing Mrs. Furbelow!
It is really pure absurdity to talk of her as a living animal at all.
She needs all her skirts and hoops, and paints, padding, and varnish!
And her leathery skin, sallow and yellow, and tallow, at
naked fallow, would, without these helps, provoke nothing but disgust

and revulsion. And chalk and rouge help her little. Verily,
let us not sneer at old times, since such creatures as these are
tolerated by the present. There was more honesty in their arts
as well as in their flesh and blood; and their manners were decidedly
better, though lacking in much of the artifice which chills,
and moulds, and stales all modern convention. Give me honest
flesh and blood, I say, to all these things of paste and putty!
And give me the honest expression of a native sentiment, however
rude or simple, to the stereotyped persiflage of a circle which
is confessedly ignorant of an idea, and lives only in the security
of a well-memorized commonplace.

But, bless me! we are keeping you from the company, here in
the hall; and the music is growing earnest, and the dancing will
soon begin. And yet, a little while longer, let us delay you here.
We have something to say of the hostess; to let you into certain
secrets, showing why she especially ought to make her fancy ball
a clever thing.

We have shown you, we trust, that Mrs. Perkins Anderson is
a clever woman. She is naturally a strong woman; quick, sharp,
acquisitive, discriminative; and with instincts that have a hundred
eyes. She has also blood; and this, with nothing to do, is at the
bottom of all the evils in her character. She must expend her
superfluous energies. Lacking regular duties, she will be apt to
do so mischievously, and in consonance with certain very natural
instincts. This is one of the secret causes of vicious tendencies
on the part of people of wealth, who have also health! But we
must not be essayical.

Well, Mrs. Perkins Anderson is a clever woman. She has had
opportunities; and a certain probation of toil, in her early life,
will enable her to do clever things which her neighbors will hardly
attempt. As an Edinburgh mantuamaker, or milliner, and what-not,
she had acquired sundry experiences in the offskirts of good
society, if only by manufacturing its skirts. She is a good clipper
and cutter; had been, on dit, a royal clipper: by which we do not
mean a three-decker or a yacht, but, in literal language, a manufacturess
of the robes and dresses of certain members of the royal
family; that is, when they happened, in Edinburgh, to feel the
lack of a skirt. And it may be in London, too, for the lady lived
several years in that pleasant little borough-town, and carried on

— we must use a vulgarism of our moderns — the profession of
the artiste of modes. But the true secret of her claims to royal
favor consists, probably, in her having been employed as a costumer
for the theatre, where she made the robes of princes and
princesses, lords and ladies, and accordingly picked up some notions
at once of high art and high people. This was one of the
scandals against the lady, put in circulation in Charleston by the
envious Mrs. Golightly — a lady who has left a very large and
rather light progeny behind her. No matter how Mrs. Anderson
gets her knowledge — she has it; and, with her acknowledged
cleverness, you may be sure it will do smart things. She will
get up her part of this fancy ball with grace, spirit, and effect.
She will help such of her neighbors as are willing to ask for assistance.
She will devise suitable characters for certain persons,
and these she will lesson in their proper personation: she has a
talent for this business, and would have made a dextrous manager
of private theatricals. She will possibly pass to these, when
she has once carried through her masquerade ball successfully.

Successfully? That is according to certain provincial standards.
Do n't be unreasonable, and expect too much. It is doubtful
if, according to the ideal standards, we could get up a successful
masquerade ball anywhere in this country! It is reported
that when Mr. Dickens's visit to New York was in contemplation,
and it was proposed to lionize him, one of the leaders of the fashionables
of that city said, “Can we make him fashionable?” And
this query was but a natural introduction to what followed. Tableaux,
from the writings of the author, were chosen, as the most
grateful mode of paying him homage; and it was then that the
fashionables were compelled to buy his books and study his characters.
Dickens himself soon discovered the sort of hands into
which he had fallen. He would have found twenty times the intelligence
among the weekday, working world, which his entertainers
had ignored. So, if you, dear brethren, build upon the
people who claim to be “in society,” as the parties best calculated
to personate the grand and gorgeous in history and the
drama, you will find it politic, before you begin, to put them
through a course of the primers and Mother Goose. Do not,
therefore, be unreasonable in your anticipations, touching the projêt
of our Mrs. Perkins Anderson.

For, look you, she has but two rooms, twenty feet square, and
a piazza, forty feet long, for all her company. The chambers
will be used for 'tiring-rooms; and there shall be one of these for
the tough, the other for the tender gender. And the supper-table
shall be spread in a shed-room; but she will give them a famous
supper of solids.

But there is no ice, alas! Ice is a modern invention!

No; but the water shall be cool. It is kept in a sort of “monkeys,”
a well-known porous vessel of that day, which was greatly
in use; and these shall be hung in the trees all around the house,
wrapped with wet blankets: and you will, as you drink, be forced
to admit that our ancestors might be content to endure to live,
even though ice was not invented!

There were no ice-creams, of course; but there were the West-India
fruits, sweetmeats, jams, pines, berries, grenadines, all in
sirup or crusted sugar. And there were

Ay, and ginger shall be sweet in the mouth too, as well as hot.
There will be no lack, be sure, of any of the cates and delicacies
known in that day and region. Champagne was not; but there
was Madeira, and (more popular yet) there were bowls of punch,
a rare marriage of the strong, the sour, and the sweet, bringing
about such harmonies as were apt to “seize the prisoned soul and
lap it in Elysium.” And, as the invited guests probably said to
themselves and to one another —

“There shall be no want of music;

“There shall be free footing; and —

“Supper at twelve o'clock!”—

A very interesting programme, scarcely inferior to that usual
at the present day.

We have shown what was the population of Charleston at the
date of our history. We have also given some idea of the rude,
wild, irregular state of its topography. But a few more words on
this head, by way of description, may not be amiss. We have
before us now a plan of the infant city, as laid off in 1680. Fancy,
then, a great shoulder of bacon, with the knuckle at what is
now “the Battery.” On the east side there is an irregular plat,

with three main streets running south and north, crossed by four
others running east and west. There are lines drawn, which indicate
bastions and a wall, encircling the whole. These lines are
limits which you will find now all comprised within Market street
on the north, Meeting street on the west, Water street on the
south, and the Bay on the east; and half of this is a quagmire,
and quite unsettled. South, west, north, and east, the ground
which the city now occupies is perforated by creeks that stretch
up almost to a meeting, from Ashley river on the west and Cooper
on the east. We count no less than ten of these creeks, so intersecting
the territory between the southern terminus of the city
and Calhoun street, which crosses it now nearly at the centre.
Between each of these creeks there is a little farmstead; scarcely
more than one. Here is a ricefield; here a cornfield; here a
vegetable-garden; and here a brick-kiln. The watch-house stands
at the southern extremity, wholly beyond call of the citizens.
There is a “block-house,” with two pieces of cannon contiguous,
looking out on Ashley river. There is another watch-house, or
court of guard, at the east end of Broad street, where the custom-house
now stands; and, at half a dozen points, the sites are indicated
for future bastions, which were not raised for ten years
after. The great avenues of Meeting and King streets were laid
out, and the former opened for several miles into the interior; but,
in bad weather, these were almost impassable. All the creeks
were bold ones, navigable by boats into the very heart of the
town. Their banks were fringed with shrubbery, and sometimes
their margins covered with marsh. No wonder that Molyneaux
got his shoes muddied! The wonder is, that, in such limits, living
so crudely, there should be such people as Mrs. Anderson and
Lady Highflier; that there should be balls and parties; that ambition
should soar to such a pitch as to achieve a masquerade. It
will be seen that Mrs. Anderson was no ordinary woman!

Though giving all help and instruction to every pretty and
young, and some ugly and antique damsels — antiques, but not
gems — our excellent hostess was especially heedful to instruct
her beautiful little guest in the way that she should [not?] go.
She had forgotten, had foregone, none of her projects. She had
carried out her purpose to caparison Zulieme as Titania. She
had persuaded the Honorable Mr. Keppel Craven to don the

golden armor of Oberon. Precious little did Zulieme know of
Titania; but she could frisk and dance like a faerie, and she could
be deceived by a clown! Now, Keppel Craven was no clown,
though he wore his own ears. Mrs. Anderson was pleased to say
to him that Oberon was born to conquest; that his part was, not
to fail; that he could not fail, with proper audacity; and that, if
he would only comprehend his real attractions, there could be no
apprehensions of failure. Certainly, her lessons were quite enough
to make him impudent. She designed that they should make him
more. Mere impudence may say saucy things, and, with proper
encouragement, encountering a weaker object, may be bold enough
to do them; but it is the will — the reckless resolve not to fail,
but to carry a purpose through, without heeding check, and despite
of hinderance — this was the sort of spirit with which Mrs.
Perkins Anderson would infuse the Honorable Mr. Craven.

The better to help him in his progress, she bestowed her counsels
on Zulieme. When the latter happened to say —

“Where can Harry be? I wonder if he will come to-night?”
she answered:—

“What matter if he comes or not? What 's the good of him,
or any husband? Marriage, my dear Zulieme, is only a tyrannous
bondage, invented by husbands, who seek to keep by law
what they can not keep by love! Their jealousy and our cowardice
are the secrets of this tyranny. It is against Nature, which
is the proper teacher; and where we feel a liking, there we may
entertain a love. What! because we have been mistaken in the
objects of our affections, shall we be tied to a hateful object for
ever? To be sure not! I 'm certain, if I saw anybody to love
better than Perkins Anderson, I 'd give him my heart directly.”

“But would that be right, Charlotte?”

“Right! What 's right? Is n't Nature right? Do n't she
know best? Marriage, where the nature is not prepared to love,
is only—”

But we care not to repeat. The argument is already well
known, and is in the mouths of a good many strong-minded women.

“Ah! but I love Harry,” said poor little Zulieme, with a sigh.

“You! You love that stern British brute, as you call him?”

“Yes, I do! — I suppose because he is a brute! I wish he 'd

come to-night. I 'm sure he can outdance all these people. That
young Craven, though he 's a most funny little fellow, can 't dance
with Harry.”

“Oh! do n't let him hear you call him little.”

“But he is little!”

“No! He 's of good size enough — not to compare with Harry
Calvert, of course — he 's a sort of monster — but a most superior
cavalier. Ah, what a conquest you 've made, Zulieme! Keppel
Craven loves you to distraction.”

“He 's a fool for it; for I do n't love him!”

“Oh, do n't say so, Zulieme! If ever woman loved a man,
I 'm sure you love him.”

“Me!”

“Yes, indeed, and he 's such a proper match for you!”

“Match for me! Why, Charlotte! And I 'm married already.”

“What if you are? Does your being married make you a
slave? Does it forbid that you shall feel? Can it? No! And,
if it can 't, it 's only hypocrisy to pretend that it does. I tell you,
Zulieme, marriage is a cunning invention of the men, the better
to make slaves of us poor women!”

“But you 're not a slave, Charlotte! and I 'm not a slave!”

“But if we should happen to love another man than our husband,
Zulieme — we can 't help it, you know — shall we be denied
to do so? And does n't marriage deny it? and ain't that bondage?
and ain't bondage slavery? Ay, we poor women are the
merest slaves! But we are not to submit. I know that you do
love Keppel Craven, and he 's worthy of it, and I do n't see the
harm of it!”

“Well, it 's strange, Charlotte. I do n't think I care a bit about
him; and I 'm very sure if Harry thought he was making love to
me, he 'd wring his neck!”

“Wring his neck? Shocking! Dear Zulieme, you must drop
all these horrid phrases.”

“But he 'd do it, Charlotte!”

“Well, if he could, perhaps; because it 's the nature of tyranny
to enforce its laws by violence. But, if Keppel Craven loved me,
and I him, precious little would I care for its laws, and bonds, and
rites! I 'd —”

Enough of this! Enough for us to know that the true nature
of our little Spanish señora is not understood — even, perhaps, by
those who know her best. Mrs. Perkins Anderson, at all events,
has been making some mistakes, in spite of all her cleverness.
Zulieme listens to her social and moral philosophy with some coolness,
possibly some impatience. But Zulieme's passions are not
to be reached through her mind. She could not be argued into
sinful fancies. Intellectually, she is a thing all shallows — limpid
as a brook at play in breeze and sunlight; and her training,
in a secluded hacienda, among simple people, has not tended to
enlighten her passions, though it may have increased the sprightliness
of her fancies. All the morals of Mrs. Perkins Anderson
were wasted upon her; and she thought only of the dance, and
not of the dancer, even though he should be the Honorable Keppel
Craven.

Suppose the company to be assembling fast. There are coaches
at the door. The “shay” was one of the vehicles of Charleston
in that day, and the “chair;” and these were the most numerous.
Some of the gentlemen came on horseback; none on foot. The
streets were without sidewalks, and Mrs. Perkins Anderson's
“circle” contemplated no such persons as needed their own legs
for any other than dancing-purposes. It was, accordingly, a staggering
circumstance, when the servant in green-and-scarlet livery
was required to admit our Lieutenant Molyneaux, even though
in the garb of a cavalier, when he presented himself on foot.
Molyneaux came under the guidance of Sproulls, who was talkative,
and addressed him all the way as “captain.” That our lieutenant
did not seem startled by this title, and made no remark
upon it, was calculated to confirm Sproulls in his suspicion that
he was piloting the famous rover. But Molyneaux had been
made somewhat familiar with the title by the free use which
the politic old rogue, Fowler, had made of it, in winning him
over to his purposes. Sproulls was exceedingly communicative,
and pretty free in his comments upon the fine women about town,
who, according to his report, were quite “fast” enough for our
own day. But his scandals were sufficiently natural to one who
was not admitted within the sacred precincts. He pointed out
the house of Mrs. Anderson, and stood at a little distance, to see
him enter. There was some delay in this proceeding. The house

was already pretty well filled; and the stout negro who officiated
as porter was, as we have said, quite staggered to see the stranger
present himself on foot. The fine clothes certainly made their
impression; but, no horse — no carriage! The fellow parleyed
with our lieutenant:—

“But, I say, maussa, whay you hitch you' hoss?”

“Horse? I had no horse!”

“Carriage — shay — den?”

“I did n't ride, fellow! I walked!”

“Ki! maussa! wha' for you walk? You hab ticket for come?”

“Ticket be —! What do I want with a ticket? Stand
aside, fellow! Clear the gangway; and none of your —
palaver!”

The lieutenant suited the action to the word; and, hurling the
servant aside contemptuously, with no little emphasis of muscle,
he proceeded to enter the house.