University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
HOW WE DANCED, AND SUPPED, AND SO—FORTH!

The Mazyck establishment was on an extensive scale. It was
its ancient baronial features that had insensibly impressed the
imagination of Major Bulmer. The house was a vast one for our
country—a massive mansion of brick, opening upon a grand passage

way, or hall in the centre, from which you diverged into
double rooms on either hand. These were of larger size than
usual in our country seats. These also had wings, consisting each
of a single room over the basement, and lower by one story than
the main building. One of these, devoted to the library, was
thrown open on the present occasion. The other was a sort of
state chamber, meant for guests of distinction, special favourites,
or for newly married couples. The floors were magnificently carpeted,
and the rooms elegantly furnished. They were already
beginning to fill on our arrival; the custom of the country differing
from that of the city in requiring the guests to come early,
however late they may be persuaded to stay. Very soon the bustle
of first arrivals was at an end; only now and then, an occasional
annunciation betokened some visitor who still held to the
city rule of late arrivals, or who, most probably, was ambitious of
an innovation upon country habits. A vulgar self-esteem always
comes late to church or into society, if only with the view of making
a sensation. At eight o'clock tea was served, with the usual
accompaniments of cake and cracker. Quite a creditable display
of silver plate was justified by this service, and the green beverage
sent up such savoury odours of the Land of Flowers, as would
have stirred even the obtuse olfactories of Sam Johnson. Suppose
the company all arranged, rather formally around the parlour,
with glimpses of groups of young persons especially in the
library, all busy in the kindred occupations of tea and talk, fifty
cups smoking and as many tongues making music, and we may
now look round the circle, and take in its several aspects. Tall,
stately, the form and features of my antique friend, Madame Agnes-Theresa,
rise, supreme over all presences, in erect dignity,
starched cap and handkerchief, scant locks of pepper and salt, and
sharp eyes that suffer no evasion or escape. I approach, I bend
before her, I crave to be blessed with her smiles, and she accords
them. But where is pretty Paula? In the library with the
young people. Ah! and Ned Bulmer is already hovering about
her, as the moth about the flame. The Major sees him not as
yet, being exceedingly earnest in his attentions to Mrs. Mazyck.
The veteran is displaying the graces of manner which constituted
the ton thirty-five or forty years ago. Then it was all elaborate
courtesies—a bow was a thing of ceremonial—the right toe had
its given route prescribed in one direction, the left in another—off
at right angles; the arms were spread abroad in a waving course,
the hands inclining to the knees—which, as the back was bent like
a bow at the stretch, enabled them almost to clasp them.—
The head slightly thrown back, the chin peering out, an ineffable
smile upon the lips, and a profound admiration expressed in the
eyes, and you have the attitude, air and manner of the ancient
beau ready to do battle and die in your behalf. That careless,
effortless, informal manner, which marked the insouciant character
of our day, was, with the excellent Major, only a dreadful proof
of the degeneracy of the race.

“A fellow now-a-days,” quoth he, “enters a room, as if he
sees nobody or cares for nobody; as if he owned pretty much all
that he sees; he slides, or rather saunters in with the listless air
of a man picking his teeth after dinner—anon, he catches a glance
of somebody whom he condescends to know; and it is—`Ah,
Miss Eveline, or Isabella, or Maria, or Teresa, how d'ye—glad to
see you looking so—ah!—well! and how's your excellent mamma?
Hope the dear old lady keeps her own. Good for fifty
years yet; and how long have you been from town? Very dull
here; don't ye think so?—ah-h-h!' yawning as if he had toiled
all day and caught no fish. Talk of such fellows, indeed. They
seem to be made out of nothing but wire and whale-bone, with a
pair of butterfly wings which they can't fly with, and such a voice,
like that of an infant frog with rather a bad cold for such a juvenile.
Sad degeneracy! Very different, Mrs. Mazyck, from the
men of our day.'

Talking with Beatrice Mazyck, three removes from him, I contrived
to hear every syllable, and whispered her at the moment.
He turned just then, and detected the movement. He joined us
in a second, and with a profound bow to the lady, and a smile of
kindness to me, he said—

“I see you heard me, my dear Miss Beatrice, by the laughing
smile upon your countenance. I do not know whether you agree
with me, or can agree with me, since you have no opportunity of
knowing the manners of a day long before your own.”

“Unless,” quickly and archly answered the lady, “unless from
the excellent occasional example which has been preserved to the
present time, and from which we are compelled to feel that there
is more truth in your report, than we are willing to acknowledge.
What say you, Mr. Cooper?”

“Nay, do not ask him,” said the Major, “for, of a truth, to do
him justice, he is one of the few exceptions which the present
day offers to the uniform degeneracy of its young men. Dick
Cooper is a favourite of mine, and particularly so from his freedom
from all affectations. He doesn't affect ease, by a most laborious
suppression of dignity and manhood—to say nothing of grace.”

This was very handsome of the Major, and I felt that I ought
to blush if I did not, but I replied without seeming to notice the
compliment.

“I am inclined to think, Major, that the two periods simply occupied
extremes, neither significant of sincerity. In fact, conventional
life seems of its own nature to forbid sincerity, inasmuch as
it denies earnestness. Now, the school which you so admirably
represent, Major, appears to me to have sought for finish at every
sacrifice; and to have aimed at the application of court manners on
reception days to the business of ordinary social life. I confess,
for my own part, though I try to be as profound in my courtesies
as possible, I can not well persuade myself to emulate or imitate,
even if that were possible, the elaborate bow with which you

bent before Mrs. Mazyck, or even that still more elaborate, if less
courteous obeisance which you made when passing Mrs. Bonneau.
There is no doubt that the contrast which you speak of is indicative
of moral changes of a serious character in the race. As the
court usher of Louis XV. detected the approaching revolution in
the ribands in the shoes of the courtier noble, in place of the
golden buckle, so does the substitution of the jaunty, indifferent
manner of the modern gentleman betray the dislike to form, restraint,
and all authority—in a word, that utter decline of reverence—which
promises to be the great virtue in the eyes of ultra-democracy,
the maxim of which is—`The world's mine oyster.'
The eye of our times takes in all things that it sees, and at once
acquires a right therein; and even the smiles of beauty, are
things of course, which to behold is necessarily to command.—
Whether we do not lose by this confidence in ourselves,—for this
is the true signification of it all,—is a question which I do not
propose to argue. I am of the opinion, my dear Major, that a
compromise might well be made between the manners of your
day and ours—when ease of manner might be regulated and restrained
by a courtly grace, and a gentle solicitude, and when dignity
might be held back from the embraces of formality.”

“Ah! Dick, that would be quite a clever essay, and full of
suggestiveness, but for that atrocious word `compromise.' The
compromises of modern democracy are the death of our securities,
and democracy is but that `universal wolf,' as described by
Shakspeare,

You remember the passage; and that which follows is the clue
to the whole evil—

The Major had got upon a favourith text, and was not soon

suffocate himself. It is not possible for me to follow him, nor is
it desirable that I should. He gave me at the close a sly look,
saying—

“I must go see after Ned. Ah! Dick, if he only had the good
taste which you have, and knew as well how to lead out trumps
in a game like ours.”

This was all said in a whisper. He disappeared leaving me
still to play the cards in my possession. What need I speak of
the game? Suffice it that I played, not presumptuously, and yet
I trust manfully. At all events, I secured the hand of Beatrice
Mazyck—for the first cotillion.

Tea disappeared, an interregnum followed, in which the buz
was universal, and mostly unintelligible except to a few who contrived,
like myself, to monopolize a corner and a companion. Soon,
there was a slight bustle, and a fair-haired and fair-cheeked girl,
a Miss Starke, from one of the middle districts, was conducted to
the piano, which she approached with hesitating steps; but the
hesitancy ceased when her fingers began to commerce with the
keys. She executed the Moses in Egypt of Rossini, with a nice
appreciation, and secured a very tolerable hearing from the audience;
a song followed from a Miss Walter, of some one of the
parishes; and then a lively overture from the violin in the passage-way
silenced the piano for the rest of the night, signalizing
a general and very animating bustle. There were two violins,
one of them, as usual upon large plantations in the South, being
a negro—a fellow of infinite excellence in drawing the bow. The
other was an amiable young gentleman of the neighbourhood,
whose good nature and real merits as a musician, led him frequently
to perform at the friendly reunions in the Parish. Between
the two we had really first rate fiddling; and the carpets
soon disappeared from the hall and the opposite apartment to the
parlour, affording ample room and verge enough for our purposes;
and to it we went with a merry bound, and a perfect exhilaration

of the soul, wheeling about in all the subdued graces
of the quadrille, and forgetting phlegm and philosophy in a
moment. The dancers were surrounded by the spectators, and,
with Beatrice Mazyck as my partner, I confess to being as little
disposed for grave thoughts and sober fancies, as any of my
neighbours.

Your country ball is quite a different sort of thing from that of
the fashionable city. It is more distinguished by abandon. There
is a less feeling of restraint in the one situation than the other.
Nobody is critical, there are few or no strangers, not sufficient to
check mirth or irritate self-esteem, and the heels fairly take entire
possession of the head. I had not been in such a glow for months.
I had not conjectured the extent of my own agility, and Beatrice
swam through the circle, proudly and gracefully, as the Queen of
Sheba, over the mirrored avenues (according to the Rabbinical
tradition) of Solomon.

“You are a lucky dog, Dick,” whispered the Major in my ears.
“Your partner is worthy to be an Empress. That scamp of a
son of mine, he has possessed himself of that little French devil,
in spite of all I could say. Just look at her, what a little, insignificant
thing she is—yet she can dance—but that is French, of
course. See how she whirls—egad! she can dance—she goes
through the circle like a bird. But to dance well, Dick, don't
make the fine woman! No! no! Deuce take the fellow that
has no eyes for a proper object.”

I was whirled away at this moment, but when I got back to
my place, he was there still, continuing his running commentary.

“Look at Mrs. Methuselah, there—the stiff embodiment of
Gallic dignity in the days of Louis le Grand—I mean, Madame
Agnes-Theresa. Oh! she's a beauty. See how she smiles and
simpers, as if she thought so herself. I suppose, however, it's
only her pride that's delighted at the fine evolutions of her little
French apology for a woman. And see, Ned, the rascal—he sees

nobody but her. He does not dream that I am watching him all
the while. I fancy, by the way, he does not greatly care! But
I'll astonish him yet, Dick, you shall see! If he vexes me, I'll
marry again, by all that's beautiful!”

Well might the soul of Ned Bulmer be ravished out of his
eyes. Paula Bonneau is certainly the most exquisite little fairy
on the wing in a ball-room, that ever eye-sight strove in vain to
follow. Never sylph wandered or floated along the sands under
the hallowing moon-light and the breathing spells of the sweet
south, with a more witchlike or bewitching motion. She was the
observed of all observers; and it was a perfect study itself, appealing
to the gentle and amiable heart, to behold the rapt delight
in her stiff old grand dame's eyes, as she followed her little
figure everywhere through the mazes of the dance. At that moment,
the old lady's heart was in good humour with all the world.
She even smiled on Major Bulmer as he approached, though, the
instant after, meeting with a profound and stately bow from him,
she drew herself up to her full height, lifted her fan slowly, with
measured evolutions before her face, and seemed to be counting
the number of lustres in the chandelier.

“What a conceited, consequential old fool!” muttered the Major,
as he passed onward. “Strange! that poor old French woman
actually persuades herself that she is a human being, and of
really the fairest sort of material.”

Had he heard the unspoken comment of Madame Girardin at the
same moment upon himself!

“It is certainly very singular that you can never make a gentleman
of an Englishman. Physically, they are certainly well made
people, next to the French. Mentally, they are capable in sundry
departments. They are undoubtedly brave, and, if the French
were extinct, might be accounted the bravest of living races. They
have wealth and numerous old families, but all derived from the
Norman French. Still, there is a something wanting, without

which there can be no grace or refinement. They have the manners
of oxen,—Bulls,—hence the name of John Bull, the propriety
of which they themselves acknowledge. You cannot make them
gentlemen by any process.”

But these mutual snarlers and satirists did not disturb the progress
of the ball. My next partner was Paula Bonneau. I looked
to see with whom Ned Bulmer had united his dancing destinies,
curious to ascertain how far he was disposed to comply with the
wishes of his father; but he was no where that I could see, while
Beatrice might be beheld floating away like a swan with my friend,
Gourdin. The Major came up to me in one of the pauses of the
drama.

“That cub of mine,” says he, “has let the game escape him
again. I could wring his neck for him. He is now hopping it
with Monimia Porcher,—dancing with every body but the person
with whom I wish him to dance. What does he not deserve!”

And so the time passed till the short hours wore towards; and
then between 12 and 1, the supper signal was given, when we all
marched into the basement. I had secured the arm of Beatrice
Mazyck in the procession; and when I entered the supper saloon,
conspicuous near the head of the table was Ned Bulmer, supplying
the plate of Paula Bonneau. The Major saw him at the same moment,
and was evidently no longer able to control his chagrin. He
looked all sorts of terrors. Mars never wore fiercer visage on a
frosty night. His fury lost him his supper, but he drank like a
Turk in secret. Beaker after beaker of rosy champagne was filled
and emptied, and when I returned up stairs with my fair companion,
I left him with the young men still busy below at the bottle.
When he came above, which was some half an hour after, he
abruptly strode across the parlour to the spot where Ned was still
in attendance upon Paula.

“Come, sir,” said he, “if you mean to drive me home to-night.

I am ready—and your buggy is ready, sir,—I have already ordered
it.”

Ned was disquieted at the summons, but he quickly saw that
the old man's nerves were disordered by the wine, and the filial
duty of the son became instantly active, prompting him to take
him off, lest other eyes should see his condition as clearly as his
own. He said cheerfully—

“I am also ready, sir, and will only make my bow to Mrs.
Mazyck.”

“Bow be —!” muttered the Major. “You've been bowing
it all night with a vengeance.”

This was scarcely heard by more than the son and myself. His
sister, Miss Bulmer, upon whom I was in attendance, now came up.

“Brother,” said she, “hadn't you better take a seat with us in
the carriage, and let Ned drive home with Tony only.”

“And why, pray,” he responded sharply, “should I change any
of my plans? Am I so old as to need back supporters and cushions?
or do you fear that I shall catch rheumatism? Rheumatism
never ran in my family. No! no! I drive home as I came—in the
buggy.”

There was no more to be said. The Major, giving himself a
fair start, crossed the room to Mrs. Mazyck and Beatrice, and to
each severally, in the deliberate style of King Charles's courtiers,
made his elaborate bow, the right foot thrown back and toe turned
out, as the base of the operation, and the left foot drawn with a
sweep, so as to lodge its heel almost within the inner curve of the
right: arms describing the well known half circle, and body bent
forward, so as to enable the hands, if they so wished it, to rest
upon the knees. And the operation was over, and Ned and sire
passed out of sight, leaving Miss Bulmer in my charge. We did
not linger long after. I had a few more sweet words to exchange
with Beatrice—who treated me, evidently, with a greater degree of
kindness than her good mother was prepared to smile upon—and

to roll forth sundry sentences of rotund compliment to Madame
Agnes-Theresa, upon the performances of Paula, whose bright
eyes returned their acknowledgments for a very different sort of service.
They took their departure before us, and I saw them to the
carriage. It appears that Mrs. Mazyck had some private words
with Miss Bulmer, and detained her after the departure of most of
the guests. Of course, I did not scruple to enjoy a corresponding
tête-a-tête with Beatrice, and had no complaints to make of the
delay. This was much shorter than I could have wished, and, all
too soon, I found myself in the carriage with Miss Bulmer, and
hurrying off for “The Barony.” Before we reached that place,
however, other adventures were destined to occur, and those of a
sort to require a chapter to themselves.