 | CHAPTER XV. The Morgesons |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
Rosville was a county town. The courts were held there,
and its society was adorned with several lawyers of note, who
had law students, which fact was to the lawyers' daughters
the most agreeable feature of their fathers' profession. It had
a weekly market day, and an annual Cattle Show. I saw a
turn out of whips and wagons about the hitching posts round
the green of a Tuesday the year through, and going to and
from school met men with a bovine smell. Caucuses were
prevalent, and occasionally a State Convention was held, when
Rosville paid honor to some political hero of the day, with banners
and brass bands. It was a favorite spot for the rustication
of naughty boys from Harvard, or Yale. Dr. Price had one or
two at present, who boarded in his house, so as to be immediately
under his purblind eyes, and who took Greek and Latin
at the Academy.
Social feuds raged in the Academy Coteries between the
collegians and the natives, on account of the superior success
of the former in flirtation. The latter were not consoled
by their experience that no flirtation lasted beyond the period
of rustication. Dr. Price usually had several young men fitting
for college also, which added still more piquancy to the
provincial society. In the summer riding parties were fashionable,
and in the winter county balls, and cotillion parties;
a Professor came down from Boston at this season to set up a
dancing school, which was always well attended.
The secular concerns of life engaged the greatest share of
the interests of its inhabitants; and although there existed social
and professional dissensions, there was little sectarian
spirit among them, and no religious zeal. The rich and fashionable
were Unitarians. The society owned a tumble-down
church; a mild preacher stood in its pulpit, and prayed and
preached, side-ways, and slouchy. This degree of religious
vitality accorded with the habits of its generations. Surrey
and Barmouth would have howled over the Total Depravity of
Rosville. There was no probationary air about it. Human
Nature was the infallible theme there. At first, I missed the
When I felt an emotion without seeing the shadow of its edge
turning towards me, I discovered my conscience, which hitherto
had only been described to me.
There were churches in the town besides the Unitarian.
The Universalists had a bran new one, and there was still
another, frequented by the sedimentary part of the population—Methodists.
I toned down perfectly within three months. Soon after my
arrival at his house, I became afraid of cousin Charles. Not
that he ever said anything to justify fear of him—he was more
silent at home than elsewhere; but he was imperious, fastidious,
and sarcastic with me, by a look, a gesture, an inflection
of his voice. My perception of any defect in myself was
instantaneous with his discovery of it. I fell into the habit of
guessing each day whether I was to offend or please him,
and then into that of intending to please. An intangible,
silent, magnetic feeling existed between us, changing and
developing according to its own mysterious law, remaining intact
in spite of the contests between us, of resistance and
defiance. But my feeling died or slumbered, when I was beyond
the limits of his personal influence. When in his presence,
I was so pervaded by it, that whether I went contrary
to the dictates of his will, or not, I moved as if under a pivot;
when away, my natural elasticity prevailed, and I held the
same relation to others, that I should have held, if I had not
known him. This continued till the secret was divined, and
then his influence was better remembered.
I discovered that there was no love between him and Alice.
I never heard from either an expression denoting that each
felt an interest in the other's individual life; neither was there
any of that conjugal free-masonry which bores one so to
witness. But Alice was not unhappy. Her ideas of love
ended with marriage; what came afterwards—children, housekeeping,
and the claims of society—sufficed her needs. If she
had any surplus of feeling, it was expended upon her children,
who had much from her already, for she was devoted and indulgent
to them. In their management she allowed no interference,
on this point only thwarting her husband. In one
respect she and Charles harmonized; both were worldly, and
in all the material of living there was sympathy. Their relation
was no unhappiness to him; he thought, I dare say, if he
thought at all, that it was a natural one. The men of his acquaintance
not more than thirty—kind hearted, intelligent, and popular.
Whether cousin Alice would have found it difficult to fulfil
the promise she made mother regarding me, if I had been a
plain, unnoticeable girl, I cannot say; or whether her anxiety
that I should make an agreeable impression, would have continued
beyond a few days. She looked after my dress and my
acquaintances. When she found that I was sought by the
young people of her set and the Academy, she was gratified,
and opened her house for them, giving little parties and large
ones, which were pleasant to everybody except cousin Charles,
who detested company—“it made him lie so.” But he was
very well satisfied that people should like to visit, and praise,
his house and its belongings, if Alice would take the trouble of
it upon herself. I made calls with her Wednesday afternoons,
and went to church with her Sunday mornings. At home I saw
little of her. She was almost exclusively occupied with the
children—their ailments or their pleasures, and staid in her
own room, or the nursery.
When in the house I never occupied one spot long, but wandered
in the garden, which had a row of elms, or haunted the
kitchen and stables, to watch black Phœbe, the cook, or the
men as they cleaned the horses or carriages. My own room
was in a wing of the cottage, with a window overlooking the
entrance into the yard and the carriage drive; this was its sole
view, except the wall of a house on the other side of a high
fence. I heard Charles when he drove home at night, or away
in the morning; knew when Nell was in a bad humor by the
tone of his voice, which I heard whether my window was open
or shut. It was a pretty room, with a set of maple furniture,
and amber and white wall paper, and amber and white chintz
curtains and coverings. It suited the color of my hair, Alice
declared, and was becoming to my complexion.
“Yes,” said Charles, looking at my hair with an expression
that made me put my hand up to my head as if to hide it; I
knew that my hair was carelessly dressed.
I made a study that day of the girls' heads at school, and
from that time improved in my style of wearing it, and I
brushed it with zeal every day afterwards. Alice had my room
kept so neatly for me, that it soon came to be a reproach; and
I was finally taught by her example how to adjust chairs,
books, and mats in straight lines, and to fold articles without
making odd corners and wrinkles. At last I improved so much,
that I could find what I was seeking in a drawer, without harrowing
Alice had a talent for housekeeping and her talent was fostered
by the exacting, systematic taste of her husband. He examined
many matters which are usually left to women: he applied
his business talent to the art of living, and succeeded in it, as
he did in everything else.
Alice told me that Charles had been poor; that his father
was never on good terms with him. She fancied they were too
much alike; so he had turned him off to shift for himself, when
quite young. When she met him, he was the agent of a manufacturing
company, in the town where her parents lived, and
even then, in his style of living he surpassed the young
men of her acquaintance. The year before they were married
his father died, and as Charles was his only child, he left his
farm to him, and ten thousand dollars—all he had. The executors
of the will were obliged to advertise for him, not having
any clue to his place of residence. He sold the farm as soon
as it was put in his hands, took the ten thousand dollars, and
came back to be married. A year after, he came to Rosville,
and built a cotton factory, three miles from town, and the cottage,
and then brought her and Edward, who was a few months
old, to live in it. He had since enlarged the works, employed
more operatives, and was making a great deal of money.
Morgeson's Mills, she believed, were known all over the country.
Charles was his own agent, as well as sole owner. There
were no mills besides his in the neighborhood; to that fact she
ascribed the reason of his having no difficulties in Rosville,
and no enmities; for she knew he had no wish to make friends.
The Rosville people having no business in common with him,
had no right to meddle, and could find but small excuse for
comment. They spent, she said, five or six thousand a year;
most of it went in horses, she was convinced, and she believed
his flowers cost him a great deal too. “You must know, Cassandra,
that his heart is with his horses, and his flowers. He
is more interested in them than he is in his children.”
She looked vexed when she said this; but I took hold of
the edge of her finely-embroidered cape, and asked her how
much it cost. She laughed, and said, “Fifty dollars; but you
see how many lapels it has. I have still a handsomer one that
was seventy-five.”
“Are they a part of the six thousand a year, Alice?”
“Of course; but Charles wishes me to dress, and never
stints me in money; and after all, I like for him to spend his
money in his own way. It vexes me sometimes, he buys such
and miles every year; and it relieves the tedium of his journeys
to have horses he must watch, I suppose.”
Nobody in Rosville lived at so fast a rate as the Morgesons.
The oldest families there were not the richest—the Ryders, in
particular. Judge Ryder had four unmarried daughters; they
were the only girls in our set who never invited us to visit
them. They could not help saying with a fork of the neck,
“Who are the Morgesons?” But all the others welcomed
cousin Alice, and were friendly with me. She was too pretty
and kind-hearted not to be liked, if she was rich; and cousin
Charles was respected, because he made no acquaintance beyond
bows, and “How-de-dos.” It was rather a stirring thing
to have such a citizen, especially when he met with an accident,
and he broke many carriages in the course of time; and
now and then there was a row at the mills, which made talk.
His being considered a hard man, did not detract from the interest
he inspired.
My advent in Rosville might be considered a fortunate one;
appearances indicated it; I am sure I thought so, and was very
well satisfied with my position. I conformed to the ways of
the family with ease, even in the matter of small breakfasts
and light suppers. I found that I was more elastic than before,
and more susceptible to sudden impressions. I was conscious
of the ebb and flow of blood through my heart, and felt
it when it eddied up into my face, and touched my brain with
its flame-colored wave. I loved life again. The stuff of which
each day was woven was covered with an arabesque which
suited my fancy. I missed nothing that the present unrolled
for me, but I looked neither to the past nor to the future. In
truth there was little that was elevated in me. Could I have
perceived it if there had been? Whichever way the circumstances
of my life vacillated, I was not reached to the quick;
whether spiritual or material influences made sinuous the current
of being, it still flowed towards an undiscovered ocean.
Half the girls at the Academy, like myself, came from distant
towns. Some had been there three years. They were all
younger than myself. There never had been a boarding-house
attached to the school, and it was not considered a derogatory
thing, for the best families to receive these girls as boarders.
We were therefore on the same footing, in a social sense. I
was also on good terms with Miss Prior. She was a cold, indifferent
woman, but faithful as a teacher, and gifted with an
insight into the capacity of a pupil. She gave me a course of
recommended any Moral Science whatever. When I had been
with her a few months, she proposed that I should study the
common branches; my standing in the school was such then,
that I went down into the primary classes without shame, and
I must say that I was the dullest scholar in them. We also
had a drawing master, and a music-teacher. The latter was an
amiable woman, with theatrical manners. She was a Mrs.
Lane; but no Mr. Lane had ever been seen in Rosville. We
girls supposed he had deserted her, which was the fact, she
told me afterwards. She cried whenever she sang a sentimental
song, but never gave up to her tears, singing on with
blinded eyes, and quavering voice. She always wore silk
dresses which had been handsome, with much frayed trimming
about them, the hooks and eyes loosened, and the seams
strained. I liked her, and although I did not take lessons, saw
her every day when she came up to the Academy. She asked
me once, if I had any voice. I answered her by singing one
of our Surrey hymns, “Once on the raging seas he rode.”
She grew pale, and said, “Don't for heaven's sake sing that!
I can see my old mother, as she looked when she sang that
hymn of a stormy night, when father was out to sea. Both are
dead now, and where am I?”
She turned round on the music stool, and banged out the accompaniment
of “O pilot 'tis a fearful night,” and sang it with
great energy. After her feelings were composed, she begged
me to allow her to teach me to sing. “You can at least learn
the simple chords of song accompaniments, and I think you
have a voice that can be made effective.”
I promised to try, and as I had taken lessons before, in three
months I could play and sing, “Should those fond hopes e'er
forsake thee,” tolerably well. But Mrs. Lane persisted in
affirming that I had a dramatic talent, and as she supposed
that I never should be an actress, I must bring it out in singing;
so I persevered, and thanks to her, improved so much,
that people said, when I was mentioned, “She sings.”
The Moral Sciences went to Dr. Price, and he had a class of
girls in Latin; but my only opportunity of going before him
was at morning prayers, and Wednesday mornings, when we
assembled in the hall to hear orations in Latin, or translations,
and `pieces' spoken by the boys; and at the quarterly reviews,
when he marched us backwards and forwards through the books
we had conned, like the sharp old gentleman he was, notwithstanding
his purblind eyes.
| CHAPTER XV. The Morgesons | |