Francis Lynde - The Dodd Family Abroad, Vol. I

Mamma – and you know her prudery – is actually in ecstasy with them. The Prince said to me last night, "Savez-vous, Mademoiselle! Madame votre mère est d'une beauté classique?" and I assure you ma was delighted with the compliment when she heard it. Papa is not so tractable: he calls them the most atrocious names, and has all the old prejudices about the Continent that we see in the old farces. Cary is, however, worse again, and thinks their easy elegance, is impertinence, and all the graceful charm of their manner nothing but – her own words – "egregious vanity." Shall I whisper you a bit of a secret? Well, then, Kitty, the reason of this repugnance may be that she makes no impression whatever, notwithstanding her beauty; and there is no denying that she does not possess the gift – whatever it be – of fascination. She has, besides, a species of antipathy to everything foreign, that she makes no effort to disguise. A rather unfortunate acquaintance ma made, on board the steam-packet, with a certain Mr. Krauth, who called himself sub-consul of somewhere in Holland, but who turned out to be a Jew pedler, has given Cary such an opportunity of inveighing against all foreigners that she is positively unendurable. This Krauth, I must say, was atrociously vulgar, and shockingly ugly; but as he could talk some broken English, ma rather liked him, and we had him to tea; after which he took James home to his lodgings, to show him some wonderful stuffed birds that he was bringing to the Royal Princesses. I have not patience to tell you all the narrative; but the end of it was that poor dear James, having given all his pocket-money and his silver pencil-case for a tin musical snuff-box that won't play Weber's last waltz, except in jerks like a hiccough, actually exchanged two dozen of his new shirts for a box of Havannah cigars and a cigar-case with a picture of Fanny Elssler on it! Papa was in a towering passion when he heard of it, and hastened off to K.'s lodgings; but he had already decamped. This unhappy incident threw a shade over our last few days at Ostend; for James never came down to dine, but sat in his own room smoking the atrocious cigars, and contemplating the portrait of the charming Fanny, – pursuits which, I must say, seemed to have conduced to a most melancholy and despondent frame of mind.

There was another mésaventure , my dearest Kitty. My thanks to that sweet language for the word by which I characterize it! A certain Count Victor de Lancy, who made acquaintance with us at the table d'hôte , and was presuming enough to visit us afterwards, turned out to be a common thief! and who, though under the surveillance of the police, made away with ma's workbox, and her gold spectacles, putting on pa's paletot, and a new plaid belonging to James, as he passed out. It is very shocking; but confess, dearest, what a land it must be, where the pedlers are insinuating, and the very pickpockets have all the ease and breeding of the best society. I assure you that I could not credit the guilt of M. de L., until the Brigadier came yesterday to inquire about our losses, and take what he called his signalement . I thought, for a moment or two, that he had made a mistake, Kitty, and was come for mine ; for he looked into my eyes in such a way, and spoke so softly, that I began to blush; and mamma, always on the watch, bridled up, and said, "Mary Anne!" in that voice you must so well remember; and so it is, my dear friend, the thief and the constable, and I have no doubt, too, the judge, the jury, and the jailer, are all on the same beat!

I have just been called away to see such a love of a rose tunic, all glacé , to be worn over a dull slate-colored jupe, looped up at one side with white camellias and lilies of the valley. Think of me, Kitty, with my hair drawn back and slightly powdered, red heels to my shoes, and a great fan hanging to my side, like grave Aunt Susan In the picture, wanting nothing but the love-sick swain that plays the flageolet at her feet! – Madame Adèle, the modiste, says, "not long to wait for a dozen such," – and this not for a fancy ball, dearest, but for a simple evening party, – a "dance-able tea," as papa will call it. I vow to you, Kitty, that it greatly detracts from the pictorial effect of this taste, to see how obstinately men will adhere to their present ungainly and ungraceful style of dress, – that shocking solecism in costume, a narrow-tailed coat, and those more fearful outrages on shape and symmetry for which no name has been invented in any language. Now, the levelling effect of this black-coat system is terrific; and there is no distinguishing a man of real rank from his tailor, – amongst English at least, for the crosses and decorations so frequent with foreigners are unknown to us. Talking of these, Kitty, the Prince of Aguila Nero is splendid. He wears nearly every bird and beast that Noah had in the ark, and a few others quite unknown to antediluvial zoology. These distinctions are sad reflections on the want of a chivalric feeling in our country; and when we think of the heroic actions, the doughty deeds, and high achievements of these Paladins, we are forced to blush for the spirit that condemns us to be a nation of shopkeepers.

How I run on, dearest, from one topic to another! just as to my mind is presented the delightful succession of objects about me, – objects of whose very existence I did not know till now! And then to think of what a life of obscurity and darkness we were condemned to, at home! – our neighborhood, a priest, a miller, and those odious Davises; our gayeties, a detestable dinner at the Grange; our theatricals, "The Castle Spectre," performed in the coach-house; and instead of those gorgeous and splendid ceremonials of our Church, so impressive, so soul-subduing, Kitty, the little dirty chapel at Bruff, with Larry Behan, the lame sacristan, hobbling about and thrashing the urchins with the handle of the extinguisher! his muttered "If I was near yeez!" breaking in on the "Oremus, Domine." Shall I own it, Kitty, there is a dreadful vulgarity about our dear little circle of Dodsborough; and "one demoralizes," as the French say, by the incessant appeal of low and too familiar associations.

I have been again called away to interpret for papa, with the police. That graceless little wretch, Paddy Byrne, who was left behind by the train at Malines, went to eat his dinner at one of the small restaurants in the town, called the "Cheval Pie," and not finding the food to his satisfaction, got into some kind of an altercation with the waiter, when the name of the hostel coming up in the dispute, suggested to Paddy the horrid thought that it was the "Horse Pie-house" he had chanced upon, – an idea so revolting to his culinary prejudices that he smashed and broke everything before him, and was only subdued at last by a corporal's party of the gendarmerie, who handcuffed and conveyed him to Brussels; and here he is, now, crying and calling himself a "poor boy that was dragged from home," and, in fact, trying to persuade himself and all around him that he has been sold into slavery by a cruel master. Betty Cobb, too, has just joined the chorus, and is eloquently interweaving a little episode of Irish wrongs and sorrows into the tissue of Paddy's woes!

Betty is worse than him. There is nothing good enough for her to eat; no bed to sleep upon; she even finds the Belgians deficient in cleanliness. This, after Bruff, is a little too bad; mamma, however, stands by her in everything, and in the end she will become intolerable. James intends to send a few lines to your brother Robert; but if he should fail – not improbable, as writing, with him, combines the double difficulties of orthography and manuscript – pray remember us kindly to him, and believe me ever, my dearest Kitty,

Your heart-devoted