Pencil Sketches: or, Outlines of Character and Manners

Soon after breakfast, Mrs. Clavering had sent a message to "the French Study," implying the arrival of Captain Kentledge, and the consequent holiday of the children; and the Gauls had concluded it expedient to dismiss their school at twelve o'clock, and hasten to pay their compliments to the rich old uncle, of whom they had heard much since their residence at Corinth.

When they were presented to Captain Kentledge, he was not at all prepossessed in favor of their appearance, and would have been much inclined to receive them coldly; but as he was now called upon to appear in the character of their host, he remembered the courtesy due to them as his guests, and he managed to do the honors of his cabin in a very commendable manner, considering that he said to himself, "for my own sake, I cannot be otherwise than civil to them; but I despise them, notwithstanding."

There was much chattering that amounted to nothing; and much admiration of the cabin, by which, instead of pleasing Uncle Philip, they only incurred his farther contempt, by admiring always in the wrong place, and evincing an ignorance of ships that he thought unpardonable in people that had crossed the Atlantic. On Sam being introduced to them, there were many overstrained compliments on his beauty, and what they called his air distingué. Monsieur Franchimeau thought that le jeune Sammi6 greatly resembled Mr. Irvine Voshintone, whom he had seen in Paris; but Monsieur Ravigote thought him more like the portrait of Sir Valter Scotch. Madame Franchimeau likened him to the head of the Apollo Belvidere, and Madame Ravigote to the Duke of Berry. But all agreed that he had a general resemblance to La Fayette, with a slight touch of Dr. Franklin. However these various similitudes might be intended as compliments, they afforded no gratification to Uncle Philip, whose secret opinion was, that if Sam looked like anybody, it was undoubtedly Paul Jones. And during this examination, Sam was not a little disconcerted at being seized by the shoulders and twirled round, and taken sometimes by the forehead and sometimes by the chin, that his face might be brought into the best light for discovering all its affinities.

There was then an attempt at general conversation, the chief part of which was borne by the ladies, or rather by Madame Franchimeau, who thought in her duty to atone for the dogged taciturnity of her husband. Monsieur Franchimeau, unlike the generality of his countrymen, neither smiled, bowed, nor complimented. Having a great contempt for the manners of the vieille cour7 and particularly for those of his father-in-law; he piqued himself on his brusquerie,8 and his almost total disregard of les bienséances,9 and set up un esprit fort:10 but he took care to talk as little as possible, lest his claims to that character should be suspected.

Uncle Philip, though he scorned to acknowledge it, was not in reality destitute of all comprehension of the French language, having picked up some little acquaintance with it from having, in the course of his wanderings, been at places where nothing else was spoken; and though determined on being displeased, he was amused, in spite of himself, at some of the tirades of Madame Franchimeau. Understanding that Monsieur Philippe (as much to his annoyance she called him) had just returned from the West Indies, she began to talk of Cape François, and the insurrection of the blacks, in which, she said, she had lost her first husband, Monsieur Mascaron. "By this terrible blow," said she, "I was parfaitement abimé,11 and I refused all consolation till it was my felicity to inspire Monsieur Franchimeau with sentiments the most profound. But my heart will for ever preserve a tender recollection of my well-beloved Alphonse. Ah! my Alphonse – his manners were adorable. However, my regards are great for mon ami12 Monsieur Franchimeau. It is true, he is un pen brusque – c'est son caractère.13 But his heart is of a goodness that is really inconceivable. He performs the most charming actions, and with a generosity that is heroic. Ah! mon ami– you hear me speak of you – but permit me the sad consolation of shedding yet a few tears for my respectable Alphonse."

Madame Franchimeau then entered into an animated detail of the death of her first husband, who was killed before her eyes by the negroes; and she dwelt upon every horrid particular, till she had worked herself into a passion of tears. Just then, Fanny Clavering (who had for that purpose been sent up to the house by her mother) arrived with a servant carrying a waiter of pine-apples, sugar and Madeira.

Madame Franchimeau stopped in the midst of her tears, and exclaimed – "Ah! des ananas – mon ami (to her husband) – maman – papa – voyez – voyez – des ananas.14 Ah! my poorest Alphonse, great was his love for these – what you call them – apple de pine. He was just paring his apple de pine, when the detestable negroes rushed in and overset the table. Ah! quel scène – une véritable tragédie!15Pardonnez, Madame Colavering, I prefer a slice from the largest part of the fruit. – Ah! my amiable Alphonse – his blood flew all over my robe, which was of spotted Japan muslin. I wore that day a long sash of a broad ribbon of the colour of Aurore, fringed at both of its ends. When I was running away, he grasped it so hard that it came untied, and I left it in his hand. – May I beg the favour of some more sugar? —Mon ami, you always prefer the pine-apple bathed in Champagne."

"Yes," replied Franchimeau, "it does me no good, unless each slice is soaked in some wine of fine quality." But Mrs. Clavering acknowledging that she had no Champagne in the house, Franchimeau gruffly replied, that "he supposed Madeira might do."

Madame then continued her story and her pine-apple. "Ah! mon bien-aimé Alphonse,"16 said she, "he had fourteen wounds – I will take another slice, if you please, Madame Colavering. There – there – a little more sugar. Bien obligé17– a little more still. Maman, vous ne mangez pas de bon appetit. Ah! je comprens – vous voulez de la crème avec votre anana.18– Madame Colavering, will you do mamma the favour to have some cream brought for her? and I shall not refuse some for myself. Ah! mon Alphonse– the object of my first grand passion! He exhibited in dying some contortions that were hideous —absolument effroyable19– they are always present before my eyes – Madame Colavering, I would prefer those two under slices; they are the best penetrated with the sugar, and also well steeped in the jus."20

The cream was procured, and the two Madames did it ample justice. Presently the youngest of the French ladies opened her eyes very wide, and exclaimed to her father, "Mon cher papa, vous n' avez pas déjà fini?"21 "My good friend, Madame Colavering, you know, of course, that my papa cannot eat much fruit, unless it is accompanied by some biscuit– for instance, the cake you call sponge."

"I was not aware of that," replied Mrs. Clavering.

"Est-il possible?"22 exclaimed the whole French family, looking at each other.

Mrs. Clavering then recollecting that there was some sponge-cake in the house, sent one of the children for it, and when it was brought, their French visiters all ate heartily of it; and she heard the vieille maman23 saying to the vieux papa,24 "Eh, mon ami, ce petit collation vient fort à-propos, comme notre déjeûner était seulement un mauvais salade."25

The collation over, Mrs. Clavering, by way of giving her guests an opportunity of saying something that would please Uncle Philip, patted old Neptune on the head, and asked them if they had ever seen a finer dog?

"I will show you a finer," replied Madame Franchimeau; "see, I have brought with me my interesting Bijou" – and she called in an ugly little pug that had been scrambling about the cabin door ever since their arrival, and whose only qualification was that of painfully sitting up on his hind legs, and shaking his fore-paws in the fashion that is called begging. His mistress, with much importunity, prevailed on him to perform this elegant feat, and she then rewarded him with a saucer-full of cream, sugar, and sponge-cake. He was waspish and snappish, and snarled at Jane Clavering when she attempted to play with him; upon which Neptune, with one blow of his huge forefoot, brought the pug to the ground, and then stood motionless, looking up in Uncle Philip's face, with his paw on the neck of the sprawling animal, who kicked and yelped most piteously. This interference of the old Newfoundlander gave great offence to the French family, who all exclaimed, "Quelle horreur! Quelle abomination! En effet c'est trop!"26

Uncle Philip could not help laughing; but Sam called off Neptune from Bijou, and set the fallen pug on his legs again, for which compassionate act he was complimented by the French ladies on his bonté de cœur,27 and honoured at parting, with the title of le doux Sammi.28

"I'll never return this visit," said Uncle Philip, after the French guests had taken their leave.

"Oh! but you must," replied Mrs. Clavering; "it was intended expressly for you – you must return it, in common civility."

"But," persisted Uncle Philip, "I wish them to understand that I don't intend to treat them with common civility. A pack of selfish, ridiculous, impudent fools. No, no. I am not so prejudiced as to believe that all French people are as bad as these – many of them, no doubt, if we could only find where they are, may be quite as clever as the first lieutenant of that frigate; but, to their shame be it spoken, the best of them seldom visit America, and our country is overrun with ignorant, vulgar impostors, who, unable to get their bread at home, come here full of lies and pretensions, and to them and their quackery must our children be intrusted, in the hope of acquiring a smattering of French jabber, and at the risk of losing everything else."

"Don't you think Uncle Philip always talks best when he's in a passion?" observed Dick to Sam.

After Mrs. Clavering had returned to the house, Dick informed his uncle that, a few days before, she had made a dinner for the whole French family; and Captain Kentledge congratulated himself and Sam on their not arriving sooner from their voyage. Dick had privately told his brother that the behaviour of the guests, on this occasion, had not given much satisfaction. Mrs. Clavering, it seems, had hired, to dress the dinner, a mulatto woman that professed great knowledge of French cookery, having lived at one of the best hotels in New York. But Monsieur Franchimeau had sneered at all the French dishes as soon as he tasted them, and pretended not to know their names, or for what they were intended; Monsieur Ravigote had shrugged and sighed, and the ladies had declined touching them at all, dining entirely on what (as Dick expressed it) they called roast beef de mutton and natural potatoes.29

It was not only his regard for the children that made Mrs. Clavering's French mania a source of great annoyance to Uncle Philip, but he soon found that much of the domestic comfort of the family was destroyed by this unaccountable freak, as he considered it. Mrs. Clavering was not young enough to be a very apt scholar, and so much of her time was occupied by learning her very long lessons, and writing her very long exercises, that her household duties were neglected in consequence. As in a provincial town it is difficult to obtain servants who can go on well without considerable attention from the mistress, the house was not kept in as nice order as formerly; the meals were at irregular hours, and no longer well prepared; the children's comfort was forgotten, their pleasures were not thought of, and the little girls grieved that no sweetmeats were to be made that season; their mother telling them that she had now no time to attend to such things. The children's story-books were taken from them, because they were now to read nothing but Telemaque; they were stopped short in the midst of their talk, and told to parlez Français.30 Even the parrots heard so much of it that, in a short time, they prated nothing but French.

Uncle Philip had put his positive veto on Sam's going to French school, and he insisted that little Anne had become pale and thin since she had been a pupil of the Franchimeaus. Mrs. Clavering, to pacify him, consented to withdraw the child from school; but only on condition that she was every day to receive a lesson at home, from old Mr. Ravigote.

Anne Clavering was but five years old. As yet, no taste for French "had dawned upon her soul," and very little for English; her mind being constantly occupied with her doll, and other playthings. Monsieur Ravigote, with all the excitability of his nation, was, in the main, a very good-natured man, and was really anxious for the improvement of his pupil. But all was in vain. Little Anne never knew her lessons, and had as yet acquired no other French phrase than "Oui, Monsieur."31

Every morning, Mr. Ravigote came with a face dressed in smiles, and earnest hope that his pupil was going that day to give him what he called "one grand satisfaction;" but the result was always the same.

One morning, as Uncle Philip sat reading the newspaper, and holding little Anne on his knee while she dressed her doll, Mr. Ravigote came in, bowing and smiling as usual, and after saluting Captain Kentledge, he said to the little child: "Well, my dear little friend, ma gentille Annette,32 I see by the look of your countenance that I shall have one grand satisfaction with you this day. Application is painted on your visage, and docility also. Is there not, ma chère?"33

"Oui, Monsieur," replied the little Anne.

"J'en suis ravi.34 Now, ma chère, commençons – commençons tout de suite."35

Little Anne slowly descended from her uncle's knee, carefully put away her doll and folded up her doll's clothes, and then made a tedious search for her book.

"Eh! bien, commençons," said Mr. Ravigote, "you move without any rapidity."

"Oui, Monsieur," responded little Anne, who, after she had taken her seat in a low chair beside Mr. Ravigote, was a long time getting into a comfortable position, and at last settled herself to her satisfaction by crossing her feet, leaning back as far as she could go, and hooking one finger in her coral necklace, that she might pull at it all the time.

"Eh! bien, ma chère; we will first have the lessons without the book," said Mr. Ravigote, commencing with the vocabulary. "Tell me the names of all the months of the year – for instance, January."

"Janvier," answered the pupil, promptly.

"Ah! very well, very well, indeed, ma chère– for once, you know the first word of your lesson. Ah! to-day I have, indeed, great hope of you. Come, now, February?"

"Fevrier," said little Anne.

"Excellent! excellent! you know the second word too – and now, then, March?"

"Marsh."

"Ah! no, no – but I am old; perhaps I did not rightly hear. Repeat, ma chère enfant,36 repeat."

"Marsh," cried little Anne in a very loud voice.

"Ah! you are wrong; but I will pardon you – you have said two words right. Mars, ma chère, Mars is the French for March the month. Come now, April."

"Aprile."

"Aprile! there is no such word as Aprile —Avril. And now tell me, what is May?"

"Mai."

"Excellent! excellent! capital! magnifique! you said that word parfaitement bien.37 Now let us proceed – June."

"Juney."

"Ah! no, no —Juin, ma chère, Juin– but I will excuse you. Now, tell me July."

Little Anne could make no answer.

"Ah! I fear – I begin to fear you. Are you not growing bad?"

"Oui, Monsieur," said little Anne.

"Come then; I will tell you this once —Juillet is the French for July. Now, tell me what is August?"

"Augoost!"

"Augoost! Augoost! there is no such a word. Why, you are very bad, indeed —Août, Août, Août."

The manner in which Mr. Ravigote vociferated this rather uncouth word, roused Uncle Philip from his newspaper and his rocking-chair, and mistaking it for a howl of pain, he started up and exclaimed, "Hallo!" Mr. Ravigote turned round in amazement, and Uncle Philip continued, "Hey, what's the matter? Has anything hurt you? I thought I heard a howl."

"Dear uncle," said little Anne, "Mr. Ravigote is not howling; he is only saying August in French."

Uncle Philip bit his lip and resumed his paper. Mr. Ravigote proceeded, "September?" and his pupil repeated in a breath, as if she was afraid to stop an instant lest she should forget —

"Septembre, Octobre, Novembre, Décembre."

"Ah! very well; very well, indeed," exclaimed Mr. Ravigote; "you have said these four words comme il faut;38 but it must be confessed they are not much difficult."

He then proceeded with the remainder of her vocabulary lesson; but in vain – not another word did she say that had the least affinity to the right one. "Ah!" said he, "je suis au desespoir;39 I much expected of you this day, but you have overtumbled all my hopes. Je suis abimé."40

"Oui, Monsieur, said little Anne.

"You are one mauvais sujet,"41 pursued the teacher, beginning to lose his patience; "punishment is all that you merit. Mais allons, essayons encore."42

Just at that moment the string of little Anne's beads (at which she had been pulling during the whole lesson) broke suddenly in two, and the beads began to shower down, a few into her lap, but most of them on the floor.

"Oh! quel dommage!"43 exclaimed Mr. Ravigote; "Mais n'importe, laissez-les,44 and continue your lesson."

But poor Mr. Ravigote found it impossible to make the little girl pay the slightest attention to him while her beads were scattered on the floor; and his only alternative was to stoop down and help her to pick them up. Uncle Philip raised his eyes from the paper, and said, "Never mind the beads, my dear; finish the lesson, and I will buy you a new coral necklace to-morrow, and a much prettier one than that."

Little Anne instantly rose from the floor, and whisking into her chair, prepared to resume her lesson with alacrity.

"Eh! bien," said the teacher, "now we will start off again, and read the inside of a book. Come, here is the fable of the fox and the grapes. These are the fables that we read during the ancien régime; there are none so good now."

Mr. Ravigote then proceeded to read with her, translating as he went on, and making her repeat after him – "A fox of Normandy, (some say of Gascony,) &c., &c. Now, my dear, you must try this day and make a copy of the nasal sounds as you hear them from me. It is in these sounds that you are always the very worst. The nasal sounds are the soul and the life of French speaking."

The teacher bent over the book, and little Anne followed his pronunciation more closely than she had ever done before: he exclaiming at every sentence, "Very well – very well, indeed, my dear. To-day you have the nasal sounds, comme une ange."45

But on turning round to pat her head, he perceived that gentille Annette was holding her nose between her thumb and finger, and that it was in this way only she had managed to give him satisfaction with the nasal sounds. He started back aghast, exclaiming —

"Ah! quelle friponnerie! la petite coquine! Voici un grand acte de fourberie et de méchanceté!46 So young and so depraved – ah! I fear, I much fear, she will grow up a rogue-a cheat – perhaps a thief. Je suis glacé d'horreur! Je tremble! Je frissonne!"47

"I'll tell you what," said Uncle Philip, laying down his newspaper, "you need neither tremble nor frisson, nor get yourself into any horror about it. The child's only a girl of five years old, and I've no notion that the little tricks, that all children are apt to play at times, are proofs of natural wickedness, or signs that they will grow up bad men and women. But to cut the matter short, the girl is too little to learn French. She is not old enough either to understand it, or to remember it, and you see it's impossible for her to give her mind to it. So from this time, I say, she shall learn no more French till she is grown up, and desires it herself. (Little Anne gave a skip half way to the ceiling.) You shall be paid for her quarter all the same, and I'll pay you myself on the spot. So you need never come again."

Mr. Ravigote was now from head to foot all one smile; and bowing with his hands on his heart, he, at Uncle Philip's desire, mentioned the sum due for a quarter's attempt at instruction. Uncle Philip immediately took the money out of his pocket-book, saying, "There, – there is a dollar over; but you may keep it yourself: I want no change. I suppose my niece, Kitty Clavering, will not be pleased at my sending you off; but she will have to get over it, for I'll see that child tormented no longer."

Mr. Ravigote thought in his own mind, that the torment had been much greater to him than to the child; but he was so full of gratitude, that he magnanimously offered to take the blame on himself, and represent to Mrs. Clavering that it was his own proposal to give up Mademoiselle Annette, as her organ of French was not yet developed.

"No, no," said Uncle Philip, "I am always fair and above-board. I want nobody to shift the blame from my shoulders to their own. Whatever I do, I'll stand by manfully. I only hope that you'll never again attempt to teach French to babies."

Mr. Ravigote took leave with many thanks, and on turning to bid his adieu to the little girl, he found that she had already vanished from the parlour, and was riding about the green on the back of old Neptune.

When Uncle Philip told Mrs. Clavering of his dismissal of Mr. Ravigote, she was so deeply vexed, that she thought it most prudent to say nothing, lest she should be induced to say too much.

A few days after this event, Madame Franchimeau sent an invitation, written in French, for Mrs. Clavering, and "Monsieur Philippe" to pass the evening at her house, and partake of a petit souper,48 bringing with them le doux Sammi, and la belle Fanchette.49 This supper was to celebrate the birthday of her niece, Mademoiselle Robertine, who had just arrived from New York, and was to spend a few weeks at Corinth.

Uncle Philip had never yet been prevailed on to enter the French house, as he called it; and on this occasion he stoutly declared off, saying that he had no desire to see any more of their foolery, and that he hated the thoughts of a French supper. "My friend, Tom Logbook," said he, "who commands the packet Louis Quatorze, and understands French, told me of a supper to which he was invited the first time he was at Havre, and of the dishes he was expected to eat, and I shall take care never to put myself in the way of such ridiculous trash. Why, he told me there was wooden-leg soup, and bagpipes of mutton, and rabbits in spectacles, and pullets in silk stockings, and potatoes in shirts.50 Answer me now, are such things fit for Christians to eat?"

For a long time Mrs. Clavering tried in vain to prevail on Uncle Philip to accept of the invitation. At last Dick suggested a new persuasive. "Mother," said he, "I have no doubt Uncle Philip would go to the French supper, if you will let us all have a holiday from school for a week."

"That's a good thought, Dick," exclaimed the old gentleman. "Yes, I think I would. Well, on these terms I will go, and eat trash. I suppose I shall live through it. But remember now, this is the first and last and only time I will ever enter a French house."

After tea, the party set out for Monsieur Franchimeau's, and were ushered into the front parlour, which was fitted up in a manner that exhibited a strange mélange of slovenliness and pretension. There was neither carpet nor matting, and the floor was by no means in the nicest order; but there were three very large looking-glasses, the plates being all more or less cracked, and the frames sadly tarnished. The chairs were of two different sorts, and of very ungenteel appearance; but there was a kind of Grecian sofa, or lounge, with a gilt frame much defaced, and a red damask cover much soiled; and, in the centre of the room, stood a fauteuil51 covered with blue moreen, the hair poking out in tufts through the slits. The windows were decorated with showy curtains of coarse pink muslin and marvellously coarse white muslin; the drapery suspended from two gilt arrows, one of which had lost its point, and the other had parted with its feather. The hearth was filled with rubbish, such as old pens, curl-papers, and bits of rag; but the mantel-piece was adorned with vases of artificial flowers under glass bells, and two elegant chocolate cups of French china.