A Voyage Of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (librera reader .txt) 📖

Chapter 1

 

It Seems Inexcusable To Remind The Public That One Has Written A Book.

Poppa Says I Ought Not To Feel That Way About It--That He Might Just As

Well Be Shy About Referring To The Baking Soda That He Himself

Invented--But I Do,  And It Is With Every Apology That I Mention It. I

Once Had Such A Good Time In england That I Printed My Experiences,  And

At The Very End Of The Volume It Seemed Necessary To Admit That I Was

Engaged To Mr. Arthur Greenleaf Page,  Of Yale College,  Connecticut. I

Remember Thinking This Was Indiscreet At The Time,  But I Felt Compelled

To Bow To The Requirements Of Fiction. I Was My Own Heroine,  And I Had

To Be Disposed Of. There Seemed To Be No Alternative. I Did Not Wish To

Marry Mr. Mafferton,  Even For Literary Purposes,  And Peter Corke'S

Suggestion,  That I Should Cast Myself Overboard In Mid-Ocean At The Mere

Idea Of Living Anywhere Out Of England For The Future,  Was

Autobiographically Impossible Even If I Had Felt So Inclined. So I

Committed The Indiscretion. In Order That The World Might Be Assured

That My Heroine Married And Lived Happily Ever Afterwards,  I Took It

Prematurely Into My Confidence Regarding My Intention. The Thing That

Occurred,  As Naturally And Inevitably As The Rain If You Leave Your

Umbrella At Home,  Was That Within A Fortnight After My Return To Chicago

My Engagement To Mr. Page Terminated; And The Even More Painful

Consequence Is That I Feel Obliged On That Account To Refer To It Again.

 

Even An American Man Has His Lapses Into Unreasonableness. Arthur

Especially Encouraged The Idea Of My Going To England On The Ground That

It Would Be So Formative. He Said That To Gaze Upon The Headsman'S Block

In The Tower Was In Itself A Liberal Education. As We Sat Together In

The Drawing-Room--Momma And Poppa Always Preferred The Sitting-Room When

Arthur Was There--He Used To Gild All Our Future With The Culture Which

I Should Acquire By Actual Contact With The Hoary Traditions Of Great

Britain. He Advised Me Earnestly To Disembark At Liverpool In a

Receptive And Appreciative,  Rather Than A Critical And Antagonistic,

State Of Mind,  To Endeavour To Assimilate All That Was Worth

Assimilating Over There,  Remembering That This Might Give Me As Much As

I Wanted To Do In The Time. I Remember He Expressed Himself Rather

Finely About The Only Proper Attitude For Americans Visiting England

Being That Of Magnanimity,  And About The Claims Of Kinship,  Only Once

Removed,  To Our Forbearance And Affection. He Put Me On My Guard,  So To

Speak,  About Only One Thing,  And That Was Spelling. American Spelling,

He Said,  Had Become National,  And Attachment To It Ranked Next To

Patriotism. Such Words As "Color," "Program," "Center," Had Obsolete

English Forms Which I Could Only Acquire At The Sacrifice Of My

Independence,  And The Surrender Of My Birthright To Make Such

Improvements Upon The Common Language As I Thought Desirable. And I Know

That I Was At Some Inconvenience To Mention "Color," "Program," And

"Center," In Several Of My Letters Just To Assure Mr. Page That My

Orthography Was Not In The Least Likely To Be Undermined.

 

Indeed,  I Took His Advice At Every Point. I Hope I Do Not Presume In

Asking You To Remember That I Did. I Know I Was Receptive,  Even To Penny

Buns,  And Sometimes Simply Wild With Appreciation. I Found It As Easy As

Possible To Subdue The Critical Spirit,  Even In connection With Things

Which I Should Never Care To Approve Of. I Shook Hands With Lord

Mafferton Without The Slightest Personal Indignation With Him For Being

A Peer,  And Remember Thinking That If He Had Been A Duke I Should Have

Had Just The Same Charity For Him. Indeed,  I Was Sorry,  And Am Still

Sorry,  That During The Four Months I Spent In england I Didn'T Meet A

Single Duke. This Is Less Surprising Than It Looks,  As They Are Known To

Be Very Scarce,  And At Least A Quarter Of A Million Americans Visit

Great Britain Every Year; But I Should Like To Have Known One Or Two. As

It Was,  Four Or Five Knights--Knights Are Very Thick--One Baronet,  Lord

Mafferton,  One Marquis--But We Had No Conversation--One Colonel Of

Militia,  One Lord Mayor,  And A Horse Guard,  Rank Unknown,  Comprise My

Acquaintance With The Aristocracy. A Duke Or So Would Have Completed The

Set. And The Magnanimity Which I Would So Willingly Have Stretched To

Include A Duke Spread Itself Over Other British Institutions As Amply As

Arthur Could Have Wished. When I Saw Things In Hyde Park On Sunday That

I Was Compelled To Find Excuses For,  I Thought Of The Tyrant'S Iron

Heel; And When I Was Obliged To Overlook The Superiorities Of The Titled

Great,  I Reflected Upon The Difficulty Of Walking In Iron Heels Without

Inconveniencing A Prostrate Population. I Should Defy Anybody To Be More

Magnanimous Than I Was.

 

As To The Claims Of Kinship,  Only Once Removed,  To Our Forbearance And

Affection,  I Never So Much As Sat Out A Dance On A Staircase With Oddie

Pratte Without Recognising Them.

 

It Seems Almost Incredible That Arthur Should Not Have Been Gratified,

But The Fact Remains That He Was Not. Anyone Could See,  After The First

Half Hour,  That He Was Not. During The First Half Hour It Is,  Of Course,

Impossible To Notice Anything. We Had Sunk To The Level Of Generalities

When I Happened To Mention Oddie.

 

"He Had Darker Hair Than You Have,  Dear," I Said,  "And His Eyes Were

Blue. Not Sky Blue,  Or China Blue,  But A Kind Of Sea Blue On A Cloudy

Day. He Had Rather Good Eyes," I Added Reminiscently.

 

"Had He?" Said Arthur.

 

"But Your Noses," I Went On Reassuringly,  "Were Not To Be Compared With

Each Other."

 

"Oh!" Said Arthur.

 

"He _Was_ So Impulsive!" I Couldn'T Help Smiling A Little At The

Recollection. "But For That Matter They All Were."

 

"Impulsive?" Asked Arthur.

 

"Yes. Ridiculously So. They Thought As Little Of Proposing As Of Asking

One To Dance."

 

"Ah!" Said Arthur.

 

"Of Course,  I Never Accepted Any Of Them,  Even For A Moment. But They

Had Such A Way Of Taking Things For Granted. Why One Man Actually

Thought I Was Engaged To Him!"

 

"Really!" Said Arthur. "May I Inquire----"

 

"No,  Dear," I Replied,  "I Think Not. I Couldn'T Tell Anybody About

It--For His Sake. It Was All A Silly Mistake. Some Of Them," I Added

Thoughtfully,  "Were Very Stupid."

 

"Judging From The Specimens That Find Their Way Over Here," Arthur

Remarked,  "I Should Say There Was Plenty Of Room In Their Heads For

Their Brains."

 

Arthur Was Sitting On The Other Side Of The Fireplace,  And By This Time

His Expression Was Aggressive. I Thought His Remark Unnecessarily

Caustic,  But I Did Not Challenge It.

 

"_Some_ Of Them Were Stupid," I Repeated,  "But They Were Nearly All

Nice." And I Went On To Say That What Chicago People As A Whole Thought

About It I Didn'T Know And I Didn'T Care,  But So Far As _My_ Experience

Went The English Were The Loveliest Nation In The World.

 

"A Nation Like A Box Of Strawberries," Mr. Page Suggested,  "All The Big

Ones On Top,  All The Little Ones At The Bottom."

 

"That Doesn'T Matter To Us," I Replied Cheerfully,  "We Never Get Any

Further Than The Top. And You'Ll Admit There'S A Great Tendency For

Little Ones To Shake Down. It'S Only A Question Of Time. They'Ve Had So

Much Time In england. You See The Effects Of It Everywhere."

 

"Not At All. By No Means. _Our_ Little Strawberries Rise," He Declared.

 

"Do They? Dear Me,  So They Do! I Suppose The American Law Of Gravity Is

Different. In england They Would Certainly Smile At That."

 

Arthur Said Nothing,  But His Whole Bearing Expressed A Contempt For

Puns.

 

"Of Course," I Said,  "I Mean The Loveliest Nation After Americans."

 

I Thought He Might Have Taken That For Granted. Instead,  He Looked

Incredulous And Smiled,  In an Observing,  Superior Way.

 

"Why Do You Say 'Ahfter'?" He Asked. His Tone Was Sweetly Acidulated.

 

"Why Do You Say 'Affter'?" I Replied Simply.

 

"Because," He Answered With Quite Unnecessary Emphasis,  "In The Part Of

The World I Come From Everybody Says It. Because My Mother Has Brought

Me Up To Say It."

 

"Oh," I Said,  Looking At The Lamp,  "They Say It Like That In Other Parts

Of The World Too. In Yorkshire--And Such Places. As Far As _Mothers_ Go,

I Must Tell You That Momma Approves Of My Pronunciation. She Likes It

Better Than Anything Else I Have Brought Back With Me--Even My

Tailor-Mades--And Thinks It Wonderful That I Should Have Acquired It In

The Time."

 

"Don'T You Think You Could Remember A Little Of Your Good Old American?

Doesn'T It Seem To Come Back To You?"

 

All The Wicks Hate Sarcasm,  Especially From Those They Love,  And I

Certainly Had Not Outgrown My Fondness For Mr. Page At This Time.

 

"It All Came Back To Me,  My Dear Arthur," I Said,  "The Moment You Opened

Your Lips!"

 

At That Not Only Mr. Page'S Features And His Shirt Front,  But His Whole

Personality Seemed To Stiffen. He Sat Up And Made An Outward Movement On

The Seat Of His Chair Which Signified,  "My Hat And Overcoat Are In The

Hall,  And If You Do Not At Once Retract----"

 

"Rather Than Allow Anything To Issue From Them Which Would Imply That I

Was Not An American I Would Keep Them Closed For Ever," He Said.

 

"You Needn'T Worry About That," I Observed. "Nothing Ever Will. But I

Don'T Know Why We Should _Glory_ In Talking Through Our Noses."

Involuntarily I Played With My Engagement Ring,  Slipping It Up And

Down,  As I Spoke.

 

Arthur Rose With An Expression Of Tolerant Amusement--Entirely

Forced--And Stood By The Fireplace. He Stood Beside It,  With His Elbow

On The Mantelpiece,  Not In Front Of It With His Legs Apart,  And I

Thought With A Pang How Much More Graceful The American Attitude Was.

 

"Have You Come Back To Tell Us That We Talk Through Our Noses?" He

Asked.

 

"I Don'T Like Being Called An Anglomaniac," I Replied,  Dropping My Ring

From One Finger To Another. Fortunately I Was Sitting In a Rocking

Chair--The Only One I Had Not Been Able To Persuade Momma To Have Taken

Out Of The Drawing-Room. The Rock Was A Considerable Relief To My

Nerves.

 

"I Knew That The Cockneys On The Other Side Were Fond Of Inventing

Fictions About What They Are Pleased To Call The 'American Accent,'"

Continued Mr. Page,  With A Scorn Which I Felt In The Very Heels Of My

Shoes,  "But I Confess I Thought You Too Patriotic To Be Taken In by

Them."

 

"Taken In by Them" Was Hard To Bear,  But I Thought If I Said Nothing At

This Point We Might Still Have A Peaceful Evening. So I Kept Silence.

 

"Of Course,  I Speak As A Mere Product Of The American Constitution--A

Common Unit Of The Democracy," He Went On,  His Sentences Gathering Wrath

As He Rolled Them Out,  "But If There Were Such A Thing As An American

Accent,  I Think I'Ve Lived Long Enough,  And Patrolled This Little Union

Of Ours Extensively Enough,  To Hear It By This Time. But It Appears To

Be Necessary To Reside Four Months In england,  Mixing Freely With Earls

And Countesses,  To Detect It."

 

"Perhaps It Is," I Said,  And I _May_ Have Smiled.

 

"I Should Hate To Pay The Price."

 

Mr. Page'S Tone Distinctly Expressed That The Society Of Earls And

Countesses Would Be,  To Him,  Contaminating.

 

Again I Made No Reply. I Wanted The American Accent To Drop Out Of The

Conversation,  If Possible,  But Fate Had Willed It Otherwise.

 

"I Sai,  Y'Know,  Awfly Hard Luck,  You'Re Havin' To Settle Down Amongst

These Barbarians Again,  Bai Jove!"

 

I Am Not Quite Sure That It'S A Proper Term For Use In a Book,  But By

This Time I Was _Mad_. There Was Criticism In My Voice,  And A Distinct

Chill As I Said Composedly,  "You Don'T Do It Very Well."

 

I Did Not Look At Him,  I Looked At The Lamp,  But There Was That In The

Air Which Convinced Me That We Had Arrived At A Crisis.

 

"I Suppose Not. I'M Not A Marquis,  Nor The End Man At A Minstrel Show.

I'M Only An American,  Like Sixty Million Other Americans,  And The

Language Of Abraham Lincoln Is Good Enough For Me. But I Suppose I,  Like

The Other Sixty Million,  Emit It Through My Nose!"

 

"I Should Be Sorry To Contradict You," I Said.

 

Arthur Folded His Arms And Gathered Himself Up Until He Appeared To

Taper From His Stem Like A Florist'S Bouquet,  And All The Upper Part Of

Him Was Pink And Trembling With Emotion.