________________________________________________
_ Who has not heard of the St. Louis Agricultural Fair. And what memories
of its October days the mere mention of at brings back to us who knew
that hallowed place as children. There was the vast wooden amphitheatre
where mad trotting races were run; where stolid cattle walked past the
Chinese pagoda in the middle circle, and shook the blue ribbons on their
horns. But it was underneath the tiers of seats (the whole way around
the ring) that the chief attractions lay hid. These were the church
booths, where fried oysters and sandwiches and cake and whit candy and
ice-cream were sold by your mothers and sister for charity. These ladies
wore white aprons as they waited on the burly farmers. And toward the
close of the day for which they had volunteered they became distracted.
Christ Church had a booth, and St. George's; and Dr. Thayer's, Unitarian,
where Mrs. Brice might be found and Mr. Davitt's, conducted by Mr.
Eliphalet Hopper on strictly business principles, and the Roman Catholic
Cathedral, where Miss Renault and other young ladies of French descent
presided: and Dr. Posthelwaite's, Presbyterian, which we shall come to
presently. And others, the whole way around the ring.
There is one Fair which old St. Louisans still delight to recall,--that
of the autumn of 1860--Think for a minute. You will remember that
Virginia Carvel came back from Europe; and made quite a stir in a town
where all who were worth knowing were intimates. Stephen caught a
glimpse of her an the street, received a distant bow, and dreamed of her
that night. Mr. Eliphalet Hopper, in his Sunday suit, was at the ferry
to pay his respects to the Colonel, to offer his services, and to tell
him how the business fared. His was the first St. Louis face that
Virginia saw (Captain Lige being in New Orleans), and if she conversed
with Eliphalet on the ferry with more warmth than ever before, there is
nothing strange in that. Mr. Hopper rode home with them in the carriage,
and walked to Miss Crane's with his heart thumping against his breast,
and wild thoughts whirling in his head.
The next morning, in Virginia's sunny front room tears and laughter
mingled. There was a present for Eugenie and Anne and Emily and Puss and
Maude, and a hear kiss from the Colonel for each. And more tears and
laughter and sighs as Mammy Easter and Rosetta unpacked the English
trunks, and with trembling hands and rolling eyes laid each Parisian gown
upon the bed.
But the Fair, the Fair!
At the thought of that glorious year my pen fails me. Why mention the
dread possibility of the negro-worshiper Lincoln being elected the very
next month? Why listen, to the rumblings in the South? Pompeii had
chariot-races to the mutterings of Vesuvius. St. Louis was in gala garb
to greet a Prince.
That was the year that Miss Virginia Carvel was given charge of the booth
in Dr. Posthelwaite's church,--the booth next one of the great arches
through which prancing horses and lowing cattle came.
Now who do you think stopped at the booth for a chat with Miss Jinny?
Who made her blush as pink as her Paris gown? Who slipped into her hand
the contribution for the church, and refused to take the cream candy she
laughingly offered him as an equivalent?
None other than Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, Duke of Saxony, Duke of
Cornwall and Rothesay, Earl of Chester and Carrick, Baron Renfrew, and
Lord of the Isles. Out of compliment to the Republic which he visited,
he bore the simple title of Lord Renfrew.
Bitter tears of envy, so it was said, were shed in the other booths.
Belle Cluyme made a remark which is best suppressed. Eliphalet Hopper,
in Mr. Davitt's booths, stared until his eyes watered. A great throng
peered into the covered way, kept clear for his Royal Highness and suite,
and for the prominent gentlemen who accompanied them. And when the
Prince was seen to turn to His Grace, the Duke of Newcastle, and the
subscription was forthcoming, a great cheer shook the building, while
Virginia and the young ladies with her bowed and blushed and smiled.
Colonel Carvel, who was a Director, laid his hand paternally on the blue
coat of the young Prince. Reversing all precedent, he presented his
Royal Highness to his daughter and to the other young ladies. It was
done with the easy grace of a Southern gentleman. Whereupon Lord Renfrew
bowed and smiled too, and stroked his mustache, which was a habit he had,
and so fell naturally into the ways of Democracy.
Miss Puss Russell, who has another name, and whose hair is now white,
will tell you how Virginia carried off the occasion with credit to her
country.
It is safe to say that the Prince forgot "Silver Heels" and "Royal Oak,"
although they had been trotted past the Pagoda only that morning for his
delectation. He had forgotten his Honor the Mayor, who had held fast to
the young man's arm as the four coal-black horses had pranced through the
crowds all the way from Barnum's Hotel to the Fair Grounds. His Royal
Highness forgot himself still further, and had at length withdrawn his
hands from the pockets of his ample pantaloons and thrust his thumbs into
his yellow waistcoat. And who shall blame him if Miss Virginia's replies
to his sallies enchained him?
Not the least impressive of those who stood by, smiling, was the figure
of the tall Colonel, his hat off for once, and pride written on his face.
Oh, that his dear wife might have lived to see this!
What was said in that historic interview with a future Sovereign of
England, far from his royal palaces, on Democratic sawdust, with an
American Beauty across a board counter, was immediately recorded by the
Colonel, together with an exact description of his Royal Highness's blue
coat, and light, flowing pantaloons, and yellow waist-coat, and colored
kids; even the Prince's habit of stroking his mustache did not escape the
watchful eye. It is said that his Grace of Newcastle smiled twice at
Miss Virginia's retorts, and Lord Lyons, the British Minister, has more
than two to his credit. But suddenly a strange thing happened. Miss
Virginia in the very midst of a sentence paused, and then stopped. Her
eyes had strayed from the Royal Countenance, and were fixed upon a point
in the row of heads outside the promenade. Her sentence was completed--
with some confusion. Perhaps it is no wonder that my Lord Renfrew, whose
intuitions are quick, remarked that he had already remained too long,
thus depriving the booth of the custom it otherwise should have had.
This was a graceful speech, and a kingly. Followed by his retinue and
the prominent citizens, he moved on. And it was remarked by keen
observers that his Honor the Mayor had taken hold once more of the
Prince's elbow, who divided his talk with Colonel Carver.
Dear Colonel Carvel! What a true American of the old type you were.
You, nor the Mayor, nor the rest of the grave and elderly gentlemen were
not blinded by the light of a royal Presence. You saw in him only an
amiable and lovable young man, who was to succeed the most virtuous and
lovable of sovereigns, Victoria. You, Colonel Carvel, were not one to
cringe to royalty. Out of respect for the just and lenient Sovereign,
his mother, you did honor to the Prince. But you did not remind him, as
you might have, that your ancestors fought for the King at Marston Moor,
and that your grandfather was once an intimate of Charles James Fox. But
what shall we say of Mr. Cluyme, and of a few others whose wealth alone
enabled them to be Directors of the Fair? Miss Isabel Cluyme was duly
presented, in proper form, to his Royal Highness. Her father owned a
"peerage," and had been abroad likewise. He made no such bull as the
Colonel. And while the celebrated conversation of which we have spoken
was in progress, Mr. Cluyme stood back and blushed for his countryman,
and smiled apologetically at the few gentlemen of the royal suite who
glanced his way.
His Royal Highness then proceeded to luncheon, which is described by a
most amiable Canadian correspondent who sent to his newspaper an account
of it that I cannot forbear to copy. You may believe what he says, or
not, just as you choose: "So interested was his Royal Highness in the
proceedings that he stayed in the ring three and a half hours witnessing
these trotting matches. He was invited to take lunch in a little wooden
shanty prepared for the Directors, to which he accordingly repaired, but
whether be got anything to eat or not, I cannot tell. After much trouble
he forced his way to the table, which he found surrounded by a lot of
ravenous animals. And upon some half dozen huge dishes were piled slices
of beef, mutton, and buffalo tongue; beside them were great jugs of lager
beer, rolls of bread, and plates of a sort of cabbage cut into thin
shreds, raw, and mixed with vinegar. There were neither salt spoons nor
mustard spoons, the knives the gentlemen were eating with serving in
their stead; and, by the aid of nature's forks, the slices of beef and
mutton were transferred to the plates of those who desired to eat. While
your correspondent stood looking at the spectacle, the Duke of Newcastle
came in, and he sat looking too. He was evidently trying to look
democratic, but could not manage it. By his side stood a man urging him
to try the lager beer, and cabbage also, I suppose. Henceforth, let the
New York Aldermen who gave to the Turkish Ambassador ham sandwiches and
bad sherry rest in peace."
Even that great man whose memory we love and revere, Charles Dickens, was
not overkind to us, and saw our faults rather than our virtues. We were
a nation of grasshoppers, and spat tobacco from early morning until late
at night. This some of us undoubtedly did, to our shame be it said. And
when Mr. Dickens went down the Ohio, early in the '40's, he complained of
the men and women he met; who, bent with care, bolted through silent
meals, and retired within their cabins. Mr. Dickens saw our ancestors
bowed in a task that had been too great for other blood,--the task of
bringing into civilization in the compass of a century a wilderness three
thousand miles it breadth. And when his Royal Highness came to St. Louis
and beheld one hundred thousand people at the Fair, we are sure that he
knew how recently the ground he stood upon had been conquered from the
forest.
A strange thing had happened, indeed. For, while the Prince lingered
in front of the booth of Dr. Posthelwaite's church and chatted with
Virginia, a crowd had gathered without. They stood peering over the
barricade into the covered way, proud of the self-possession of their
young countrywoman. And here, by a twist of fate, Mr. Stephen Brice
found himself perched on a barrel beside his friend Richter. It was
Richter who discovered her first.
"Himmel! It is Miss Carvel herself, Stephen," he cried, impatient at the
impassive face of his companion. "Look, Stephen, look there."
"Yes," said Stephen, "I see."
"Ach!" exclaimed the disgusted German, "will nothing move you? I have
seen German princesses that are peasant women beside her. How she
carries it off! See, the Prince is laughing!"
Stephen saw, and horror held him in a tremor. His one thought was of
escape. What if she should raise her eyes, and amid those vulgar stares
discern his own? And yet that was within him which told him that she
would look up. It was only a question of moments, and then,--and then
she would in truth despise him! Wedged tightly between the people, to
move was to be betrayed. He groaned.
Suddenly he rallied, ashamed of his own false shame. This was because of
one whom he had known for the short, space of a day--whom he was to
remember for a lifetime. The man he worshipped, and she detested.
Abraham Lincoln would not have blushed between honest clerks and farmers
Why should Stephen Brice? And what, after all, was this girl to him? He
could not tell. Almost the first day he had come to St. Louis the wires
of their lives had crossed, and since then had crossed many times again,
always with a spark. By the might of generations she was one thing, and
he another. They were separated by a vast and ever-widening breach only
to be closed by the blood and bodies of a million of their countrymen.
And yet he dreamed of her.
Gradually, charmed like the simple people about him, Stephen became lost
in the fascination of the scene. Suddenly confronted at a booth in a
public fair with the heir to the English throne, who but one of her own
kind might have carried it off so well, have been so complete a mistress
of herself? Since, save for a heightened color, Virginia gave no sign of
excitement. Undismayed, forgetful of the admiring crowd, unconscious of
their stares until--until the very strength of his gaze had compelled her
own. Such had been the prophecy within him. Nor did he wonder because,
in that multitude of faces, her eyes had flown so straightly homeward to
his.
With a rough effort that made an angry stir, Stephen flung the people
aside and escaped, the astonished Richter following in his wake. Nor
could the honest German dissuade him from going back to the office for
the rest of the day, or discover what had happened.
But all through the afternoon that scene was painted on the pages of
Stephen's books. The crude booth in the darkened way. The free pose of
the girl standing in front of her companions, a blue wisp of autumn
sunlight falling at her feet. The young Prince laughing at her sallies,
and the elderly gentleman smiling with benevolence upon the pair. _
Read next: BOOK II: Volume 4: Chapter XII. Into Which a Potentate Comes
Read previous: BOOK II: Volume 4: Chapter X. Richter's Scar,
Table of content of Crisis
GO TO TOP OF SCREEN
Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book
