The Translation of a Savage, Complete - Gilbert Parker
General Armour advanced, hat in hand. "You are my son's wife?" he said
courteously to this being in a blanket.
She looked up and shook her head slightly, for she did not quite
understand; but she recognised his likeness to her husband, and presently
she smiled up musingly. Mackenzie repeated to her what General Armour had
said. She nodded now, a flash of pleasure lighting up her face, and she
slid out her beautiful hand to him. The general took it and pressed it
mechanically, his lips twitching slightly. He pressed it far harder than
he meant, for his feelings were at tension. She winced slightly, and
involuntarily thrust out her other hand, as if to relieve his pressure.
As she did so the blanket fell away from her head and shoulders. Lambert,
with excellent intuition, caught it, and threw it across his arm. Then,
quickly, and without embarrassment, he and Mrs. Townley greeted General
Armour, who returned the greetings gravely, but in a singular,
confidential tone, which showed his gratitude. Then he raised his hat
again to Lali, and said: "Come and let me introduce you--to your
husband's mother."
The falling back of that blanket had saved the situation; for when the
girl stood without it in her buckskin garments there was a dignity in her
bearing which carried off the bizarre event. There was timidity in her
face, and yet a kind of pride too, though she was only a savage. The
case, even at this critical moment, did not seem quite hopeless. When
they came to Mrs. Armour, Lali shrank away timidly from the look in the
mother's eyes, and, shivering slightly, looked round for her blanket. But
Lambert had deftly passed it on to the footman. Presently Mrs. Armour
took both the girl's hands in hers (perhaps she did it because the eyes
of the public were on her, but that is neither here nor there--she did
it), and kissed her on the cheek. Then they moved away to a closed
carriage.
And that was the second act in Frank Armour's comedy of errors.
CHAPTER IV
IN THE NAME OF THE FAMILY
The journey from Liverpool to Greyhope was passed in comparative silence.
The Armours had a compartment to themselves, and they made the Indian
girl as comfortable as possible without self-consciousness, without any
artificial politeness. So far, what they had done was a matter of duty,
not of will; but they had done their duty naturally all their lives, and
it was natural to them now. They had no personal feelings towards the
girl one way or another, as yet. It was trying to them that people stared
into the compartment at different stations. It presently dawned upon
General Armour that it might also be trying to their charge. Neither he
nor his wife had taken into account the possibility of the girl having
feelings to be hurt. But he had noticed Lali shrink visibly and flush
slightly when some one stared harder than usual, and this troubled him.
It opened up a possibility. He began indefinitely to see that they were
not the only factors in the equation. He was probably a little vexed that
he had not seen it before; for he wished to be a just man. He was wont to
quote with more or less austerity--chiefly the result of his professional
life--this:
"For justice, all place a temple, and all season summer."
And, man of war as he was, he had another saying which was much in his
mouth; and he lived up to it with considerable sincerity:
"Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues."
He whispered to his wife. It would have been hard to tell from her look
what she thought of the matter, but presently she changed seats with her
husband, that he might, by holding his newspaper at a certain angle,
shield the girl from intrusive gazers.
At every station the same scene was enacted. And inquisitive people must
have been surprised to see how monotonously ordinary was the manner of
the three white people in the compartment. Suddenly, at a station near
London, General Armour gave a start, and used a strong expression under
his breath. Glancing at the "Marriage" column, he saw a notice to the
effect that on a certain day of a certain month, Francis Gilbert, the son
of General Joseph Armour, C.B., of Greyhope, Hertfordshire, and Cavendish
Square, was married to Lali, the daughter of Eye-of-the-Moon, chief of
the Bloods, at her father's lodge in the Saskatchewan Valley. This had
been inserted by Frank Armour's solicitor, according to his instructions,
on the day that the Aphrodite was due at Liverpool. General Armour did
not at first intend to show this to his wife, but on second thought he
did, because he knew she would eventually come to know of it, and also
because she saw that something had moved him. She silently reached out
her hand for the paper. He handed it to her, pointing to the notice.
Mrs. Armour was unhappy, but her self-possession was admirable, and she
said nothing. She turned her face to the window, and sat for a long time
looking out. She did not turn to the others, for her eyes were full of
tears, and she did not dare to wipe them away, nor yet to let them be
seen. She let them dry there. She was thinking of her son, her favourite
son, for whom she had been so ambitious, and for whom, so far as she
could, and retain her self-respect, she had delicately intrigued, that he
might happily and befittingly marry. She knew that in the matter of his
engagement she had not done what was best for him, but how could she have
guessed that this would be the result? She also was sure that when the
first flush of his anger and disappointment had passed, and he came to
view this thing with cooler mind, he would repent deeply--for a whole
lifetime. She was convinced that he had not married this savage for
anything which could make marriage endurable. Under the weight of the
thought she was likely to forget that the young alien wife might have
lost terribly in the event also.
The arrival at Euston and the departure from St. Pancras were rather
painful all round, for, though there was no waiting at either place, the
appearance of an Indian girl in native costume was uncommon enough, even
in cosmopolitan London, to draw much attention. Besides, the placards of
the evening papers were blazoned with such announcements as this:
A RED INDIAN GIRL
MARRIED INTO
AN ENGLISH COUNTY FAMILY.
Some one had telegraphed particulars--distorted particulars--over from
Liverpool, and all the evening sheets had their portion of extravagance
and sensation. General Armour became a little more erect and austere as
he caught sight of these placards, and Mrs. Armour groaned inwardly; but
their faces were inscrutable, and they quietly conducted their charge,
minus her blanket, to the train which was to take them to St. Albans, and
were soon wheeling homeward.
At Euston they parted with Lambert and Mrs. Townley, who quite simply and
conventionally bade good-bye to them and their Indian daughter-in-law.
Lali had grown to like Mrs. Townley, and when they parted she spoke a few
words quickly in her own tongue, and then immediately was confused,
because she remembered that she could not be understood. But presently
she said in halting English that the face of her white friend was good,
and she hoped that she would come one time and sit beside her in her
wigwam, for she would be sad till her husband travelled to her.
Mrs. Townley made some polite reply in simple English, pressed the girl's
hand sympathetically, and hurried away. Before she parted from Mr.
Lambert, however, she said, with a pretty touch of cynicism: "I think I
see Marion Armour listening to her sister-in-law issue invitations to her
wigwam. I am afraid I should be rather depressed myself if I had to be
sisterly to a wigwam lady."
"But I say, Mrs. Townley," rejoined Lambert seriously, as he loitered at
the steps of her carriage, "I shouldn't be surprised if my Lady Wigwam--a
rather apt and striking title, by the way--turned out better than we
think. She carried herself rippingly without the blanket, and I never saw
a more beautiful hand in my life--but one," he added, as his fingers at
that moment closed on hers, and held them tightly, in spite of the
indignant little effort at withdrawal. "She may yet be able to give them
all points in dignity and that kind of thing, and pay Master Frank back
in his own coin. I do not see, after all, that he is the martyr."
Lambert's voice got softer, for he still held Mrs. Townley's fingers, the
footman not having the matter in his eye,--and then he spoke still more
seriously on sentimental affairs of his own, in which he evidently hoped
she would take some interest. Indeed, it is hard to tell how far the case
might have been pushed if she had not suddenly looked a little forbidding
and imperious. For even people of no notable height, with soft features,
dark brown eyes, and a delightful little laugh, may appear rather regal
at times. Lambert did not quite understand why she should take this
attitude. If he had been as keen regarding his own affairs of the
affections as in the case of Frank Armour and his Indian bride, he had
known that every woman has in her mind the occasion when she should and
when she should not be wooed, and nothing disappoints her more than a
declaration at a time which is not her time. If it does not fall out as
she wishes it, retrospect, a dear thing to a woman, is spoiled. Many a
man has been sent to the right-about because he has ventured his proposal
at the wrong time. What would have occurred to Lambert it is hard to
tell; but he saw that something was wrong, and stopped in time.
When General Armour and his party reached Greyhope it was late in the
evening. The girl seemed tired and confused by the events of the day, and
did as she was directed, indifferently, limply. But when they entered the
gates of Greyhope and travelled up the long avenue of limes, she looked
round her somewhat eagerly, and drew a long sigh, maybe of relief or
pleasure. She presently stretched out a hand almost caressingly to the
thick trees and the grass, and said aloud: "Oh, the beautiful trees and
the long grass!" There was a whirr of birds' wings among the branches,
and then, presently, there rose from a distance the sweet, gurgling
whistle of the nightingale. A smile as of reminiscence crossed her face.
Then she said, as if to herself: "It is the same. I shall not die. I hear
the birds' wings, and one is singing. It is pleasant to sleep in the long
grass when the nights are summer, and to hang your cradle in the trees."
She had asked for her own blanket, refusing a rug, when they left St.
Albans, and it had been given to her. She drew it about her now with a
feeling of comfort, and seemed to lose the horrible sense of strangeness
which had almost convulsed her when she was put into the carriage at the
railway station. Her reserve had hidden much of what she really felt; but
the drive through the limes had shown General Armour and his wife that
they had to do with a nature having capacities for sensitive feeling;
which, it is sometimes thought, is only the prerogative of certain
well-bred civilisations.
But it was impossible that they should yet, or for many a day, feel any
sense of kinship with this aboriginal girl. Presently the carriage drew
up to the doorway, which was instantly opened to them. A broad belt of
light streamed out upon the stone steps. Far back in the hall stood
Marion, one hand upon the balustrade of the staircase, the other tightly
held at her side, as if to nerve herself for the meeting. The eyes of the
Indian girl pierced the light, and, as if by a strange instinct, found
those of Marion, even before she left the carriage. Lali felt vaguely
that here was her possible enemy. As she stepped out of the carriage,
General Armour's hand under her elbow to assist her, she drew her blanket
something more closely about her, and so proceeded up the steps. The
composure of the servants was, in the circumstances, remarkable. It
needed to have been, for the courage displayed by Lali's two new
guardians during the day almost faltered at the threshold of their own
home. Any sign of surprise or amusement on the part of the domestics
would have given them some painful moments subsequently. But all was
perfectly decorous. Marion still stood motionless, almost dazed, The
group advanced into the hall, and there paused, as if waiting for her.
At that moment Richard came out of the study at her right hand, took her
arm, and said quietly: "Come along, Marion. Let us be as brave as our
father and mother."
She gave a hard little gasp and seemed to awake as from a dream. She
quickly glided forwards ahead of him, kissed her mother and father almost
abruptly, then turned to the young wife with a scrutinising eye.
"Marion," said her father, "this is your sister." Marion stood
hesitating, confused.
"Marion, dear," repeated her mother ceremoniously, "this is your
brother's wife.--Lali, this is your husband's sister, Marion."
Mackenzie translated the words swiftly to the girl, and her eyes flashed
wide. Then in a low voice she said in English: "Yes, Marion, How!"
It is probable that neither Marion nor any one present knew quite the
meaning of 'How', save Richard, and he could not suppress a smile, it
sounded so absurd and aboriginal. But at this exclamation Marion once
more came to herself. She could not possibly go so far as her mother did
at the dock and kiss this savage, but, with a rather sudden grasp of the
hand, she said, a little hysterically, for her brain was going round like
a wheel,--"Wo-won't you let me take your blanket?" and forthwith laid
hold of it with tremulous politeness.
The question sounded, for the instant, so ludicrous to Richard that, in
spite of the distressing situation, he had to choke back a laugh. Years
afterwards, if he wished for any momentary revenge upon Marion (and he
had a keen sense of wordy retaliation), he simply said: "Wo-won't you let
me take your blanket?"
Of course the Indian girl did not understand, but she submitted to the
removal of this uncommon mantle, and stood forth a less trying sight to
Marion's eyes; for, as we said before, her buckskin costume set off
softly the good outlines of her form.
The Indian girl's eyes wandered from Marion to Richard. They wandered
from anxiety, doubt, and a bitter kind of reserve, to cordiality,
sympathy, and a grave kind of humour. Instantly the girl knew that she
had in eccentric Richard Armour a frank friend. Unlike as he was to his
brother, there was still in their eyes the same friendliness and
humanity. That is, it was the same look that Frank carried when he first
came to her father's lodge.
Richard held out his hand with a cordial little laugh and said: "Ah, ah,
very glad, very glad! Just in time for supper. Come along. How is Frank,
eh? how is Frank? Just so; just so. Pleasant journey, I suppose?" He
shook her hand warmly three or four times, and, as he held it, placed his
left hand over it and patted it patriarchally, as was his custom with all
the children and all the old ladies that he knew.
"Richard," said his mother, in a studiously neutral voice, "you might see
about the wine."
Then Richard appeared to recover himself, and did as he was requested,
but not until his brother's wife had said to him in English, as they
courteously drew her towards the staircase: "Oh, my brother Richard,
How!"
But the first strain and suspense were now over for the family, and it is
probable that never had they felt such relief as when they sat down
behind closed doors in their own rooms for a short respite, while the
Indian girl was closeted alone with Mackenzie and a trusted maid, in what
she called her wigwam.
CHAPTER V
AN AWKWARD HALF-HOUR
It is just as well, perhaps, that the matter had become notorious.
Otherwise the Armours had lived in that unpleasant condition of being
constantly "discovered." It was simply a case of aiming at absolute
secrecy, which had been frustrated by Frank himself, or bold and
unembarrassed acknowledgment and an attempt to carry things off with a
high hand. The latter course was the only one possible. It had originally
been Richard's idea, appropriated by General Armour, and accepted by Mrs.
Armour and Marion with what grace was possible. The publication of the
event prepared their friends, and precluded the necessity for reserve.
What the friends did not know was whether they ought or ought not to
commiserate the Armours. It was a difficult position. A death, an
accident, a lost reputation, would have been easy to them; concerning
these there could be no doubt. But an Indian daughter-in-law, a person in
moccasins, was scarcely a thing to be congratulated upon; and yet
sympathy and consolation might be much misplaced; no one could tell how
the Armours would take it. For even their closest acquaintances knew what
kind of delicate hauteur was possible to them. Even the "'centric"
Richard, who visited the cottages of the poor, carrying soup and luxuries
of many kinds, accompanying them with the most wholesome advice a single
man ever gave to families and the heads of families, whose laugh was so
cheery and spontaneous,--and face so uncommonly grave and sad at
times,--had a faculty for manner. With astonishing suddenness he could
raise insurmountable barriers; and people, not of his order, who
occasionally presumed on his simplicity of life and habits, found
themselves put distinctly ill at ease by a quiet, curious look in his
eye. No man was ever more the recluse and at the same time the man of the
world. He had had his bitter little comedy of life, but it was different
from that of his brother Frank. It was buried very deep; not one of his
family knew of it: Edward Lambert, and one or two others who had good
reason never to speak of it, were the only persons possessing his secret.
But all England knew of Frank's mesalliance. And the question was, What
would people do? They very properly did nothing at first. They waited to
see how the Armours would act: they did not congratulate; they did not
console; that was left to those papers which chanced to resent General
Armour's politics, and those others which were emotional and sensational
on every subject--particularly so where women were concerned.
It was the beginning of the season, but the Armours had decided that
they would not go to town. That is, the general and his wife were not
going. They felt that they ought to be at Greyhope with their
daughter-in-law--which was to their credit. Regarding Marion they had
nothing to say. Mrs. Armour inclined to her going to town for the season,
to visit Mrs. Townley, who had thoughtfully written to her, saying that
she was very lonely, and begging Mrs. Armour to let her come, if she
would. She said that of course Marion would see much of her people in
town just the same. Mrs. Townley was a very clever and tactful woman.
She guessed that General Armour and his wife were not likely to come to
town, but that must not appear, and the invitation should be on a
different basis--as it was.
It is probable that Marion saw through the delicate plot, but that did
not make her like Mrs. Townley less. These little pieces of art make life
possible, these tender fictions!
Marion was, however, not in good humour; she was nervous and a little
petulant. She had a high-strung temperament, a sensitive perception of
the fitness of things, and a horror of what was gauche; and she would, in
brief, make a rather austere person if the lines of life did not run in
her favour. She had something of Frank's impulsiveness and temper; it
would have been a great blessing to her if she had had a portion of
Richard's philosophical humour also. She was at a point of tension--her
mother and Richard could see that. She was anxious--though for the world
she would not have had it thought so--regarding Captain Vidall. She had
never cared for anybody but him; it was possible she never would. But he
did not know this, and she was not absolutely sure that his evident but
as yet informal love would stand this strain--which shows how people very
honourable and perfect-minded in themselves may allow a large margin to
other people who are presumably honourable and perfect-minded also. There
was no engagement between them, and he was not bound in any way, and
could, therefore, without slashing the hem of the code, retire without
any apology; but they had had that unspoken understanding which most
people who love each other show even before a word of declaration has
passed their lips. If he withdrew because of this scandal there might be
some awkward hours for Frank Armour's wife at Greyhope; but, more than
that, there would be a very hard-hearted young lady to play her part in
the deceitful world; she would be as merciless as she could be.
Naturally, being young, she exaggerated the importance of the event, and
brooded on it. It was different with her father and mother. They were
shocked and indignant at first, but when the first scene had been faced
they began to make the best of things all round. That is, they proceeded
at once to turn the North American Indian into a European--a matter of no
little difficulty. A governess was discussed; but General Armour did not
like the idea, and Richard opposed it heartily. She must be taught
English and educated, and made possible in "Christian clothing," as Mrs.
Armour put it. Of the education they almost despaired--all save Richard;
time, instruction, vanity, and a dressmaker might do much as to the
other.
The evening of her arrival, Lali would not, with any urging, put on
clothes of Marion's which had been sent in to her. And the next morning
it was still the same.
She came into the breakfast-room dressed still in buckskin and moccasins,
and though the grease had been taken out of her hair it was still combed
flat. Mrs. Armour had tried to influence her through Mackenzie, but to no
purpose. She was placidly stubborn.
It had been unwisely told her by Mackenzie that they were Marion's
clothes. They scarcely took in the fact that the girl had pride, that she
was the daughter of a chief, and a chieftainess herself, and that it was
far from happy to offer her Marion's clothes to wear.
Now, Richard, when he was a lad, had been on a journey to the South Seas,
and had learned some of the peculiarities of the native mind, and he did
not suppose that American Indians differed very much from certain
well-bred Polynesians in little matters of form and good taste. When his
mother told him what had occurred before Lali entered the breakfast-room,
he went directly to what he believed was the cause, and advised tact with
conciliation. He also pointed out that Lali was something taller than
Marion, and that she might be possessed of that general trait of
humanity-vanity. Mrs. Armour had not yet got used to thinking of the girl
in another manner than an intrusive being of a lower order, who was there
to try their patience, but also to do their bidding. She had yet to grasp
the fact that, being her son's wife, she must have, therefore, a position
in the house, exercising a certain authority over the servants, who, to
Mrs. Armour, at first seemed of superior stuff. But Richard said to her:
"Mother, I fancy you don't quite grasp the position. The girl is the
daughter of a chief, and the descendant of a family of chiefs, perhaps
through many generations. In her own land she has been used to respect,
and has been looked up to pretty generally. Her garments are, I fancy,
considered very smart in the Hudson's Bay country; and a finely decorated
blanket like hers is expensive up there. You see, we have to take the
thing by comparison; so please give the girl a chance."
And Mrs. Armour answered wearily, "I suppose you are right, Richard; you
generally are in the end, though why you should be I do not know, for you
never see anything of the world any more, and you moon about among the
cottagers. I suppose it's your native sense and the books you read."
Richard laughed softly, but there was a queer ring in the laugh, and he
came over stumblingly and put his arm round his mother's shoulder. "Never
mind how I get such sense as I have, mother; I have so much time to
think, it would be a wonder if I hadn't some. But I think we had better
try to study her, and coax her along, and not fob her off as a very
inferior person, or we shall have our hands full in earnest. My opinion
is, she has got that which will save her and us too--a very high spirit,
which only needs opportunity to develop into a remarkable thing; and,
take my word for it, mother, if we treat her as a chieftainess, or
princess, or whatever she is, and not simply as a dusky person, we shall
come off better and she will come off better in the long run. She is not
darker than a Spaniard, anyhow." At this point Marion entered the room,
and her mother rehearsed briefly to her what their talk had been. Marion
had had little sleep, and she only lifted her eyebrows at them at first.
She was in little mood for conciliation. She remembered all at once that
at supper the evening before her sister-in-law had said How! to the
butler, and had eaten the mayonnaise with a dessert spoon. But presently,
because she saw they waited for her to speak, she said, with a little
flutter of maliciousness: "Wouldn't it be well for Richard--he has plenty
of time, and we are also likely to have it now--to put us all through a
course of instruction for the training of chieftainesses? And when do you
think she will be ready for a drawing-room--Her Majesty Queen Victoria's,
or ours?"