Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet Beecher Stowe, Original Edition | Liberty - Chapter 16

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Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Dream Audio Books presents Uncle Tom's Cabin by Harriet beecher Stowe,
Chapter sixteen, Tom's Mistress and her opinions. And now, Marie
said Saint Clair, your golden days are dawning. Here is
our practical business, like New England cousin, who will take
the whole budget of cares off your shoulders and give

(00:22):
you time to refresh yourself and grow young and handsome.
The ceremony of delivering the keys had better come off forthwith.
This remark was made at the breakfast table a few
mornings after Miss Ophelia had arrived. I'm sure she's welcome,
said Marie, leaning her head languidly on her hand. I
think she'll find one thing if she does, and that

(00:43):
is that it's we, mistresses that are the slaves down here. Oh,
certainly she will discover that, and a world of wholesome truths. Besides,
no doubt, said Saint Clair. Talk about our keeping slaves
as if we did it for our convene venience, said Marie.
I'm sure if we consulted that we might let them

(01:04):
all go. At once. Evangeline fixed her large, serious eyes
on her mother's face with an earnest and perplexed expression,
and said, simply, what do you keep them for? Mamma,
I don't know, I'm sure except for a plague. They
are the plague of my life. I believe that more
of my ill health is caused by them than by

(01:25):
any one thing. And ours, I know, are the very
worst that ever anybody was plagued with. Oh, come, Marie,
you've got the blues this morning, said Saint Clair. You
know tisn't so. There's Mammy, the best creature living. What
could you do without her? Mammy is the best I
ever knew, said Marie. And yet Mammy now is selfish,

(01:47):
dreadfully selfish. It's the fault of the whole race. Selfishness
is a dreadful fault, said Saint Clair gravely. Well, now
there's Mammy, said Marie. I think it selfish of her
to sleep so sound nights. She knows I need little
attentions almost every hour when my worst turns are on,
And yet she's so hard to wake. I absolutely am

(02:10):
worse this very morning for the efforts I had to
make to wake her last night. Hasn't she sat up
with you a good many nights lately? Mamma said, Eva,
how should you know that, said Marie, sharply, she's been complaining.
I suppose she didn't complain. She only told me what
bad nights you'd had, so many in succession. Why don't

(02:31):
you let Jane or Rosa take her place a knight
or two, said Saint Clair, and let her rest. How
can you propose it, said Marie Saint Clair, you really
are inconsiderate, so nervous as I am. The least breath
disturbs me, and a strange hand about me would drive
me absolutely frantic. If Mammy felt the interest in me
she ought to, she'd wake easier. Of course she would.

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I've heard of people who had such devoted servants, but
it never was my luck, and Marie sighed. Miss Ophelia
had listened to this conversation with an air of shrewd
observant gravity, and she still kept her lips tightly compressed,
as if determined fully to ascertain her longitude and position
before she committed herself. Now, Mammy has a sort of goodness,

(03:17):
said Marie. She's smooth and respectful, but she's selfish at heart.
Now she never will be done fidgeting and worrying about
that husband of hers. You see when I was married
and came to live here. Of course I had to
bring her with me and her husband. My father couldn't spare.
He was a blacksmith, and of course very necessary. And

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I thought and said at the time that Mammy and
he had better give each other up, as it wasn't
likely to be convenient for them ever to live together again.
I wish now i'd insisted on it and married Mammy
to somebody else, but I was foolish and indulgent and
didn't want to insist. I told Mammy at the time
that she mustn't ever expect to see him more than

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once or twice in her life again, for the air
of father's place doesn't agree with my health and I
can't go there. And I advised her to take up
with somebody else, but no, she wouldn't. Mammy has a
kind of obstinacy about her in spots that everybody don't
see as I do. Has she children, said, Miss Ophelia,

(04:22):
Yes she has too. I suppose she feels the separation
from them. Well, of course I couldn't bring them. They
were little dirty things. I couldn't have them about, and
besides they took up too much of her time. But
I believe that Mammy has always kept up a sort
of sulkiness about this. She won't marry anybody else. And

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I do believe now though she knows how necessary she
is to me and how feeble my health is, she
would go back to her husband tomorrow if she only could.
I do indeed, said Marie. They are just so selfish now,
the best of them. It's distress to reflect upon, said
Saint Clair dryly. Miss Ophelia looked keenly at him and

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saw the flush of mortification and repressed vexation, and the
sarcastic curl of the lip as he spoke. Now, Mammy
has always been a pet with me, said Marie. I
wish some of your northern servants could look at her
closets of dresses, silks and muslems, and one real linen
cambric she has hanging there. I've worked sometimes whole afternoons

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trimming her caps and getting her ready to go to
a party. As to abuse, she don't know what it is.
She never was whipped more than once or twice in
her whole life. She has her strong coffee or tea
every day with white sugar in it. It's abominable, to
be sure, But Saint Clair will have high life below stairs,
and they, every one of them, live just as they please.

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The fact is our servants are over indulged. I suppose
it is partly our fault that they are selfish and
act like spoiled children. But I've talked to Saint Clair
till I'm tired, and I too, said Saint Clair, taking
up the newspaper. Eva, the beautiful Eva, had stood listening
to her mother with that expression of deep and mystic

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earnestness which was peculiar to her. She walked softly round
to her mother's chair and put her arms round her neck. Well, Eva,
what now, said Marie. Mamma, couldn't I take care of
you one night? Just one? I know I shouldn't make
you nervous, and I shouldn't sleep. I often lie awake

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nights thinking. Oh, nonsense, child, nonsense, said Marie. You are
such a strange child. But may I mamma? I think,
she said timidly, that Mammy isn't well. She told me
her head ached all the time lately. Oh that's just
one of Mammy's fidgets. Mammy is just like all the

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rest of them. Makes such a fuss about every little
headache or finger ache. It'll never do to encourage it. Never,
I'm principal about this matter, said she, turning to Miss Ophelia.
You'll find the necessity of it. If you encourage servants
in giving way to every little disagreeable feeling and complaining
of every little ailment, you'll have your hands full. I

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never complain myself. Nobody knows what I endure. I feel
it a duty to bear it quietly, and I do.
Miss Ophelia's round eyes expressed an undisguised amazement at this peroration,
which struck Saint Clair as so supremely ludicrous that he
burst into a loud laugh. Saint Clair always laughs when
I make the least allusion to my ill health, said Marie,

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with the voice of a suffering martyr. I only hope
the day won't come when he'll remember it. And Marie
put her handkerchief to her eyes. Of course, there was
rather a foolish silence. Finally, Saint Clair got up, looked
at his watch, and said he had an engagement down street.
Eva tripped away after him, and Miss Ophelia and Marie

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remained at the table alone. Now that's just like Saint Clair,
said the latter, with drawing her handkerchief with somewhat of
a spirited flourish, when the criminal to be affected by
it was no longer in sight. He never realizes, never can,
never will what I suffer and have for years. If
I was one of the complaining sort, or ever made

(08:21):
any fuss about my ailments, there would be some reason
for it. Men do get tired naturally of a complaining wife.
But I've kept things to myself, and born and born
till Saint Clair has got in the way of thinking
I can bear anything. Miss Ophelia did not exactly know
what she was expected to answer to this. While she

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was thinking what to say, Marie gradually wiped away her
tears and smoothed her plumage in a general sort of
way as a dove might be supposed to make toilette
after a shower, and began a housewifely chat with Miss
Ophelia concerning cupboards, closets, linen presses, storerooms, and other matters
of which the latter was by common understanding to assume

(09:04):
the direction, giving her so many cautious directions and charges
that ahead less systematic and business like than Miss Ophelia's
would have been utterly dizzied and confounded. And now, said Marie,
I believe I've told you everything so that when my
next sick turn comes on, you'll be able to go
forward entirely without consulting me. Only about Eva, she requires watching.

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She seems to be a good child, very, said Miss Ophelia.
I never saw a better child. Eva's peculiar, said her mother. Very.
There are things about her so singular. She isn't like
me now a particle. And Marie sighed as if this
was a truly melancholy consideration. Miss Ophelia, in her own

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heart said, I hope she isn't, but had prudence enough
to keep it down. Eva always was disposed to be
with servants, and I think that well enough with some
children now. I always played with father's little negroes. It
never did me any harm. But Eva, somehow always seems
to put herself on an equality with every creature that

(10:14):
comes near her. It's a strange thing about the child.
I never have been able to break her of it.
Saint Clair, I believe encourages her in it. The fact is,
Saint Clair indulges every creature under this roof. But his
own wife. Again, Miss Ophelia sat in blank silence. Now
there's no way with servants, said Marie, but to put

(10:36):
them down and keep them down. It was always natural
to me from a child. Eva is enough to spoil
a whole houseful. What she will do when she comes
to keep house herself. I'm sure I don't know. I
hold to being kind to servants, I always am, But
you must make em know their place. Iva never does.

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There's no getting into the child's head the first beginning
of an idea what a servant's place is. You heard
her offering to take care of me nights, to let
Mammy sleep. That's just a specimen of the way the
child would be doing all the time if she was
left to herself. Why, said miss Ophelia bluntly, I suppose
you think your servants are human creatures and ought to

(11:19):
have some rest when they are tired. Certainly, of course,
I'm very particular in letting them have everything that comes convenient,
anything that doesn't put one at all out of the way.
You know, Mammy can make up her sleep some time
or other. There's no difficulty about that. She's the sleepiest
concern that I ever saw. Sewing, standing or sitting. That

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creature will go to sleep and sleep anywhere and everywhere,
no danger. But Mammy gets sleep enough. But this treating
servants as if they were exotic flowers or china vases
is really ridiculous, said Marie, as she plunged languidly into
the depths of a volumeus and pillowy lounge and drew
to towards her an elegant cut glass of negret. You see,

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she continued, in a faint and ladylike voice, like the
last dying breath of an Arabian Jesamine or something equally ethereal.
You see, Cousin Ophelia, I don't often speak of myself.
It isn't my habit tisn't agreeable to me. In fact,
I haven't strength to do it. But there are points

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where Saint Clair and I differ. Saint Clair never understood me,
never appreciated me. I think it lies at the root
of all my ill health. Saint Clair means well, I
am bound to believe. But men are constitutionally selfish and
inconsiderate to woman. That at least is my impression. Miss Ophelia,
who had not a small share of the genuine New

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England caution, and a very particular horror of being drawn
into family difficulties. Now began to foresee something of this
kind impending, so composing her face into a grim neutrality,
and drawing out of her pocket about a yard and
a quarter of stocking, which she kept as a specific
against what doctor Wats asserts to be a personal habit

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of Satan when people have idle hands. She proceeded to
knit most energetically, shutting her lips together in a way
that said, as plain as words could, you needn't try
to make me speak. I don't want anything to do
with your affairs. In fact, she looked about as sympathizing
as a stone lion. But Marie didn't care for that.

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She had got somebody to talk to, and she felt
it her duty to talk, and that was enough. And
reinforcing herself by smelling again at her vinaigrette, she went on,
You see, I brought my own property and servants into
the connection when I married Saint Clair, and I am
legally entitled to manage them my own way. Saint Clair

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had his fortune and his servants, and I'm well enough
content he should manage them his way but Saint Clair
will be interfering. He has wild extravage notions about things,
particularly about the treatment of servants. He really does act
as if he set his servants before me, and before
himself too, for he lets them make him all sorts

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of trouble and never lifts a finger now about something.
Saint Clair is really frightful. He frightens me, good natured
as he looks in general. Now he has set down
his foot that come what will There shall not be
a blow struck in this house except what he or
I strike, And he does it in a way that
I really dare not cross him. Well you may see

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what that leads to, For Saint Clair wouldn't raise his
hand if every one of them walked over him and
I you see how cruel it would be to require
me to make the exertion. Now you know these servants
are nothing but grown up children. I don't know anything
about it, and I thank the Lord that I don't,

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said mister Phelia shortly. Well, but you will have to
know something and know it to you your cost if
you stay here. You don't know what a provoking, stupid, careless, unreasonable, childish,
ungrateful set of wretches they are. Marie seemed wonderfully supported
always when she got upon this topic, and she now

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opened her eyes and seemed quite to forget her languor
you don't know, and you can't the daily hourly trials
that beset a housekeeper from them everywhere and every way.
But it's no use to complain to Saint Clair, he
talks the strangest stuff. He says, we have made them
what they are, and ought to bear with them. He
says their faults are all owing to us, and that

(15:38):
it would be cruel to make the fault and punish
it too. He says we shouldn't do any better in
their place, just as if one could reason from them
to us. You know, don't you believe that the Lord
made them of one blood with us, said miss Ophelia shortly. No, indeed,
not I a pretty story, truly, they are a degraded race.

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Don't you think they've got immortal souls? Said miss Ophelia,
with increasing indignation. Oh well, said Marie, yawning that of
course nobody doubts that. But as to putting them on
any sort of equality with us, you know, as if
we could be compared, why it's impossible. Now. Saint Clair

(16:23):
really has talked to me as if keeping Mammy from
her husband was like keeping me from mine. There's no
comparing in this way. Mammy couldn't have the feelings that
I should. It's a different thing altogether, of course it is,
And yet Saint Clair pretends not to see it. And
just as if Mammy could love her little dirty babies
as I love Eva. Yet Saint Clair once really and

(16:46):
soberly tried to persuade me that it was my duty,
with my weak health and all I suffer, to let
Mammy go back and take somebody else in her place.
That was a little too much even for me to bear.
I don't offer and show my feelings. I make it
a principle to endure everything in silence. It's a wife's
hard lot, and I bear it. But I did break

(17:08):
out that time, so that he has never alluded to
the subject since. But I know by his looks and
little things that he says that he thinks so as
much as ever, and it's so trying, so provoking. Miss
Ophelia looked very much as if she was afraid she
would say something, but she rattled away with her needles
in a way that had volumes of meaning in it.

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If Marie could only have understood it. So you just see,
she continued, what you've got to manage a household without
any rule, where servants have it all their own way,
do what they please and have what they please, except
so far as I, with my feeble health, have kept
up government. I keep my cow hide about and sometimes

(17:51):
I do lay it on, but the exertion is always
too much for me. If Saint Clair would only have
this thing done as others do, and how is that?
Why send them to the calaboose or some of the
other places to be flogged. That's the only way. If
I wasn't such a poor feeble piece, I believe I
should manage with twice the energy that Saint Clair does.

(18:13):
And how does Saint Clair contrive to manage? Said Miss Ophelia.
You say he never strikes a blow. Well, men have
a more commanding way. You know it is easier for them. Besides,
if you ever looked full in his eye, it's peculiar
that I And if he speaks decidedly, there's a kind
of flash. I'm afraid of it myself, and the servants

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know they must mind. I couldn't do as much by
a regular storm and scolding as Saint Clair can buy
one turn of his eye if once he is in earnest. Oh,
there's no trouble about Saint Clair. That's the reason he's
no more feeling for me. But you'll find when you
come to manage that there's no getting along without severity.

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They are so bad, so deceitful, so lazy the old tune,
said Saint Clair, sauntering, in what an awful account these
wicked creatures will have to settle at last, especially for
being lazy. You see, cousin, said he, as he stretched
himself at full length on the lounge opposite to Marie.
It's wholly inexcusable in them, in the light of the

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example that Marie and I set them, this laziness. Come now,
Saint Clair, you are too bad, said Marie. Am I
now why I thought I was talking good? Quite remarkably
for me. I try to enforce your remarks, Marie. Always
you know you meant no such thing, Saint Clair, said Marie. Oh,

(19:39):
I must have been mistaken. Then, thank you, my dear,
for setting me right. You do really try to be provoking,
said Marie. Oh, come, Marie. The day is growing warm,
and I have just had a long quarrel with Dolf,
which has fatigued me excessively. So pray be agreeable now
and let a fellow repose in the light of your smile.

(20:03):
What's the matter with Dolph? Said Marie. That fellow's impudence
has been growing to a point that is perfectly intolerable
to me. I only wish I had the undisputed management
of him, awhile i'd bring him down. What you say,
my dear, is marked with your usual acuteness and good sense,
said Saint Clair. As to Dolph, the case is this,

(20:23):
that he has so long been engaged in imitating my
graces and perfections, that he has at last really mistaken
himself for his master. And I have been obliged to
give him a little insight into his mistake. How said Marie.
Why I was obliged to let him understand explicitly that
I preferred to keep some of my clothes for my

(20:45):
own personal wearing. Also, I put his magnificence upon an
allowance of cologne water, and actually was so cruel as
to restrict him to one dozen of my Cambric handkerchiefs.
Dolf was particularly huffy about it, and I had to
talk to him like a father to bring him round. Oh, sink, Claire,

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when will you learn how to treat your servants. It's
abominable the way you indulge them, said Marie. Why, after all,
what's the harm of the poor dog's wanting to be
like his master? And if I haven't brought him up
any better than to find his chief good in cologne
and Cambric handkerchiefs, why shouldn't I give them to him?
And why haven't you brought him up better? Said miss

(21:28):
Ophelia with blunt determination. Too much trouble. Laziness, cousin laziness,
which ruins more souls than you can shake a stick at.
If it weren't for laziness, I should have been a
perfect angel myself. I'm inclined to think that laziness is
what your old doctor Bothram up in Vermont used to
call the essence of moral evil. It's an awful consideration, certainly.

(21:53):
I think you slaveholders have an awful responsibility upon you,
said Miss Ophelia. I would have it for a thousand worlds.
You ought to educate your slaves and treat them like
reasonable creatures, like immortal creatures that you've got to stand
before the bar of God with. That's my mind, said
the good lady, breaking suddenly out with a tide of

(22:14):
zeal that had been gaining strength in her mind all
the morning. Oh, come, come, said Saint Clair, getting up quickly.
What do you know about us? And he sat down
to the piano and rattled a lively piece of music.
Saint Clair had a decided genius for music. His touch
was brilliant and firm, and his fingers flew over the
keys with a rapid and bird like motion. Airy and

(22:38):
yet decided. He played piece after piece like a man
who is trying to play himself into a good humor.
After pushing the music aside, he rose up and said gaily, well, now, cousin,
you've given us a good talk and done your duty
on the whole. I think the better of you for it.
I make no manner of doubt that you threw a
very diamond of truth at me, though you see it

(23:00):
hit me so directly in the face that it wasn't
exactly appreciated at first. For my part, I don't see
any use in such sort of talk, said Marie. I'm sure.
If anybody does more for servants than we do, i'd
like to know who. And it don't do em a
bit of good, not a particle. They get worse and worse.
As to talking to them or anything like that, I'm

(23:22):
sure I have talked till I was tired and hoarse,
telling them their duty and all that. And I'm sure
they can go to church when they like, though they
don't understand a word of the sermon more than so
many pigs. So it isn't of any great use for
them to go, as I see. But they do go,
and so they have every chance. But as I said before,
they are a degraded race and always will be, and

(23:45):
there isn't any help for them. You can't make anything
of them if you try, you see, counsin Ophelia. I've tried,
and you haven't. I was born and bred among them,
and I know Miss Ophelia thought she had said enough,
and therefore said silent. Saint Clair whistled a tune. Saint Clair,
I wish you wouldn't whistle, said Marie. It makes my

(24:06):
head worse. I won't, said Saint Clair. Is there anything
else you wouldn't wish me to do? I wish you
would have some kind of sympathy for my trials. You
never have any feeling for me, my dear accusing angel,
said Saint Clair. It's provoking to be talked to in

(24:26):
that way? Then how will you be talked to? I'll
talk to order anyway. You'll mention only to give satisfaction.
A gay laugh from the court rang through the silken
curtains of the Verandah. Saint Clair stepped out, and, lifting
up the curtain, laughed too. What is it, said miss Ophelia,
coming to the railing. There sat Tom on a little

(24:48):
mossy seat in the court, every one of his button
holes stuck full of Cape jessamines, and Eva, gaily laughing,
was hanging a wreath of roses round his neck. And
then she sat down on a knee like a chip sparrow,
still laughing, Oh Tom, you look so funny. Tom had
a sober, benevolent smile, and seemed, in his quiet way,

(25:09):
to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his
little mistress. He lifted his eyes when he saw his
master with a half deprecating apologetic air. How can you
let her, said miss Ophelia. Why not, said Saint Clair, why.
I don't know. It seems so dreadful. You would think
no harm in a child's caressing a large dog, even

(25:30):
if he was black. But a creature that can think
and reason and feel, and is immortal, you shudder at
confess it, Cousin, I know the feeling among some of
you Northerners well enough. Not that there is a particle
of virtue in our not having it. But custom with
us does what Christianity ought to do, obliterates the feeling
of personal prejudice. I have often noticed in my travels

(25:53):
North how much stronger this was with you than with us.
You loathe them as you would a snake or a toad,
yet you are indignant at their wrongs. You would not
have them abused, but you don't want to have anything
to do with them yourselves. You would send them to
Africa out of your sight and smell, and then send

(26:14):
a missionary or two to do up all the self
denial of elevating them compenduously. Isn't that it? Well, cousin,
said Miss Ophelia thoughtfully. There may be some truth in this.
What would the poor and lowly do without children? Said
Saint Clair, leaning on the railing and watching Eva as
she tripped off, leading Tom with her. Your little child

(26:37):
is your only true democrat. Tom now is a hero
to Eva. His stories are wonders in her eyes. His
songs and methodist hymns are better than an opera, and
the traps and little bits of trash in his pocket
a mine of jewels. And he the most wonderful Tom
that ever wore a black skin. This is one of
the roses of Eden that the Lord has dropped down

(26:59):
express for the poor and lowly, who get few enough
of any other kind. It's strange, cousin, said Miss Ophelia.
One might almost think you were a professor to hear
you talk a professor, said Saint Clair. Yes, a professor
of religion, not at all, not a professor, as your

(27:20):
town folks have it. And what is worse, I'm afraid
not a practicer either. What makes you talk? So then
nothing is easier than talking, said Saint Clair. I believe
Shakespeare makes somebody say I could sooner show twenty what
were good to be done than be one of the
twenty to follow my own showing emergence of Venice, Act one,

(27:42):
seen two lines seventeen eighteen. Nothing like this division of work,
my forte lies in talking, and yours cousin lies in doing.
In Tom's external situation at this time, there was, as
the world says, nothing to complain of Little Eva's fancy
or him. The instinctive gratitude and loveliness of a noble

(28:03):
nature had led her to petition her father that he
might be her especial attendant whenever she needed the escort
of a servant in her walks or rides. And Tom
had general orders to let everything else go and attend
to Miss Eva whenever she wanted him, orders which our
readers may fancy were far from disagreeable to him. He
was kept well dressed, for Saint Clair was fastidiously particular

(28:27):
on this point. His stable services were merely a sinecure,
and consisted simply in a daily care and inspection, and
directing an under servant in his duties. For Marie, Saint
Clair declared that she could not have any smell of
the horses about him when he came near her, and
that he must positively not put to any service that
would make him unpleasant to her, as her nervous system

(28:50):
was entirely inadequate to any trial of that nature, one
snuff of anything disagreeable, being, according to her account, quite
sufficient to close the scene and put an end to
all her earthly trials at once. Tom therefore, in his
well brushed broadcloth suit, smooth beaver, glossy boots, faultless wristbands

(29:10):
and collar, with his grave, good natured black face, looked
respectable enough to be a bishop of Carthage, as men
of his color were in other ages. Then too, he
was in a beautiful place, a consideration to which his
sensitive race was never indifferent, and he did enjoy with
the quiet joy the birds, the flowers, the fountains, the

(29:33):
perfume and light and beauty of the court, the silken
hangings and pictures and lusters and statuettes and gilding that
made the parlors within a kind of Aladdin's palace. To him,
if ever Africa shall show an elevated and cultivated race,
and come it must some time her turn to figure

(29:54):
in the great drama of human improvement, life will awake
there with a gorgeousness and splendor of which our cold
western tribes faintly have conceived. In that far off mystic
land of gold and gems and spices and waving palms
and wondrous flowers and miraculous fertility will awake new forms

(30:14):
of art, new styles of splendor, and the Negro race,
no longer despised and trodden down, will perhaps show forth
some of the latest and most magnificent revelations of human life.
Certainly they will, in their gentleness, their lowly docility of heart,
their aptitude to repose on a superior mind and rest
on a higher power, their childlike simplicity of affection, and

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facility of forgiveness. In all these they will exhibit the
highest form of the peculiarly Christian life. And perhaps, as
God chasteneth whom he loveth, he hath chosen poor Africa
in the furnace of affliction, to make her the highest
and noblest in that kingdom which he will set up
when every other kingdom has been tried and failed, For

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the first shall be last and the last first. Was
this what Marie Saint Clair was thinking of as she
stood gorgeously dressed on the veranda on Sunday morning, clasping
a diamond bracelet on her slender wrist. Most likely it was,
or if it wasn't, it was something else. For Marie
patronized good things, and she was going now in full force, diamonds, silk,

(31:25):
and lace and jewels and all, to a fashionable church
to be very religious. Marie always made a point to
be very pious on Sundays. There she stood so slender,
so elegant, so airy and undulating in all her motions,
her lace scarf enveloping her like a mist. She looked
a graceful creature, and she felt very good and very elegant. Indeed,

(31:49):
Miss Ophelia stood at her side a perfect contrast. It
was not that she had not as handsome a silk
dress and shawl, and as fine a pocket handkerchief. But
stiffness and squareness and bolt uprightness enveloped her as indefinite
yet appreciable at presents, as did grace, her elegant neighbor.
Not the grace of God, however, that is quite another thing.

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Where's Eva? Said Marie? The child stopped on the stairs
to say something to Mammy? And what was Eva saying
to Mammy on the stairs? Listen, reader, and you will hear,
though Marie does not. Dear Mammy, I know your head
is aching dreadfully. Lord, bless you, Miss Eva. My head
ours aches lately. You don't need to worry. Well, I'm

(32:37):
glad you're going out and here, and the little girl
threw her arms round her. Mammy, you shall take my vinaigrette.
What your beautiful gold thing? Thar with them's diamonds, lor
miss wouldn't be proper? No ways, why not you need
it and I don't. Mamma always uses it for headache
and it'll make you feel better. No, you shall take

(32:59):
it to please me. Now do hear the darling talk?
Said Mammy, as Eva thrust it into her bosom and
kissing her ran downstairs to her mother. What were you
stopping for? I was just stopping to give Mammy my
vinaigrette to take to church with her, Iva, said Marie,
stamping impatiently. Your gold vinaigrette to Mammy. When will you

(33:21):
learn what's proper? Go right and take it back this moment,
Eva looked downcast and aggrieved and turned slowly. I say, Marie,
let the child alone. She shall do as she pleases,
said Saint Clair. Saint Clair, how will she ever get
along in the world, said Marie. The Lord knows, said
Saint Clair, But she'll get along in heaven. Better than

(33:43):
you or I, Oh, Papa, don't, said Eva, softly, touching
his elbow. It troubles mother. Well, cousin, are you ready
to go to meeting, said miss Ophelia, turning square about
on Saint Clair. I'm not going, thank you. I do
wish Saint Clair ever would go to church, said Marie.

(34:03):
But he hasn't a particle of religion about him. It
really isn't respectable, I know it, said Saint Clair. You
ladies go to church to learn how to get along
in the world, I suppose, and your piety sheds respectability
on us. If I did go at all, I would
go where Mammy goes. There's something to keep a fellow
awake there at least what those shouting Methodists horrible, said Marie.

(34:29):
Anything but the dead sea of your respectable churches. Marie positively.
It's too much to ask of a man. Iva, do
you like to go? Come stay at home and play
with me, Thank you, Papa, But I'd rather go to church.
Isn't it dreadful tiresome? Said Saint Clair. I think it
is tiresome, sum said Eva. And I am sleepy too,

(34:53):
but I try to keep awake. What do you go
for then, why you know, Papa, she said in a
whisper cousin told me that God wants to have us,
and he gives us everything, you know, and it isn't
much to do it if he wants us to. It
isn't so very tiresome, after all, you sweet little obliging soul,

(35:14):
said Saint Clair, kissing her. Go along. That's a good girl,
And pray for me, certainly, I always do, said the child,
as she sprang after her mother into the carriage. Saint
Clair stood on the steps and kissed his hand to her.
As the carriage drove away. Large tears were in his eyes. Oh, Evangeline,

(35:34):
rightly named, he said, hath not God made thee an
evangel to me? So he felt a moment, and then
he smoked a cigar and read the Picayune and forgot
his little gospel. Was he much unlike other folks? You see,
Evangeline said her mother. It's always right and proper to
be kind to servants, but it isn't proper to treat

(35:57):
them just as we would our relations or people in
our own class of life. Now, if Mammy was sick,
you wouldn't want to put her in your own bed.
I should feel just like it, Mamma, said Eva, because
then it would be handier to take care of her,
and because you know, my bed is better than hers.
Marie was in utter despair at the entire want of

(36:19):
moral perspective. Evinced in this reply. What can I do
to make this child understand me? She said, nothing, said
Miss Ophelia significantly. Eva looked sorry and disconcerted for a moment,
But children, luckily do not keep to one impression long,
and in a few moments she was merely laughing at

(36:39):
various things she saw from the coach windows as they
rattled along. Well, ladies, said Saint Clair, as they were
comfortably seated at the dinner table. And what was the
bill of fare at church to day? Oh, Doctor g
preached a splendid sermon, said Marie. It was just such
a sermon as you ought to hear. It expressed all

(37:01):
my views exactly. It must have been very improving, said
Saint Clair. The subject must have been an extensive one. Well,
I mean, all my views about society and such things,
said Marie. The text was he hath made everything beautiful
in its season, and he showed how all the orders
and distinctions in society came from God, and that it

(37:24):
was so appropriate, you know, and beautiful that some should
be high and some low, and that some were born
to rule and some to serve, and all that, you know.
And he applied it so well to all this ridiculous
fuss that has made about slavery. And he proved distinctly
that the Bible was on our side and supported all
our institutions so convincingly. I only wish you'd heard him.

(37:47):
Oh I didn't need it, said Saint Clair. I can
learn what does me as much good as that from
the Picayune any time, and smoke a cigar besides, which
I can't do, you know in a church, Why, said
miss Ophelia. Don't you believe in these views? Who? I
you know? I'm such a graceless dog that these religious
aspects of such subjects don't edify me much. If I

(38:10):
was to say anything on this slavery matter, I would say,
out fair and square, we're in for it. We've got
em and mean to keep em. It's for our convenience
and our interest. For that's the long and short of it.
That's just the whole of what all this sanctified stuff
amounts to. After all, and I think that it will
be intelligible to everybody everywhere. I do think, Augustine, you

(38:33):
are so irreverent, said Marie. I think it's shocking to
hear you talk shocking. It's the truth, this religious talk
on such matters. Why don't they carry it a little
further and show the beauty in its season of a
fellow's taking a glass too much and sitting a little
too late over his cards, and various providential arrangements of

(38:54):
that sort, which are pretty frequent among us young men.
We'd like to hear that those are right in God
too well, said miss Ophelia. Do you think slavery right
or wrong? I'm not going to have any of your
horrid New England directness, cousin, said Saint Clair Daily. If
I answer that question, I know you'll be at me
with half a dozen others, each one harder than the last.

(39:17):
And I'm not going to define my position. I am
one of the sort that lives by throwing stones at
other people's glass houses, but I never mean to put
one up for them to stone. That's just the way
he's always talking, said Marie. You can't get any satisfaction
out of him. I believe it's just because he don't
like religion that he's always running out in this way

(39:38):
he's been doing Religion, said Saint Clair, in a tone
that made both ladies look at him. Religion is what
you hear at church. Religion is that which can bend
and turn and descend and ascend to fit every crooked
phase of selfish, worldly society. Religion is that religion which
is less scrupulous, less generous, less just less considerate for

(40:02):
man than even my own ungodly, worldly, blinded nature. No,
when I look for a religion, I must look for
something above me, and not something beneath. Then you don't
believe that the Bible justifies slavery, said Miss Ophelia. The
Bible was my mother's book, said Saint Clair. By it

(40:25):
she lived and died, and I would be very sorry
to think it did. I'd as soon desire to have
it proved that my mother could drink brandy, chew tobacco,
and swear by way of satisfying me that I did
right in doing the same. It wouldn't make me at
all more satisfied with these things in myself, and it
would take from me the comfort of respecting her and

(40:47):
it really is a comfort in this world to have
anything one can respect. In short, you see, said he suddenly,
resuming his gay tone. All I want is that different
things be kept in different boxes. The whole framework of society,
both in Europe and America, is made up of various
things which will not stand the scrutiny of any very
ideal standard of morality. It's pretty generally understood that men

(41:11):
don't aspire after the absolute right, but only to do
about as well as the rest of the world. Now,
when anyone speaks up like a man and says slavery
is necessary to us, we can't get along without it,
we should be beggared if we give it up, and
of course we mean to hold on to it. This
is strong, clear, well defined language. It has the respectability

(41:33):
of truth to it, and if we may judge by
their practice, the majority of the world will bear us
out in it. But when he begins to put on
a long face and snuffle and quote scripture, I inclined
to think he isn't much better than he should be.
You are very uncharitable, said Marie. Well, said Saint Clair.

(41:54):
Suppose that something should bring down the price of cotton.
Once and forever, and make the whole sleigh Ivory property
a drug in the market. Don't you think we should
soon have another version of the scriptured doctrine? What a
flood of light would pour to the church all at once,
and how immediately it would be discovered that everything in
the Bible and reason went the other way. Well, at

(42:16):
any rate, said Marie as she reclined herself on a lounge.
I'm thankful I'm born where slavery exists, and I believe
it's right. Indeed, I feel it must be, And at
any rate, I'm sure I couldn't get along without it.
I say, what do you think, pussy, said her father
to Eva, who came in at this moment with a
flower in her hand. What about, Papa, Why which do

(42:39):
you like the best? To live as they do at
your uncle's up in Vermont, or to have a house
full of servants as we do. Oh? Of course our
way is the pleasantest, said Eva. Why so, said Saint Clair,
stroking her head. Why it makes so many more round
you to love, you know, said Eva, looking up earnestly.

(43:01):
Now that's just like Eva, said Marie, just one of
her odd speeches. Is it an odd speech, Papa, said
Eva whisperingly as she got upon his knee. Rather as
this world goes pussy, said Saint Clair. But where has
my little Eva been all dinner time? Oh, I've been
up in Tom's room hearing him sing, and Aunt Dinah

(43:23):
gave me my dinner hearing Tom sing. Hey. Oh, yes,
he sings such beautiful things about the new Jerusalem and
bright angels and the land of Canaan. I daresay it's
better than the opera, isn't it. Yes, And he's going
to teach them to me, singing lessons. Hey, you are
coming on. Yes, he sings for me, and I read

(43:45):
to him in my Bible, and he explains what it means.
You know, on my word, said Maury, laughing. That is
the latest joke of the seas. And Tom isn't a
bad hand now at explaining scripture, I'll dare swear, said
Saint Clair. Tom has a natural genius for religion. I
wanted the horses out early this morning, and I stole

(44:06):
up to Tom's cubriculum there over the stables, and there
I heard him holding a meeting by himself. And in fact,
I haven't heard anything quite so savory as Tom's prayer
This some time he put in for me with a
zeal that was quite a postolic. Perhaps he guessed you
were listening. I've heard of that trick before. If he did,

(44:26):
he wasn't very polite, for he gave the Lord his
opinion of me pretty freely. Tom seemed to think there
was decidedly room for improvement in me, and seemed very
earnest that I should be converted. I hope you'll lay
it to heart, said Miss Ophelia. I suppose you are
much of the same opinion, said Saint Clair. Well we

(44:47):
shall see sha'n't we eva end of Chapter sixteen. Dream
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