OUR HONEYMOON.
THURSDAY, MAY 23, 18—
"It would be something to say, Fred, that we'd been to France."—
"To be sure," replied Fred. "And yet only to have something to say and nothing to show, is but parrot's vanity."
"But that needn't be. We might learn a great deal. And I should like to see Normandy; if only a bit of it. One could fancy the rest, Fred. And then—I've seen 'em in pictures—the women wear such odd caps! And then William the Conqueror—papa says we came in with him; so that we were Normans once; that is on papa's side—for mamma won't hear that she had anything to do with it—though papa has often threatened to get his arms. And now I think of it, Fred, what are your arms?"
"Don't you know?" asked Fred, puckering his mouth—well, like any bud. "Don't you know?"
"No, I don't;" and I bit my lip and would be serious. "What are they?"
"It's very odd," said he, "very odd. And you are Normans! To think now, Lotty, that I should have made you flesh of my flesh, without first learning where that flesh first came from. You must own, my love, it was very careless of me. A man doesn't even buy a horse without a pedigree."
(I did look at him!)
"Nevertheless"—and he went on, as if he didn't see me—"nevertheless, my beloved, I must say it showed great elevation of mind on your part to trust your future fate to a man, without so much as even a hint about his arms. But it only shows the beautiful devotion of woman! What have arms to do with the heart? Wedlock defies all heraldry."
"I thought"—said I—"that, for a lawful marriage, the wedding ring must have the Hall mark?"
"I don't think it indispensable. I take it, brass would be as binding. Indeed, my love, I think according to the Council of Nice, or Trent, or Gretna Green—I forget which—a marriage has been solemnised with nothing more than a simple curtain-ring."
"Nonsense," said I; "such a marriage could never hold. Curtain-rings are very well in their way; but give me the real gold."
"True, my love, that's the purity of your woman's nature. In such a covenant we can't be too real. Any way"—and he took my wedding-finger between his—"any way, Lotty, yours seems strong enough to hold, ay, three husbands."
"One's enough," said I, looking and laughing at him.
"At a time"—said Fred; "but when we're about buying a ring, it's as well to have an article that will wear. Bless you," and he pressed his thumb upon my ring, "this will last me out and another."—
"Frederick," I cried very angrily; and then—I couldn't help it—I almost began to weep. Whereupon, in his kind, foolish manner he—well, I didn't cry.
"Let us, my darling," said Fred, after a minute, "let us return to our arms. And you came in with the Normans?"
"With William the Conqueror, papa says, so we must have arms."—
"I remember"—said Fred, as grave as a judge—"once, a little in his cups, your father told me all about it. I recollect. Very beautiful arms: a Normandy pippin with an uplifted battle-axe."
"I never heard that"—said I—"but that seems handsome."
"Yes; your ancestor sold apples in the camp. A fact, I assure you. It all comes upon me now. Real Normandy pippins. They show a tree at Battle—this your father told me as a secret; but as man and wife are one, why it's only one half talking to the other half—a tree at Battle grown from your ancestor's apple-pips. Something like a family tree, that."
"I don't believe a word of it," said I.
"You must. Bless you"—said Fred—"arms come by faith, or how many of the best of people would be without 'em. There's something innocent in the pippin: besides it would paint well. And with my arms"—
"Yes;" I cried; "and what are they, Fred?"
"Well, it's odd: we were—it's plain—made for one another. I came from Normandy too."
"You did?" and I was pleased.
"Yes," said he. "I wonder what terms our families were on a thousand years ago? To be sure, I came to England later than you; and I can't exactly say who I came with: but then—for I'm sure I can trust my grandmother—my descent is very historical. I assure you that your family pippin will harmonize with my bearings beautifully."
"We'll have the hall-chairs painted," said I, and I felt quite pleased.
"And the gig of course," said Fred.
"Of course; for what is life if one doesn't enjoy it?" said I.
"Very true, love. And the stable-bucket," continued Fred.
"Just as you please, dear," said I; "but certainly the hall-lamp."—
"Yes: and if we could only get—no, but that's too much to expect," said Fred.
"What's too much?" I asked; for Fred's manner quite excited me.
"Why, I was thinking, if we could get your great aunt merely to die, we might turn out a very pretty hatchment."—
"Now, Frederick!"—for this was going too far.
"I assure you, my love"—said Fred—"'twould give us a great lift in the neighbourhood: and as you say, what's existence without enjoying it?—What's life without paint?"
"Well, but"—for he hadn't told me—"but your descent, love? Is it so very historical?"
"Very. I come in a direct line—so direct, my darling, you might think it was drawn by a ruler—a direct line from Joan of Arc."
"Is it true?" I cried.
"When we cross over to Dieppe, it isn't far to Rouen. You'd like to see Rouen?"
"Very much, indeed," I answered. "I always wanted to see Normandy; the home of my ancestors;" and I did feel a little elevated.
"It's very natural, Lotty"—said Fred. "A reasonable, yes, a very reasonable ambition. Well, at Rouen, I have no doubt I can show you my family tree; at the same time, I shouldn't wonder if we could obtain some further authentic intelligence about your pippin."—
"Nothing more likely," said I; for I did want to see France. "Nothing more likely."
"I'm afraid there's no regular packet across"—said Fred—"but we can hire a boat."—
"A boat? Why, my dear, a boat is"—
"Yes; in a nice trim sea-boat we can cross admirably; and, my love," said Fred, moving close and placing his arm about me—"my love, the matter grows upon me. Let us consider it. Here we are about to begin the world. In fact, I think I may say, we have begun it."—
"Mamma always said marriage wasn't beginning, but settling."
"Let us say the beginning of the settling. Well, we are at a very interesting point of our history; and who knows what may depend upon our voyage?"—
"Still, you'll never go in a boat that"—but he put his hand over my mouth, and went on.
"I declare, beloved Lotty, when I look upon ourselves—two young creatures—going forth upon the waters to search for and authenticate our bearings—when I reflect, my darling, that not merely ourselves, but our unborn great grandchildren"—
"Don't be foolish, Fred," said I; but he would.
"That our great grandchildren, at this moment in the dim regions of probability, and in the still dimmer limbo of possibility"—
"Now, what are you talking about?" I asked; but he was in one of his ways, and it was of no use.
"Are, without being awake to the fact, acutely interested in our discovery; why our voyage becomes an adventure of the deepest, and the most delicate interest. Open your fancy's eye, my love, and looking into futurity, just glance at that magnificent young man, your grandson"—
"Now, I tell you what, Fred, don't be foolish; for I shall look at nothing of the sort," and with the words, I shut my eyes as close as shells.
"Or that lovely budding bride, your grand-daughter"—
"No," said I, "nor any grand-daughter, either; there's quite time enough for that."
"Any way, my love, those dearest beings are vitally interested in the matter of our voyage. Therefore, I'll at once go and charter a boat. Would you like it with a deck?"—
"Why, my love, my dearest—as for a boat, I"—and I felt alarmed.
"Columbus found America almost in a punt," said Fred; "then surely we may seek our arms in"—
"But stop," I cried; for he was really going. "After all, love," and I resolutely seated myself on his knee, and held him round the neck—"after all, you have not told me what are your arms? I mean your arms from Joan of Arc."
"Why, you know, my love, that Joan of Arc was a shepherdess?"
"I should hope I knew as much as that," said I.
"Very good. Well, in order to perpetuate the beautiful humility of her first calling, Charles the Seventh magnificently permitted her and all her descendants, to carry in her shield—a lamb's fry!"
"Now, Frederick!"
"Such are my bearings, inherited in a direct line—I say in a direct line—from the Maid of Orleans!"—
"From the Maid of—" and then I saw what a goose he had made of me; and didn't I box his ears, but not to hurt him; and didn't we afterwards agree that the hall-chairs should remain as they were, and that life might be beautiful and bright enough without a touch of herald's paint.
How we did laugh at the family pippin!