It was at the Russian's I was called on to witness the iron steadiness of Peg—albeit I could have wished the Dutch jade, who offended, a man, that I might pinch his neck. You must know, then, how the Minister from the Netherlands was a bloated creature of beer and butter-tub proportions—a Herr Huygens, he was; and Frau Huygens, his lady—save the mark!—was as dropsical as he. The latter ungentlewoman would be a waddling, duck-built cabbage thing of fifty years; and of no little standing for a money-prudence and strict economy, since while as rich as that commerce of gin by which her spouse had builded up their fortunes, she owned celebration for but one frock—a most fantastic garment for color and flounce like the garb of a clown in a kirmess.
At the Krudener dinner, your Frau Huygens, whose place was next to Peg's, would up and leave her chair immediately she was seated; and all with a lofty face as of one insulted, and following a great looking of Peg over through a spying glass.
Spurred by this rudeness, Krudener directed a servant to remove the chair and plate and table furniture of that place. This was swiftly done; and next, to show his own feeling of the insolence offered under his roof, our Russian would have the plate and the rest, including the gilt chair, broken to pieces in one corner of the apartment and thrown upon the blaze in the vast fireplace.
“They have been used by that woman of canals and gin-casks,” explained Krudener—under his exterior of quiet diplomacy and with his eye on Van Buren, I could tell how the Muscovite was in a towering rage—“and I have no servant so low he would now eat off that plate or sit in that chair. Let them be destroyed, and with them the recollection of the offence to our fair guest, which throughout my life I shall deplore.” With this Krudener bowed deeply to Peg.
“Since you say so much, Baron,” responded Peg, “I am driven to tell you that you need have been to no disturbance. I should have remarked that person's going only for the relief it gave to be free of the nearness of one so gross.”
This our pretty Peg got off in a way of relieved superiority that was invincible; she lost nothing through the episode, but would gain ground thereby for her bearing.
In my first ill-humor to see this reasonless slight put upon our Peg, I looked about for the rotund Herr Huygens, with a view, I suppose—although I remember no clear plan in my angry head at the time—to have his opinion on the conduct of that wife, since he as her lord would be responsible. He was not present, nor had he been; it was as well, for I might have forgotten his sacred character as a Minister and said or done that which should be a further and more depressing jolt to the proprieties.
The General, when he learned of the business, was even warmer than myself. He was all for having Van Buren give Herr Huygens his walking papers, and would scarce listen to less. The “good little secretary,” with Peg, herself, to aid, won him from his mood to banish the Dutchman and that offensive Frau. It bred a sharp alarm in the bosom of Herr Huygens, for he would as soon lay down his life as his post of Minister, over the proud eminence whereof he gloated much.
An incident more to be merry with, and one carrying within itself the elements of fair reproof, came off in the house of the English.
By this time your drawing-room forces had greatly abandoned the Vice-President's wife and the ladies Berrien, Branch and Ingham, to follow Peg. Among these, and glittering in the van, shone the vainglorious Pigeon-breast. It was at the dance of the Viscount Vaughn that Pigeon-breast, after deeply considering the butter on his bread, made obviously and obsequiously up to Peg.