The Flower of the ChapdelainesCable, George Washington
General
The Flower of the Chapdelaines
Cable, George Washington
Love stories; New Orleans (La.) -- Fiction
"Ladies at home? Yassuh," he said, with an ecstasy as if he announced
the world's war suddenly over, all oceans safe, all peoples free. He led
the way up the cramped white-shell walk with a ceremonial precision that
gave the caller time to notice the garden. It was hardly an empire. It
lay on either side in two right-angled figures, each, say, of sixty by
fourteen feet, every foot repeating florally the smile of the child. The
rigid beds were curbed with brick water-painted as red as Cupid's gums.
The three fences were green with vines, and here and there against them
bloomed tall evergreen shrubs. At one upper corner of the main path was
a camellia and at the other a crape-myrtle, symbols respectively, to the
visitor, of Aunt Corinne and Aunt Yvonne. The brick doorstep smiled as
red as the garden borders, and as he reached the open door Aline, with
her two aunts at her back, received him.
"Mr. Chester--Mlle. Chapdelaine. Mr. Chester--my Aunt Yvonne." Never
had the niece seemed quite so fair--in face, dress, figure, or mental
poise. She wore that rose whose petals are deep red in their outer
circle and pass from middle pink to central white and deepen in tints
with each day's age. If that rose could have been a girl, mind, soul,
and all, a Creole girl, there would have been two on one stem.
And there, on either side of her sat the aunts: the elder much too lean,
the younger much too dishevelled, and both as sun-tanned as harvesters,
betraying their poverty in flimsy, faded gowns which the dismayed youth
named to himself not draperies but hangings. Yet they were
sweet-mannered, fluent, gay, cordial, and unreserved, though fluttering,
twittering, and ultra-feminine.
The room was like the pair. "Doubtlezz Aline she's told you ab-out that
'ouse. No? Ah, chere! is that possible? 'Tis an ancient relique, that
'ouse. At the present they don't build any mo' like that 'ouse is
build'! You see those wall', those floor'? Every wall they are not of
lath an' plazter, like to-day; they are of solid plank' of a thicknezz of
two-inch'--and from Kentucky!"
The guest recognized the second-hand lumber of broken-up flatboats.
"Tha'z a genuine antique, that 'ouse! Sometime' we think we ought to
egspose that 'ouse, to those tourist', admission ten cent'." [A gay
laugh.]
"But tha'z only when Aline want' to compel us to buy some new dresses.
And tha'z pritty appropriate, that antique 'ouse, for two sizter'
themselve' pritty antique--ha, ha, ha!--as well as their anceztors."
"I fancy they're from 'way back," said Chester.
"We are granddaughter' of two _emigres_ of the Revolution. The other two
they were decapitalize' on that gui'otine. Yet, still, ad the same time,
we don't _feel_ antique. We don't feel mo' than ten year'! And
especially when we are showing those souvenir' of our in-_fancy_. And
there is nothing we love like that."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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