THE PRICE OF A PEDIGREE.
WHEN General Harrison was running for the Presidency, the members of the opposition party looked about for a slur to cast upon him. Finally, they brought forward an accusation of the gravest possible kind. It was that the poor man had a grandfather, which, being altogether unAmerican, proved conclusively that he ought never to be elected President of the United States.
During that campaign many good Democrats put the pictures of their ancestors away in the attic, or turned them with faces towards the wall, in order to escape the imputation of being traitors to Democratic principles. In certain circles it was looked upon as nothing short of a crime to have a family-tree and to be able to tell with any degree of certainty from which branch one had sprouted.
I do not know whether General Harrison’s election had anything to do with making grandfathers more popular, but for the past few years I have noticed that not only grandfathers, but ancestors removed many generations back, were getting immensely fashionable, especially among people of suddenly acquired wealth. It has often occurred to me that there must be some sort of mill or shop where forefathers and coats-of-arms were made to order. I have known persons who one month wrote on plain note-paper, drove in hired hansoms, and had the walls of the ” parlour” adorned with chromos, who the next month indited notes on stationery embossed with strangely-wrought characters in gold and bronze and purple, and invited their friends to call at a new house, where, on the drawing-room walls, hung old fashioned gilded frames, from which stared cracked and battered portraits of men and women of ancient times. I have always noticed that the advent of these things was simultaneous with a rise in the price of pork, the finding of a new mine, or a hitherto undiscovered oil-well.
Some years ago a young New York lawyer, who, had he lived in England, would have been known as a ” briefless barrister,” confided to me that he wished to go to one of the Western States and start in his profession, but he was kept back for the lack of a few hundred dollars. He was clever, talented, and had boundless ambition, the sort of man that always rises in America. He had been an only son, but his parents had left him no legacy, except an honoured name and a family-tree of considerable dimensions. One day, in talking over his resources, a sudden thought occurred to him, and his face brightened.
“Do you know,” said he, ” it seems as if those ancestors of mine ought to be worth something to me in a crisis like this! “
“But they’re not,” I answered. “You know they’re as dead as a door-nail. There’s nothing for you but to go and saw wood.”
Still he persisted that ancestors were realisable assets, if he could only find a market for them, and explained that many a rich man would be glad to own such a pedigree and coat-of-arms as he possessed. The next day he brought a parcel of papers, which contained a full account of his genealogy, a description of his ancestral halls, and a crest of no mean order; and, going over them, he made it clear to me just how, with a few slight changes, everything might be made to apply to almost any person and fit the case exactly.
At first I was shocked, and could not enter into the spirit of the thing, though I could not but admire his resourceful mind. There seemed to be something uncanny and sacrilegious about selling off one’s forefather’s like that, and I told him so, comparing him to Esau, who sold his birthright for a mess of pottage.
I went to South America soon afterwards, and thought no more about the affair until three or four months ago I received a marked copy of a Western paper, which spoke of the fame recently achieved by a rising young lawyer, who was one of the coming men of the great West. It was my old-time friend, and I fell to wondering whether he had realised a sufficient amount on his pedigree to enable him to make the start he wanted. I wrote, asking him if he had succeeded in disposing of his heritage, and also desired him to give me any additional information he could in regard to modern genealogical matters. A few weeks later I had a letter from him, stating that, soon after I left New York, he had found a buyer for his wares in the person of a wealthy citizen of Dakota, who, happening to have the same name as his own (which was not an uncommon one), paid him $800 down cash, and was not even put to the trouble of making any changes. At the close of his letter he wrote :—
“You probably have not heard that the High fliers, of Wyoming, have suddenly come out with a coat-of-arms and weird-looking old oil paintings. I have taken the pains to investigate it for you, and I understand that they had some private person, who lives hear London, to attend to the matter for them. The coat-of-arms is not genuine, I am sure, and the paintings, though doubtless somebody’s ancestors, are not their own. You might go and see the man in the interest of your profession. His address is . As for myself, I am getting on swimmingly since I sold my birthright, and when anyone inquires into the details of my forbears, I put them off with the quotation :
” ‘ The rank is but the guinea stamp, The man’s the man for a’ that.’ “
The place indicated was in one of the suburbs of London, and I called twice at the address before I found the person I sought. The gentility and unpretentious bearing of the house I visited rather disappointed me ; for I half-expected to see a shop with crests, stamps, and trees displayed in the window, and suspended over the door some such sign as “Pedigrees While You Wait.”
The man who answered to the name my friend had given me was also a disappointment. He did not have the appearance of a manufacturer of ancestors and armorial ensigns. He was a thorough gentleman, but not like an Englishman. He seemed to be of German extraction, though he spoke without an accent.
I explained that I was an American, and was anxious to obtain some information concerning my father’s people, who were English. I gave my name as Miss Helen Simpkins. I think the name must have discouraged him at once; for he put on an exceedingly doubtful look, as if wondering whether any good could come out of the Simpkinses or, rather, if the Simpkinses could have come out of any good. The name certainly did not have an aristocratic ring about it. That was why I gave it. I thought it quite as good as Highflier, and likely to bring about just as satisfactory results.
“Simpkins, Simpkins,” he repeated in a musing sort of way. “Is that an old English name?”
” I don’t know how old it is,” I answered,”but it is my name, and my father’s people were English.
I want to find out who they were and what they were. I understand that you make investigations of this kind for Americans.”
“Yes,” he answered, with the semblance of a smile. ” I have sometimes done that, as I am
interested in the study of genealogy and the subject of heredity, though I do not make a
business of it. Yet I have helped some of your country people in that way.”
“How much does it cost ? ” I asked bluntly.” Well, my charge, of course, depends upon the trouble I am obliged to take. I suppose you have some information to give me concerning your grandfather, great-grandfather, where they lived, whether they were what is known as gentlemen, and when they went to America ? It may be a very simple matter, in which case the cost would be trifling—not more than five or six guineas.”
He seemed so genuine, so honest, and withal such a gentleman, that I began to believe he never could have helped the Highfliers in their quest of a lineage.
“You see,” said I, ” my father and mother are not living, and, as I am the only member of the family, I have no means of finding out anything concerning my father’s ancestors, except that I know his father was named Samuel Simpkins and lived somewhere in England. I thought you could hunt all that up for me ; and I was prepared to pay you for your trouble, whatever you might ask.”
I spoke in a melancholy, innocent sort of tone, and my auditor smiled good-naturedly, as he said:
“I am afraid I could not do anything with such vague information as you have at your command, even though you gave me a thousand pounds. We must have something to start on, and you have nothing. If you are a wealthy American lady, as I suppose you are, I would not, if I were you, bother myself about questions of this sort. Indeed, you have no necessity to trouble about ancestors. To be an American woman is honour enough.”
He was so very kind and so American-like in his gallantry, that I felt like confessing myself a sham; but the thought of Henrietta Highflier, and all the airs she had doubtless assumed with her new-found dignity, induced me to make another effort before giving up.
“I am so sorry ; I thought you could help me. I understood that you did something for the
Highfliers, of Wyoming. Did Mr. Highflier know anything more about his grandfathers than I know about mine?”
He smiled when I mentioned the name of Highflier.
” Yes, I did put myself to considerable trouble for the Highfliers,” he answered ; ” but theirs was a peculiar case.”
“Mine is also a peculiar case. It is not pleasant to know nothing about one’s people. I have come to England purposely to find out, and I don’t like to go back to America with no more information than when I came. I am willing to pay anything you ask for the trouble I make you. I have no one to care what I do with my money.” I was anxious to get away from this very pleasant man, but still I must know about the Highfliers.
“Is it then for America only that you wish a coat-of-arms and a genealogical-table? You do not intend to remain in England or on the Continent ?”
“Yes, I want something to show my American friends, a crest for the brougham and stamp for mynote paper. I do not expect to stop in England after this month,” was my reply.
“Very well,” he said. “I can supply you with what you seem to want for two hundred pounds, if you desire to spend your money so foolishly. I will be perfectly honest with you and tell you that it will be better for you to use the crest only in America where people will not put it to a close scrutiny. You had best think the matter over before you decide. You look intelligent and I think you can understand my position in the matter. I am always honourable in my dealings.”
“Did you arrange it that way for the Highfliers?” I asked, making my final stroke, as I prepared to leave.
” I am hardly at liberty to answer your question,” he replied with great dignity.
He shook hands, and bowed me out in a kindly, fatherly sort of way. I could not help but admire the genuineness of the man who did not attempt to pass off a sham thing for a real. If rich Americans were willing to pay him a thousand dollars for drawing original pictures of trees, animals, and coronets and making a list of names on paper or attaching them to the branches of an apple-tree, knowing the while that they were pictures only, nobody could blame him for amusing himself and accepting the money.
After my interview with the man who did the Highfliers such an inestimable service, I discovered another person in the City who, without troubling me with embarrassing questions concerning the Simpkinses of a past age, would undertake to provide me with a noble line of ancestors extending back several generations, his charges to be according to the length of the line. This was reasonable enough ; for, of course, the larger the number of ancestors, the more time and thought spent in the investigation, or manufacture, as the case might be. I considered this plan of supplying forefathers at so much a head the only true business-like way of carrying out such a transaction. If I cared for a pedigree to begin with the thirteenth, fourteenth, or fifteenth century, the price would naturally be higher than one which started in the seventeenth or eighteenth century. The lowest price for which any investigation would be undertaken was £50, while a coat-of-arms would be ” authenticated ” for £10 extra. I presume that this price would be increased if I demanded anything of a very elaborate order.
Those who study the advertising columns of the daily papers have doubtless often noticed the advertisement of a “private gentleman,” who advises Americans and others that he is prepared to authenticate pedigrees and emblazon escutcheons at reasonable terms. Many of my country people who visit London during the season have received from this gentleman neatly-engraved cards, stating that he makes a speciality of the study of heraldry in connection with the stationery business. He says that many Americans, though they know it not, can really trace their families back to the blood royal of England. But this gentleman’s customers are not all Americans. He has been patronised by numbers of City men and tradespeople of London, who, with the acquisition of wealth made in stockbroking or the drapery trade, feel a sudden craving for knowledge of their ancestry. Many of them are so deceived by the pedigree-maker that they believe the strange, weird tales he tells them, while others are satisfied to make their neighbours believe them.
The genealogies thus supplied are probably quite as genuine as many of those collected
together in certain books relating to the existing gentle and noble families of England. In looking over these publications, I have often been struck with the fact that nearly all the pedigrees commence with the time of Conquest, and I have been surprised to find that nearly everybody worth mentioning had ancestors who were ” close friends ” of William the Conqueror. It is wonderful the number of intimate companions that crusty old invader had ! According to the genealogical records, they were more numerous than the sands of the desert. In some of these pedigrees there seem to have been at times several generations that got lost in some unaccountable way, so that in many instances it would appear that certain men must have been the sons of their great-great grandfathers, unless, like Topsy, they “just growed.” Such discrepancies as these are doubtless due to the stupidity of pedigree-makers who lived two or three centuries ago, and they have been allowed to go on uncorrected. Nineteenth-century genealogists know their business better, and they go on the principle that “what is worth doing at all is worth doing well;” hence a pedigree now made to order reads smoothly and consistently, and the possessor may congratulate himself on the fact that he is able to secure the very latest thing in this line.
Some genealogists have been known to show a sense of the eternal fitness of things by
supplying their customers with crests and arms to suit their particular vocations. A few years ago a wealthy Chicago pork-dealer, who had expressed his willingness to pay a large sum of money for a crest and family-tree, was much insulted on receiving a sheet of paper stamped with a picture of three wild boars standing on their hind legs. He refused to pay for it on the ground that it was too personal, and now his carriage panels are ornamented with a crest of an entirely different character. If people would only be more consistent in such matters, the art of heraldry might be put to much greater use than it is at present; but consistency is so costly a jewel that there are few who can afford to wear it. How convenient it would be if Miss Brewer, of Milwaukee, would have the top of her note-paper embellished with a drawing of a brightly coloured cask or barrel! On the family plate of the wealthy Dakota farmer might be engraved a sheaf of wheat, while the escutcheon of the Pennsylvania coal baron could be adorned with a
representation of a glowing furnace.
In these days of the ” new woman,” the ” new journalism,” the “new drama,” and the “new art,” I am surprised that someone does not invent something original in the way of pedigrees, and call it the ” new heraldry.” Cannot a man be found who is bold and honest enough to start his pedigree in the latter part of the nineteenth century, commencing with himself, and taking for his coat-of-arms the symbol of his own trade or profession? Such a course would be the only proper one for so-called ” self-made ” men to adopt, both in England and America. In such a case, a very appropriate motto would be “Every Man His Own Ancestor.”
But until such a person comes forward, I suppose we shall have to put up with such
improvements and conveniences as we already have, which, after all, are not to be despised. “Made ancestors” possess peculiar advantages over the genuine articles, inasmuch as they may be manufactured at notice to suit all tastes and requirements. Then, too, the plan, to a great extent, does away with the family skeletons of a past generation, which are always liable to pop up at inopportune times and create embarrassments. According to the present method, anybody with money may be descended from knights, earls, dukes, and even kings, all of the best variety and irreproachable character. Crests of colours and designs most pleasing to the eye may always be obtained, and the coat of mail that stands in the hall may be ever bright and new.
Those plebeians who insist on pedigrees of ancient date may be accommodated by entering into negotiations with the aristocratic poor of all countries, and even persons with genealogies and crests of their own are privileged to have them altered and rearranged at pleasure. In this connection I am reminded of the story of a Boston lady, who, visiting London recently, decided to go to a sort of private heraldic bureau and have her ancestors hunted up. It transpired that the lady was really of noble lineage, but when she was shown the coat-of-arms which had belonged to her family centuries ago, she nearly fainted at the sight of the snakes and lizards that formed a prominent part of the crest. She declared that she hated ” crawling things,” and demanded a new one. The man of heralds tried to explain to her that the snakes and lizards were only symbols, but all to no effect, and he was finally obliged to make her a new coat-of-arms, in which frisking greyhounds took the place of the objectionable features.
It must, however, be admitted that the present system has its drawbacks as well as its
conveniences, in that the owners of genuine crests are never safe in their possessions. If a neighbour admires the style and design, there seems to be nothing to prevent his having it copied, with, perhaps, a very small difference as regards details. It is said that an English diplomat, who some years ago resided in America, ordered from a Washington manufacturer a new brougham, with the instruction that on the panels should be painted his coat-of-arms. A few weeks later, on visiting the carriage shop, he found that several new turn-outs were standing about, emblazoned in the same way as the one he ordered. He thought, perhaps, the manufacturer was intending to make him a present.
” Are these all mine ? ” he asked.
“Oh, no ! ” answered the manufacturer. “Some of my customers so much admired the picture on your brougham that they decided to have it copied on their own carriages. Rather a compliment to your taste, I take!” This story, however, is given more credence in England than in the ‘United States.
I have found that none of the pedigree “shops ” are entirely patronised by Americans. Many of their customers are to be found among the English middle classes. Snobs are not indigenous to republics. They are quite as numerous in monarchies.
There are certain people who do not care to patronise the ” shops,” preferring rather to carry on their transactions privately. It is mostly in this way that those persons who have a family backing and no money are enabled to meet others who have the money but no backing, and so they make a fair exchange, which is no robbery.
Since my investigation into this matter, I have begun to have a strangely suspicious feeling about some of my personal acquaintances, who, it has often occurred to me, talk more than is really necessary concerning their noble or gentle descent. I have even grown cynical as regards the thorough-bredness of my black poodle, whom I had hitherto looked upon as being descended from a long line of patrician Parisians. Now, whenever I notice him attempting to show any superiority over the unkempt mongrel that he passes on the street, I push back the fringe that hangs about his face and looking him in the eyes, say, “Dear old doggie! you must not be vain because of your supposed high-born condition, for I have discovered that there are PEDIGREES FOR ALL.”