A Romance of the Republic - Lydia Maria Francis Child
Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28
"How I shall love them all!" exclaimed Rosa. "And you will love our
Eulalia. I had a little Alfred and a little Flora. They came to us
in Provence, and we left their pretty little bodies there among the
roses."
The sisters sat folded in each other's arms, their souls wandering
about among memories, when Mr. Blumenthal returned from his long
ramble with the children. Then, of course, there was a scene of
exclamations and embraces. Little Lila was shy, and soon ran away to
take refuge in Mamita's chamber; but Rosen Blumen was full of wonder
and delight that such a grand, beautiful lady was the Aunt Rosa of
whom she had heard so much.
"Mamita Lila has stayed away all this time, out of regard to our
privacy," said Flora; "but now I am going to bring her."
She soon returned, arm in arm with Mrs. Delano. Mr. Blumenthal took
her hand respectfully, as she entered, and said: "This is our dear
benefactress, our best earthly friend."
"My guardian angel, my darling Mamita," added Flora.
Mrs. King eagerly stepped forward, and folded her in her arms, saying,
in a voice half stifled with emotion, "Thank God and you for all this
happiness."
While they were speaking together, Flora held a whispered consultation
with her husband, who soon went forth in search of Mr. King, with
strict injunctions to say merely that an unexpected pleasure awaited
him. He hastened to obey the summons, wondering what it could mean.
There was no need of introducing him to his new-found relative. The
moment he entered the room, he exclaimed, "Why, Floracita!"
"So you knew me?" she said, clasping his hand warmly.
"To be sure I did," he answered. "You are the same little fairy that
danced in the floral parlor."
"O, I'm a sober matron now," said she, with a comic attempt to look
demure about the mouth, while her eyes were laughing. "Here is my
daughter Rosa; and I have a tall lad, who bears two thirds of your
regal name."
The happy group were loath to separate, though it was only to meet
again in the evening at Mr. King's lodgings on Round Hill. There,
memories and feelings, that tried in vain to express themselves fully
in words, found eloquent utterance in music.
Day after day, and evening after evening, the sisters met, with a
hunger of the heart that could not be satisfied. Their husbands and
children, meanwhile, became mutually attached. Rosen Blumen, richly
colored with her tropical ancestry and her vigorous health, looked
upon her more ethereal cousin Eulalia as a sort of angel, and seemed
to worship her as such. Sometimes she accompanied her sweet, bird-like
voice with the guitar; sometimes they sang duets together; and
sometimes one played on the piano, while the other danced with
Lila, whose tiny feet kept time to the music, true as an echo. Not
unfrequently, the pretty little creature was called upon to dance a
_pas seul_; for she had improvised a dance for herself to the tune of
Yankee Doodle, and it was very amusing to see how emphatically she
stamped the rhythm.
While the young people amused themselves thus, Flora often brought
forward her collection of drawings, which Rosa called the portfolio of
memories.
There was the little fountain in their father's garden, the lonely
cottage on the island, the skeleton of the dead pine tree, with the
moon peeping through its streamers of moss, and Thistle with his
panniers full of flowers. Among the variety of foreign scenes, Mrs.
King particularly admired the dancing peasants from Frascati.
"Ah," said Flora, "I see them now, just as they looked when we passed
them on our beautiful drive to Albano. It was the first really merry
day I had had for a long time. I was just beginning to learn to enjoy
myself without you. It was very selfish of me, dear Rosa, but I was
forgetful of you, that day. And, only to think of it! if it had not
been for that unlucky apparition of Mr. Fitzgerald, I should have gone
to the opera and seen you as Norma."
"Very likely we should both have fainted," rejoined Rosa, "and then
the manager would have refused to let La Campaneo try her luck again.
But what is this, Floracita?"
"That is a group on Monte Pincio," she replied. "I sketched it when I
was shut up in my room, the day before you came out in the opera."
"I do believe it is Madame and the Signor and I," responded Rosa. "The
figures and the dresses are exactly the same; and I remember we went
to Monte Pincio that morning, on my return from rehearsal."
"What a stupid donkey I was, not to know you were so near!" said
Flora. "I should have thought my fingers would have told me while I
was drawing it."
"Ah," exclaimed Rosa, "here is Tulee!" Her eyes moistened while she
gazed upon it. "Poor Tulee!" said she, "how she cared for me, and
comforted me, during those dark and dreadful days! If it hadn't been
for her and Chloe, I could never have lived through that trouble. When
I began to recover, she told me how Chloe held my hand hour after
hour, and prayed over me without ceasing. I believe she prayed me up
out of the grave. She said our Mamita appeared to her once, and told
her she was my guardian angel; but if it had really been our Mamita,
I think she would have told her to tell me you were alive, Mignonne.
When Alfred and I went South, just before we came here, we tried to
find Tom and Chloe. We intend to go to New Bedford soon to see them. A
glimpse of their good-natured black faces would give me more pleasure
than all the richly dressed ladies I saw at Mrs. Green's great party."
"Very likely you'll hear Tom preach when you go to New Bedford,"
rejoined Flora, "for he is a Methodist minister now; and Chloe, they
say, is powerful in prayer at the meetings. I often smile when I think
about the manner of her coming away. It was so funny that my quiet,
refined Mamita Lila should all at once become a kidnapper. But here is
Rosen Blumen. Well, what now, Mignonne?"
"Papa says Lila is very sleepy, and we ought to be going home,"
replied the young damsel.
"Then we will kiss good night, _sistita mia_?" said Mrs. Blumenthal;
"and you will bring Eulalia to us to-morrow."
On their return home, Mr. Bright called to them over the garden fence.
"I've just had a letter from your neighbor, Mrs. Fitzgerald," said he.
"She wants to know whether we can accommodate her, and her father, and
her son with lodgings this summer. I'm mighty glad we can say we've
let all our rooms; for that old Mr. Bell treats mechanics as if he
thought they all had the small-pox, and he was afraid o' catching it.
So different from you, Mr. Blumenthal, and Mr. King! You ain't afraid
to take hold of a rough hand without a glove on. How is Mrs. King?
Hope she's coming to-morrow. If the thrushes and bobolinks could sing
human music, and put human feeling into it, her voice would beat 'em
all. How romantic that you should come here to Joe Bright's to find
your sister, that you thought was dead."
When they had courteously answered his inquiries, he repeated a wish
he had often expressed, that somebody would write a story about it.
If he had been aware of all their antecedents, he would perhaps have
written one himself; but he only knew that the handsome sisters were
orphans, separated in youth, and led by a singular combination of
circumstances to suppose each other dead.
CHAPTER XXIX.
When the sisters were alone together, the next day after dinner,
Flora said, "Rosa, dear, does it pain you very much to hear about Mr.
Fitzgerald?"
"No; that wound has healed," she replied. "It is merely a sad memory
now."
"Mrs. Bright was nursery governess in his family before her marriage,"
rejoined Flora. "I suppose you have heard that he disappeared
mysteriously. I think she may know something about it, and I have been
intending to ask her; but your sudden appearance, and the quantity
of things we have had to say to each other, have driven it out of my
head. Do you object to my asking her to come in and tell us something
about her experiences?"
"I should be unwilling to have her know we were ever acquainted with
Mr. Fitzgerald," responded Mrs. King.
"So should I," said Flora. "It will be a sufficient reason for my
curiosity that Mrs. Fitzgerald is our acquaintance and neighbor."
And she went out to ask her hostess to come and sit with them. After
some general conversation, Flora said: "You know Mrs. Fitzgerald is
our neighbor in Boston. I have some curiosity to know what were your
experiences in her family."
"Mrs. Fitzgerald was always very polite to me," replied Mrs. Bright;
"and personally I had no occasion to find fault with Mr. Fitzgerald,
though I think the Yankee schoolma'am was rather a bore to him.
The South is a beautiful part of the country. I used to think the
sea-island, where they spent most of the summer, was as beautiful as
Paradise before the fall; but I never felt at home there. I didn't
like the state of things. It's my theory that everybody ought to help
in doing the work of the world. There's a great deal to be done,
ladies, and it don't seem right that some backs should be broken with
labor, while others have the spine complaint for want of exercise. It
didn't agree with my independent New England habits to be waited upon
so much. A negro woman named Venus took care of my room. The first
night I slept at the plantation, it annoyed me to see her kneel down
to take off my stockings and shoes. I told her she might go, for I
could undress myself. She seemed surprised; and I think her conclusion
was that I was no lady. But all the negroes liked me. They had got the
idea, somehow, that Northern people were their friends, and were doing
something to set them free."
"Then they generally wanted their freedom, did they?" inquired Flora.
"To be sure they did," rejoined Mrs. Bright. "Did you ever hear of
anybody that liked being a slave?"
Mrs. King asked whether Mr. Fitzgerald was a hard master.
"I don't think he was," said their hostess. "I have known him to do
very generous and kind things for his servants. But early habits had
made him indolent and selfish, and he left the overseer to do as he
liked. Besides, though he was a pleasant gentleman when sober, he was
violent when he was intoxicated; and he had become much addicted
to intemperance before I went there. They said he had been a very
handsome man; but he was red and bloated when I knew him. He had a
dissipated circle of acquaintances, who used to meet at his house in
Savannah, and gamble with cards till late into the night; and the
liquor they drank often made them very boisterous and quarrelsome.
Mrs. Fitzgerald never made any remark, in my presence, about these
doings; but I am sure they troubled her, for I often heard her walking
her chamber long after she had retired for the night. Indeed, they
made such an uproar, that it was difficult to sleep till they were
gone. Sometimes, after they had broken up, I heard them talking on the
piazza; and their oaths and obscene jests were shocking to hear;
yet if I met any of them the next day, they appeared like courtly
gentlemen. When they were intoxicated, niggers and Abolitionists
seemed always to haunt their imaginations. I remember one night in
particular. I judged by their conversation that they had been reading
in a Northern newspaper some discussion about allowing slaveholders to
partake of the sacrament. Their talk was a strange tipsy jumble. If
Mr. Bright had heard it, he would give you a comical account of it. As
they went stumbling down the steps, some were singing and some were
swearing. I heard one of them bawl out, 'God damn their souls to all
eternity, they're going to exclude us from the communion-table.' When
I first told the story to Mr. Bright, I said d---- their souls; but he
said that was all a sham, for everybody knew what d---- stood for, and
it was just like showing an ass's face to avoid speaking his name. So
I have spoken the word right out plain, just as I heard it. It was
shocking talk to hear, and you may think it very improper to repeat
it, ladies; but I have told it to give you an idea of the state of
things in the midst of which I found myself."
Mrs. King listened in sad silence. The Mr. Fitzgerald of this
description was so unlike the elegant young gentleman who had won her
girlish love, that she could not recognize him as the same person.
"Did Mr. Fitzgerald die before you left?" inquired Flora.
"I don't know when or how he died," replied Mrs. Bright; "but I
have my suspicions. Out of regard to Mrs. Fitzgerald, I have never
mentioned them to any one but my husband; and if I name them to you,
ladies, I trust you will consider it strictly confidential."
They promised, and she resumed.
"I never pried into the secrets of the family, but I could not help
learning something about them, partly from my own observation, and
inferences drawn therefrom, and partly from the conversation of Venus,
my talkative waiting-maid. She told me that her master married a
Spanish lady, the most beautiful lady that ever walked the earth; and
that he conveyed her away secretly somewhere after he married the
milk-face, as she called Mrs. Fitzgerald. Venus was still good-looking
when I knew her. From her frequent remarks I judge that, when she was
young, her master thought her extremely pretty; and she frequently
assured me that he was a great judge 'ob we far sex.' She had a
handsome mulatto daughter, whose features greatly resembled his;
and she said there was good reason for it. I used to imagine Mrs.
Fitzgerald thought so too; for she always seemed to owe this handsome
Nelly a grudge. Mr. Fitzgerald had a body-servant named Jim, who was
so genteel that I always called him 'Dandy Jim o' Caroline.' Jim and
Nelly were in love with each other; but their master, for reasons of
his own, forbade their meeting together.
"Finding that Nelly tried to elude his vigilance, he sold Jim to a New
Orleans trader, and the poor girl almost cried her handsome eyes out.
A day or two after he was sold, Mr. Fitzgerald and his lady went to
Beaufort on a visit, and took their little son and daughter with them.
The walls of my sleeping-room were to be repaired, and I was told to
occupy their chamber during their absence. The evening after they went
away, I sat up rather late reading, and when I retired the servants
were all asleep. As I sat before the looking-glass, arranging my hair
for the night, I happened to glance toward the reflection of the bed,
which showed plainly in the mirror; and I distinctly saw a dark eye
peeping through an opening in the curtains. My heart was in my throat,
I assure you; but I had the presence of mind not to cry out or to jump
up. I continued combing my hair, occasionally glancing toward the
eye. If it be one of the negroes, thought I, he surely cannot wish
to injure _me_, for they all know I am friendly to them. I tried to
collect all my faculties, to determine what it was best to do. I
reflected that, if I alarmed the servants, he might be driven to
attack me in self-defence. I began talking aloud to myself, leisurely
taking off my cuffs and collar as I did so, and laying my breastpin
and watch upon the table. 'I wish Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald were not
going to stay so long at Beaufort,' said I. 'It is lonesome here, and
I don't feel at home in this chamber. I sha'n't sleep if I go to bed;
so I think I'll read a little longer. 'I looked round on the table and
chairs, and added: 'There, now! I've left my book down stairs, and
must go for it.' I went down to the parlor and locked myself in. A few
minutes afterward I saw a dark figure steal across the piazza; and,
unless the moonlight deceived me, it was Dandy Jim. I wondered at it,
because I thought he was on his way to New Orleans. Of course, there
was no sleep for me that night. When the household were all astir, I
went to the chamber again. My watch and breastpin, which I had left on
purpose, were still lying on the table. It was evident that robbery
had not been the object. I did not mention the adventure to any one.
I pitied Jim, and if he had escaped, I had no mind to be the means of
his recapture. Whatever harm he had intended, he had not done it, and
there was no probability that he would loiter about in that vicinity.
I had reason to be glad of my silence; for the next day an agent from
the slave-trader arrived, saying that Jim had escaped, and that they
thought he might be lurking near where his wife was. When Mr. and Mrs.
Fitzgerald returned, they questioned Nelly, but she averred that she
had not seen Jim, or heard from him since he was sold. Mr. Fitzgerald
went away on horseback that afternoon. The horse came back in the
evening with an empty saddle, and he never returned. The next morning
Nelly was missing, and she was never found. I thought it right to be
silent about my adventure. To have done otherwise might have produced
mischievous results to Jim and Nelly, and could do their master no
good. I searched the woods in every direction, but I never came upon
any trace of Mr. Fitzgerald, except the marks of footsteps near the
sea, before the rising of the tide. I had made arrangements to return
to the North about that time; but Mrs. Fitzgerald's second son was
seized with fever, and I stayed with her till he was dead and buried.
Then we all came to Boston together. About a year after, her little
daughter, who had been my pupil, died."
"Poor Mrs. Fitzgerald!" said Flora. "I have heard her allude to her
lost children, but I had no idea she had suffered so much."
"She did suffer," replied Mrs. Bright, "though not so deeply as some
natures would have suffered in the same circumstances. Her present
situation is far from being enviable. Her father is a hard, grasping
man, and he was greatly vexed that her splendid marriage turned out to
be such a failure. It must be very mortifying to her to depend upon
him mainly for the support of herself and son. I pitied her, and I
pitied Mr. Fitzgerald too. He was selfish and dissipated, because he
was brought up with plenty of money, and slaves to obey everything he
chose to order. That is enough to spoil any man."
Rosa had listened with downcast eyes, but now she looked up earnestly
and said, "That is a very kind judgment, Mrs. Bright, and I thank you
for the lesson."
"It is a just judgment," replied their sensible hostess. "I often tell
Mr. Bright we cannot be too thankful that we were brought up to wait
upon ourselves and earn our own living. You will please to excuse me
now, ladies, for it is time to prepare tea."
As she closed the door, Rosa pressed her sister's hand, and sighed as
she said, "O, this is dreadful!"
"Dreadful indeed," rejoined Flora. "To think of him as he was when I
used to make you blush by singing, '_Petit blanc! mon bon frere_!' and
then to think what an end he came to!"
The sisters sat in silence for some time, thinking with moistened eyes
of all that had been kind and pleasant in the man who had done them so
much wrong.
CHAPTER XXX.
IF young Fitzgerald had not been strongly inclined to spend the summer
in Northampton, he would have been urged to it by his worldly-minded
mother and grandfather, who were disposed to make any effort to place
him in the vicinity of Eulalia King. They took possession of lodgings
on Round Hill in June; and though very few weeks intervened before
the college vacation, the time seemed so long to Gerald, that he
impatiently counted the days. Twice he took the journey for a short
visit before he was established as an inmate of his grandfather's
household. Alfred Blumenthal had a vacation at the same time, and the
young people of the three families were together almost continually.
Songs and glees enlivened their evenings, and nearly every day there
were boating excursions, or rides on horseback, in which Mr. and Mrs.
King and Mr. and Mrs. Blumenthal invariably joined. No familiarity
could stale the ever fresh charm of the scenery. The beautiful river,
softly flowing in sunlight through richly cultivated meadows, always
seemed to Mr. Blumenthal like the visible music of Mendelssohn. Mr.
King, who had been in Germany, was strongly reminded of the Rhine and
the Black Forest, while looking on that wide level expanse of verdure,
with its broad band of sparkling silver, framed in with thick dark
woods along the river-range of mountains. The younger persons of the
party more especially enjoyed watching Mill River rushing to meet
the Connecticut, like an impatient boy let loose for the holidays,
shouting, and laughing, and leaping, on his way homeward. Mrs. Delano
particularly liked to see, from the summit of Mount Holyoke, the
handsome villages, lying so still in the distance, giving no sign
of all the passions, energies, and sorrows that were seething,
struggling, and aching there; and the great stretch of meadows,
diversified with long, unfenced rows of stately Indian corn, rich with
luxuriant foliage of glossy green, alternating with broad bands of
yellow grain, swayed by the breeze like rippling waves of the sea.
These regular lines of variegated culture, seen from such a height,
seemed like handsome striped calico, which earth had put on for her
working-days, mindful that the richly wooded hills were looking down
upon her picturesque attire. There was something peculiarly congenial
to the thoughtful soul of the cultured lady in the quiet pastoral
beauty of the extensive scene; and still more in the sense of
serene elevation above the whole, seeing it all dwindle into small
proportions, as the wisdom of age calmly surveys the remote panorama
of life.
These riding parties attracted great attention as they passed through
the streets; for all had heard the rumor of their wealth, and all were
struck by the unusual amount of personal beauty, and the distinguished
style of dress. At that time, the Empress Eugenie had issued her
imperial decree that all the world should shine in "barbaric gold,"--a
fashion by no means distasteful to the splendor-loving sisters. Long
sprays of Scotch laburnum mingled their golden bells with the dark
tresses of Eulalia and Rosen Blumen; a cluster of golden wheat mixed
its shining threads with Flora's black curls; and a long, soft
feather, like "the raven down of darkness," dusted with gold, drooped
over the edge of Mrs. King's riding-cap, fastened to its band by a
golden star. Even Mrs. Fitzgerald so far changed her livery of the
moon as to wear golden buds mixed with cerulean flowers. Mrs. Delano
looked cool as evening among them in her small gray bonnet, with a few
violets half hidden in silver leaves. Old Mr. Bell not unfrequently
joined in these excursions. His white hair, and long silky white
beard, formed a picturesque variety in the group; while all recognized
at a glance the thoroughbred aristocrat in his haughty bearing, his
stern mouth, his cold, turquoise eyes, and the clenching expression of
his hand. Mrs. King seemed to have produced upon him the effect Gerald
had predicted. No youthful gallant could have been more assiduous at
her bridle-rein, and he seemed to envy his grandson every smile he
obtained from her beautiful lips.
Both he and Mrs. Fitzgerald viewed with obvious satisfaction the
growing intimacy between that young gentleman and Eulalia. "Capital
match for Gerald, eh?" said Mr. Bell to his daughter. "They say King's
good for three millions at least,--some say four."
"And Eulalia is such a lovely, gentle girl!" rejoined Mrs. Fitzgerald.
"I'm very fond of her, and she seems fond of me; though of course
that's on account of my handsome son."
"Yes, she's a lovely girl," replied the old gentleman; "and Gerald
will be a lucky dog if he wins her. But her beauty isn't to be
compared to her mother's. If I were Emperor of France, and she were a
widow, I know who would have a chance to become Empress."
But though Mrs. King lived in such an atmosphere of love, and was
the object of so much admiration, with ample means for indulging her
benevolence and her tastes, she was evidently far from being happy.
Flora observed it, and often queried with her husband what could be
the reason. One day she spoke to Mr. King of the entire absence of
gayety in her sister, and he said he feared young Mr. Fitzgerald
painfully reminded her of her lost son.
Flora reflected upon this answer without being satisfied with it. "It
doesn't seem natural," said she to her husband. "She parted from that
baby when he was but a few weeks old, and he has been dead nearly
twenty years. She has Eulalia to love, and a noble husband, who
worships the very ground she treads on. It don't seem natural. I
wonder whether she has a cancer or some other secret disease."
She redoubled her tenderness, and exerted all her powers of mimicry to
amuse her sister. The young folks screamed with laughter to see her
perform the shuffling dances of the negroes, or to hear her accompany
their singing with imitations of the growling contra-fagotto, or the
squeaking fife. In vain she filled the room with mocking-birds, or
showed off the accomplishments of the parrot, or dressed herself in a
cap with a great shaking bow, like Madame Guirlande's, or scolded in
vociferous Italian, like Signor Pimentero. The utmost these efforts
could elicit from her sister was a faint, vanishing smile.