The Hour and the Man, An Historical Romance

by Harriet Martineau

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

  PERPLEXITY SOLVED.

  "What is the matter, child? What makes you look so merry?" askedMonsieur Revel, when his eyes opened upon Euphrosyne the next morning.

  "Nothing has happened, grandpapa. The only thing is, that I like to dowhat you wish; and I always will, as long as you live. I will go to theconvent to-day. You can send for me at any time when you want me, youknow. I am sure the abbess will let me come whenever you send Pierrefor me."

  "Well, well--do not be in such a hurry. I do not want you to go to-day.Why should you be in such a hurry?"

  When the breeze had come to refresh him, and he had had his coffee,Monsieur Revel felt more complaisant, and explained what he meant bythere being no hurry. Euphrosyne should not leave him till to-morrow;and this day should be spent as she pleased. Whatever she liked to askto-day should be granted. This indulgence was promised under atolerable certainty that she would ask nothing unreasonable: that shewould not propose a dinner-party of dark-complexioned guests, forinstance. There might also be an expectation of what it would be thatshe would choose. M. Revel was conscious that he did not visit hisestate of Le Bosquet, in the plain of Limbe, so often as Euphrosynewould have liked, or as he himself knew to be good for his agent, thecultivators, and his heiress. He was aware that if he could have shownany satisfaction in the present order of affairs, any good-will towardsthe working of the new system, there might have been a chance of oldstories dying away--of old grievances being forgotten by thecultivators, in his present acquiescence in their freedom. He could notorder the carriage, and say he was going to Le Bosquet; but he had justcourage enough to set Euphrosyne free to ask to go. It turned outexactly as he expected.

  "We will do what you will, my child, to-day. I feel strong enough to beyour humble servant."

  "It is a splendid day, grandpapa. It must be charming at Le Bosquet.If I order the carriage now, we can get there before the heat; and weneed not come home till the cool of the evening. We will fill thecarriage with fruit and flowers for the abbess. May I order thecarriage?"

  Le Bosquet was only twelve miles off. They arrived when the cultivatorswere settling to their work after breakfast. It was now, as on everyformer occasion, a perplexity, an embarrassment to Euphrosyne, that thenegroes lost all their gaiety, and most of their civility, in thepresence of her grandfather. She could hardly wonder, when shewitnessed this, at his intolerance of the very mention of the blacks, athis ridicule of all that she ever told him about them, from her ownobservation. When she was in any other company, she saw them merry,active, and lavish of their kindness and politeness; and whenever thisoccurred, she persuaded herself that she must have been mistaken thelast time she and Monsieur Revel were at Le Bosquet, and that they oughtto go again soon. The next time they went, there was the same gloom,listlessness, and avoidance on the part of the negroes; the same care onher grandfather's that she should not stir a step without the escort ofPierre or the agent. He would not even let her go with Portia, thedairy-woman, to gather eggs; nor with little Sully, to see hisbaby-brother. She made up her mind that this was all wrong--that allparties would have been more amiable and happy, if there had been thesame freedom and confidence that she saw on other estates. Poor girl!she little knew what was in all minds but her own--what recollections ofthe lash and the stocks, and hunger and imprisonment on the one hand,and of the horrors of that August night on the other. She little knewhow generally it was supposed that she owed it to the grandfather whomshe loved so much that she was the solitary orphan whom every onepitied.

  It was, as Euphrosyne had said, a splendid day; and all went well.Monsieur Revel would not go out much; but as he sat in the shaded room,looking forth upon the lawn, the agent satisfied him with accounts ofthe prosperity of the estate, the fine promise of the cacao walks, andthe health and regular conduct of the negroes. Euphrosyne showedherself from time to time, now in the midst of a crowd of children, nowwith a lapful of eggs, and then with a basket of fruit. In honour ofthe master and young mistress, the dinner was very superb, and far toolong; so that the day had slipped away before Euphrosyne felt at alldisposed to return. She was glad that the agent was engaged in a deepdiscussion with his employer when the carriage came round; so that shewas able to make one more short circuit in the twilight while they weresettling their point.

  The gentlemen were talking over the two late proclamations--L'Ouverture's and Hedouville's. The agent wished that Hedouville hadnever come, rather than that he should have set afloat the elements ofmischief contained in his proclamation. Monsieur Revel could notbelieve that a Commissary, sent out for the very purpose of regulatingsuch matters, could have got very far wrong upon them; and besides, theproclamation had never been issued. Never formally issued, the agentsaid; but it had been circulated from hand to hand of those who wereinterested in its provisions. Some were, at that moment, preparing toact upon it; and he feared that mischief might come of it yet. It wascertain that L'Ouverture knew more about claims to deserted estates, andabout the proper regulations as to tillage, than any novice from Francecould know; and it was no less certain that he was ever more eager togratify the whites than the blacks. It would have been by far thewisest plan to leave that class of affairs in the hands of the personwho understood them best; and, if he was not much mistaken, theGovernment at home would yet rue Hedouville's rashness in acting withoutso much as consulting L'Ouverture. Monsieur Revel was so amazed atfinding that L'Ouverture was not only worshipped by romantic youngladies and freed negroes, but approved and confided in by such practicaland interested whites as his own agent, that he could only say againwhat he said every day--that the world was turned upside down, and thathe expected to be stripped, before he died, of Le Bosquet, and ofeverything else that he had; so that his poor child would be leftdependent on the charity of France. To this the agent replied, asusual, that the property had never before been so secure, nor the estateso prosperous; and that all would go well, if only the Government athome would employ competent people to write its proclamations.

  "Where is this child?" cried Monsieur Revel at last. "I am always keptwaiting by everybody. It is dark already, and the carriage has beenstanding this hour. Where is she?"

  "Mademoiselle is in the carriage," said Pierre, from the hall. "I madePrince light the lamps, though he thinks we shall not want them."

  "Come, come! let us lose no more time," said Monsieur Revel, as if everyone had not been waiting for him.

  Euphrosyne jumped from the carriage, where she had been packing herbasket of eggs, her fruit, and her flowers, so that they might be out ofher grandfather's way. He could not admire any of them, and found themall in his way. While the road lay under the dark shadow of the groveson the estate, he cast anxious glances among the tall stems on which thecarriage lamps cast a passing gleam. He muttered a surly good-night tothe negroes who held open the gates; but, when the last of theseswung-to, when the carriage issued upon the high road, and the plainlay, though dim in the starlight, yet free and lovely to the eye, whilethe line of grey sea was visible to the left, the old man's spiritsseemed to rise. It was seldom that he quitted the town; and when hedid, and could throw off his cares, he was surprised to find howreviving were the influences of the country.

  "It is a lovely night, really," said he. "If you ever go to Paris, mydear, you will miss this starlight. There the stars seem to have shrunkaway from you, a myriad of miles. Let those flowers be, child. Why maynot I have the pleasure of smelling them? There! Let them lie. Whowould believe that that sea, which looks so quiet now, will be rollingand dashing upon the beach in November, as if it meant to swallow up theplain? How it seems to sleep in the starlight! You found little Sullygrown, my dear, I dare say."

  "Oh, yes! but more glad to see us than ever. He had to show me how hecould read, and how he had been allowed to put a new leg to the master'sdesk at the school. Sully will make a good carpenter, I think. He isgoing to make a box for me; and he
declares the ants shall never getthrough it, at the hinge, or lid, or anywhere. How the people aresinging all about! I love to hear them. Prince drives so fast, that weshall be home too soon. I shall be quite sorry to be in the streetsagain."

  It seemed as if Prince had heard her, for, in another moment, he wascertainly checking his horses, and their speed gradually relaxed.

  "He must have driven us fast, indeed," said Monsieur Revel. "Look atthe lights of the town--how near they are! Are those the lights of thetown?"

  "I should have looked for them more to the left." Euphrosyne replied."Let us ask Pierre. We cannot possibly have lost our way."

  Pierre rode up to the carriage window, at the moment that Prince came toa full stop.

  "We do not know," said Louis, the black footman, who was besidePrince--"We do not know what those lights can mean. They seem to bemoving, and towards this way."

  "I think it is a body of people," said Pierre. "I fear so, sir."

  "We had better go back," said Euphrosyne. "Let us go back to LeBosquet."

  "Forward! Forward!" cried Monsieur Revel, like one frantic. "Why doyou stand still, you rascal? I will drive myself if you do not push on.Drive on--drive like the devil--like what you all are," he added, in alower tone.

  "Surely we had better go back to Le Bosquet."

  "No, no, you little fool," cried the agonised old man, grasping hold ofher, and dragging her towards himself.

  Louis shouted from the box, as Prince lashed his horses onwards, "Weshall be in the midst of them, sir, this way."

  "Drive on," was still the command. "Drive through everything to gethome!" As he clasped his arms round Euphrosyne, and pressed her soclosely that she could scarcely breathe, heaping his cloak upon herhead, she heard and felt him murmuring to himself--

  "To Le Bosquet! No, indeed! anywhere but there! Once at home--she oncesafe--and then--"

  Euphrosyne would have been glad to see a little of what appeared--toknow something of what to expect. Once or twice she struggled to raiseher head; but this only made the convulsive clasp closer than before.All she knew was, that Pierre or the men on the box seemed to speak,from time to time; for the passionate "Drive on!"

  "Forward!" was repeated. She also fancied that they must at last be inthe midst of a crowd; for the motion of the carriage seemed to beinterrupted by a sort of hustling on either side. Her heart beat sotumultuously, however, and the sense of suffocation was so strong, thatshe was sure of nothing but that she felt as if dying. Once more shestruggled for air. At the same moment, her grandfather started--almostbounded from his seat, and relaxed his hold of her. She thought she hadheard firearms. She raised her head; but all was confusion. There wassmoke--there was the glare of torches--there was a multitude of shiningblack faces, and her grandfather lying back, as if asleep, in the cornerof the carriage.

  "Drive on!" she heard Pierre cry. The whip cracked, the horses plungedand scrambled, and in another moment broke through the crowd. Theyelling, the lights, the smoke, were left behind; the air blew fresh;and there was only calm starlight without, as before.

  The old man's hand fell when lifted. He did not move when she strokedhis cheek. He did not answer when she spoke. She put her hand to hisforehead, and it was wet.

  "Pierre! Pierre!" she cried, "he is shot! he is dead!"

  "I feared so, Mademoiselle. Drive on, Prince!"

  In an inconceivably short time, they were at their own door. Pierrelooked into the carriage, felt his master's wrist and heart, spokesoftly to Prince, and they drove on again--only past the corner--only tothe gate of the convent.

  When it was opened, Pierre appeared at the carriage door. "Now,Mademoiselle," he said. He half pulled, half lifted her over thecrushed fruit and flowers that were in her way--glanced in her face, tosee whether she had observed that the body fell behind her--carried herin, and gave her, passive and stupified, into the arms of two nuns.Seeing the abbess standing behind, he took off his hat, and would havesaid something; but his lips quivered, and he could not.

  "I will," said the lady's gentle voice, answering to his thought. "Myyoung daughter shall be cherished here."