CHAPTER VII
ARENTA'S MARRIAGE
For a few weeks, Hyde's belief that the very stars would connive with atrue lover seemed a reliable one. Madame Jacobus, attracted at theirfirst meeting to the youth, soon gave him an astonishing affection. Andyet this warm love of an old woman for youth and beauty was a verynatural one--a late development of the maternal instinct leading hereven to what seemed an abnormal preference. For she put aside hernephew's claims with hardly a thought, and pleased herself day by dayin so managing and arranging events that Hyde and Cornelia met, as amatter of course. Arenta was not, however, deceived; she understoodevery maneuvre, but the success of her own affairs depended very muchon her aunt's cooperation and generosity, and so she could not afford,at this time, to interfere for her brother.
"But I shall alter things a little as soon as I am married," she toldherself. "I will take care of that. At this time I must see, and hear,and say nothing. I must act politely--for I am always polite--andAthanase also is in favour of politeness--but I take leave to say thatJoris Hyde shall not carry so much sail when a few weeks are gone by.So happy he looks! So pleased with himself! So sure of all he says anddoes! I am angry at him all the time. Well, then, it will be asatisfaction to abate a little the confidence of this cock-sure youngman."
Arenta's feelings were in kind and measure shared by several otherpeople; Doctor Moran held them in a far bitterer mood; but he,also,--environed by circumstances he could neither alter norcommand,--was compelled to satisfy his disapproval with promises of afuture change. For the wedding of Arenta Van Ariens had assumed a greatsocial importance. Arenta herself had talked about the affair until allclasses were on the tiptoe of expectation. The wealthy Dutch families,the exclusive American set, the home and foreign diplomatic circles,were alike looking forward to the splendid ceremony, and to the greatbreakfast at Peter Van Ariens' house, and to the ball which MadameJacobus was to give in the evening. None of the younger people had everbeen in madame's fantastic ballroom, and they were eager for this entryinto her wonderful house. For their mothers--seeing things through themists of Time--had, innocently enough, exaggerated the marvels of theChinese lanterns, the feather flowers and gorgeously plumed birds, thecases of tropical butterflies and beetles, and the fascination of thepagan deities, until they were ready to listen to any tale about MadameJacobus and to swallow it like cream.
So Doctor Moran, being physician and family friend to most of theinvited guests, had to listen to such reminiscences and anticipationswherever he went. He knew that he could not talk against the greatpublic current, and that in the excited state of social feeling itwould be a kind of treason even to hint disapproval of Arenta, or ofany of her friends or doings. But he suffered. He was questioned bysome, he was enlightened by others; his opinion was asked about dressesand ceremonies, he was constantly congratulated on his daughter'sprominence as bridesmaid, and he was sent for professionally, that hemight be talked to socially. Yet if he ventured to hintdissatisfaction, or to express himself by a scornful "Pooh! Pooh!" hewas answered by looks of such astonishment, of such quick-springingwomanly suspicions, that he could not doubt the kind of conversationwhich followed his exit:
"Do you think Doctor Moran VERY clever?"
"Most people think so."
"He is so unsympathetic. Doctor Moore knows everything Madame Jacobusis going to have, and to do. I think doctors ought to be chatty. It isso good for their patients to be cheered up a little."
Doctor Moran divined perfectly this taste for gossip and MEDICINALsympathy combined, and to administer it was, to him, more nauseous thanhis own bitterest drugs. So in these days he was not a cheerful man tolive with, and Cornelia's beauty and radiant happiness affected himvery much as Hyde's pronounced satisfaction affected Arenta. Onemorning, as he was returning home after a round of disagreeable visits,he saw Cornelia and Hyde coming up Broadway together. They weresauntering side by side in all the lazy happiness of perfect love; andas he looked at them the sorrow of an immense disillusion filled him tothe lips. He had believed himself, as yet, to be the first and thedearest in his child's love; but in that moment his eyes were opened,and he felt as if he had been suddenly thrust out from it and the doorclosed upon him.
He did the wisest thing possible: he went home to his wife. She heardhim ride with clattering haste into the stone court, and soon afterenter the house from the back, banging every door after him. She knewthen that something had angered him--that he was in that temper whichmakes a woman cry, but which a man can only relieve by noisy oremphatic movement of some kind. A resolute look came into her face andshe said to herself, "John has always had his own way--and my way also;but Cornelia's way--the child must surely have something to say aboutthat."
"Where is Cornelia, Ava?" He asked the question with a quick glanceround the room, as if he expected to find her present.
"Cornelia is not at home to-day."
"Is she ever at home now?"
"You know that Arenta's wedding--"
"Arenta's wedding! I am tired to death of it: I have heard nothing thismorning but Arenta's wedding. Why the deuce! should my house be turnedupside down and inside out for Arenta's wedding? Women have beenmarried before Arenta Van Ariens, and women will be married after her.What is all this fuss about?"
"You know--"
"Bless my soul! of course I know. I know one thing at least, that Ihave just met Cornelia and that young fop George Hyde coming up thestreet together, as if they two alone were in the world. They never sawme, they could see nothing but themselves."
"Men and women have done such a thing before, John, and they will do itagain. Cornelia is a beautiful girl; it is natural that she should havea lover."
"It is very unnatural that she should choose for her lover the son ofmy worst enemy."
"I am sure you wrong General Hyde. When was he your enemy? How could hebe your enemy?"
"When was he my enemy? Ever since the first hour we met. Often he triedto injure me with General Washington; often he accused me of showingpartiality to certain officers in the army; only last year he preventedmy election to the Senate by using all his influence in favour of JorisVan Heemskirk. If he has not done me more injury and more injustice,'tis because he has not had the opportunity. And you want me to giveCornelia to his son! Yes, you do, Ava! I see it on your face. Youstretch my patience too far. Can I not see--"
"Can an angry man ever see? No, he cannot. You feed your ownsuspicions, John. You might just as well link Cornelia's name with RemVan Ariens as with Joris Hyde. She is continually in Rem's company. Heis devoted to her. She cannot possibly misunderstand his looks andwords, she must perceive that he is her ardent lover. You might haveseen them the last three evenings sitting together at that tablepreparing the invitations for the wedding breakfast and ball; arrangingthe cards and favours.--So happy! So pleasantly familiar! Soconfidential! I think Rem Van Ariens has as much of Cornelia's likingas George Hyde; and perhaps neither of them have enough of it to winher hand. All lovers do not grow to husbands."
"Thank God, they do not! But what you say about Rem is only cobwebstuff. She is too friendly, too pleasantly familiar, I would like tosee her more shy and silent with him. Every one has already given mydaughter to Hyde, and, say what you will, common fame is seldom toblame."
"Dinner is waiting, John, and whether you eat it or not Destiny will gostraight to her mark. Love is destiny; and the heart is its own fate.There are those to whom we are spiritually related, and the tie iskinder than flesh and blood. Can you, or I, count such kindred? No; butsouls see each other at a glance. Did I not know thee, John, the verymoment that we met?"
She spoke softly, with a voice sweeter than music, and her husband wastouched and calmed. He took the hand she stretched out to him andkissed it, and she added--
"Let us be patient. Love has reasons that reason does not understand;and if Cornelia is Hyde's by predestination, as well as by choice,vainly we shall worry and fret; all our opposition will come tonothing. Give Cor
nelia this interval, and tithe it not; in a few daysArenta will have gone away; and as for Hyde, any hour may summon him tojoin his father in England; and this summons, as it will include hismother, he can neither evade nor put off. Then Rem will have hisopportunity."
"To be patient--to wait--to say nothing--it is to give opportunity toomuch scope. I must tell that young fellow a little of my mind--"
"You must not make yourself a town's talk, John. Just now New York isall for lovers. If you interfere between Hyde and Cornelia while it isin this temper, every one will cry out, 'Oh, the pity of it!' and youwill be bayed into doing some mad thing or other. Do I not know you,dear one?"
"God's precious!" and he took her in his arms, saying, "the man wholearns nothing from his wife will never learn anything from anybody.Come, then, and we will eat our meal. I had forgotten Rem, and as yousay, Hyde may have to go to England to-morrow; putting-off has brokenup many an ill marriage."
"Time and absence against any love affair that is not destiny! And ifit be destiny, there is only submission, nothing else. But life has a'maybe' in everything dear; a maybe that is just as likely to please usas not."
Then Doctor John looked up with a smile. "You are right, Ava," he saidcheerfully. "I will take the maybe. Maybes have a deal to do with life.When you come to think of it, there is not a victory of any kindgained, nor a good deed done except on a maybe. So maybe all I fear maypass like a summer cloud. Yet, take my word for it, there is, I think,no maybe in Rem's chances with Cornelia."
"We shall see. I think there is."
Certainly Rem was of this opinion. The past few weeks had been veryfavourable to him. In them he had been continually associated withCornelia, and her manner towards him had been so frankly kind andfamiliar, so confidential and sympathetic, that he could not help butcontrast it with their previous intercourse, when she had appeared towithdraw herself from all his approaches and to forbid by her retiringmanner even the courtesies to which his long acquaintance with herentitled him.
If he had known more of women he would not have given himself any hopeon this change of attitude. It simply meant that Cornelia had arrivedat that certainty with regard to her own affections which permitted hera more general latitude. She knew that she loved Hyde, and she knewthat Hyde loved her. They had a most complete confidence in each other;and she was not afraid, either for his sake or her own, to give to Remthat friendship which the circumstances warranted. That this friendshipcould ever grow to love on her part was an impossible thing; and if shethought of Rem's feelings, it was to suppose that he must understandthis position as well as she did herself.
Rem, however, was quite aware of his rival, and with the bluntdirectness of his nature watched with jealous dislike, and often withrude impatience, the familiar intercourse which his aunt's partialitypermitted Hyde. He was, indeed, often so rude that a lesssweet-tempered, a less just youth than George Hyde would have pointedlyresented many offences that he passed by with that "noble not caring"which is often the truest courage.
Still the situation was one of great tension, and it required not onlythe wise forbearance of Hyde and Cornelia, but the domineeringselfishness of Arenta and the suave clever diplomacies of MadameJacobus to preserve at times the merely decent conventionalities ofpolite life. To keep the peace until the wedding was over--that was allthat Rem promised himself; THEN! He often gave voice to this last word,though he had no distinct idea as to what measures he included in thosefour letters.
He told himself, however, that it would be well for George Hyde to bein England, and that if he were there, the General might be trusted tolook after the marriage of his son. For he knew that an English noblewould be of necessity bound by his caste and his connections, and thatHyde would have to face obligations he would not be able to shirk."Then, then, his opportunity to win Cornelia would come!" And it was atthis point the hopeful "maybe" entered into Rem's desires andanticipations.
But wrath covered carries fate. Every one was in some measure consciousof this danger and glad when the wedding day approached. Even Arentahad grown a little weary of the prolonged excitement she had provoked,for everything had gone so well with her that she had taken the publicvery much into her confidence. There had been frequent little noticesin the Gazette and Journal of the approaching day--of the weddingpresents, the wedding favours, the wedding guests, and the weddinggarments. And, as if to add the last touch of glory to the event, justa week before Arenta's nuptials a French armed frigate came to New Yorkbearing despatches for the Count de Moustier; and the Marquis deTounnerre was selected to bear back to France the Minister's Message.So the marriage was put forward a few days for this end, and Arenta inthe most unexpected way obtained the bridal journey which she desired;and also with it the advantage of entering France in a semi-public andstately manner.
"I am the luckiest girl in the world," she said to Cornelia and herbrother when this point had been decided. They were tying up"dream-cake" for the wedding guests in madame's queer, uncannydrawing-room as she spoke, and the words were yet on her lips whenmadame entered with a sandal wood box in her hands.
"Rem," she said, "go with Cornelia into the dining-room a few minutes.I have something to say to Arenta that concerns no one else."
As soon as they were alone madame opened the box and upon a whitevelvet cushion lay the string of oriental pearls which Arenta oncertain occasions had been permitted to wear. Arenta's eyes flashedwith delight. She had longed for them to complete her wedding costume,but having a very strong hope that her aunt would offer her thisfavour, she had resolved to wait for her generosity until the lasthour. Now she was going; to receive the reward of her prudent patience,and she said to herself, "How good it is to be discreet!" With anintense desire and interest she looked at the beautiful beads, butmadame's face was troubled and sombre, and she said almost reluctantly--
"Arenta, I am going to make you an offer. This necklace will be yourswhen I die, at any rate; but I think there is in your heart a wish tohave it now. Is this so?"
"Aunt, I should like--oh, indeed I long to wear the beads at mymarriage. I shall only be half-dressed without them."
"You shall wear the necklace. And as you are going to what is left ofthe French Court, I will give it to you now, if the gift will be toyour mind."
"There is nothing that could be more to my mind, dear aunt. I wouldrather have the necklace, than twice its money's worth. Thank you,aunt. You always know what is in a young girl's heart."
"First, listen to what I say. No woman of our family has escapedcalamity of some kind, if they owned these beads. My mother lost herhusband the year she received them. My Aunt Hildegarde lost her fortuneas soon as they were hers. As for myself, on the very day they becamemine your Uncle Jacobus sailed away, and he has never come back. Areyou not afraid of such fatality?"
"No, I am not. Things just happen that way. What power can a few beadshave over human life or happiness? To say so, to think so, isfoolishness."
"I know not. Yet I have heard that both pearls and opals have the powerto attract to themselves the ill fortune of their wearers. If theyhappen to be maiden pearls or gems that would be good; but would youwish to inherit the evil fortune of all the women who have possessedbefore you?"
"Poor pearls! It is they who are the unfortunates."
"Yes, but a time comes when they have taken all of misfortune they cantake; then the pearls grow black and die, really die. Yes, indeed! Ihave seen dead pearls. And if the necklace were of opals, when thattime came for them the gems would lose their fire and colour, grow ashygrey, fall apart and become dust, nothing but dust."
"Do you believe such tales, aunt? I do not. And your pearls are yet aswhite as moonlight. I do not fear them. Give them to me, aunt. I snapmy fingers at such fables."
"Give them to you, I will not, Arenta; but you may take them from thebox with your own hands."
"I am delighted to take them. I have always longed for them."
"Perhaps then they longed for you, for what is anoth
er's yearns for itsowner."
Then madame left the room and Arenta lifted the box and carried itnearer to the light. And a little shiver crept through her heart andshe closed the lid quickly and said irritably--
"It is my aunt's words. She is always speaking dark and doubtfulthings. However, the pearls are mine at last!" and she carried themwith her downstairs, throwing back her head as if they were round herwhite throat and--as was her way--spreading herself as she went.
All fine weddings are much alike. It was only in such accidentals ascostume that Arenta's differed from the fine weddings of to-day. Therewas the same crush of gayly attired women, of men in full dress, ormilitary dress, or distinguished by diplomatic insignia:--the same lowflutter of silk, and stir of whispered words, and suppressedexcitement--the same eager crowd along the streets and around thechurch to watch the advent of the bride and bridegroom. All of theguests had seen them very often before, yet they too looked at thedazzling girl in white as if they expected an entirely differentperson. The murmur of pleasure, the indefinable stir of human emotion,the solemn mystical words at the altar that were making two one, thetriumphant peal of music when they ceased, and the quick crescendo ofrising congratulation--all these things were present then, as now. Andthen, as now, all these things failed to conceal from sensitive mindsthat odour of human sacrifice, not to be disguised with the scent ofbridal flowers--that immolation of youth and beauty and charminggirlhood upon the altar of an unknown and an untried love.
New York was not then too busy making money to take an interest in sucha wedding, and Arenta's drive through its pleasant streets was a kindof public invitation. For Jacob Van Ariens was one of a guild ofwealthy merchants, and they were at their shop doors to express theirsympathy by lifted hats and smiling faces; while the women looked fromevery window, and the little children followed, their treble voicesheralding and acclaiming the beautiful bride. Then came the breakfastand the health-drinking and the speech-making and the rather sadderdrive to the wharf at which lay La Belle France. And even Arenta was bythis time weary of the excitement, so that it was almost with a senseof relief she stepped across the little carpeted gangway to her deck.Then the anchor was lifted, the cable loosened, and with every sail setLa Belle France went dancing down the river on the tide-top to the opensea.
Van Ariens and his son Rem turned silently away. A great and evidentdepression had suddenly taken the place of their assumed satisfaction."I am going to the Swamp office," said Rem after a few moments'silence, "there is something to be done there."
"That is well," answered Peter. "To my Cousin Deborah I will give somecharges about the silver, and then I will follow you."
Both men were glad to be alone. They had outworn emotion and knewinstinctively that some common duty was the best restorer. The samefeeling affected, in one way or another, all the watchers of thisdestiny. Women whose household work was belated, whose children werestrayed, who had used up their nervous strength in waiting and feeling,were now cross and inclined to belittle the affair and to be angry atArenta and themselves for their lost day. And men, young and old, allwent back to their ledgers and counters and manufacturing with a senseof lassitude and dejection.
Peter had nearly reached his own house when he met Doctor Moran. Thedoctor was more irritable than depressed. He looked at his friend andsaid sharply, "You have a fever, Van Ariens. Go to bed and sleep."
"To work I will go. That is the best thing to do. My house has nocomfort in it. Like a milliner's or a mercer's store it has been formany weeks. Well, then, my Cousin Deborah is at work there, and in alittle while--a little while--" He suddenly stopped and looked at thedoctor with brimming eyes. In that moment he understood that no puttingto rights could ever make his home the same. His little saucy, selfish,but dearly loved Arenta would come there no more; and he found not oneword that could express the tide of sorrow rising in his heart. DoctorJohn understood. He remained quiet, silent, clasping Van Ariens' handuntil the desolate father with a great effort blurted out--
"She is gone!--and smiling, also, she went."
"It is the curse of Adam," answered Doctor Moran bitterly--"to bring updaughters, to love them, to toil and save and deny ourselves for them,and then to see some strange man, of whom we have no certain knowledge,carry them off captive to his destiny and his desires. 'Tis a thanklessportion to be a father--a bitter pleasure."
"Well, then, to be a mother is worse."
"Who can tell that? Women take for compensations things that do notdeceive a father. And, also, they have one grand promise to help thembear loss and disappointment--the assurance of the Holy Scripture thatthey shall have salvation through child-bearing. And I, who have seenso much of family love and life, can tell you that this promise is allmany a mother has for her travail and sorrowful love."
"It is enough. Pray God that we miss not of that reward some share,"and with a motion of adieu he turned into his house. Very thoughtfullythe Doctor went on to William Street where he had a patient,--a younggirl of about Arenta's age--very ill. A woman opened the door--a womanweeping bitterly.
"She is gone, Doctor."
"At what hour?"
"The clock was striking three--she went smiling."
Then he bowed his head and turned away.
There was nothing more that he could do; but he remembered that Arentahad stepped on board the La Belle France as the clock struck three, andthat she also had gone smiling to her unknown destiny.
"Two emigrants," he thought, "pilgrims of Love and Death, and both wentsmiling!" An unwonted tenderness came into his heart; he thought of thebright, lovely bride clinging so trustfully to her husband's arm, andhe voiced this gentle feeling to his wife in very sincere wishes forthe safety and happiness of the little emigrant for Love. He had asingular reluctance to name her--he knew not why--with the other littlemaid who also had left smiling at three o'clock, an emigrant for whomDeath had opened eternal vistas of delight.
"I do not know," said Mrs. Moran, "how Van Ariens could suffer hisdaughter to go to a country full of turmoil and bloodshed."
"He was very unhappy to do so, Ava. But when things have gone a certainlength they have fatality. The Marquis had promised to becomeeventually a citizen of this Republic, and Van Ariens had no idea insanctioning the marriage that his daughter would leave New York. It waseven supposed the Marquis would remain here in the Count de Moustier'splace, and the sudden turn of events which sent de Tounnerre to Francewas a severe blow to Van Ariens. But what could he do?"
"He might have delayed the marriage until the return of de Tounnerre."
"Ah, Ava! you are counting without consideration. He could not havedetained Arenta against her will, and if he had, a miserable life wouldhave been before both of them--domestic discomfort, public queries andsuspicions, questions, doubts, offending sympathies--all the griefs andvexations that are sure to follow a Fate that is crossed. He did thebest thing possible when he let the wilful girl go as pleasantly as hecould. Arenta needs a wide horizon."
"Is she in any danger from the state of affairs in Paris?"
"Mr. Jefferson says in no danger whatever. Our Minister is living therein safety. Arenta will have his friendship and protection; and herhusband has many friends in the most powerful party. She will have abrilliant visit and be very happy."
"How can she be very happy with the guillotine daily enacting suchmurders?"
"She need not be present at such murders. And Mr. Jefferson may beright, and we outsiders may make too much of circumstances that France,and France alone, can properly estimate. He says that the God that madeiron wished not slaves to exist, and thinks there is a profound andeternal justice in this desolation and retribution of aristocrats whohave committed unmentionable oppressions. I know not; good and evil areso interwoven in life that every good, traced up far enough, is foundto involve evil. This is the great mystery of life. However, Ava, I ama great believer in sequences; there are few events that break offabsolutely. In Arenta's life there will be sequences;
let us hope thatthey will be happy ones. Where is Cornelia?"
"I know not. She is asleep. The ball to-night is to be fairy-land andlove-land, an Arabian night's dream and a midsummer night's dream allin one. I told her to rest, for she was weary and nervous withexpectation."
"I dare say. But what is the good of being young if it is not to expectmiracles?"
"George Hyde calls for her at eight o'clock. I shall let her sleepuntil seven, give her some refreshment, and then assist her to dress."
"George Hyde! So you still believe in trusting the cat with the cream?"
"I still believe in Cornelia. Come, now, and drink a cup of tea.To-morrow the Van Ariens' excitement will be over, and we shall haverest."
"I think not. The town is now ready to move to Philadelphia. I hearthat Mrs. Adams is preparing to leave Richmond Hill. Washington hasalready gone, and Congress is to meet in December. Even the Quakers areintending all sorts of social festivities."
"But this will not concern us."
"It may. If George Hyde does not go very soon to England, we shall goto Philadelphia. I wish to rid myself and Cornelia of his airs andgraces and wearisome good temper, his singing and reciting andtringham-trangham poetry. This story has been long enough; we will turnover and end it."
"It will be a great trial to Cornelia."
"It may, or it may not--there is Rem--Rem is your own suggestion.However, we have all to sing the hymn of Renunciation at some time; itis well to sing it in youth."
Mrs. Moran did not answer. When answering was likely to provoke anger,she kept silence and talked the matter over with herself. A very wiseplan. For where shall we find a friend so intimate, so discreet, soconciliating as self? Who can speak to us so well?--without obscurity,without words, without passion. Yes, indeed: "I will talk to myself" isa very significant phrase.
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