Maid of Maiden Lane (dramatic reading) — Chapter 4 - Throwing Things into Confusion
CHAPTER IV THROWING THINGS INTO CONFUSION
Prudence declares that whenever a person is in that disagreeable situation which compels him to ask "what shall I do?"
that the wisest answer is, "nothing."
But such answer did not satisfy George Hyde.
He was too young, too sure of his own good fortune, too restless and impulsive, to accept Prudence as a councillor.
He might have considered, that, hitherto, affairs had happened precisely as he wished them; and that it would be good policy to trust to his future opportunities.
But he was so much in earnest, so honestly in love, that he felt his doubts and anxieties could only be relieved by action.
Sympathy, at least, he must have; and he knew no man, to whom he would willingly talk of Cornelia.
The little jests and innuendoes sure to follow his confidence would be intolerable if associated with a creature so pure and so ingenuous.
"I will go to my mother!"
he thought.
And this resolution satisfied him so well, that he carried it out at once.
But it was after dark when he reached the tall stone portals of Hyde Manor House.
The ride, however, had given him back his best self.
For when we leave society and come into the presence of Nature, we become children again; and the fictions of thought and action assumed among men drop off like a garment.
The beauty of the pale green hills, and the flowing river, and the budding trees, and the melody of birds singing as if they never would grow old, were all but charming accessories and horizons to his constant pictures of Cornelia.
It was she who gave life and beauty to all he saw; for as a rule, if men notice nature at all, it is ever through some painted window of their own souls.
Few indeed are those who hear-- "The Ancient Word, That walked among the silent trees."
Yet Hyde was keenly conscious of some mystical sympathy between himself and the lovely scenes through which he passed--conscious still more of it when the sun had set and the moon rose--dim and inscrutable--over the lonely way, and filled the narrow glen which was at the entrance to the Manor House full of brooding power.
The great building loomed up dark and silent; there was but one light visible.
It was in his mother's usual sitting-room, and as soon as he saw it, he began to whistle.
She heard him afar off, and was at the door to give him a welcome.
"Joris, my dear one, we were talking of you!"
she cried, as he leaped from the saddle to her arms.
"So glad are we!
Come in quickly!
Such a good surprise!
It is our hearts' wish granted!
Well, are you?
Quite well?
Now, then, I am happy.
Happy as can be!
Look now, Richard!"
she called, as she flung the door open, and entered with the handsome, smiling youth at her side.
In his way the father was just as much pleased.
He pushed some papers he had been busy with impatiently aside, and stood up with outstretched hand to meet his son.
"Kate, my dear heart," he cried, "let us have something to eat.
The boy will be hungry as a hunter after his ride.
And George, what brings you home?
We were just telling each other--your mother and I--that you were in the height of the city's follies."
"Indeed, sir, there will be few follies for some days.
Mr. Franklin is dead, and the city goes into mourning."
"'Tis a fate that all must meet," said the General; "but death and Franklin would look each other in the face as friends--He had a work to do, he did it well, and it is finished.
That is all.
What other news do you bring?"
"It is said that Mirabeau is arrested somewhere, for something.
I did not hear the particulars."
"Probably, for the very least of his crimes.
Marat hates him; and Marat represents the fury of the Revolution.
The monster wished to erect eight hundred gibbets, and hang Mirabeau first."
"And the deputies are returning to the Provinces, drunk with their own importance.
They have abolished titles, and coats of arms, and liveries; and published a list of the names the nobles are to assume--as if people did not know their own names.
Mr. Hamilton says 'Revolution in France has gone raving mad, and converted twenty-four millions of people into savages.'
" "I hate the French!"
said the General passionately.
"It is a natural instinct with me, just as tame animals are born with an antipathy to wild beasts.
If I thought I had one drop of French blood in me, I would let it out with a dagger."
George winced a little.
He remembered that the Morans were of French extraction; and he answered-- "After all, father, we must judge people individually.
Mere race is not much."
"George Hyde!
What are you saying?
RACE is everything.
It is the strongest and deepest of all human feelings.
Nothing conquers its prejudices."
"Except love.
I have heard, father, that Love never asks 'of what race art thou?'
or even 'whose son, or daughter, art thou?'
" "You have heard many foolish things, George; that is one of them.
Men and women marry out of their own nationality, AT THEIR PERIL.
I took my life in my hand for your mother's love."
"She was worthy of the peril."
"God knows it."
At this moment Mrs. Hyde entered the room, her fair face alight with love.
A servant carrying a tray full of good things to eat, followed her; and it was delightful to watch her eager happiness as she arranged meats, and sweetmeats, in tempting order for the hungry young man.
He thoroughly enjoyed this provision for his comfort; and as he ate, he talked to his father of those things interesting to him, answering all questions with that complaisant positiveness of youth which decides everything at once, and without reservation.
No one understood this better than General Hyde, but it pleased him to draw out his son's opinions; and it also pleased him to watch the pride of the fond mother, who evidently considered her boy a paragon of youthful judgment.
"And pray," he asked, "what can you tell me about the seat of government?
Will New York be chosen?"
"I am sure it will be Philadelphia; and, indeed, I care not.
It would, however, amuse you to hear some of the opinions on the matter; for every one hangs his judgment on the peg of his own little interests or likings.
Young De Witt says New York wants no government departments;
that she is far too busy a city, to endure government idlers hanging around her best streets.
Doctor Rush says the government is making our city a sink of political vice.
Mr. Wolcott says honesty is the fashion in New York.
Some of the clergy think Wall Street as wicked as the most fashionable streets in Tyre and Sodom; and the street-singers--thanks to Mr. Freneau--have each, and all, their little audiences on the subject.
As I came up Broadway, a man was shouting a rhyme advising the Philadelphians to 'get ready their dishcloths and brooms, and begin scouring their knockers, and scrubbing their rooms.'
Perhaps the most sensible thing on the subject came from one of the New England senators.
He thought the seat of government ought to be 'in some wilderness, where there would be no social attractions, where members could go and attend strictly to business.'
Upon my word, sir, the opinions are endless in number and variety; but, in truth, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Morris are arranging the matter.
This is without doubt.
There is to be some sort of compromise with the Southern senators, who are promised the capital on the Potomac, finally, if they no longer oppose the assumption of the State debts.
I hear that Mr. Jefferson has been brought to agree to this understanding.
And Mr. Morris doubtless thinks, if the government offices are once opened in Philadelphia, they will remain there."
"And Joris, the ladies?
What say they on the subject?"
asked Mrs. Hyde.
"Indeed, mother, some of them are lamenting, and some looking forward to the change.
All are talking of the social deposition of the beautiful Mrs. Bingham.
'She will have to abate herself a little before Mrs. Washington,' I heard one lady say; while others declare, that her association with our Republican Court will be harmonious and advantageous; especially, as she is beloved in the home of the President."
"OUR REPUBLICAN COURT!
The definition is absurd!"
said General Hyde, with both scorn and temper.
"A court pre-supposes both royalty and nobility!"
"We have both of them intrinsically, father."
"In faith, George!
you will find, that intrinsic qualities have no social value.
What people require is their external evidence."
"And their external evidence would be extremely offensive here, sir.
For my part, I think, the sneaking hankering after titles and ceremonies, among our wealthy men and women is a very great weakness.
Every one knows that nothing would please fussy Mr. Adams better than to be a duke, or even a lord--and he is by no means alone in such desires."
"They may be yet realized."
"They will not, sir--not, at least, while Thomas Jefferson lives.
He is the bulldog of Democracy, and he would be at the throat of any such pretences as soon as they were suggested."
"Very well, George!
I have no objections."
"I knew, sir, that you were a thorough Democrat."
"Do not go too far, George.
I love Democracy; but I hate Democrats!
Now I am sleepy, and as Mr. Jefferson is on the watch, I may go to sleep comfortably.
I will talk to you more on these subjects in the morning.
Good-night!"
He put his hand on his son's shoulder, and looked with a proud confidence into the bright face, lifted to the touch.
Then George was alone with his mother; but she was full of little household affairs; and he could not bring into them a subject so close, and so sacred to his heart.
He listened a little wearily to her plans, and was glad when she recollected the late hour and hurried him away to his chamber--a large, lofty room in the front of the house, on which she had realized all the ideas that her great love, and her really exquisite taste suggested.
He entered it with a sense of delight, and readily surrendered himself to its dreamy air of sleep and rest.
"I will speak to my mother in the morning," he thought.
"To-night, her mind is full of other things."
But in the morning Mrs. Hyde was still more interested in "other things."
She had an architect with her, her servants were to order, her house to look after; and George readily felt that his hour was certainly not in the early morning.
He had slept a little late, and his mother did not approve of sleep beyond the normal hour.
He saw that he had delayed household matters, and made an environment not quite harmonious.
So he ate his breakfast rapidly, and went out to the new stables.
He expected to find the General there, and he was not disappointed.
He had, however, finished his inspection of the horses, and he proposed a walk to the upper end of the Glen, where a great pond was being dug for Mrs. Hyde's swans, and other aquatic birds.
There was much to interest them as they walked: men were busy draining, and building stone walls; ploughing and sowing, and digging, and planting.
Yet, in the midst of all this busy life, George detected in his father's manner an air of melancholy.
He looked into his son's face with affection, and pointed out to him with an apparent interest, the improvements in progress, but George knew--though he could not have explained why he knew--that his father's heart was not really in these things.
Presently he asked, "How goes it with your law books, George?"
"Faith, sir, I must confess, very indifferently.
I have no senses that way; and 'tis only your desire that keeps my books open.
I would far rather read my Plutarch, or write with my sword."
"Let me tell you, soberly, that it is a matter of personal interest to you.
There is now no question of the law as a profession, for since your cousin's death your prospects have entirely changed.
But consider, George, that not only this estate, but also the estate of your Grandfather Van Heemskirk must eventually come to you.
Much of both has been bought from confiscated properties, and it is not improbable that claimants may arise who will cause you trouble.
How necessary, then, that you should know something of the laws affecting land and property in this country."
"My grandfather is in trouble.
I forgot to tell you last night, that his friend, Elder Semple, is dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes, sir."
For a few minutes General Hyde remained silent; then he said with much feeling, "Peace to the old Tory!
He was once very kind to me and to my family.
Ah, George, I have again defrauded myself of a satisfaction!
For a long time I have intended to go and see him--it is now too late!
But I will return to the city with you and pay him the last respect possible.
Who told you this news?"
"I was walking on Broadway with young McAllister, and Doctor Moran stopped us and sent word to Elder McAllister of the death of his friend.
I think, indeed, they were relatives."
"Was Doctor Moran his physician?"
"Yes, sir.
A very good physician, I believe; I know, that he is a very courteous and entertaining gentleman."
"And pray, George, how do you come by such an opinion?"
"I had the honour of spending an evening at Doctor Moran's house this week; and if you will believe me, sir, he has a daughter that shames every other beauty.
Such bewildering loveliness!
Such entrancing freshness and purity I never saw before!"
"In love again, George.
Faith, you make me ashamed of my own youth!
But this enchanting creature cannot make of her father--anything but what he is."
"This time I am desperately, and really, in love."
"So you were with Mollie Trefuses, with Sarah Talbot, with Eliza Capel, with Matilda Howard--and a galaxy of minor beauties."
"But it has come to this--I wish to marry Miss Moran; and I never wished to marry any other woman."
"You have forgotten--And by Heaven!
you must forget Miss Moran.
She is not to be thought of as a wife--for one moment."
"Sir, you are not so unjust as to make such a statement without giving me a reason for it."
"Giving you a reason!
My reason ought to have sprung up voluntary in your own heart.
It is an incredible thing if you are not already familiar with it."
"Simply, sir, I profess my ignorance."
"Look around you.
Look east, and west, and north, and south,--all these rich lands were bought with your Uncle William's money.
He made himself poor, to make me rich; because, having brought me up as his heir, he thought his marriage late in life had in a manner defrauded me.
You know that the death of his two sons has again made me the heir to the Hyde earldom; and that after me, the succession is yours.
Tell me now what child is left to your uncle?"
"Only his daughter Annie, a girl of fourteen or fifteen years."
"What will become of her when her father dies?"
"Sir, how can I divine her future?"
"It is your duty to divine her future.
Her father has no gold to leave her--he gave it to me--and the land he cannot leave her; yet she has a natural right, beyond either mine or yours."
"I give her my right, cheerfully."
"You cannot give it to her--unless you outlaw yourself from your native country--strip yourself of your citizenship--declare yourself unworthy to be a son of the land that gave you birth.
Even if you perpetrated such a civil crime, you would render no service to Annie.
Your right would simply lapse to the son of Herbert Hyde--the young man you met at Oxford--" "Surely, sir, we need not talk of that fellow.
I have already told you what a very sycophant he is.
He licks the dust before any man of wealth or authority; his tongue hangs down to his shoe-buckles."
"Well then, sir, what is your duty to Annie Hyde?"
"I do not conceive myself to have any special duty to Annie Hyde."
"Upon my honour, you are then perversely stupid!
But it is impossible that you do not realize what justice, honour, gratitude and generosity demand from you!
When your uncle wrote me that pitiful letter which informed me of the death of his last son, my first thought was that his daughter must be assured her right in the succession.
There is one way to compass this.
You know what that way is.
--Why do you not speak?"
"Because, sir, if I confess your evident opinion to be just, I bind myself to carry it out, because of its justice."
"Is it not just?"
"It might be just to Annie and very unjust to me."
"No, sir.
Justice is a thing absolute; it is not altered by circumstances, especially for a circumstance so trivial as a young man's idle fancy."
"'Tis no idle fancy.
I love Cornelia Moran."
"You have already loved a score of beauties--and forgotten them."
"I have admired, and forgot.
If I had loved, I should not have forgotten.
Now, I love."
"Then, sir, be a man, a noble man, and put your personal gratification below justice, honour, and gratitude.
This is the first real trial of your life, George, are you going to play the coward in it?"
"If you could only see Miss Moran!"
"I should find it difficult to be civil to her.
George, I put before you a duty that no gentleman can by any possibility evade."
"If this arrangement is so important, why was I not told of it, ere this?"
"It is scarcely a year since your Cousin Harry's death.
Annie is not fifteen years old.
I did not wish to force matters.
I intended you to go to England next year, and I hoped that a marriage might come without my advice or my interference.
It seemed to me that Annie's position would itself open your heart to her."
"I have no heart to give her."
"Then you must at least give her your hand.
I myself proposed this arrangement, and your uncle's pleasure and gratitude were of the most touching kind.
Further, if you will have the very truth, then know, that under no circumstances, will I sanction a marriage with Doctor Moran's daughter."
"You cannot possibly object to her, sir.
She is perfection itself."
"I object to her in-toto.
I detest Doctor Moran, personally.
I know not why, nor care wherefore.
I detest him still more sincerely as a man of French extraction.
I was brought very much in contact with him for three years, and if we had not been in camp, and under arms, I would have challenged him a score of times.
He is the most offensive of men.
He brought his race prejudices continually to the front.
When Lafayette was wounded, with some of his bragging company, nothing would do but Doctor Moran must go with them to the hospital at Bethlehem; yes, and stay there, until the precious marquis was out of danger.
I'll swear that he would not have done this for Washington--he would have blustered about the poor fellows lying sick in camp.
Moran talks about being an American, and the Frenchman crops out at every corner.
But HE is neither here, nor there, in our affairs; what I wish you to remember is, that rank has its duties as well as its privileges; and you would be a poltroon to accept one and ignore the other.
What are you going to do?"
"I know not.
I must think--" "I am ashamed of you!
In the name of all that is honourable, what is there to think about?
Have you told this Miss Moran that you love her?"
"Not in precise words.
I have only seen her three or four times."
"Then, sir, you have only YOURSELF to think about.
Have I a son with so little proper feeling that he needs to think a moment when the case is between honour and himself?
George, it is high time that you set out to travel.
In the neighbourhood of your mother, and your grandparents, and your flatterers in the city, you never get beyond the atmosphere of your own whims and fancies.
This conversation has come sooner than I wished; but after it, there is nothing worth talking about."
"Sir, you are more cruel and unreasonable than I could believe possible."
"The railings of a losing lover are not worth answering.
Give your anger sway, and when you are reasonable again, tell me.
A man mad in love has some title to my pity."
"And, sir, if you were any other man but my father, I would say 'Confound your pity!'
I am not sensible of deserving it, except as the result of your own unreasonable demands on me--Our conversation is extremely unpleasant, and I desire to put an end to it.
Permit me to return to the house."
"With all my heart.
But let me advise you to say nothing to your mother, at present, on this subject:" then with an air of dejection he added--"What is past, must go; and whatever is to come is very sure to happen."
"Sir, nothing past, present, or future, can change me.
I shall obey the wishes of my heart, and be true to its love."
"Let me tell you, George, that Love is now grown wise.
He follows Fortune."
"Good-morning, sir."
"Let it be so.
I will see you to-morrow in town.
Ten to one, you will be more reasonable then."
He stood in the centre of the roadway watching his son's angry carriage.
The poise of his head, and his rapid, uneven steps, were symptoms the anxious father understood very well.
"He is in a naked temper, without even civil disguise," he muttered; "and I hope his own company will satisfy him until the first fever is past.
Do I not know that to be in love is to be possessed?
It is in the head--the heart--the blood--it is indeed an uncontrollable fever!
I hope, first and foremost, that he will keep away from his mother in his present unreason."
His mother was, however, George's first desire.
He did not believe she would sanction his sacrifice to Annie Hyde.
Justice, honour, gratitude!
these were fine names of his father's invention to adorn a ceremony which would celebrate his life-long misery, and he rebelled against such an immolation of his youth and happiness.
When he reached the house, he found that his mother had gone to the pond to feed her swans;
and he decided to ride a little out of his way in order to see her there.
Presently he came to a spot where tall, shadowing pines surrounded a large sheet of water, dipping their lowest branches into it.
Mrs. Hyde stood among them, and the white, stately birds were crowding to her very feet.
He reined in his horse to watch her, and though accustomed to her beauty, he marvelled again at it.
Like a sylvan goddess she stood, divinely tall, and divinely fair; her whole presence suffused with a heavenly serenity and happiness!
Upon the soft earth the hoofs of his horse had not been audible, but when he came within her sight, it was wonderful to watch the transformation on her countenance.
A great love, a great joy, swept away like a gust of wind, the peace on its surface; and a glowing, loving intelligence made her instantly restless.
She called him with sweet imperiousness, "George!
Joris!
Joris!
My dear one!"
and he answered her with the one word ever near, and ever dear, to a woman's heart--"MOTHER!"
"I thought you were with your father.
Where have you left him?"
"In the wilderness.
There is need for me to go to the city.
My father will tell you WHY.
