The Hour and the Man, An Historical Romance

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  L'ETOILE AND ITS PEOPLE.

  One radiant day of the succeeding spring, a party was seen in the plainof Cul-de-Sac, moving with such a train as showed that one of theprincipal families of the island was travelling. Rigaud and his forceswere so safely engaged in the south, that the plain was consideredsecure from their incursions. Port-au-Prince, surrounded on three sidesby hills, was now becoming so hot, that such of its inhabitants as hadestates in the country were glad to retire to them, as soon as the roadswere declared safe; and among these were the family of theCommander-in-Chief, who, with tutors, visitors, and attendants, formedthe group seen in the Cul-de-Sac this day. They were removing to theirestate of Pongaudin, on the shores of the bay of Gonaves, a little tothe north of the junction of the Artibonite with the sea; but instead oftravelling straight and fast, they intended to make a three days'journey of what might have been accomplished in less than two--partlyfor the sake of the pleasure of the excursion, and partly to introducetheir friends from Europe to some of the beauties of the most beautifulisland in the world.

  Madame L'Ouverture had had presents of European carriages, in which shedid not object to take airings in the towns and their neighbourhood; butnowhere else were the roads in a state to bear such heavy vehicles. Inthe sandy bridle-paths they would have sunk half their depth; in thegreen tracks they would have been caught in thickets of brambles and lowboughs; while many swamps occurred which could be crossed only by singlehorses, accustomed to pick their way in uncertain ground. The ladies ofthe colony, therefore, continued, as in all time past, to take theirjourneys on horseback, each attended by some one--a servant, if therewere neither father, brother, nor lover--to hold the umbrella over herduring rain, or the more oppressive hours of sunshine.

  The family of L'Ouverture had left the palace early, and were bound, foran estate in the middle of the plain, where they intended to rest,either till evening, or till the next morning, as inclination mightdetermine. As their train, first of horses, and then of mules, passedalong, now under avenues of lofty palms, which constituted a deep, moistshade in the midst of the glare of the morning--now across fields ofsward, kept green by the wells which were made to overflow them; and nowthrough swamps where the fragrant flowering reeds reached up to theflanks of the horses, and courted the hands of the riders, theinhabitants of the region watched their progress, and gave them everyvariety of kindly greeting. The mother who was sitting at work underthe tamarind-tree called her children down from its topmost branches todo honour to the travellers. Many a half-naked negro in therice-grounds slipped from the wet plank on which, while gazing, heforgot his footing, and laughed his welcome from out of the mud andslime. The white planters who were taking their morning ride over theirestates, bent to the saddle-bow, the large straw hat in hand, and wouldnot cover their heads from the hot sun till the ladies had passed.These planters' wives and daughters, seated at the shaded windows, or inthe piazzas of their houses, rose and curtsied deep to the ladiesL'Ouverture. Many a little black head rose dripping from the clearwaters, gleaming among the reeds, where negro children love to watch thegigantic dragon-flies of the tropics creeping from their sheaths, and tocatch them as soon as they spread their gauzy wings, and exhibit theirgem-like bodies to the sunlight. Many a group of cultivators in thecane-grounds grasped their arms, on hearing the approach of numbers--taught thus by habitual danger--but swung back the gun across theshoulder, or tucked the pistol again into the belt, at sight of theladies; and then ran to the road-side to remove any fancied obstructionin the path; or, if they could do no more, to smile a welcome. It wasobservable that, in every case, there was an eager glance, in the firstplace, of search for L'Ouverture himself; but when it was seen that hewas not there, there was still all the joy that could be shown where hewas not.

  The whole country was full of song. As Monsieur Loisir, the architectfrom Paris, said to Genifrede, it appeared as if vegetation itself wenton to music. The servants of their own party sang in the rear; Moyseand Denis, and sometimes Denis' sisters, sang as they rode; and if therewas not song already on the track, it came from behind every floweringhedge--from the crown of the cocoa-nut tree--from the window of thecottage. The sweet wild note of the mocking-bird was awakened in itsturn; and from the depths of the tangled woods, where it might defy thehuman eye and hand, it sent forth its strain, shrill as the thrush, morevarious than the nightingale, and sweeter than the canary. But for thebird, the Spanish painter, Azua, would have supposed that all this musicwas the method of reception of the family by the peasantry; but, onexpressing his surprise to Aimee, she answered that song was as naturalto Saint Domingo, when freed, as the light of sun or stars, when therewere no clouds in the sky. The heart of the negro was, she said, asnaturally charged with music as his native air with fragrance. If youdam up his mountain-streams, you have, instead of fragrance, poison andpestilence; and if you chain up the negro's life in slavery, you have,for music, wailing and curses. Give both free course, and you have anatmosphere of spicy odours, and a universal spirit of song.

  "This last," said Azua, "is as one long, but varied, ode in honour ofyour father. Men of some countries would watch him as a magician, afterseeing the wonders he has wrought. Who, looking over this wide level,on which plenty seems to have emptied her horn, would believe how latelyand how thoroughly it was ravaged by war?"

  "There seems to be magic in all that is made," said Aimee; "so that allare magicians who have learned to draw it forth. Monsieur Loisir wasshowing us yesterday how the lightning may now be brought down from thethunder-cloud, and carried into the earth at some given spot. Ourservants, who have yearly seen the thunderbolt fire the cottage or themill, tremble, and call the lightning-rods magic. My father is amagician of the same sort, except that he deals with a deeper and highermagic."

  "That which lies in men's hearts--in human passions."

  "In human affections; by which he thinks more in the end is done than bytheir passions."

  "Did you learn this from himself?" asked Azua, who listened with muchsurprise and curiosity to this explanation from the girl by whose sidehe rode. "Does your father explain to you his views of men, and hispurposes with regard to them?"

  "There is no need," she replied. "From the books he has always read, weknow what he thinks of men's minds and ways: and from what happens, welearn his purposes; for my father always fulfils his purposes."

  "And who led you to study his books, and observe his purposes?"

  "My brother Isaac."

  "One of those who is studying at Paris? Does he make you study here,while he is being educated there?"

  "No; he does not make me study. But I know what he is doing--I havebooks--Isaac and I were always companions--He learns from me what myfather does--But I was going to tell you, when you began asking about myfather, that this plain will not appear to you throughout so,flourishing as it does now, from the road. When we reach the Etoileestate, you will see enough of the ravages of war."

  "I have perceived some signs of desertion in a house or two that we havepassed," said Azua. "But these brothers of yours--when will theyreturn?"

  "Indeed I wish I knew," sighed Aimee. "I believe that depends on theFirst Consul."

  "The First Consul has so much to do, it is a pity their return shoulddepend upon his memory. If he should forgot, you will go and see Paris,and bring your brothers home."

  "The First Consul forgets nothing," replied Aimee. "He knows and heedsall that we do here, at the distance of almost half the world. He neverforgets my brothers: he is very kind to them."

  "All that you say is true," said Vincent, who was now on the other sideof Aimee. "Everything that you can say in praise of the First Consul istrue. But yet you should go and see Paris. You do not know what Parisis--you do not know what your brothers are like in Paris--especiallyIsaac. He tells you, no doubt, how happy he is there?"

  "He does; but I had rather see him here."

  "You have fine sc
enery here, no doubt, and a climate which you enjoy:but there! what streets and palaces--what theatres--what libraries andpicture-galleries--and what society!"

  "Is it not true, however," said Azua, "that all the world is alike toher where her brother is?"

  "This is L'Etoile," said Aimee. "Of all the country houses in theisland, this was, not perhaps the grandest, but the most beautiful. Itis now ruined; but we hear that enough remains for Monsieur Loisir tomake out the design."

  She turned to Vincent, and told him that General Christophe was about tobuild a house; and that he wished it to be on the model of L'Etoile, asit was before the war. Monsieur Loisir was to furnish the design.

  The Europeans of the party were glad to be told that they had nearlyarrived at their resting place; for they could scarcely sit theirhorses, while toiling in the heat through the deep sand of the road.They had left far behind them both wood and swamp; and, though themansion seemed to be embowered in the green shade, they had to crossopen ground to reach it. At length Azua, who had sunk into a despairingsilence, cried out with animation--

  "Ha! the opuntia! what a fence! what a wall!"

  "You may know every deserted house in the plain," said Aimee, "by thecactus hedge round it."

  "What ornament can the inhabited mansion have more graceful, morebeautiful?" said Azua, forgetting the heat in his admiration of theblossoms, some red, some snow-white, some blush-coloured, which werescattered in profusion over the thick and high cactus hedge which barredthe path.

  "Nothing can be more beautiful," said Aimee, "but nothing moreinconvenient. See, you are setting your horse's feet into a trap." Andshe pointed to the stiff, prickly green shoots which matted all theground. "We must approach by some other way. Let us wait till theservants have gone round."

  With the servants appeared a tall and very handsome negro, well-knownthroughout the island for his defence of the Etoile estate againstRigaud. Charles Bellair was a Congo chief, kidnapped in his youth, andbrought into Saint Domingo slavery; in which state he had remained longenough to keep all his detestation for slavery, without losing hisfitness for freedom. He might have returned, ere this, to Africa, or hemight have held some military office under Toussaint; but he preferredremaining on the estate which he had partly saved from devastation,bringing up his little children to revere and enthusiastically obey theCommander-in-chief--the idol of their colour. The heir of the Etoileestate did not appear, nor transmit his claim. Bellair, therefore, andtwo of his former fellow bondsmen, cultivated the estate, paying overthe fixed proportion of the produce to the public funds.

  Bellair hastened to lead Madame L'Ouverture's horse round to the otherside of the house, where no prickly vegetation was allowed to encroach.His wife was at work and singing to her child under the shadow of thecolonnade--once an erection of great beauty, but now blackened by fire,and at one end crumbling into ruins.

  "Minerve!" cried Madame, on seeing her.

  "Deesha is her name," said Bellair, smiling.

  "Oh, you call her by her native name! Would we all knew our Africannames, as you know hers! Deesha!"

  Deesha hastened forward, all joy and pride at being the hostess of theOuverture family. Eagerly she led the way into the inhabited part ofthe abode--a corner of the palace-like mansion--a corner well covered infrom the weather, and presenting a strange contrast of simplicity andluxury.

  The courtyard through which they passed was strewed with ruins, which,however, were almost entirely concealed by the brushwood, through whichonly a lane was kept cleared for going in and out. The whole wasshaded, almost as with an awning, by the shrubs which grew from thecornices, and among the rafters which had remained where the roof oncewas. Ropes of creepers hung down the wall, so twisted, and of so long agrowth, that Denis had climbed half-way up the building by means of thisnatural ladder, when he was called back again. The jalousies weredecayed--starting away from their hinges, or hanging in fragments; whilethe window-sills were gay with flowering weeds, whose seeds even tookroot in the joints of the flooring within, open as it was to the air andthe dew. The marble steps and entrance-hall were kept clear of weedsand dirt, and had a strange air of splendour in the midst of thedesolation. The gilding of the balustrades of the hall was tarnished;and it had no furniture but the tatters of some portraits, whose frameand substance had been nearly devoured by ants; but it was weather-tightand clean. The saloon to the right constituted the family dwelling.Part of its roof had been repaired with a thatch of palm-leaves, whichformed a singular junction with the portion of the ceiling whichremained, and which exhibited a blue sky-ground, with gilt stars. Analcove had been turned into the fireplace, necessary for cooking. Thekitchen corner was partitioned off from the sitting-room by a splendidfolding screen of Oriental workmanship, exhibiting birds-of-paradise,and the blue rivers and gilt pagodas of China. The other partitionswere the work of Bellair's own hands, woven of bamboo and long grass,dyed with the vegetable dyes, with whose mysteries he was, like a trueAfrican, acquainted. The dinner-table was a marble slab, which stillremained cramped to the wall, as when it had been covered with plate, orwith ladies' work-boxes. The seats were benches, hewn by Bellair's axe.On the shelves and dresser of unpainted wood were ranged togetherporcelain dishes from Dresden, and calabashes from the garden; woodenspoons, and knives with enamelled handles. A harp, with its stringsbroken, and its gilding tarnished, stood in one corner; and musicalinstruments of Congo origin hung against the wall. It was altogether acurious medley of European and African civilisation, brought togetheramidst the ruins of a West Indian revolution.

  The young people did not remain long in the house, however tempting itscoolness might have appeared. At one side of the mansion was thecolonnade, which engrossed the architect's attention; on the otherbloomed the garden, offering temptations which none could resist--leastof all those who were lovers. Moyse and his Genifrede stepped first tothe door which looked out upon the wilderness of flowers, and were soonlost sight of among the shrubs.

  Genifrede had her sketch-book in her hand. She and her sister were herepartly for the sake of a drawing lesson from Azua; and perhaps she hadsome idea of taking a sketch during this walk with Moyse. He snatchedthe book from her, however, and flung it through the window of agarden-house which they passed, saying--

  "You can draw while I am away. For this hour you are all my own."

  "And when will you be away? Wherever you go, I will follow you. If weonce part, we shall not meet again."

  "We think so, and we say so, each time that we part; and yet we meetagain. Once more, only the one time when I am to distinguish myself, togain you--only that once will we be parted; and then we will be happyfor over."

  "Then you will be killed--or you will be sent to France, or you willlove some one else and forget me--"

  "Forgot you!--love some one else! Oh! Heaven and earth!" cried Moyse,clasping her in his arms, and putting his whole soul into the kisses heimpressed on her forehead. "And what," he continued, in a voice whichthrilled her heart, "what would you do if I were killed?"

  "I would die. Oh, Moyse! if it should be so, wait for me! Let yourspirit wait for mine! It shall not be long."

  "Shall my spirit come--shall I come as a ghost, to tell you that I amdead? Shall I come when you are alone, and call you away?"

  "Oh! no, no!" she cried, shuddering. "I will follow--you need not fear.But a ghost--oh! no, no!" And she looked up at him, and clasped himcloser.

  "And why?" said Moyse. "You do not fear me now--you cling to me. Andwhy fear me then? I shall be yours still. I shall be Moyse. I shallbe about you, haunting you, whether you see and hear me or not. Why notsee and hear me?"

  "Why not?" said Genifrede, in a tone of assent. "But I dare not--I willnot. You shall not die. Do not speak of it."

  "It was not I, but you, love, that spoke of it. Well, I will not die.But tell me--if I forget you--if I love another--what then?" And helooked upon her with eyes so full of love, that she lau
ghed, andwithdrew herself from his arms, saying, as she sauntered on along theblossom-strewn path--

  "Then I will forget you too."

  Moyse lingered for a moment, to watch her stately form, as she made apathway for herself amidst the tangled shrubs. The walk, once asmooth-shaven turf, kept green by trenches of water, was now overgrownwith the vegetation which encroached on either hand. As the dark beautyforced her way, the maypole-aloe shook its yellow crown of flowers, manyfeet above her head; the lilac jessamine danced before her face; and thewhite datura, the pink flower-fence, and the scarlet cordia, closedround her form, or spread themselves beneath her feet. Her lover wassoon again by her side, warding off every branch and spray, and saying--

  "The very flowers worship you: but they and all--all must yield you tome. You are mine; and yet not mine till I have won you from yourfather. Genifrede, how shall I distinguish myself? Show me the way,and I shall succeed."

  "Do not ask me," she replied, sighing.

  "Nay, whom should I ask?"

  "I never desired you to distinguish yourself."

  "You do not wish it?"

  "No."

  "Not for your sake?"

  "No."

  And she looked around her with wistful eyes, in which her lover read awish that things would ever remain as they were now--that this momentwould never pass away.

  "You would remain here--you would hide yourself here with me for ever!"cried the happy Moyse.

  "Here, or anywhere;--in the cottage at Breda;--in your father's hut onthe shore;--anywhere, Moyse, where there is nothing to dread. I live infear; and I am wretched."

  "What is it that you fear, love? Why do you not trust, me to protectyou?"

  "Then I fear for you, which is worse. Why cannot we live in the woodsor the mountains, where there would be no dangerous duties, and nocares?"

  "And if we lived in the woods, you would be more terrified still. Therewould never be a falling star, but your heart would sink. You wouldtake the voices of the winds for the spirits of the woods, and themountain mists for ghosts. Then, there are the tornado and thethunderbolt. When you saw the trees crashing, you would be for makinghaste back to the plain. Whenever you heard the rock rolling andbounding down the steep, or the cataract rising and roaring in the midstof the tempest, you would entreat me to fly to the city. It is in thislittle beating heart that the fear lies."

  "What then is to be done?"

  "This little heart must beat yet a while longer; and then, when I haveonce come back, it shall rest upon mine for ever."

  "Beside my father? He never rests. Your father would leave us inpeace; but he has committed you to one who knows not what rest is."

  "Nor ever will," said Moyse. "If he closed his eyes, if he relaxed hishand, we should all be sunk in ruin."

  "We? Who? What ruin?"

  "The whole negro race. Do you suppose the whites are less cruel thanthey were? Do you believe that their thirst for our humiliation, ourslavery, is quenched? Do you believe that the white man's heart issoftened by the generosity and forgiveness of the blacks?"

  "My father believes so," replied Genifrede; "and do they not adore him--the whites whom he has reinstated? Do they not know that they owe tohim their lives, their homes, the prosperity of the island? Does he nottrust the whites? Does he not order all things for their good, fromreverence and affection for them?"

  "Yes, he does," replied Moyse, in a tone which made Genifrede anxiouslyexplore his countenance.

  "You think him deceived?" she said.

  "No, I do not. It is not easy to deceive L'Ouverture."

  "You do not think--no, you cannot think, that he deceives the whites, orany one."

  "No. L'Ouverture deceives no one. As you say, he reveres the whites.He reveres them for their knowledge. He says they are masters of anintellectual kingdom from which we have been shut out, and they alonecan let us in. And then again.--Genifrede, it seems to me that he lovesbest those who have most injured him."

  "Not best," she replied. "He delights to forgive: but what white has heever loved as he loves Henri? Did he ever look upon any white as helooked upon me, when--when he consented? Moyse, you remember?"

  "I do. But still he loves the whites as if they were born, and hadlived and died, our friends, as he desires they should be. Yet more--heexpects and requires that all his race should love them too."

  "And you do not?" said Genifrede, timidly.

  "I abhor them."

  "Oh! hush! hush! Speak lower. Does my father know this?"

  "Why should he? If he once knew it--"

  "Nay, if he knew it, he would give up his purposes of distinction foryou; and we might live here, or on the shore."

  "My Genifrede, though I hate the whites, I love the blacks. I love yourfather. The whites will rise upon us at home, as they are alwaysscheming against us in France, if we are not strong and as watchful aswe are strong. If I and others leave L'Ouverture alone to govern, andbetake ourselves to the woods and the mountains, the whites will againbe masters, and you and I, my Genifrede, shall be slaves. But you shallnot be a slave, Genifrede," he continued, soothing her tremblings at theidea. "The bones of the whites shall be scattered over the island, likethe shells on the sea-shore, before my Genifrede shall be a slave. Iwill cut the throat of every infant at every white mother's breast,before any one of that race shall lay his grasp upon you. The whitesnever will, never shall again, be masters: but then, it must be byL'Ouverture having an army always at his command; and of that army Imust be one of the officers. We cannot live here, or on the sea-shore,love, while there are whites who may be our masters. So, while I amaway, you must pray Christ to humble the whites. Will you? This is allyou can do. Will you not?"

  "How can I, when my father is always exalting them?"

  "You must choose between him and me. Love the whites with him, or hatethem with me."

  "But you love my father. Moyse?"

  "I do. I adore him as the saviour of the blacks. You adore him,Genifrede. Every one of our race worships him. Genifrede, you lovehim--your father."

  "I know not--Yes, I loved him the other day. I know not, Moyse. I knownothing but that--I will hate the whites as you do. I never loved them:now I hate them."

  "You shall. I will tell you things of them that will make you cursethem. I know every white man's heart."

  "Then tell my father."

  "Does he not know enough already? Is not his cheek furrowed with themarks of the years during which the whites were masters; and is thereany cruelty, any subtlety, in them that he does not understand? Knowingall this, he curses, not them, but the flower which, he says, corruptedthem. He keeps from them this power, and believes that all will bewell. I shall tell him nothing."

  "Yes, tell him all--all except--"

  "Yes, and tell me first," cried a voice near at hand. There was a greatrustling among the bushes, and Denis appeared, begging particularly toknow what they were talking about. They, in return, begged to be toldwhat brought him this way, to interrupt their conversation.

  "Deesha says Juste is out after wild-fowl, and, most likely, among someof the ponds hereabouts."

  "One would think you had lived in Cap all your days," said Moyse. "Doyou look for wild-fowl in a garden?"

  "We will see presently," said the boy, thrusting himself into thethicket in the direction of the ponds, and guiding himself by the scentof the blossoming reeds--so peculiar as to be known among the many withwhich the air was filled. He presently beckoned to his sister; and shefollowed with Moyse, till they found themselves in the field where therehad once been several fish-ponds, preserved in order with great care.All were now dried up but two; and the whole of the water being divertedto the service of these two, they were considerable in extent and indepth. What the extent really was, it was difficult to ascertain at thefirst glance, so hidden was the margin with reeds, populous withwild-fowl.

  Denis was earnestly watching these fowl, as he la
y among the high grassat some little distance from the water, and prevented his companionsfrom approaching any nearer. The sun was hot, and Genifrede was notlong in desiring to return to the garden.

  "Let us go back," said she. "Juste is not here."

  "Yes he is," said Denis. "However, go back if you like. I shall gofowling with Juste." And he began to strip off his clothes.

  His companions were of opinion, however, that a son of theCommander-in-chief must not sport with a farmer's boy, without leave ofparents or tutor; and they begged him to put on his clothes again, atleast till leave was asked. Denis had never cared for his rank, exceptwhen riding by his father's side on review-days; and now he liked itless than ever, as the pond lay gleaming before him, the fowl sailingand fluttering on the surface, and his dignity prevented his going amongthem.

  "What makes you say that Juste is here?" said Genifrede.

  "I have seen him take five fowl in the last five minutes."

  As he spoke, he plucked the top of a bulrush, and threw it with suchgood aim, that it struck a calabash which appeared to be floating amongothers on the surface of the pond. That particular calabash immediatelyrose, and the face of a negro child appeared, to the consternation ofthe fowl, whose splashing and screaming might be heard far and wide.Juste came out of the water, displaying at his belt the result of hissport. He had, as Denis had said, taken five ducks in five minutes bypulling them under the water by the feet, while lying near them with hishead covered by the calabash. The little fellow was not satisfied withthe admiration of the beholders; he ran homewards, with his clothes inhis hand, Denis at his heels, and his game dangling from his waist, anddripping as he ran.

  "Many a white would shudder to see that child," said Moyse, as Justedisappeared. "That is the way Jean's blacks wore their trophies duringthe first days of the insurrection."

  "Trophies!" said Genifrede. "You mean heads: heads with their trailinghair;" and her face worked with horror as she spoke. "But it is not forthe whites to shudder, after what they did to Oge, and have done to manya negro since."

  "But they think we do not feel as they do."

  "Not feel! O Christ! If any one of them had my heart before I knewyou--in those days at Breda, when Monsieur Bayou used to come down tous!"

  "Here comes that boy again," cried Moyse. "Let us go into the thicket,among the citrons."

  Denis found them, however--found Moyse gathering the white and purpleblossoms for Genifrede, while she was selecting the fruit of mostfragrant rind from the same tree, to carry into the house.

  "You must come in--you must come to dinner," cried Denis. "Aimee hashad a drawing lesson, while you have been doing nothing all this while.They said you were sketching; but I told them how idle you were."

  "I will go back with Denis," said Genifrede. "You threw away mysketch-book, Moyse. You may find it, and follow us."

  Their path lay together as far as the garden-house. When there, Moyseseized Denis unawares, shot him through the window into the house, andleft him to get out as he might, and bring the book. The boy was solong in returning, that his sister became uneasy, lest some snake orother creature should have detained him in combat. She was going toleave the table in search of him, because Moyse would not, when heappeared, singing, and with the book upon his head.

  "Who calls Genifrede idle?" cried he, flourishing the book. "Lookhere!" And he exhibited a capital sketch of herself and Moyse, as hehad found them, gathering fruits and flowers.

  "Can it be his own?" whispered Genifrede to her lover.

  Denis nodded and laughed, while Azua gravely criticised and approved,without suspicion that the sketch was by no pupil of his own.

  In the cool evening, Genifrede was really no longer idle. While Denisand Juste were at play, they both at once stumbled and fell oversomething in the long grass, which proved to be a marble statue of aNaiad, lying at length. Moyse seized it, and raised it where it wasrelieved by a dark green back-ground. The artist declared it anopportunity for a lesson which was not to be lost: and the girls beganto draw, as well as they could for the attempts of the boys to restorethe broken urn to the arm from which it had fallen. When Denis andJuste found that they could not succeed, and were only chidden for beingin the way, they left the drawing party seated under their clump ofcocoa-nut trees, and went to hear what Madame was relating to Bellairand Deesha, in the hearing of Monsieur Moliere, Laxabon, and Vincent.Her narration was one which Denis had often heard, but was never tiredof listening to. She was telling of the royal descent of her husband--how he was grandson of Gaou Guinou, the king of the African tribe ofArrudos: how this king's second son was taken in battle, and sold, withother prisoners of war, into slavery: how he married an African girl onthe Breda estate, and used to talk of home and its wars, and its haunts,and its sunshine idleness--how he used thus to talk in the evenings, andon Sundays, to the boy upon his knee; so that Toussaint felt, from hisinfancy, like an African, and the descendant of chiefs. This was atheme which Madame L'Ouverture loved to dwell on, and especially whenlistened to as now. The Congo chief and his wife hung upon her words,and told in their turn how their youth had been spent at home--how theyhad been kidnapped, and delivered over to the whites. In the eagernessof their talk, they were perpetually falling unconsciously into the useof their negro language, and as often recalled by their hearers to thatwhich all could understand. Moliere and Laxabon listened earnestly; andeven Loisir, occupied as he was still with the architecture of themansion, found himself impatient if he lost a word of the story.Vincent alone, negro as he was, was careless and unmoved. He presentlysauntered away, and nobody missed him.

  He looked over the shoulder of the architect.

  "What pains you are taking!" he said. "You have only to follow your ownfancy and convenience about Christophe's house. Christophe has neverbeen to France. Tell him, or any others of my countrymen, that anybuilding you choose to put up is European, and in good taste, and theywill be quite pleased enough."

  "You are a sinner," said Loisir; "but be quiet now."

  "Nay--do not you find the blacks one and all ready to devour yourtravellers' tales--your prodigious reports of European cities? You haveonly to tell like stories in stone and brick, and they will believe youjust as thankfully."

  "No, no, Vincent. I have told no tales so wicked as you tell of yourown race. My travellers' tales are all very well to pass an hour, andbe forgotten; but Christophe's mansion is to stand for an age--to standas the first evidence, in the department of the arts, of the elevationof your race. Christophe knows, as well as you do without having beento Paris, what is beautiful in architecture; and, if he did not, I wouldnot treacherously mislead him."

  "Christophe knows! Christophe has taste!"

  "Yes. While you have been walking streets and squares, he has beenstudying the aisles of palms, and the crypts of the banyan, which, to anopen eye, may teach as much as a prejudiced mind can learn in all Rome."

  "So Loisir is of those who flatter men in power?" said Vincent,laughing.

  "I look further," said Loisir; "I am working for men unborn. I amambitious; but my ambition is to connect my name honourably with thefirst great house built for a negro general. My ambition is to buildhere a rival to the palaces of Europe."

  "Do what you will, you will not rival your own tales of them--unless youfind Aladdin's lamp among these ruins."

  "If you find it, you may bring it me. Azna has found something half asgood--a really fine statue in the grass."

  Vincent was off to see it. He found the drawing party more eager inconversation than about their work. Aimee was saying as he approached--

  "General Vincent declares that he is as affectionate to us as if we werethe nearest to him of all the children of the empire.--Did you not sayso?" she asked, eagerly. "Is not the First Consul's friendship for usreal and earnest? Does he not feel a warm regard for my father? Is henot like a father to my brothers?"

  "Certainly," said Vincent. "Do not your b
rothers confirm this in theirletters?"

  "Do they not, Genifrede?" repeated Aimee.

  "They do; but we see that they speak as they think: not as things reallyare."

  "How can you so despise the testimony of those who see what we only hearof?"

  "I do not despise them or their testimony. I honour their hearts, whichforget injuries, and open to kindness. But they are young; they wentfrom keeping cattle, and from witnessing the desolations of war here, tothe first city of the world, where the first men lavish upon theminstructions, and pleasures, and flatteries; and they are pleased. Thegreatest of all--the First of the Whites, smiles upon the sons of theFirst of the Blacks; and their hearts beat with enthusiasm for him. Itis natural. But, while they are in Paris, we are in Saint Domingo; andwe may easily view affairs, and judge men differently."

  "And so," said Aimee, "distrust our best friends, and despise our bestinstructors; and all from a jealousy of race!"

  "We think the jealousy of race is with them," said Moyse, bitterly."There is not a measure of L'Ouverture's which they do not neutralise--not a fragment of authority which they will yield. As to friends, ifthe Consul Bonaparte is our best friend among the Whites, may we be leftthus far friendless!"

  "You mean that he has not answered my father's letters. MonsieurVincent doubts not that an answer is on the way. Remember, my brothershave been invited to his table."

  "There are blacks in Paris, who look on," replied Moyse, drily.

  "And are there not whites too, from this island, who watch everymovement?"

  "Yes: and those whites are in the private closet, at the very ear ofBonaparte, whispering to him of L'Ouverture's ambition; while yourbrothers penetrate no further than the saloon."

  "My brothers would lay down their lives for Bonaparte and France," saidAimee; "and you speak treason. I am with them."

  "And with me," said Vincent, in a whisper at her ear. "Where I find theloyal heart in woman, mine is ever loyal too."

  Aimee was too much excited to understand in this what was meant. Shewent on--

  "Here is Monsieur Vincent, of our own race, who has lived here and atParis--who has loved my father.--You love my father and his government?"she said, with questioning eyes, interrupting herself.

  "Certainly. No man is more devoted to L'Ouverture."

  "Devoted to my father," pursued Aimee, "and yet devoted to Bonaparte.He is above the rivalry of races--as the First Consul is, and as Isaacis."

  "Isaac and the First Consul--these are the idols of Aimee's worship,"said Genifrede. "Worship Isaac still; for that is a harmless idolatry;but give up your new religion, Aimee; for it is not sound."

  "Why not sound? How do you know that it is not sound?"

  "When have the blacks ever trusted the whites without finding themselvesbound victims in the end?"

  "I have," said Vincent. "I have lived among them a life of charms, andI am free," he continued, stretching his arms to the air--"free toembrace the knees of both Bonaparte and L'Ouverture--free to embrace theworld."

  "The end has not come yet," said Moyse.

  "What end?" asked Aimee.

  "Nay, God knows what end, if we trust the French."

  "You speak from prejudice," said Aimee. "Monsieur Vincent and mybrothers judge from facts."

  "We speak from facts," said Genifrede; "from, let us see--from seven--no, eight, very ugly facts."

  "The eight Commissaries that the colony has been blessed with," saidMoyse. "If they had taken that monkey which is looking down at yourdrawing, Aimee, and seven of its brethren, and installed them at Cap,they would have done us all the good the Commissaries have done, and farless mischief. The monkeys would have broken the mirrors, and made ahubbub within the walls of Government-house. These Commissaries, oneafter another, from Mirbeck to Hedouville, have insulted the colony, andsown quarrels in it, from end to end."

  "Mirbeck! Here is Mirbeck," said Denis, who had come up to listen. Andthe boy rolled himself about like a drunken man--like Mirbeck, as he hadseen him in the streets of Cap.

  "Then they sent Saint Leger, the Irishman," continued Moyse, "who kepthis hand in every man's pocket, whether black or white."

  Denis forthwith had his hands, one in Vincent's pocket, the other inAzua's. Azua, however, was drawing so fast that he did not find it out.

  "Then there was Roume."

  "Roume. My father speaks well of Roume," said Aimee.

  "He was amiable enough, but so weak that he soon had to go home, wherehe was presently joined by his successor, Santhonax, whom, you know,L'Ouverture had to get rid of, for the safety of the colony. Then camePolverel. What the tranquillity of Saint Domingo was in his day we allremember."

  Denis took off Polverel, spying from his ship at the island, on which hedared not land.

  "For shame, Denis?" said Aimee. "You are ridiculing him who firstcalled my father L'Ouverture."

  "And do you suppose he knew the use that would be made of the word?"asked Genifrede. "If he had foreseen its being a tide, he would havecontented himself with the obsequious bows I remember so well, and neverhave spoken the word."

  Denis was forthwith bowing, with might and main.

  "Now, Denis, be quiet! Raymond, dear Raymond, came next;" and shelooked up at Vincent as she praised his friend.

  "Raymond is excellent as a man, whatever he may be as governor of Cap,"said Moyse. "But we have been speaking of whites, not of mulattoes--which is another long chapter."

  "Raymond was sent to us by France, however," said Aimee.

  "So was our friend Vincent there; but that is nothing to the purpose."

  "Well; who next?" cried Denis.

  "Do not encourage him," said Aimee. "My father would be vexed with youfor training him to ridicule the French--particularly the authorities."

  "Now we are blessed with Hedouville," pursued Moyse. "There you havehim, Denis--only scarcely sly, scarcely smooth enough. Yet, that isHedouville, who has his eye and his smiles at play in one place, whilehis heart and hands are busy in another."

  "Busy," said Genifrede, "in undermining L'Ouverture's influence, andcounteracting his plans; but no one mentioned Ailbaud. Ailbaud--"

  "Stay a moment," said Azua, whose voice had not been heard till then.

  All looked at him in surprise, nobody supposing that, while so engrossedwith his pencil, he could have cared for their conversation. Aimee sawat a glance that his paper was covered with caricatures of thecommissaries who had been enumerated.

  "You must have known them," was Aimee's involuntary testimony, as thepaper went from hand to hand, amidst shouts of laughter, while Azua sat,with folded arms, perfectly grave.

  "I have seen some of the gentlemen," said he, "and Monsieur Denis helpedme to the rest."

  The laughter went on till Aimee was somewhat nettled. When the papercame back to her, she looked up into the tree under which she sat. Thestaring monkey was still there. She made a vigorous spring to hand upthe caricature, which the creature caught. As it sat demurely on abranch, holding the paper as if reading it, while one of its companionsas gravely looked over its shoulder, there was more laughter than ever.

  "I beg your pardon, Monsieur Azua," said Aimee; "but this is the onlyworthy fate of a piece of mockery of people wiser than ourselves, and noless kind. The negroes have hitherto been thought, at least, grateful.It seems that this is a mistake. For my part, however, I leave it tothe monkeys to ridicule the French."

  Vincent seized her hand, and covered it with kisses. She was abashed,and turned away, when she saw her father behind her, in the shade of thewood. Monsieur Pascal, his secretary, was with him.

  "My father!"

  "L'Ouverture!" exclaimed one after another of the party; for they allsupposed he had been far away. Even Denis at once gave over pelting themonkeys, and left them to their study of the arts in peace.

  "Your drawings, my daughters!" said L'Ouverture, with a smile, as if hehad been perfectly at leisure. And he examined th
e Naiad, and thenGenifrede's drawing, with the attention of an artist. Genifrede hadmade great progress, under the eye of Moyse. Not so Aimee; her pencilhad been busy all the while, but there was no Naiad on her page.

  "They are for Isaac," she said, timidly. "Among all the pictures hesees, there are no--"

  "No sketches of Denis and his little companions," said her father; "nococoa-nut clumps--no broken fountains among the aloes--no groups thatwill remind him of home. Isaac shall presently have these, Aimee. I amon my way to Cap, and will send them."

  "On your way to Cap!" cried every one--some in a tone of fear.

  "To Cap," said he, "where Father Laxabon will follow me immediately,with Monsieur Pascal. By them, Aimee, you will send your packet forIsaac. My own horse is waiting."

  "Do not go alone--do not go without good escort," said Moyse. "I cangive you reason."

  "I know your thoughts, Moyse. I go for the very reason that there are,or will be, troubles at Cap.--The French authorities may sometimesdecree and do that which we feel to be unwise--unsuitable to theblacks," he continued, with an emphasis which gave some idea of hishaving overheard more or less of the late conversation; "but weislanders maybe more ignorant still of the thoughts and ways of theirpractised race."

  "But you are personally unsafe," persisted Moyse. "If you knew what issaid by the officers of Hedouville's staff--"

  "They say," proceeded Toussaint, smiling, "that they only want three orfour brigands to seize the ape with the Madras head dress; and then allwould go well. These gentlemen are mistaken; and I am going to provethis to them. An armed escort proves nothing. I carry somethingstronger still in my mind and on my tongue. General Vincent, a wordwith you."

  While he and Vincent spoke apart, Aimee exclaimed, "Oh, Moyse! Go withmy father!"

  "Do not--Oh, do not!" cried Genifrede. "You will never return!" shemuttered to him, in a voice of terror. "Aimee, you would send him away:and my mother--all of us, are far from home. Who knows but thatRigaud--"

  "Leave Rigaud to me," cried Vincent, gaily, as he rejoined the party."I undertake Rigaud. He shall never alarm you more. Farewell,Mademoiselle Aimee! I am going to the south. Rigaud is recruiting inthe name of France; and I know France too well to allow of that. Ishall stop his recruiting, and choke his blasphemy with a good Frenchsword. Farewell, till I bring you news at Pongaudin that you may ridealong the southern coast as securely as in your own cane-pieces."

  "You are going?" said Aimee.

  "This very hour. I south--L'Ouverture north--"

  "And the rest to Pongaudin with the dawn," said Toussaint.

  "What is your pleasure concerning me?" asked Moyse. "I wait yourorders."

  "I remember my promise," said Toussaint; "but I must not leave my familyunprotected. You will attend them to Pongaudin: and then let me see youat Cap, with the speed of the wind."

  "With a speed like your own, if that be possible," said Moyse.

  "Is there danger, father?" asked Genifrede, trembling.

  "My child, there is danger in the air we breathe, and the ground wetread on: but there is protection also, everywhere."

  "You will see Afra, father," said Aimee. "If there is danger, what willbecome of Afra? Her father will be in the front, in any disturbance:and Government-house is far from being the safest place."

  "I will not forget Afra. Farewell, my children! Go now to your mother;and, before this hour to-morrow, I shall think of you resting atPongaudin."

  They saw him mount before the courtyard, and set off, followed by one ofhis two trompettes--the only horsemen in the island who could keep upwith him, and therefore his constant attendants in his most importantjourneys. The other was gone forward, to order horses from post topost.

  Vincent, having received written instructions from the secretary, setoff in an opposite direction, more gay than those he left behind.

  The loftiest trees of the rich plain were still touched with goldenlight; and the distant bay glittered so as to make the gazers turn awaytheir eyes, to rest on the purple mountains to the north: but theirhearts were anxious; and they saw neither the glory nor the beauty ofwhich they heard talk between the painter, the architect, and theirhost.