CHAPTER XXI
FROM ACROSS THE SEA
In the second year after Renee's return two signal events happened. Anew little boy was born. She had coveted a girl for Papa Gaspard to loveas he had loved her, but one had to be content with what God sent, andthe boy was bright and strong.
"No," Papa Gaspard said when they were talking it over one day, "therewill be plenty of time for girls. I am not sorry. But I shall ask a giftof you and Andre, now that little Gaspard's place is filled. Give him tome. Let him take my name. It would be a grief to me to have it die out.Let there be a new Gaspard Denys growing up into a brave boy, a good,upright man, we hope. You have your fortune and Andre will make another.There will be enough to keep a dozen children from starving," with abright, amused laugh. "I will make a new will and give the boy what Ihave left. The lead interest is increasing and will be a fortune byitself. So if you and Andre consent. It is not as if I wanted to takehim away; it is simply that he shall be Gaspard Denys. In the old timethey put a St. to it, but that was in France. We are going to be a newpeople."
"Oh, Uncle Gaspard!" and she hid her face on his breast, while her armswent around his neck. "The best out of my life is hardly good enough foryou. I give you my boy with my whole heart."
Andre Valbonais said the same thing. So the Governor and the priestsettled all the legal points, and this, with the certificate of hisbirth and baptism and the will of his godfather, Gaspard Denys, werelocked up in a strong box for any time that they might be needed.
A bright, sturdy little fellow was Gaspard, extravagantly fond of hisgrandfather and his constant companion. He had his mother's soft browneyes and her curly hair.
One afternoon when the sun had lain warm and golden all about, ReneeValbonais sat sewing on the wide porch that had been pushed out largeenough for a room. Overhead and at the sides it was a cluster of vinesand blossoming things that shook out fragrance with every waft of wind.The baby was tumbling about and chattering in both French and Spanish,for he picked up words easily. Sheba, the nurse, and Chloe were justoutside in the garden. Mere Lunde was napping in her easy-chair. It wasa pretty picture of comfort.
Renee merely glanced up as a young man entered the gate and looked abouthim with a touch of uncertainty. Some message from her husband,doubtless. It was so tranquil they might go out in the canoe. He came upslowly and then paused, glanced hesitatingly at her, taking off his capand bowing. His attire was well worn, but different from the commonhabiliments. His figure and air was that of the cities--she had seen suchyoung men in New Orleans.
"Is it--Madame Valbonais?" he asked.
The voice was cultured and with a peculiar richness. The hand that heldthe cap was slim and white as a girl's. His complexion was clear, withthe faintest suggestion of olive, but rather pale, though the warmth hadgiven a tint of color to the cheeks.
"I am Madame Valbonais," gently inclining her head with a charminggraciousness.
"And a De Longueville by birth?"
The accent was such a pure musical French that this time she smiled asshe nodded.
"You do not know--at least you may not remember, but a long while ago, itseems, you came to Paris and were being sent to the New World, America.You were at the Hotel de Longueville, and there were two little boys----"
"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes dilating as a sudden suspicion--knowledge,indeed--seemed to electrify her. "Oh, you are--" and her voice failed.
"I am one of the little boys, the eldest, Robert de Longueville. And myfather was your father also. Mine is a sad story, madame, though itbegan fair enough. I have come to the New World, where I have not afriend. All I knew was that you had a grandfather in St. Louis and weresent thither. You must pardon me, madame----"
His voice broke a little and his eyes were downcast.
The good and tender God had sent some one to her in her hour of need.She, too, had come a stranger to this new land. But she was not oldenough to realize all the desolation.
Renee rose with gracious courtesy and put out her hand, moved by her ownremembrances as well as his loneliness. He took it and glanced up. Shesaw his eyes were brimming with tears. His face and manner appealed tothe tenderest side of her nature, and her affection went out at once.
"There are no words to thank you for this kindliness, madame. I am sucha stranger to you, although the same blood runs in our veins. And Ispeak the truth. Ah, you cannot know----"
"Come and be seated. You look weary. Chloe," she called, "bring a glassof wine and some cake."
Then she pushed a chair up to the small table and put her work in thepretty Indian basket. His eyes followed the graceful form and took inthe serene, lovely face. Something stirred within him that he had neverknown before. He had a French admiration and regard for his mother, buthe could have knelt and kissed the hands of his sister.
Renee noticed now that his shoes were worn to the ground. He must havewalked far.
"You came from New Orleans?" she ventured.
"Yes. The vessel brought me there. Then a boat was coming up to FortChartres. From there I have walked mostly. I am a poor _emigre_, madame.I will not invade your home under false colors. I spent my last sou tobe rowed across the river. But in these troublous times you must haveheard many sad stories."
"We are largely out of the way. Yes, there have been sad enough times inFrance. And your brother----"
"He decided to stay in the monastery, though heaven only knows how longthat will stand. All is terror and wildness, and no one's life is safe.My father was--executed----"
"Oh, how terrible!" The tears overflowed her eyes.
The cake and wine came, and, after many thanks, he sipped the wine, butthe cakes he ate like a hungry man. When she would have sent for more agesture of his hand retained her.
"I thank you heartily," he said, with a grave inclination of the head."I am such a stranger that I ought to prove my identity. I havepapers----"
"You may show them to my husband. I believe you. Why, I am your halfsister, but with a whole heart, rest assured. Robert de Longueville.Yes, I remember you both. You were very shy, and I think I was very muchafraid," smiling as she recalled the old impressions that seemed like adream.
"We used to talk of you. We never had any sister of our own. We weresent to school, and once a year came back to Paris. Papa was at court. Iwas a page for awhile, then I went to a military school. Honorepreferred books and a religious life. He was very sweet and gentle,while I liked life and stir and adventures. I do not think mamma quiteapproved Honore, but she was proud that I was to be a soldier. And thenthe dreadful times began with the mob which first deprived the King ofauthority, and then cast him into prison with hundreds of others. Oh, itwas indeed a reign of terror!"
"And your father?" in a low tone.
"They were both cast into prison," and his voice fell a little. "Mymother died there. It would have been better if my father had died withher. The Commune hated every vestige of royalty, abolished titles,confiscated estates. And then poor papa was one of its victims. Ourschool was broken up and we were driven into Paris. I don't know whatour fate would have been, impressed in the army of the rabble; but Iwould not have fought for the men who had murdered my father. I wouldhave died first."
Renee wiped the tears from her eyes. Until now it seemed as if she hadnever cared for her father. Surely he had expiated all mistakes and sinsby his death.
"Then I ran away. I found my way to the monastery and Honore and toldthem the sad tale. They were very kind and would have kept me, but therewas no knowing how long they would be allowed their refuge. I resolvedto escape to England, as every week or two refugees were flying thither.I found my opportunity. And there I heard many things about these newUnited Colonies. The English are not over-cordial to them, but thethought of a people who had fought seven years for liberty and conqueredin the face of such odds fired my heart. I resolved to come to America.We had never forgotten you, madame, and Honore wrote that if I found youI was to give you his love. He is a sweet, gent
le fellow and will makean excellent priest, if there is any France left," he added mournfully,drawing a long, pained breath.
She was glad they had remembered her and talked of her. She raised hersweet, sympathetic eyes.
"Then I came to New Orleans, as I learned from there I could reach St.Louis. It is queer, but all of you on this side of the river are underSpanish domination, and it is well for you, perhaps, even if you areFrench."
"I know so little about it," she replied gravely, "only that we areproud of being French. But the poor King and Queen, and--papa!"
"Honore and I were thankful mamma died in prison, though we do not knowwhat she suffered. And that is the whole of the sad story, madame. I amyoung and can work for my bread, surely, and it will not be so lonelysince I have found you."
Her tender heart went out to him. "Monsieur Robert," she said, "I hopewe shall be good friends. I am glad you came to me----"
"But I do not mean to be a burden on you," he subjoined quickly. "Istill think I should like to be a soldier, yet I have a fair educationand I can make my living at something."
In the light of the luxury of Paris all through his childhood, sodifferently aspected from this, he gathered that his sister was far fromrich; but even if she had been, he had not meant to ask help from her.There was a good deal of pride in the De Longueville blood. He had notcome as a suppliant for anything but love. She liked him none the worsefor it. Then glancing up, she saw Uncle Gaspard and her child in thestreet.
"Excuse my absence a few moments and go on with your rest, for you lookweary enough. Chloe, bring some more wine and cake."
Then she glided down the path and met them at the gateway. Her face wasflushed, her eyes deep and full of emotion.
"Come here in the little arbor," she cried. "A strange thing hashappened to me. I feel as if I had been reading it in a book, but it isall true. I hardly know where to begin. And, Uncle Gaspard, you must bekind and merciful, and forgive my father for his neglect. He is dead. Hewas one of the victims of that awful revolution because he was faithfulto his King."
"Renee, child, do not give way to such excitement. The grave covers all.We do not carry our grudges beyond it. And if he had loved you, youwould never have come to me and I should have lost much, much!" And,picking up little Gaspard, he kissed him fondly and lifted him to hisshoulder.
"Yes, I knew you would forgive, you are so generous. And"--she caught hisfree hand--"my brother, who has fled from those horrible scenes, who haslost both parents, has emigrated and is here--found me after somesearching. Life has gone hardly with him."
"Count de Longueville's son!" The lines of Gaspard Denys's facehardened, his eyes grew stern.
"Think of him as my brother only," she pleaded. "We are to be kindlydisposed to our enemies even. And, as you say, if he had been a fondfather to me you would never have had me or little Gaspard. I thinkRobert will soon go away again. He has been partly bred for a soldier.And we ought not visit on him any sin of his father. That is left forGod."
"True." It was gravely said, but not cordially. "Let us see what theyoung man is like. Renee, he never shall be any trouble to you."
"Oh, you will feel so sorry for him presently."
They walked to the porch--gallery, as every one called it. The youngfellow had finished his food and wine again. He had eaten nothing sincemorning. He looked a little rested, but his eyes had a questioningglance.
He was not quite what Gaspard had looked for in a De Longueville. Barelymedium size, though he was not yet twenty, refined and with a quietdignity, he rather disarmed the critical eyes, and Gaspard experienced atouch of sympathy for him. Renee made him tell his pathetic story overagain, which he did modestly enough. And when he would have gone, thoughwhither he knew not, Denys bade him stay. There were no inns in thetown.
He won Andre as well before the evening was over. And when they found hehad no plans, only a vague desire to offer his services to the newgovernment that in other days had aroused such an interest in France,they bade him remain with them. He had both seen and heard the Marquisde Lafayette after his return to France, when he had been full ofenthusiasm for the new people.
"But, Monsieur Robert, you are French," said Andre. "And in the turns offate we may some day have a French country here. Anyhow, a man may earnhis bread; and from what I hear, the colonies are not overstocked withprosperity. Better wait awhile and cast in your lot with us."
Robert de Longueville was very glad to. He thought of the Reign ofTerror with a shudder, and often wondered about Honore, hearing at lastthat he was safe in an outlying district of northern France.
CHAPTER XXII
A NEW ST. LOUIS
Once again the French flag waved over St. Louis and hearts beat highwith joy. Not that they had been unhappy or discontented under theSpanish _regime_, though the place had remained stationery. Except forthe fur trade and the energies of the house of Maxent Laclede & Co. withtheir _entrepot_, it would still have been a little French hamlet. Evennow it had scarcely two hundred buildings and less than a thousandinhabitants. Yet perhaps few places could boast of forty years ofcontent and happiness and such peaceful living.
So down came the Spanish flag and up went the lilies of France. Therewas a night of rejoicing. People scarcely went to bed. Fiddles andflutes played old French airs, and songs were sung; but, after all, thepeople were decorous and there was no orgie. Most of these men had neverknown Parisian enthusiasm. Robert de Longueville marvelled at it and thesimplicity.
It was well, perhaps, to have had those few hours of jubilation for mento talk about in their old age. For the next day a company came overfrom the fort and held a consultation with Lieutenant-GovernorDellassus. And then the royal lilies came down slowly, sadly, it seemed,and men's hearts beat with sudden apprehension. What did it mean? Theygathered in little knots and their faces were blanched.
Captain Stoddard raised the new colors--broad bands of red and white andthirteen stars on a blue field. The brave colonies had taken anotherleap and crossed the Mississippi. Here at the old Spanish quarters,March, 1804, the last vestige of hope fluttered and died in the Frenchheart. The breeze caught the flag and flung it out and a few cheers wentup, but they were from the Americans, and the salutes even had amelancholy sound.
"St. Louis," said some one. "Will they take away the name, too? Are weto be orphans?"
Others wept. Some of the better informed tried to explain, but it washalf-heartedly. No one was certain of what was to come. Theseconquerors, yes, they were that, spoke a different tongue, had adifferent religion, were aggressive, a resistless power that might sweepthem beyond the mountains.
There was no rejoicing that night. There were no cabarets in which mencould drink and discuss the change. They went to each other's houses andsat moodily by firesides. Old St. Louis was lost to them and hearts werevery heavy.
Spain had ceded the whole of Louisiana to France, and again France hadsold her desirable possession. Napoleon, hating the English and wantingthe money to carry on his war against them, had bargained with theUnited States. All the great country lying westward no one knew how far.And the mighty river was free from troublesome complications.
Yes, old St. Louis was gone. There was something new in the very air, anenergy where there had been a leisurely aspect; a certain roughnessinstead of simplicity, pioneer life. No avalanche swept over them, butpeople came from the other side of the river, stalwart boatmen, stalwarthunters, with new and far-reaching ideas. Schools, poor enough at first,but teaching something besides the catechism and a little arithmetic.There were books to read, discoveries to make, mines to unearth, moreprofitable ways of labor. The old slow method of work in the salt lickswas improved upon, as well as that of the lead mines. Upper Louisianaheld in its borders some of the great wealth of the world. Spanishlanguage dropped out, French began to be a good deal mixed, and menfound it to their advantage to learn English. The stockade and the roundtowers dropped down, and no one repaired them, because the town wasgoing to stretch
out. New houses were built, but many of them seemed asqueer at a later date, with their second-floor galleries approached by astairs from the outside. The high-peaked roofs with their perky windowslooked down on the old one-story houses of split logs and plaster.Laclede's town, about a mile long, was old enough to have legendsgrowing about it when men sat out on stoops and smoked their pipes.
Yet there was enough of the past left to still afford content andromance. Robert de Longueville proved himself a capable young fellow andturned his past education to some account. He had a truly Frenchadoration for his half sister that presently won quite a regard fromGaspard Denys.
Robert was fascinated as well with the half Indian wife of M. Marchand,and never tired of the wild legends of fur hunting and life up at thestrait. Then the ten children were a great source of interest as well.There were only two girls among them, the boys growing up tall, strongand fine-looking, proud of their mother, who kept curiously young andoccasionally put on all her Indian finery for their amusement.
Renee was quite fair and rather petite, and with such shining eyes theyoften called her Firefly. Then Robert fell in love with her, and therewas another Renee de Longueville to hand down the name, and very proudfelt Renee Valbonais of the fact.
The little old church was partly rebuilt in the repairing, and wasturned about. Then many years afterward it became the French Cathedralon Walnut Street. The high, stiff pews savor of olden time. There arestill several paintings in it, one very fine, sent by Louis, the King ofFrance. And there are the inscriptions in four languages, two modern andtwo ancient.
When Renee Valbonais knelt in her pew at the consecration her face wasstill sweet, her eyes brown, soft and smiling, but the hair curlingabout her forehead was snowy white. On this spot she had prayed forUncle Gaspard's safe return, then she had prayed to be made willing togive him up if it was for his happiness. Now she had very little to prayfor, so many blessings had been showered upon her by the good God. Soher heart was all one great thanksgiving, and she felt that at the lastshe could "depart in peace."
When it was set off from Louisiana, when it became a Territory and thena State, St. Louis remained the capital. Brick and finished frame houseswere built, stores and factories, a newspaper started, a steamboat cameup the river, and that revolutionized the trade.
Then it was to change curiously again. The Americans had nearlysuperseded the French. Some of them went to the towns below,intermarriages became common as the prejudices died away. Then there wasa great German emigration. The failure of patriotic hopes at home in theOld World sent many across to the New World. They were of the betterclass, educated, energetic and earnest for freedom of thought. Again in1849 they were largely recruited after another unsuccessful revolution.
Eighty-three years after the founding of the town they held a grandcelebration. Only one member of Pierre Laclede Liquist's company, whohad planted and named the town, was living. This was the president ofthe day, Pierre Chouteau. The fine old madame, who had gloried in herbrave sons, had passed to the other country. Four mounted Indians infull costume were the bodyguard of the venerable president, and in thecarriages were a few withered-up, brown-faced Frenchmen, who had madethemselves log houses along those early years and lived their simplelives, raised their families, danced in the merry-makings and now feltalmost like aliens.
Gaspard Denys, still hale and hearty, was among them, past eighty, butclear of eye and steady of step. He had seen his godson, young Gaspard,grow up into a fine, manly fellow, marry a sweet girl and have sons tocarry on the name. What more could a man ask than a well-used life and acertain share of happiness? But they had gone back on the next rise ofground, for business had seized with its inexorable grasp on the oldhome where Renee had sat and dreamed beside the great chimney and MereLunde had nodded.
Way out to the side of the old pond they had gone, where there was stilla forest on one side of them. Great hickories, pecans, trees useful forfood and fuel and building houses, long reaches of tangled grapes thatmade all the air sweet at their blossoming and again at their ripening,fields and meadows, the garden near by, the house with great porches, awide hall and beautiful stairway, with no need of outside climbing.
"Here we will end our days," Gaspard Denys said to the child of thewoman he still dreamed about, more vividly, perhaps, now than at middlelife. For there was the wide stone chimney, the great corners in thefireplace. Sometimes on a winter night they stood a pine torch in thecorner, and it gave the weird, flickering light they used to love.
Across the hall would be young people dancing. But there was no moreGuinolee, no more anxious, eager crowds to see who would get the beansin the cake, no strife to be queens, no anxiety to be chosen kings;that, with other old things, had passed away.
"I wonder," Renee says, smiling absently, "if they have as good times asthey used to in old St. Louis? There are so many pleasures now."
No one goes round on New Year's Eve singing songs, saying, "Good-night,master; good-night, mistress. I wish you great joy and good luck."
And this was to be all swept away by the imperious demand of the growingcity; but it was true then that Renee and Andre Valbonais and GaspardDenys had gone to that country which is never to know any change, forGod is in the midst of it.
Before the century was half gone the dream of the old explorers had cometrue, and many a new explorer gave up his life, as well as De Soto andLa Salle. For out on the western coasts, over mountain fastnesses,through gorges and beyond the Mississippi thousands of miles lay theland of gold; lay, too, a new road to India. Out and out on the highground has stretched the great city. The old mill and the queer windingpond went long ago. The Chouteau house, where there were many gatheringsboth grave and gay of the older people, is the Merchants' Exchange. Hereand there a place is marked by some memento. But when you see the littleold map with its Rue this and that, one smiles and contrasts its smalllevee with the twenty or more miles of water front, kept, too, withinbounds, bridged over magnificently. And if its traders are not aspicturesque as Indians and _voyageurs_ and trappers in their differentattire, they still seem from almost every nation.
Most of the French have gone. There is no exclusive French circle, as inNew Orleans. Here and there a family is proud to trace back its ancestryand keep alive the old tongue. But the old houses have disappeared aswell. Sometimes one finds one of the second decade, with its gablewindows jutting out of the peaked roof, and one waits to see a brown,dried-up, wrinkled face in French coif and gay shoulder shawl peeringout, but it is only a dream.
And surely the Germans earned their birthright with the loyalty of thosedays when the whole country was rent with the throes of civil war. Therewas a delightful, friendly, well-bred class of planters from the middleSouthern States, who had lovely homes in and about the town, and whoclung to their traditions, the system of slavery being more to them thana united country. But the patriotism of these adopted citizens, who hadlearned many wise lessons at a high price, was a wall against which theforces threw themselves to defeat, and again the everlasting truthconquered.
The youth of cities is the childhood of maturer purposes, knowledge,experience. Each brings with it the traditions of race, of surroundings,to outgrow them later on. Does one really sigh for the past, looking atthe present? At the towns and cities and the wealth-producinginventions, where the silence of the wilderness reigned a hundred yearsago, or broken only by the wild animals that ranged in their depths, andhere and there an Indian lodge? And the new race, born of many others,proud, generous, courageous, men of breadth and foresight, who havebridged streams and hewn down mountains, made the solitary gorgesfamiliar pictures to thousands, and have had their wise and earnestopinions moulded into public wisdom and usefulness, mothers who haveadded sweetness and wholesome nurture and refined daily living, childrengrowing up to transform the beautiful city again, perhaps, though as onewalks its splendid streets one wonders if there is any better thing tocome, if the genius of man can devise more worthiness.
The new white city may answer it to the countless thousands who willcome from all the quarters of the globe.
But the Little Girl and Old St. Louis had their happy day and aregarnered among the memories of the past.
THE END.
THE "LITTLE GIRL" SERIES
A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW YORK. HANNAH ANN; A SEQUEL. A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD BOSTON. A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD PHILADELPHIA. A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD WASHINGTON. A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD NEW ORLEANS. A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD DETROIT. A LITTLE GIRL IN OLD ST. LOUIS.
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