Chapter 3

HYDE AND ARENTA

Seldom is Love ushered into any life with any pomp of circumstance or
ceremony; there is no overture to our opera, no prologue to our play,
and the most momentous meetings occur as if by mere accident. A friend
delayed Cornelia a while on the street; and turning, she met Hyde face
to face; a moment more, or less, and the meeting had not been. Ah, but
some Power had set that moment for their meeting, and the delay had been
intended, and the consequences foreseen!
In a dim kind of way Hyde realized this fact as he sat the next day with
an open book before him. He was not reading it; he was thinking of
Cornelia--of her pure, fresh beauty; and of that adorable air of
reserve, which enhanced, even while it veiled her charms. "For her love
I could resign all adventures and prison myself in a law book," he said,
"I could forget all other beauties; in a word, I could marry, and live
in the country. Oh how exquisite she is! I lose my speech when I think
of her!"
Then he closed his book with impatience, and went to Prince's and bought
a little rush basket filled with sweet violets. Into their midst he
slipped his visiting card, and saw the boy on his way with the flowers
to Cornelia ere he was satisfied they would reach her quickly enough.
This finished, he began to consider what he should do with his day.
Study was impossible; and he could think of nothing that was possible.
"It is the most miserable thing," he muttered, "to be in love, unless
you can go to the adored one, every hour, and tell her so,"--then
turning aimlessly into Pearl Street, he saw Cornelia.
She was dressed only in a little morning gown of Indian chintz, but in
such simple toilet had still more distinctively that air of youthful
modesty which he had found so charmingly tantalizing. He hasted to her
side. He blessed his good angel for sending him such an enchanting
surprise. He said the most extravagant things, in the most truthful
manner, as he watched the blushes of pleasure come and go on her lovely
face, and saw by glimpses, under the veiling eyelids, that tender light
that never was on sea or land, but only on a woman's face when her soul
is awakening to Love.
Cornelia was going to the "Universal Store" of Gerardus Duyckinck, and
Hyde begged to go with her. He said he was used to shopping; that he
always went with his mother, and with Lady Christina Griffin, and Mrs.
White, and many others; that he had good taste, and could tell the value
of laces, and knew how to choose a piece of silk, or match the crewels
for her embroidery; and, indeed, pleaded his case so merrily, that there
was no refusing his offer. And how it happened lovers can tell, but
after the shopping was finished they found themselves walking towards
the Battery with the fresh sea wind, and the bright sunshine and the joy
of each other's presence all around them.
"Such a miraculous piece of happiness!" the young fellow ejaculated; and
his joy was so evident that Cornelia could not bear to spoil it with any
reluctances, or with half-way graciousness. She fell into his joyous
mood, and as star to star vibrates light, so his soul touched her soul,
through some finer element than ordinary life is conscious of. A
delightsome gladness was between them, and their words had such heart
gaiety, that they seemed to dance as they spoke; while the wind blowing
Cornelia's curls, and scarf, and drapery, was like a merry playfellow.
Now Love has always something in it of the sea; and the murmur of the
tide against the pier, the hoarse voices of the sailor men, the scent of
the salt water, and all the occult unrecognized, but keenly felt life of
the ocean, were ministers to their love, and forever and ever blended in
the heart and memory of the youth and maid who had set their early dream
of each other to its potent witchery. Time went swiftly, and suddenly
Cornelia remembered that she was subject to hours and minutes, A little
fear came into her heart, and closed it, and she said, with a troubled
air, "My mother will be anxious. I had forgotten. I must go home." So
they turned northward again, and Cornelia was silent, and the ardour of
her lover was a little chilled; but yet never before had Cornelia heard
simple conversation which seemed so eloquent, and so full of meanings--
only, now and then, a few brief words; but oh! what long, long thoughts,
they carried with them!
At the gates of her home they stood a moment, and there Hyde touched her
hand, and said, "I have never, in all my life, been so happy. It has
been a walk beyond hope, and beyond expression!" And she lifted her
face, and the smile on her lips and the light in her eyes answered him.
Then the great white door shut her from his sight, and he walked rapidly
away, saying to his impetuous steps--
"An enchanting creature! An adorable girl! I have given her my heart;
and lost, is lost; and gone, is gone forever. That I am sure of. But, by
St. George! every man has his fate, and I rejoice that mine is so sweet
and fair! so sweet! so sweet! so fair!"
Cornelia trembled as she opened the parlour door, she feared to look
into her mother's face, but it was as serene as usual, and she met her
daughter's glance with one of infinite affection and some little
expectancy. This was a critical moment, and Cornelia hesitated slightly.
Some little false sprite put a ready excuse into her heart, but she
banished it at once, and with the courage of one who fears lest they are
not truthful enough, she said with a blunt directness which put all
subterfuge out of the question--
"Mother, I have been a long time, but I met Lieutenant Hyde, and we
walked down to the Battery; and I think I have stayed beyond the hour I
ought to have stayed--but the weather was so delightful."
"The weather is very delightful, and Lieutenant Hyde is very polite. Did
he speak of the violets he sent you?"
"I suppose he forgot them. Ah, there they are! How beautiful! How
fragrant! I will give them to you, mother."
"They are your own, my dear. I would not give them away."
Then Cornelia lifted them, and shyly buried her face in their beauty and
sweetness; and afterwards took the card in her hand and read "Lieutenant
George Hyde." "But, mother," she said, "Arenta called him Joris."
"Joris is George, my dear."
"Certainly, I had forgotten. Joris is the Dutch, George is the English
form. I think I like George better."
"As you have neither right nor occasion to call him by either name, it
is of no consequence Take away your flowers and put them in water--the
young man is very extravagant, I think. Do you know that it is quite
noon, and your father will be home in a little while?"
And there was such kind intent, such a divining sympathy in the simple
words, that Cornelia's heart grew warm with pleasure; and she felt that
her mother understood, and did not much blame her. At the same time she
was glad to escape all questioning, and with the violets pressed to her
heart, and her shining eyes dropped to them, she went with some haste to
her room. There she kissed the flowers, one by one, as she put them in
the refreshing water; and then, forgetting all else, sat down and
permitted herself to enter the delicious land of Reverie. She let the
thought of Hyde repossess her; and present again and again to her
imagination his form, his face, his voice, and those long caressing
looks she had seen and felt, without seeming to be aware of them.
A short time after Cornelia came home, Doctor Moran returned from his
professional visits. As he entered the room, his wife looked at him with
a curious interest. In the first place, the tenor of her thoughts led
her to this observation. She wished to assure herself again that the man
for whom she had given up everything previously dear to her was worthy
of such sacrifice. A momentary glance satisfied her. Nature had left the
impress of her nobility on his finely-formed forehead; nothing but truth
and kindness looked from his candid eyes; and his manner, if a little
dogmatic, had also an unmistakable air of that distinction which comes
from long and honourable ancestry and a recognized position. He had also
this morning an air of unusual solemnity, and on entering the room, he
drew his wife close to his heart and kissed her affectionately, a token
of love he was not apt to give without thought, or under every
circumstance.
"You are a little earlier to day," she said. "I am glad of it."
"I have had a morning full of feeling. There is no familiarity with
Death, however often you meet him."
"And you have met Death this morning, I see that, John?"
"As soon as I went out, I heard of the death of Franklin. We have truly
been expecting the news, but who can prepare for the final 'He is gone.'
Congress will wear mourning for two months, I hear, and all good
citizens who can possibly do so will follow their example. The flags are
at half-mast, and there is sorrow everywhere."
"And yet, John, why?" asked Mrs. Moran. "Franklin has quite finished his
work; and has also seen the fruit of all his labours. Not many men are
so happy. I, for one, shall rejoice with him, and not weep for him."
"You are right, Ava. I must now tell you that Elder Semple died this
morning. He has been long sick, but the end came suddenly at last."
"The dear old man! He has been sick and sorrowful, ever since his wife
died. Were any of his sons present?"
"None of them. The two eldest have been long away. Neil was obliged to
leave New York when the Act forbidding Tory lawyers to practice was
passed. But he was not quite alone, his old friend Joris Van Heemskirk
was with him to the last moment. The love of these old men for each
other was a very beautiful thing."
"He was once rich. Did he lose everything in the war?"
"Very near all. His home was saved by Van Heemskirk, and he had a little
money 'enough to die wi'' he said one day to me; and then he continued,
'there's compensations, Doctor, in having naething to leave. My lads
will find no bone to quarrel over.' I met a messenger coming for me this
morning, and when I went to his bedside, he said, with a pleasant smile,
'I'll be awa' in an hour or twa now, Doctor; and then I'll hae no mair
worrying anent rebellion and democrats; I'll be under the dominion o'
the King o' kings and His throned Powers and Principalities; and after
a' this weary voting, and confiscations, and guillotining, it will be
Peace--Peace--Peace:'--and with that word on his lips, the 'flitting' as
he called it was accomplished."
"There is nothing to mourn in such a death, John."
"Indeed, no. It was just as he said 'a flitting.' And it was strange
that, standing watching what he so fitly called the 'flitting,' I
thought of some lines I have not consciously remembered for many years.
They reflect only the old Greek spirit, with its calm acceptance of
death and its untroubled resignation, but they seemed to me very
applicable to the elder's departure:
 Not otherwise to the hall of Hades dim
    He fares, than if some summer eventide
 A Message, not unlooked for, came to him;
    Bidding him rise up presently, and ride
 Some few hours' journey, to a friendly home."
"There is nothing to fear in such a death."
"Nothing at all. Last week when Cornelia and I passed his house, he was
leaning on the garden gate, and he spoke pleasantly to her and told her
she was a 'bonnie lassie.' Where is Cornelia?"
"In her room. John, she went to Duyckinck's this morning for me, and
George Hyde met her again, and they took a walk together on the Battery.
It was near the noon hour when she returned."
"She told you about it?"
"Oh yes, and without inquiry."
"Very good. I must look after that young fellow." But he said the words
without much care, and Mrs. Moran was not satisfied.
"Then you do not disapprove the meeting, John?" she asked.
"Yes, I do. I disapprove of any young man meeting my daughter every time
she goes out. Cornelia is too young for lovers, and it is not desirable
that she should have attentions from young men who have no intentions. I
do not want her to be what is called a belle. Certainly not."
"But the young men do not think her too young to be loved. I can see
that Rem Van Ariens is very fond of her."
"Rem is a very fine young man. If Cornelia was old enough to marry, I
should make no objections to Rem. He has some money. He promises to be a
good lawyer. I like the family. It is as pure Dutch as any in the
country. There is no objection to Rem Van Ariens."
"And George Hyde?"
"Has too many objectionable qualities to be worth considering."
"Such as?"
"Well, Ava, I will only name one, and one for which he is not
responsible; but yet it would be insuperable, as far as I am concerned.
His father is an Englishman of the most pronounced type, and this young
man is quite like him. I want no Englishman in my family."
"My family are of English descent."
"Thoroughly Americanized. They are longer in this country than the
Washingtons."
"There have been many Dutch marriages among the Morans."
"That is a different thing. The Dutch, as a race, have every desirable
quality. The English are natural despots. Rem was quite right last
night. I saw and felt, as much as he did, the quiet but sovereign
arrogance of young Hyde. His calm assumption of superiority was in
reality insufferable. The young man's faults are racial; they are in the
blood. Cornelia shall not have anything to do with him. Why do you speak
of such disagreeable things, Ava?"
"It is well to look forward, John."
"No. It is time enough to meet annoyances when they arrive. But this is
one not even to be thought of--to tell the last truth, Ava, I dislike
his father, General Hyde, very much indeed."
"Why?"
"I cannot tell you 'why.' Yes, I will be honest and acknowledge that he
always gives me a sense of hostility. He arrogates himself too much.
When I was in the army, a good many were angry at General Washington,
for making so close a friend of him--but Washington has much of the same
exclusive air. I hope it is no treason to say that much, for a good deal
of dignity is permissible, even peremptory, when a man fills great
positions. As for the Hydes, father and son, I would prefer to hear no
more about them. When the youth was my guest, I was civil to him; but
Arenta. You know that I have never seen her."
"That is the truth. I had forgotten. Well, then, I went to her with the
news; and she rubbed her chin, and called to her man Govert, to get a
bow of crape and put it on the front door. 'It is moral, and proper, and
respectable, Arenta,' she said, 'and I advise you to do the same.' But
then she laughed and added, 'Shall I tell you, niece, what I think of
the great men I have met? They are disagreeable, conceited creatures;
and ought, all of them, to have died before they were born; and for my
part, I am satisfied not to have had the fate to marry one of them. As
for Benjamin Franklin,' she continued, 'he was a particularly great man,
and I am particularly grateful that I never saw him but once. I formed
my opinion of him then; for I only need to see a person once, to form an
opinion--and he is dead! Well, then, every one dies at their own time.'"
"My father says Congress goes into mourning for him."
"Does it?" asked Arenta, with indifference. "Aunt was beginning to tell
me something about him when he was in France, but I just put a stop to
talk like that, and said, 'Now, aunt, for a little of my own affairs.'
So I told her about George Berckel, and asked her if she thought I might
marry George; and she answered, 'If you are tired of easy days, Arenta,
go, and take a husband,' After a while I spoke to her about Lieutenant
Hyde, and she said, 'she had seen the little cockrel strutting about
Pearl Street.'"
"That was not a proper thing to say. Lieutenant Hyde carries himself in
the most distinguished manner."
"Well, then, that is exactly so; but Aunt Angelica has her own way of
saying things. She intended nothing unkind or disrespectful. She told me
that she had frequently danced with his father when she was a girl and a
beauty; and she added with a laugh, 'I can assure you, Arenta, that in
those days he was no saint; although he is now, I hear, the very pink of
propriety.'"
"Is not that as it should be, Arenta? We ought surely to grow better as
we grow older."
"That is not to be denied, Cornelia. Now I can tell you something worth
hearing about General Hyde."
"If it is anything wrong, or unkind, I will not listen to it, Arenta.
Have you forgotten that the good Sisters always forbid us to listen to
an evil report?"
"Then one must shut one's ears if one lives in New York. But, indeed, it
is nothing wrong--only something romantic and delightful, and quite as
good as a story book. Shall I tell you?"
"As you wish."
"As you wish."
"Then I would like to hear it."
"Listen! When Madame Hyde was Katherine Van Heemskirk, and younger than
you are, she had two lovers; one, Captain Dick Hyde, and the other a
young man called Neil Semple; and they fought a duel about her, and
nearly cut each other to pieces."
"Arenta!"
"Oh, it is the truth! It is the very truth, I assure you! And while Hyde
still lay between life and death, Miss Van Heemskirk married him; and as
soon as he was able, he carried her off at midnight to England; and
there they lived in a fine old house until the war. Then they came back
to New York, and Hyde went into the Continental army and did great
things, I suppose, for as we all knew, he was made a general. You should
have heard Aunt Angelica tell the story. She remembered the whole
affair. It was a delightful story to listen to, as we drank our
chocolate. And will you please only try to imagine it of Mrs. General
Hyde! A woman so lofty! So calm! So afar off from every impropriety that
you always feel it impossible in her presence to commit the least bit of
innocent folly. Will you imagine her as Katherine Van Heemskirk in a
short, quilted petticoat, with her hair hanging in two braids down her
back, running away at midnight with General Hyde!"
"He was her husband. She committed no fault."
"I was thinking of the quilted petticoat, and the two braids; for who
now dresses so extravagantly and so magnificently as Madame Hyde? She
has an Indian shawl that cost two hundred pounds. Aunt Angelica says
John Embree told her 'THAT much at the very least'--and as for the
General! is there any man in New York so proud, and so full of dignity--
and morality? He is in St. Paul's Chapel every Sunday, and when you see
him there, how could you imagine that he had fought half-a-dozen duels,
for half-a-dozen beauties?"
"Half-a-dozen duels! Oh, Arenta!"
"About that number--more or less--before and after the Van Heemskirk
incident. Look at him next Sunday, and then try and believe that he was
the topmost leader in all the fashionable follies, until he went to the
war. People say it is General Washington--"
"General Washington?"
"That has changed him so much. They have been a great deal together, and
I do believe the proprieties are catching. If evil is to be taken in bad
company, why not good in the presence of all that is moral and
respectable? At any rate, who is now more proper than General Hyde?
Indeed, as Aunt Angelica says, we must all pay our respects to the
Hydes, if we desire our own caps to set straight. Cornelia, shall I tell
you why you are working so close to the window this afternoon?"
"You are going to say something I would rather not hear, Arenta."
"Truth is wholesome, if not agreeable; and the truth is, you expect
Lieutenant Hyde to pass. But he will not do so. I saw him booted and
spurred, on a swift horse, going up the river road. He was bound for
Hyde Manor, I am sure. Now, Cornelia, you need not move your frame; for
no one will disturb you, and I wish to tell you some of my affairs."
"About your lovers?"
"Yes. I have met a certain French marquis, who is attached to the Count
de Moustier's embassy. I met him at intervals all last winter, and to-
day, I have a love letter from him--a real love letter--and he desires
to ask my father for my hand. I shall now have something to say to
Madame Kippon."
"But you would not marry a Frenchman? That is an impossible thought,
Arenta."
"No more so than an Englishman. In fact, Englishmen are not to be
thought of at all; while Frenchmen are the fashion. Just consider the
drawing-rooms of our great American ladies; they are full of French
nobles."
"But they are exiles, for the most part very poor, and devoted to the
idea of monarchy."
"Ah, but my Frenchman is different. He is rich, he is in the confidence
of the present French government, and he adores republican principles.
Indeed he wore at Lady Griffin's, last week, his red cap of Liberty, and
looked quite distinguished in it."
"I am astonished that Lady Griffin permitted such a spectacle. I am sure
it was a vulgar thing to do. Only the san-culottes, make such exhibition
of their private feelings."
"I think it was a very brave thing to do--and Lady Griffin, with her
English prejudices and aristocratic notions, had to tolerate it. He is
very tall and dark, and he was dressed in scarlet, with a long black
satin vest; and you may believe that the scarlet cap on his black
curling hair was very imposing."
"Imposing! How could it possibly be that? It is only associated with
mobs, and mob law--and guillotining."
"I shall not contradict you--though I could do so easily. I will say,
then, that it was very picturesque. He asked me to dance a minuet with
him, and when I did not refuse he was beside himself with pleasure and
gratitude. And after I had opened the way, several of the best ladies in
the town followed. After all, it was a matter of political opinion; and
it is against our American ideas to send any man to Jersey for his
politics. Mr. Jefferson was in red also."
"I wish to dance with Mr. Jefferson, but I now think of waiting till he
gets a new suit."
"I am sure that no one ever made a finer figure in a dance than I, in my
white satin and pearls, and the Marquis Athanase de Tounnerre in his
scarlet dress and Liberty cap. Every one regarded us. He tells me, to-
day, that the emotion I raised in his soul that hour has not been
stilled for a moment."
"Have you thought of your father? He would never consent to such a
marriage--and what will Rem say?"
"My father will storm, and speak words he should not speak; but I am not
afraid of words. Rem is more to be dreaded. He will not talk his anger
away. Yes, I should be afraid of Rem."
"But you have not really decided to accept the Marquis Tounnerre?"
"No. I have not quite decided. I like to stand between Yes and No. I
like to be entreated to marry, and then again, to be entreated NOT to
marry. I like to hesitate between the French and the Dutch. I am not in
the least sure on which side I shall finally range myself."
"Then do not decide in a hurry."
"Have I not told you I like to waver, and vacillate, and oscillate, and
make scruples? These are things a woman can do, both with privilege and
inclination. I think myself to be very clever in such ways."
"I would not care, nor dare, to venture--"
"You are a very baby yet. I am two years older than you. But indeed you
are progressing with some rapidity. What about George Hyde?"
"You said he had gone out of town."
"And I am glad of it. He will not now be insinuating himself with
violets, and compelling you to take walks with him on the Battery. Oh,
Cornelia! you see I am not to be put out of your confidence. Why did you
not tell me?"
"You have given me no opportunity; and, as you know all, why should I
say any more about it?"
"Cornelia, my dear companion, I fear you are inclined to concealment and
to reticence, qualities a young girl should not cultivate--I am now
speaking for dear Sister Maria Beroth--and I hope you will carefully
consider the advantages you will derive from cultivating a more open
disposition."
"You are making a mockery of the good Sisters; and I do not wish to hear
you commit such a great fault. Indeed, I would be pleased to return to
their peaceful care again."
"And wear the little linen cap and collar, and all the other
simplicities? Cornelia! Cornelia! You are as fond as I am of French
fashions and fripperies. Let us be honest, if we die for it. And you may
as well tell me all your little coquetries with George Hyde; for I shall
be sure to find them out. Now I am going home; for I must look after the
tea-table. But you will not be sorry, for it will leave you free to
think of--"
"Please, Arenta!"
"Very well. I will have 'considerations.' Good-bye!"
Then the door closed, and Cornelia was left alone. But the atmosphere of
the room was charged with Arenta's unrest, and a feeling of
disappointment was added to it. She suddenly realized that her lover's
absence from the city left a great vacancy. What were all the thousands
in its streets, if he was not there? She might now indeed remove her
frame from the window; if Hyde was an impossibility, there was no one
else she wished to see pass. And her heart told her the report was a
true one; she did not doubt for a moment Arenta's supposition, that he
had gone to Hyde Manor. But the thought made her lonely. Something, she
knew not what, had altered her life. She had a new strange happiness,
new hopes, new fears and new wishes; but they were not an unmixed
delight; for she was also aware of a vague trouble, a want that nothing
in her usual duties satisfied:--in a word, she had crossed the threshold
of womanhood and was no longer a girl,
"Singing alone in the morning of life,
 In the happy morning of life, and May."