The Hour and the Man Part 48

"Whatever it be, reverend mother, do we not all, does not every one quake when Madame Oge comes abroad?"

"It is but seldom that she does," said the abbess, "and it is our part to make her welcome."

"But seldom, indeed, reverend mother. When all goes well--when the crops are fine, and the island all at peace, no one hears of Madame Oge.

She keeps within her coffee-groves--"

"Mourning her sons," interposed the abbess. "But," continued the nun, "when any disaster is about to happen, we have notice of it by Madame Oge coming abroad. She came to this very house the first day of the meeting of the deputies, in that terrible August of ninety-one. She came a day or two before the rising against Hedouville. She came the night before the great hurricane of ninety-seven--"

"That was an accident," said the abbess, smiling. "Then you think it is not by accident that she always comes out before misfortunes happen?"

asked Euphrosyne, trembling as she spoke.

"By no means, my dear. It is easily explained. Madame Oge looks upon her sons as martyrs in the cause of the mulattoes. When all goes well, as all has done, under L'Ouverture's rule, with only a few occasional troubles--fewer and slighter than might have been expected during such a change in society as we have witnessed--when all goes well, Madame Oge feels that her sons are forgotten; and, as my daughter Benoite says, she mourns them alone in the shades of her coffee-groves. She seems, however, to have means of information which persons less interested have not: and when she has reason to believe that troubles will ensue, she hopes that the names of her sons will once more be a watchword, for the humiliation of both blacks and whites; and she comes forth with her hungry maternal heart, and her quick maternal ear, to catch the first echo of the names which are for ever mingled with her prayers."

"Can she mingle those names with her prayers, and yet not forgive?"

"My child, is it not so with us all? Do we not pray for our enemies, and ask to be forgiven as we forgive, and come out from our closets with ears open to the fresh slanders of the day, and hearts ready to burn at the thought of old injuries? It might be well for us, if we had the excuse of this wretched woman, whose woes have been such as might naturally have shaken her reason, and prostrated her will. If there be any above others with whom G.o.d will be long suffering, it is with the mother whose children have been torn from her arms to be tortured and destroyed, and their very names made a term of reproach."

"You think something is going to happen?"

"As my daughter Benoite says, on one occasion there was a hurricane.

To-morrow the sun may rise, or there may be a cloud in the sky."

"Nay, but--" said sister Benoite.

"Nay, but," said the abbess, smiling, "I will have nothing said which shall make Euphrosyne look upon my guest as a sorceress, or as the instrument of any evil one. I wish all my daughters to meet Madame Oge with cheerfulness. It is the best I have to offer her,--the cheerfulness of my family; and that of which she has least at home. You hear, Euphrosyne?"

"Madam, you do not mean that I am to see her. Indeed I cannot,--indeed I dare not. It is no disrespect--quite the contrary. But I could not hold up my head before one who--"

"Poor Madame Oge, if all said so!" exclaimed the abbess.

"That is true," said Euphrosyne. "I will be there: but, dear mother, do not speak particularly to me. Do not draw her attention upon me."

"I will not, my dear."

"Do you think she will speak angrily of the Ouvertures? I hope she will say nothing about poor General Moyse."

"You must hear what she says, be it what it may."

"True. And it is only for one evening. But I wish it was over. I shall be glad when to-morrow morning is come, and I shall be in this alley again."

"Meantime, my dear, you have been long enough here for this morning.

Let us go in."

The prospect of any guest was in itself acceptable to the sisterhood.

It gave them something to do, and afforded one day of variety. The abbess's parlour and the refectory had to be adorned with fresh flowers.

Napkins, of the workmans.h.i.+p of one sister, were laid beside the plates; and on the table were fruits gathered by another, sweetmeats made by a third, and chocolate prepared by the careful hands of a fourth. Even the abbess's veil looked whiter, and more exactly put on than usual.

Everything within the walls was in its nicest order some time before Madame Oge's carriage drew up before the gate.

Two or three of the sisters and Euphrosyne were with the abbess in her parlour, when Madame Oge entered. Euphrosyne had permission to bring in her work; so that she could sit plying her needle, and listening to what went on, without many nervous feelings about being observed by a person whom she could become acquainted with only by stealing glances at her face.

That face, she thought, must in its youth have had much of the beauty common among mulattoes, if not natural to them, in a favourable climate, it was now deeply impressed with sorrow. Every line, every feature, told of sorrow. There was no other painful expression in it. There was great solemnity, but stillness rather than pa.s.sion;--nothing which warranted, in itself, the superst.i.tious fears which the sisters had of the unhappy lady. She was handsomely dressed, and her manner was quiet.

The conversation turned first upon the state of the coffee and sugar crops, about which little could be said, because the prospect of every kind of produce was excellent. So much regard was everywhere paid to the processes of cultivation; and the practice of ten years, under the vigilant eye of Toussaint and his agents, had so improved the methods of tillage and the habits of the cultivators, that the bounties of the soil and climate were improved instead of being intercepted. Every year, since the revolution, the harvests had been richer; and this was the crowning year.

"Yes," said Madame Oge: "we have heard a great deal of all that; and I fancy we have nearly heard the last of it."

"There must, indeed," replied the abbess, "be some limit to the fruitfulness of the soil, and to the industry of those who till it: and it does seem as if the earth could yield no more than it is bringing forth this year."

"Father Gabriel says," observed sister Claire, "that in his journeys he could almost believe that the fields sing, and the hills rejoice with music, as the Scripture says--the cultivators are so hidden among the corn and the canes, and the groves and the vines, that their songs really seem to come out of the ground."

"It is in the woods," added sister Benoite, "as if the very trees shouted--"

She stopped abruptly before the name L'Ouverture, remembering that it would not be acceptable to all the present company.

"I have no doubt," said Madame Oge, "that all the monkeys and parrots are taught to shout L'Ouverture. Like his people, they are quick at learning that much. But I imagine there will be something else for Toussaint to do presently, than teaching the birds of the woods to praise him."

As no one asked what was likely to happen, she reserved for the present the news they trembled to hear; and went on--

"It is grievous to see so good a negro as Toussaint lost and spoiled. I knew him of old, when he was at Breda: and many a time has Monsieur Bayou told me that he was the most faithful, decent, clever, well-mannered negro on the estate."

"I believe he preserves those qualities still," observed the abbess, reproving with a glance the laugh which was rising at this description of the Commander-in-chief.

"If those had been masters who ought to have been masters," pursued Madame Oge, "Toussaint would, no doubt, have been placed at the head of the negroes: for we knew him well--I and they whom I have lost. Then, without insubordination,--without any being lifted out of their proper places, to put down others--we should have had a vast improvement in the negroes. Toussaint would have been made their model, and perhaps would have been rewarded with his freedom, some day or other, for an example.

This would have satisfied all the ambition he had by nature. He would have died a free man, and perhaps have emanc.i.p.ated his family. As it is, they will all die slaves: and they will feel it all the harder for the farce of greatness they have been playing these ten years. I am very sorry for them: and I always was; for I foresaw from the beginning how it would end."

"Do you really imagine that any one thinks of enslaving this wonderful man again? And what should make him submit to it?"

"He would sooner lay a train to the root of Cibao, and blow up the island," exclaimed Euphrosyne.

"Are you one of his party, young lady? You look too much as if you were but just landed from France for me to suppose that I was speaking before a friend of L'Ouverture's. If you really are lately from France, you may know that there is a greater than our poor Toussaint, to whom he must yield at command."

"I have never been at Paris, madame; and I do not believe that there is a greater than L'Ouverture, there, or anywhere else."

"You have been a happy child, I see: you have lived so retired from our miserable world as not to have heard of Bonaparte. It was by Bonaparte, my dear, for Bonaparte's convenience, and (it is my idea) for his amus.e.m.e.nt, that Toussaint was made what he is, and allowed to gallop about with his trumpeters behind him, for so long. You look as if you did not believe me, my dear. Well: time will show."

"I thought," said Euphrosyne, "that Toussaint was the First of the Blacks before Bonaparte was the First of the Whites. I have no doubt, however, that it has been very convenient to Bonaparte, and very surprising to him and everybody, that the colony has been so perfectly well governed by one from whom they could have expected nothing. I hope Bonaparte will be too wise and too grateful to injure him, or even to hurt his feelings; and I feel very sure that Bonaparte is not strong enough, with all the world to help him, to make L'Ouverture and his family slaves again."

"We shall see. Even I may live to see it; and I have no doubt you will.

Bonaparte is going to try; and, if he cannot, as you say, do it by himself, he may now persuade all the world to help him: for he is making peace on all hands."

"You have that news from France?" inquired the abbess.

"I have it from a sure quarter--never mind how. It will soon be generally known that the preliminaries of peace between France and England are signed: and I happen to know two things more: that Bonaparte has agreed to maintain negro slavery in Martinique, Guadaloupe, and Cayenne: and that--(pray listen, young lady)--he declares to the English that he can do what he pleases in Saint Domingo. I wish he could see that angry blush. Pray look at her, Madame! I see she thinks Bonaparte a very impertinent fellow."

"I do," replied Euphrosyne; "and I hope he will know better, and feel better, before he is L'Ouverture's ago."

"Ha! he ought to know what disloyal little hearts there are beating against him in this Saint Domingo that he thinks all his own."