The Hour and the Man Part 49

"Perhaps," observed the abbess, "he used these words when he was not speaking of slavery; but rather from being aware of the loyalty of the Ouverture family; which is, I believe, exemplary."

"It is," declared Euphrosyne, looking up with glowing eyes. "He has not only served, but wors.h.i.+pped Bonaparte, all the years that they have both ruled. In his own family, Monsieur Pascal says--"

"What is Monsieur Pascal to do under the changes that are coming?"

interrupted Madame Oge. "He has placed himself in a difficulty, it seems to me. Will he go under the yoke with his father-in-law? (for I suppose, in his devotion, he will be marrying one of Toussaint's daughters). Will he take the hoe, and go into the field--? You are smiling, my dear young lady."

Euphrosyne was indeed smiling. She could not but hope that, as Madame Oge was so ill-informed about the affairs of Monsieur Pascal, and of the Raymonds, who were of her own colour, she might be mistaken about the whole of her news.

"You are smiling," repeated Madame Oge. "Though you stoop your head over your work, I see that you have some droll thought."

"It would be strange, certainly," replied Euphrosyne, "to see the philosophical Monsieur Pascal hoeing canes, or working at the mill. Yet I believe we may be certain that he will be a slave as soon as Toussaint, or any negro in Saint Domingo."

"Young people like to be positive," said Madame Oge to the abbess. "But it does not much matter, as they have life before them; time enough to see what is true, and what is not. Is it your doctrine, my dear young lady, that G.o.d has given over His wrath towards this island; and that it is to be happy henceforth, with the negroes for masters?"

"With the negroes for equals, I think it may be happy. But I never thought of G.o.d being wrathful towards us. I thought our miseries had arisen out of men's wrath with each other."

"If ever," said Madame Oge, in a low tone, but yet so that every word was heard--"if ever there was a place set apart by cursing--if ever there was a h.e.l.l upon this earth, it is this island. Men can tell us where paradise was--it was not here, whatever Columbus might say. The real paradise where the angels of G.o.d kept watch, and let no evil thing enter, was on the other side of the globe: and I say that this place was meant for a h.e.l.l, as that was for a heaven, upon earth. It looked like heaven to those who first came: but that was the devil's snare. It was to make l.u.s.t sweeter, and cruelty safer, that he adorned the place as he did. In a little while, it appeared like what it was. The innocent natives were corrupted; the defenceless were killed; the strong were made slaves. The plains were laid waste, and the valleys and woods were rifled. The very bees ceased to store their honey: and among the wild game there was found no young. Then came the sea-robbers, and haunted the sh.o.r.es: and many a dying wretch screamed at night among the caverns--many a murdered corpse lies buried in our sands. Then the negroes were brought in from over the sea; and from among their chains, from under the lash, grew up the hatred of races. The whites hated the mulattoes, and despised the blacks. The mulattoes hated both the whites and the blacks; and--"

"And," interposed Euphrosyne, courageously, "the blacks hated neither.

They loved where they could; and where they could not love, they forgave; and there lies the proof that this island is not h.e.l.l."

"You have proved nothing, my dear, but that you do not know what has happened, even since you were born. Any white will tell you what the negroes did, so late as the year ninety-one--how they killed their masters by inches--how they murdered infants--how they carried off ladies into the woods--"

A sign from the abbess availed to stop Madame Oge, even in the midst of a subject on which none usually dared to interrupt her. Euphrosyne, in some agitation, replied, "I am aware of all that you say: but every one allows that the most ignorant and cruel of the negroes did over again exactly what they had seen the whites do to their race. But these revengeful blacks were few, very few, in comparison with the numbers who spared their masters, helped and comforted them, and are now working on their estates--friends with all who will be friends with them. The place is not h.e.l.l where thousands of men forgot the insults of a lifetime, and bind up the wounds of their oppressors."

"I cannot doubt," said the abbess, "that ever since there was a Christian in the island, there have been angels of G.o.d at hand, to sanctify the evil which they were not commissioned to prevent. Violence is open to the day. Patience is hidden in the heart. Revenge has shouted his battle-cry at noon, while Forgiveness breathes her lowly prayer at midnight. Spirits from h.e.l.l may have raged along our high roads; but I trust that in the fiercest times, the very temper of Christ may have dwelt in a thousand homes, in a thousand nooks of our valleys and our woods."

"Besides," sister Benoite ventured to say, "our worst troubles were so long ago! For ten years now we have been under the holy rule of a devout man; and, for the most part, at peace."

"Peace!" exclaimed Madame Oge, contemptuously.

"There have been disputes among the rulers, as Father Gabriel says there are among all the rulers in the world; but he says (and no one knows better than Father Gabriel) that the body of the people have not been troubled by these disputes, and are not even aware of them."

"Does not Father Gabriel tell you that ten years are but a day in heaven and h.e.l.l? Yes, in h.e.l.l--they may be long for suffering; but they are short for revenge. The cruel master, who saw one slave faint under the lash, and let another die in the stocks, and tore the husband from the wife, and the child from the mother, might escape for the time with the destruction of his family, punished for his sake:--he might live safely in the midst of the city, for the ten years you speak of; but, let him venture out for a single day--let him but drive to his own estate and back again, and grey as his head is, he is shot in his own carriage, as soon as it is dark."

Before the abbess could antic.i.p.ate what was coming, the words were out.

Before she could make a sign, Euphrosyne had rushed from the room.

It was not long before the abbess entered the chamber of her charge.

She found her stretched on the bed, not weeping, but shuddering with horror.

"My daughter," said she, "I grieve that this trial should have come upon you already. If one could have foreseen--"

"But, madam, is it true? She meant _him_, I know. Tell me faithfully, is it true?"

"It is, my daughter."

"What, all? Every one of those things?"

"All true. Perhaps it is well that you should know it, that the departed may have the benefit of your prayers. But how differently would I have had you told!"

"Never mind that! Whatever is true, I can and will bear. I will pray for him, madam, day and night--as long as I live will I pray for him: for he was to me--Oh, madam, how he loved me! I will make reparation for him; the reparation that he would make if he could. I will find out who were the poor creatures--I will make them happy for as long as they live, for his sake. You will help me, madam?"

"I will. It is a pious intention."

"I owe him all that I can do. I ask one favour of you, madam. Let no one speak to me about him--never again. No one can understand what he was to me--what care he took of me--how he used to love me. Oh, madam, is it quite certain--are you quite sure that those things are true?"

"My child, do not give me the pain of explaining more. As you say, let this never again be spoken of.--I propose to you, Euphrosyne, to make a virtuous effort."

"Not to come down this evening, madam?"

"Yes, my child, to come down this evening. I think it of importance that Madame Oge should not discover how she has wounded you, and that nothing should occur to fix her attention on the descendant of one who was active in procuring the death of her sons. Trust me, my dear, it is worth an effort to prevent Madame Oge leaving this house your enemy."

"I do not care for it, madam. Let her hate me. She is quite welcome."

"You are thinking only of yourself, Euphrosyne. I am thinking also of her. Consider how sore a heart she carries within her. Consider how wretched her life has been made by the enmities in which she has lived.

Will you not save her one more? You have professed to pity her. Now you can show if your pity is real, by saving her from a new enmity."

"I am willing to do that: but how can I speak to her? How can we know what things she may say?"

"You shall not converse with her again. The table is spread. Go down now, and take your place at the foot, beside sister Claire. When we rise from table, I will dismiss you to your room as in course."

"I wish that time was come," sighed Euphrosyne, as she languidly arranged her hair.

The abbess stroked her pale cheek, as she said that in an hour she would be glad the effort was made.

"You can spend the evening in writing to your friend," said she; "and if you think proper to tell her that I know her secret, you may a.s.sure her of my blessing and my prayers. They are due to one who loves my dear charge as she does."

Euphrosyne's cheeks were now no longer pale.

"And may I tell her, madam, what Madame Oge has been declaring about Bonaparte and his threats?"

"It will be needless, my dear. If there be any truth in the matter, Monsieur Pascal, doubtless, knows more than Madame Oge."

"In that case there can be no harm in mentioning it."

Still the abbess thought it would be safer to say nothing about it; and Euphrosyne gave up the point for to-night, remembering that she could perhaps send a private despatch afterwards by the hands of Pierre.

During the meal, while the length of the table was between them, Euphrosyne nearly escaped the notice of Madame Oge. When it was over, and the sisters rose, while the guest and the abbess pa.s.sed out to the parlour, the abbess stopped at Euphrosyne, kissed her forehead, and commended her to her studies. Madame Oge stopped too, and put in an intercession that the young lady might be excused studying this evening, and permitted to return to her pretty fancy-work in the parlour. The colour rushed to Euphrosyne's temples--a sign of ardent hope of a holiday in Madame Oge's eyes. She therefore thought the abbess grievously strict when she replied that her charge would prefer spending the evening in her own chamber.

"As you please," said Madame Oge. "It was my wish to do the child a kindness; and perhaps to have the pleasure myself of seeing a young face for an hour or two--the rarest of all sights to me. I seldom go out; and when I do, all the young and cheerful faces seem to have hidden themselves."

The abbess regulated her invitations for the evening by this speech.

Sisters Debora and Marie, one the youngest, and the other the merriest of the family, were requested to bring their work-bags, and join the party in the parlour.

"Good evening, young lady," said Madame Oge to Euphrosyne, holding out her hand. "I hoped to have procured you a little freedom, and to have had _more_ conversation about your hero; but--"

"If there are to be great changes in the colony," observed the abbess--"it may yet be in your power, madam, to show kindness to my charge."