The Belle of Bowling Green
remembered the hour, though Leonard was charming, and the tale he was
telling her, wonderful. “But then,” she said, “mother is expecting us,
and those at home must not be disappointed; for if there is anything
grandmother likes, it is to watch the dance.” So they went back to the
Bloommaert house and found all ready and waiting for the cotillion.
Upstairs with fleetest steps went the merry maidens, returning in less
than ten minutes without their spencers, and with feet shod in satin
sandals. The fiddles were twanging, and the prompter already advising
gentlemen to choose their partners. Then the room became a living joy.
The hearts of all beat with the twinkling steps of the dancers, and
every one seized a measure of fleeting bliss, and for a breathing space
in life forgot that they would ever grow weary or ever have to part.
Madame sat in her son’s chair, flushed and smiling, her eyes wandering
between her granddaughters. They were certainly the most beautiful women
in the room, and when the judge came quietly to her side about ten
o’clock she said to him: “Look once at Annette; at her feet are half the
men; and as for Sapphira, I know not what to make of her--all of the men
are her lovers, but some one was telling me it is Leonard Murray only
that pleases her. I take leave to say they are a handsome couple,
Gerardus.”
Involuntarily he followed his mother’s direction, and was forced to
admit the truth of her remark. But it gave him an angry pain to do so,
while the young man’s expression of rapturous satisfaction provoked him
beyond words. He had Sapphira’s hand, they were treading a measure--not
so much to the music of the violins as to the music in their own hearts.
They had forgotten the limitations of life, they were in some rarer and
diviner atmosphere. Step to step, with clasped hands, and eyes beaming
into each other’s face, they glided past him as if they were immortals
moving to spheral music.
But beautiful as this vision of primal joy was, it roused no response in
Judge Bloommaert’s heart, and after a few words with madame he slipped
away to the quiet of his room. He was wakeful and restless, and he
lifted the papers in a case which had some personal interest for him,
and soon became absorbed in their details. Yet he was aware of that
inevitable decrease of mirth which follows its climax, and not
ill-pleased to hear the breaking up of the gathering. The chattering of
the girls resuming their spencers and walking shoes made him lay down
his papers and go to the open window, and so he watched the dissolution
of happiness; for the company parted, even at his own door, into small
groups, some merely crossing to the other side of the Green, others
going to Wall, State, Cedar, and Nassau streets. The later party seemed
the larger contingent, and he heard the men of it, as they passed
northward, begin to sing, “We be Three Poor Mariners.” Christopher’s
voice rang out musically cheerful, and the father’s heart swelled with
love and pride, as he said tenderly, “God bless the boy.” The prayer was
an exorcism; anger and all evil fled at the words of blessing, so that
when Mrs. Bloommaert, flushed and weary, came to him he was able to meet
her with the sympathy she needed.
“Gerardus, my dear one,” she said, “Chris bade me good-bye; I am sure of
it. He laid his cheek against mine and whispered, ‘A short farewell,
mother!’ and all I could say was ‘God bless you, Chris!’”
“It was enough.”
“When does he sail?”
“About four o’clock in the morning. He will go out on the tide-top,
then.”
“Where is he going?”
“To the Connecticut coast first, for supplies; easier got there than
here; afterwards he goes nobody knows where, but as the Domine said last
Sunday, he can’t go where God is not.”
“In that I trust. Did you notice the blue ribbon in his jacket?”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“He seemed very fond of Mary to-night. I could not help seeing his
devotion. Mother noticed it, also.”
“What did mother say?”
“She said Mary was a good girl, of good stock, but she had not a dollar.
I said, ‘love was everything in marriage, and that money did not much
matter.’”
“Hum--m--! It does no harm.”
Then there was a short silence; madame was removing her lace cap and
collar, and the judge putting away his papers. Both were thinking of the
same thing, and neither of them cared to introduce the subject. But the
judge’s patience was the better trained, and he calmly waited for the
question he was sure would not be long delayed.
She rose as she asked it, went to her dressing table, and began to open
her jewel box. “Did you notice Sapphira and Leonard Murray dancing? I
thought I saw you watching them.”
“Yes, I saw them, and to tell you just what I thought of the exhibition
would only pain you, Carlita. Don’t ask me.”
“I am sure I don’t know why I am not to ask you; every one was charmed
with their grace. Even the elegant Mr. Washington Irving said their
movements were ‘the poetry of motion.’ I thought it a very fine remark.”
“Well, I suppose Mr. Washington Irving knows all about the poetry of
motion. But if you will believe me, Carlita, there are some Dutchman in
New York who do not worship Mr. Washington Irving.”
Then there was another silence, and this time the judge broke it.
“Carlita,” he said, “what are you going all around the square to ask me?
Speak out, wife.”
“Well, Gerardus, any one can see that Leonard Murray is in love with
Sapphira, and that Sapphira is not indifferent to him. I want to ask you
if this marriage would be suitable, because if you are against it, their
intimacy ought to be checked at once.”
“How are you going to check it? Tell me that. We cannot shut her up in
her room and set a watch over her, nor can we pack her off to Hong Kong
or Timbuctoo--out of his way.”
“Then you are against it?”
“Yes.”
“But what for?”
“I am not ready to give you my reasons.”
“I cannot imagine what they may be. Leonard is rich.”
“Very. Colonel Rutgers told me his estate in land and houses and ready
cash might be worth seven hundred thousand dollars. But, as you reminded
me in regard to Mary Selwyn, money in matrimony does not much matter.”
“I don’t think it is as important as love; though, as you said, money
does no harm to matrimony. But it is not only money, with Leonard. He is
of good family.”
“His great-grandfather was a Highland Scot, and James Murray, his
father, cared for nothing but money. It was a bit of land here, and a
dollar or two there--a hard man, both to friend and foe. I never liked
him. We came to words often, and to blows once--that was about you,
Carlita.”
“You had no need to quarrel about me. From the first to last it has been
you, Gerardus; you, and only you.”
“Yet after we were engaged, James Murray asked you to marry him. No
honourable man would have done such a thing.”
“Have you not forgotten? The man is dead. Let his faults be left in
silence.”
“I do not like to see you so partial to his son.”
“The son is his mother’s son. He has qualities the very opposite of his
father’s. James Murray was a bigot and a miser. Leonard has the broadest
and most tolerant views.”
“There, you have said plenty. If there is any man not to be trusted, it
is this broad, tolerant fellow. You remember Herman Strauss? He is that
kind of character, brought up in the Middle Dutch Church, he married an
Episcopalian, and without difficulty--being so broad--he went with her
to Trinity. He praised the Democrats--Clintonian and Madisonian
both--and yet he called himself a Federalist--thought that both were
right in some ways. But like all men of this uncertain calibre, he had
one or two trifling opinions, of no consequence whatever, either to
himself or others, for whose sake he would lose money and friends, and
even risk his life. It was only a question as to the brand of wine Mr.
Jefferson drank, that made him insult Colonel Wilde, and in consequence
fight a duel which has left him a cripple for life. So much for your man
of wide sympathies and broad views! I like a man who has positive
opinions and sticks to them. Yes, sticks to them, right or wrong! A man
who sticks to his opinions will stick to his friends and his family.
Good in everything! Good in every one! _Nonsense!_ Such ideas lead to
nowhere, and to nothing. The man that holds them I do not want to marry
my daughter.”
“Mrs. Clark says Leonard’s moral character is beautiful.”
“Mrs. Clark has known him about four days. And pray, what does Mrs.
Clark, or you, or any other woman know about a man’s moral character?
Leonard Murray’s ancestors have been for centuries restless,
quarrelsome, fighting Highlandmen. He is not twenty-two yet, and he has
been as far west and south as he could get, and only came home because
there was likely to be some fighting on hand.”
“But then, Gerardus--what have you behind you?”
“Centuries full of God-fearing Dutchmen--honest traders and peaceable
burghers and scholarly domines.”
“Oh, yes, and _Beggars of the Sea_, and men who fought with De Ruyter
and Tromp, and wandered to the ends of the earth with Van Heemskirk for
adventures, and came with the Englishman, Henry Hudson, here itself, and
did a little good business with the poor Indians. And Gerardus, look at
your own sons--Christopher is never at home but when he is at sea. He is
happier in a ship than a house, and also he likes the ship to carry
cutlasses and cannon. As for Peter, you know as well as I do that if he
were not building ships he would be sailing them. He loves a ship better
than a wife. He knows all about every ship he ever built--her length and
breadth and speed, how much sail she can carry, how many men she
requires to manage her, and he calls them by their names as if they were
flesh and blood. Does Peter ever go to see a woman? No; he goes to see
some ship or other. Now then, what influence have your honest traders
and peaceable burghers had on your sons?”
“My dear Carlita, don’t you see you are running away with yourself? You
are preaching for my side, instead of your own. Chris and Peter are
results, so is Leonard Murray. You can’t put nature to the door,
Carlita. Nature is more than nurture; all that our home and education
and trading surroundings could do for boys, was done for Peter and
Chris; but nature was ahead of us--she had put into them the wandering
salt drops of adventure that stirred ‘The Beggars,’ and Tromp, and Van
Heemskirk. I tell you truly, Carlita, that the breed is more than the
pasture. As you know, the cuckoo lays her eggs in any bird’s nest; it
may be hatched among blackbirds or robins or thrushes, but it is always
a cuckoo. And so we came back to my first position, that a man cannot
deliver himself from his ancestors.”
“I do not care, Gerardus, about ancestors; I look at Leonard just as he
is to-day. And I wish you would tell me plainly what to do. Or will you,
yourself, let Leonard know your mind on this subject? Perhaps that would
be best.”
“How can I speak to him? Can I refuse Sapphira until he asks for her?
Can I go to him and say, ‘Sir, I see that you admire my daughter, and I
do not intend to let you marry her.’ That would be offering Sapphira and
myself for insult, and I could not complain if I got what I asked for.”
“Is there anything I can do, seeing that you object so strongly to
Leonard?”
“Yes, you can tell Sapphira how much I feel about such an alliance; you
can show her the path of obedience and duty; and I expect you to do this
much. I did not like mother’s attitude about him at all, and I shall
speak to her myself. Sapphira must be made to feel that Leonard Murray
is impossible.”
“Well, Gerardus, I will speak to the poor little one. Oh, I am so sorry
for her--she will feel it every way so much; but some fathers don’t