An Original Belle.
by E. P. Roe.
PREFACE.
No race of men, scarcely an individual, is so devoid of intelligence as not to recognize power. Few gifts are more courted. Power is almost as varied as character, and the kind of power most desired or appreciated is a good measure of character. The pre-eminence furnished by thew and muscle is most generally recognized; but, as men reach levels above the animal, other qualities take the lead.
It is seen that the immaterial spirit wins the greater triumphs,--that the brainless giant, compared with the dwarf of trained intelligence, can accomplish little. The scale runs on into the moral qualities, until at last humanity has given its sanction to the Divine words, "Whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant." The few who have successfully grasped the lever of which Archimedes dreamed are those who have attained the highest power to serve the world.
Among the myriad phases of power, perhaps that of a gifted and beautiful woman is the most subtile and hard to define. It is not the result of mere beauty, although that may be an important element; and if wit, intelligence, learning, accomplishments, and goodness are added, all combined cannot wholly explain the power that some women possess. Deeper, perhaps more potent, than all else, is an individuality which distinguishes one woman from all others, and imparts her own peculiar fascination. Of course, such words do not apply to those who are content to be commonplace themselves, and who are satisfied with the ordinary homage of ordinary minds, or the conventional attention of men who are incited to nothing better.
One of the purposes of this story is to ill.u.s.trate the power of a young girl not so beautiful or so good as many of her sisters. She was rather commonplace at first, but circ.u.mstances led her to the endeavor to be true to her own nature and conscience and to adopt a very simple scheme of life. She achieved no marvellous success, nothing beyond the ability of mult.i.tudes like herself.
I have also sought to reproduce with some color of life and reality a critical period in our civil war. The scenes and events of the story culminate practically in the summer of 1863. The novel was not written for the sake of the scenes or events. They are employed merely to ill.u.s.trate character at the time and to indicate its development.
The reader in the South must be bitter and prejudiced indeed if he does not discover that I have sought to be fair to the impulses and motives of its people.
In touching upon the Battle of Gettysburg and other historical events, I will briefly say that I have carefully consulted authentic sources of information. For the graphic suggestion of certain details I am indebted to the "History of the 124th Regt. N.Y.S.V.,"
by Col. Charles H. Weygant, to the recollections of Capt. Thomas Taft and other veterans now living.
Lieut.-Col. H. C. Hasbrouck, commandant of Cadets at West Point, has kindly read the proof of chapters relating to the battle of Gettysburgh.
My story is also related to the New York Draft Riots of 1863, an historical record not dwelt upon before in fiction to my knowledge.
It is almost impossible to impart an adequate impression of that reign of terror. I have not hoped to do this, or to give anything like a detailed and complete account of events. The scenes and incidents described, however, had their counterpart in fact. Rev.
Dr. Howard Crosby of New York saw a young man face and disperse a mob of hundreds, by stepping out upon the porch of his home and shooting the leader. This event took place late at night.
I have consulted "Sketches of the Draft Riots in 1863," by Hon. J.
T. Headley, the files of the Press of that time, and other records.
The Hon. Thomas C. Acton. Superintendent of the Metropolitan Police during the riot, accorded me a hearing, and very kindly followed the thread of my story through the stormy period in question.
E. P. R
CORNWALL-ON-HUDSON, N.Y., AUG. 7, 1885.
CHAPTER I.
A RUDE AWAKENING.
MARIAN VOSBURGH had been content with her recognized position as a leading belle. An evening spent in her drawing-room revealed that; but at the close of the particular evening which it was our privilege to select there occurred a trivial incident. She was led to think, and thought is the precursor of action and change in all natures too strong and positive to drift. On that night she was an ordinary belle, smiling, radiant, and happy in following the traditions of her past.
She had been admired as a child, as a school-girl, and given a place among the stars of the first magnitude since her formal debut.
Admiration was as essential as sunshine; or, to change the figure, she had a large and a natural and healthful appet.i.te for it. She was also quite as much ent.i.tled to it as the majority of her cla.s.s.
Thus far she had accepted life as she found it, and was in the main conventional. She was not a deliberate coquette; it was not her recognized purpose to give a heartache to as many as possible; she merely enjoyed in thoughtless exultation her power to attract young men to her side. There was keen excitement in watching them, from the moment of introduction, as they pa.s.sed through the phases of formal acquaintanceship into relations that bordered on sentiment.
When this point was reached experiences sometimes followed which caused not a little compunction.
She soon learned that society was full of men much like herself in some respects, ready to meet new faces, to use their old compliments and flirtation methods over and over again. They could look unutterable things at half a dozen different girls in the same season, while their hearts remained as invulnerable as old-fashioned pin-cushions, heart-shaped, that adorn country "spare rooms." But now and then a man endowed with a deep, strong nature would finally leave her side in troubled wonder or bitter cynicism. Her fair, young face, her violet eyes, so dark as to appear almost black at night, had given no token that she could amuse herself with feelings that touched the sources of life and death in such admirers.
"They should have known better, that I was not in earnest," she would say, petulantly, and more or less remorsefully.
But these sincere men, who had been so blind as to credit her with gentle truth and natural intuition, had some ideal of womanhood which had led to their blunder. Conscious of revealing so much themselves by look, tone, and touch of hand, eager to supplement one significant glance by life-long loyalty, they were slow in understanding that answering significant glances meant only, "I like you very well,--better than others, just at present; but then I may meet some one to-morrow who is a great deal more fun than you are."
Fun! With them it was a question of manhood, of life, and of that which gives the highest value and incentive to life. It was inevitable, therefore, that Marian Vosburgh should become a mirage to more than one man; and when at last the delusion vanished, there was usually a flinty desert to be crossed before the right, safe path was gained.
From year to year Mr. Vosburgh had rented for his summer residence a pretty cottage on the banks of the Hudson. The region abounded in natural beauty and stately homes. There was an infusion of Knickerbocker blood in the pre-eminently elect ones of society, and from these there was a gradual shading off in several directions, until by some unwritten law the social line was drawn. Strangers from the city might be received within the inner circle, or they might not, as some of the leaders practically decreed by their own action. Mr. Vosburgh did not care in the least for the circle or its const.i.tuents. He was a stern, quiet man; one of the strong executive hands of the government at a time when the vital questions of the day had come to the arbitrament of the sword. His calling involved danger, and required an iron will. The questions which chiefly occupied his mind were argued by the mouths of cannon.
As for Marian, she too cared little for the circle and its social dignitaries. She had no concessions to make, no court to pay.
She was not a dignitary, but a sovereign, and had her own court.
Gentleman friends from the city made their headquarters at a neighboring summer hotel; young men from the vicinity were attracted like moths, and the worst their aristocratic sisters could say against the girl was that she had too many male friends, and was not "of their set." Indeed, with little effort she could have won recognition from the bluest blood of the vicinage; but this was not her ambition. She cared little for the ladies of her neighborhood, and less for their ancestors, while she saw as much of the gentlemen as she desired. She had her intimates among her own s.e.x, however, and was on the best terms with her good-natured, good-hearted, but rather superficial mother, who was a discreet, yet indulgent chaperon, proud of her daughter and of the attention she received, while scarcely able to comprehend that any serious trouble could result from it if the proprieties of life were complied with.
Marian was never permitted to give that kind of encouragement which compromises a girl, and Mrs. Vosburgh felt that there her duty ceased. All that could be conveyed by the eloquent eye, the inflection of tones, and in a thousand other ways, was unnoted, and beyond her province.
The evening of our choice is an early one in June. The air is slightly chilly and damp, therefore the parlor is preferable to the vine-sheltered piazza, screened by the first tender foliage.
We can thus observe Miss Vosburgh"s deportment more closely, and take a brief note of her callers.
Mr. Lane is the first to arrive, perhaps for the reason that he is a downright suitor, who has left the city and business, in order to further the interests nearest his heart. He is a keen-eyed, strong-looking fellow, well equipped for success by knowledge of the world and society; resolute, also, in attaining his desired ends. His attentions to Marian have been unmistakable for some months, and he believes that he has received encouragement. In truth, he has been the recipient of the delusive regard that she is in the habit of bestowing. He is one whom she could scarcely fail to admire and like, so entertaining is he in conversation, and endowed with such vitality and feeling that his words are not airy nothings.
He greets her with a strong pressure of the hand, and his first glance reveals her power.
"Why, this is an agreeable surprise, Mr. Lane," she exclaims.
"Agreeable? I am very glad to hear that," he says, in his customary direct speech. "Yes, I ran up from the city this afternoon. On my way to lunch I became aware of the beauty of the day, and as my thoughts persisted in going up the river I was led to follow them.
One"s life does not consist wholly of business, you know; at least mine does not."
"Yet you have the reputation of being a busy man."
"I should hope so. What would you think of a young fellow not busy in these times?"
"I am not sure I should think at all. You give us girls too much credit for thinking."
"Oh, no; there"s no occasion for the plural. I don"t give "us girls"
anything. I am much too busy for that. But I know you think, Miss Marian, and have capacity for thought."
"Possibly you are right about the capacity. One likes to think one has brains, you know, whether she uses them or not. I don"t think very much, however,--that is, as you use the word, for it implies the putting of one"s mind on something and keeping it there. I like to let thoughts come and go as the clouds do in our June skies. I don"t mean thunder-clouds and all they signify, but light vapors that have scarcely beginning or end, and no very definite being.
I don"t seem to have time or inclination for anything else, except when I meet you with your positive ways. I think it is very kind of you to come from New York to give me a pleasant evening."
"I"m not so very disinterested. New York has become a dull place, and if I aid you to pa.s.s a pleasant evening you insure a pleasanter one for me. What have you been doing this long June day, that you have been too busy for thought?"
"Let me see. What have I been doing? What an uncomfortable question to ask a girl! You men say we are nothing but b.u.t.terflies, you know."
"I never said that of you."
"You ask a question which makes me say it virtually of myself. That is a way you keen lawyers have. Very well; I shall be an honest witness, even against myself. That I wasn"t up with the lark this morning goes without saying. The larks that I know much about are on the wing after dinner in the evening. The forenoon is a variable sort of affair with many people. Literally I suppose it ends at 12 M., but with me it is rounded off by lunch, and the time of that event depends largely upon the kitchen divinity that we can lure to this remote and desolate region. "Faix," remarked that potentate, sniffing around disdainfully the day we arrived, "does yez expects the loikes o" me to stop in this lonesomeness? We"re jist at the ind of the wourld." Mamma increased her wages, which were already double what she earns, and she still condescends to provide our daily food, giving me a forenoon which closes at her convenience.
During this indefinite period I look after my flowers and birds, sing and play a little, read a little, entertain a little, and thus reveal to you a general littleness. In the afternoon I take a nap, so that I may be wide awake enough to talk to a bright man like you in case he should appear. Now, are you not shocked and pained at my frivolous life?"
"You have come to the country for rest and recuperation, Miss Marian?"