University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.

Immediately after her arrival in Mobile,
Electra prepared to forward her despatches by
Captain Wright, whose business called him to
Richmond before his return to Cuba; and an
examination of them proved that the expedient
resorted to was perfectly successful. By
moistening the edges of the drawing-paper,
the tissue missive was drawn out uninjured,
and, to Eric's surprise, she removed the
carefully-stitched blue silk which lined the tops
of her travelling gauntlets, and extracted
similar despatches, all of which were at once
transmitted to the seat of government.
While waiting for a boat, they heard the painful
tidings of Major Huntingdon's death,
which increased Eric's impatience to reach
W—. The remainder of the journey was
sad, and four days after leaving the Gulf City
the lights of W— and roar of the Falls
simultaneously greeted the spent travellers.
Having telegraphed of his safe arrival, the
carriage was waiting at the depot, and
Andrew handed to Electra a note from his
mistress, requesting her to come at once to her
house, instead of going to the hotel. Eric
added earnest persuasion, and, with some reluctance,
the artist finally consented. They
were prepared for the silent, solemn aspect
of the house, and for the mourning-dress of the
orphan; but not for the profound calm, the
melancholy, tearless composure with which
she received them. Mental and physical
suffering had sadly changed her. The oval
face was thinner, and her form had lost its
roundness, but the countenance retained its
singular loveliness, and the mesmeric splendor
of the large eyes seemed enhanced. Of her
father she did not speak, but gave her uncle a
written statement of all the facts which she
had been able to gather concerning the circumstances
of his death; and thus a tacit compact
was formed to make no reference to the
painful subject.

As she accompanied Electra to the room
prepared for her, on the night of her arrival,
the latter asked, with ill-concealed emotion:

“Irene, can you tell me anything about
Russell? I am very anxious to hear something
of him.”

Irene placed the silver lamp on the table,
and, standing in its glow, answered, quietly:

“He was wounded in the arm at Manassa,
but retains command of his regiment, and is
doing very well. Dr. Arnold is the regimental
surgeon, and in one of his letters to me he
mentioned that your cousin's wound was not
serious.”

“I am going to him immediately.”

“Unfortunately, you will not be allowed to
do so. The wounded were removed to Richmond
as promptly as possible, but your cousin
remained at Manassa, where ladies are not
permitted.”

“Then I will write to him to meet me in
Richmond.”

Irene made no reply, and, watching her all
the while, Electra asked:

“When did you see him last? How did he
look?”

“The day before he started to Richmond.
He was very well, I believe, but looked
harassed and paler than usual. He is so robust,
however, that I think you need entertain
no apprehension concerning his health.”

The inflexible features, the low, clear, firm
voice were puzzling, and Electra's brow
thickened and darkened as she thought:

“Her father is dead now; there is no obstacle
remaining. She must love him, and yet
she gives no sign of interest.”

“Good-night, Electra; I hope you will sleep
well after your fatiguing journey. Do not
get up early. I will send your breakfast
to your room, whenever you wish it.”

She turned away, but the artist stepped before
her and caught up both her hands.

“Oh, Irene! it grieves me to see you looking
so. Talk to me about your great pent-up
sorrows, and it will relieve you.”

“My sorrows cannot be talked away.

Graves never give back their dead. Good-night,
my dear Electra.”

Electra looked at her sadly, wistfully; and,
suddenly throwing her arms about the queenly
figure, kissed her white cold cheek. Irene
returned the caress, withdrew from the
embrace, and passed to her own room.

Jealous women are rarely generous toward
their rivals, and Electra's exacting, moody
character rendered it peculiarly difficult for
her to stifle her feelings. She would most
certainly have cordially hated any other woman
who stood between her and her cousin's
heart; but before the nobility, the loftiness,
the cool purity of Irene's soul, her own restless
spirit bowed down with emotions nearly
akin to adoration. The solemn serenity of
that pale brow awed and soothed the fevered,
tumultuous nature of the artist; and she had
schooled herself to look upon her as Russell's
future wife—with a pang of pain, it is true, but
certainly with no touch of bitterness. She
could endure that he should love so devotedly
one who ministered at the shrine of Christian
charity, and whose hands threw down, wherever
she moved, the blessed largess of peace,
contentment, and plenty. They stood in
strange relationship, these two women. One
ignorant of the absorbing love of the other for
the man to whom she had given her heart
long years ago; and that other conscious of
an undying affection, which she silently
inurned in her own bosom.

Two days later, they sat together before one
of the parlor windows. Electra was engaged
in tearing off and rolling bandages, while
Irene slowly scraped lint from a quantity of
old linen, which filled a basket at her side.
Neither had spoken for some time; the sadness
of their occupation called up gloomy thoughts;
but finally Electra laid down a roll of cloth,
and, interlacing her slight fingers, said:

“Irene, as you sit there you remind me of
the `Cameo Bracelet.' You have seen it, of
course?”

“Yes; it is one of the finest imaginative
creations I have ever read; and I can not
divest myself of the apprehension that it adumbrates
the fate of New Orleans.”

Electra watched the motion of her companion's
fingers, and in a rich, musical voice repeated
the words, beginning:

“Irene, the women of the South must exereise
an important influence in determining
our national destiny; and because I felt this so
fully, I hurried home to share the perils, and
privations, and trials of my countrywomen. It
seems to me that no true son or daughter can
linger in Europe now, with the broad ocean
surging between them and the bloody soil of
their native land. It is not my privilege to
enter the army, and wield a sword or musket;
but I am going to true womanly work—into
the crowded hospitals, to watch faithfully over
sick and wounded.”

“I approve your plan, think it your duty,
and wish that I could start to Richmond with
you to-morrow—for I believe that in this way
we may save valuable lives. You should, as
you have said, go on at once; you have nothing
to keep you; your work is waiting for you
there. But my position is different; I have
many things to arrange here before I can join
you. I want to see the looms at work on the
plantation; and am going down next week
with uncle Eric, to consult with the overseer
about several changes which I desire made
concerning the negroes. When all this is accomplished,
I, too, shall come into the hospitals.”

“About what time may I expect you?”

“Not until you see me; but at the earliest
practicable day.”

“Your uncle objects very strenuously to
such a plan, does he not?”

“He will acquiesce at the proper time.
Take care! you are making your bandages too
wide.”

“A long dark vista stretches before the
Confederacy. I can not, like many persons,
feel sanguine of a speedy termination of the
war.”

“Yes—a vista lined with the bloody graves
of her best sons; but beyond glimmers Freedom—Independence.
In that light we shall
walk without stumbling. Deprived of liberty
we can not exist, and its price was fixed when
the foundations of time were laid. I believe
the termination of the war to be contingent
only on the method of its prosecution. Agathocles,
with thirteen thousand men, established
a brilliant precedent, which Scipio followed so
successfully in the second Punic war; and
when our own able generals are permitted to
emulate those illustrious leaders of antiquity,
then, and I fear not until then, shall we be
able to dictate terms of peace.”

“Your devotion, then, is unshaken, even by
your sorrows.”

“Unshaken! Does the precious blood of a
sacrifice unsettle the holy foundations of the
altar?”

“But, Irene, if you could have foreseen all
that Secession has cost you?”

The mourner raised her eyes from the snowy
heap of lint, and answered, with impressive
earnestness and pathos:

“Could I have foreseen the spirit which
actuates the North—the diabolical hate and
fiendishness which its people have manifested—
and had I known that resistance would have
cost the lives of all in the Confederacy, I
should have urged Secession as the only door
of escape from political bondage. Rather
would I have men, women, and children fill
one wide, common grave, than live in subjection

to, or connection with, a people so depraved,
unscrupulous, and Godless. Electra,
national, like individual life, which is not noble,
free, and honorable, is not worth the living.
A people who can survive their liberty,
are beneath contempt; and to-day, desolate
though I am, I would sooner take my place by
my father's side, than recall him to live a subject
of the despotic government at Washington.
Even when I believed the friendly professions
of thousands at the North—when I
believed in the existence of a powerful constitutional
and conservative party—I was, from
the beginning, a Secessionist; and now that
the mask of political cant is stripped from
them, I am more than ever convinced of the
correctness of my views, and the absolute necessity
of the step we took. The ultimate
result can never affect the question of the
right and propriety of Secession, though it
may demonstrate the deplorable consequences
of our procrastination. In attestation of the
necessity of separation, stand the countless
graves of our dear and gallant dead. I look
to a just God to avenge them, and deliver us.”

“But do you still cling to a belief in the
possibility of Republican forms of government?
This is a question which constantly disquiets
me.”

“My faith in that possibility is unshaken.
Entire self-abnegation I certainly expected,
hoped for, on the part of our people; and I
still feel assured that the great masses are
capable of patriotism as sublime as the world
ever witnessed, and that our noble armies have
had no equal in the history of our race.
Nevertheless, it is apparent to those who
ponder the aspect of public affairs that demagogism
crawls along its customary sinuous
path, with serpent-eyes fastened on self-aggrandizement.
The pure ore of our country
will be found in the ranks of our armies; and
the few scheming politicians, plotting for
position, for offices of emolument in civil or
military departments, will prove the dross in
the revolutionary crucible. I have no apprehension
for our future as long as demagogism
and nepotism can be kept down; for out of
these grow innumerable evils—not the least of
which is the intrusting of important posts to
the hands of men who have none of the requisites,
save their relationship to, or possession
of, the favor of those in authority. If the
nation will but mark the unworthy sons whose
grasping, selfish ambition will not even be restrained
in hours of direst peril to the cause,
and brand them with Mene, Mene, we shall
yet teach the world that self-government is
feasible.”

“But in Europe, where the subject is eagerly
canvassed, the impression obtains that, in the
great fundamental principle of our government,
will be found the germ of its dissolution.
This war is waged to establish the right of
Secession, and the doctrine that `all just gov
ernments rest on the consent of the governed.'
With such a precedent, it would be worse
than stultification to object to the secession of
any state or states now constituting the Confederacy,
who at a future day may choose to
withdraw from the present compact. Granting
our independence, which Europe regards
as a foregone conclusion, what assurance have
you (say they, gloating, in anticipation, over
the prospect) that, so soon as the common
dangers of war, which for a time cemented
you so closely, are over, entire disintegration
will not ensue, and all your boasts end in some
dozen anarchical pseudo-republies, like those of
South America and Mexico? Irene, I confess
I have a haunting horror of the influence
of demagogues on our future. You know Sir
Robert Walpole once said: `Patriots are very
easily raised. You have but to refuse an unreasonable
request, and up springs a patriot.'
I am afraid that disappointed politicians will
sow seeds of dissension among us.”

“That is an evil which our legislators must
guard against, by timely provision. We are
now, thank God! a thoroughly homogeneous
people, with no antagonistic systems of labor,
necessitating conflicting interests. As states,
we are completely identified in commerce and
agriculture, and no differences need arise.
Purified from all connection with the North,
and with no vestige of the mischievous element
of New England Puritanism, which, like
other poisonous Mycelium, springs up pertinaciously
where even a shred is permitted, we can
be a prosperous and noble people. Rather
than witness our national corruption through
the thousand influences which have so often
degraded people of vast wealth, I would gladly
welcome the iron currency and frugal public
tables of Lycurgus. One possible source of
evil has occurred to me. Unless our planters
everywhere become good agricultural chemists,
and by a moderate outlay renew their lands
every year, the planting interest will gradually
drift westward, in pursuit of fresh fertile fields,
and thus leave such of the more eastern states
as possess great advantages in the water line
to engage in manufactures of various kinds.
That negro labor is by no means so profitable
in factory as field, seems well established; and
if this condition of affairs is allowed and encouraged,
contrariety of interests will soon
show itself, and demagogues will climb into
place by clamoring for `protection.' Heaven
preserve us from following the example of
New England and Pennsylvania! But if free-trade
is declared, and our ports are thrown
open to all the markets of the world, except
Lincolndom, the evil will be arrested. True,
Europe has no love for the Confederacy, and
we certainly have as little for trans-Atlantic
nations—but the rigid laws of political economy
forge links of amity. If our existence as a
Republic depends upon the perpetuity of the
institution of slavery, then, it seems to me, that

the aim of our legislators should be to render
us par excellence an agricultural people—and,
with the exception of great national arsenals
and workshops, to discourage home manufactories.
I hope, too, for an amendment of our
constitution, which shall render the members
of the cabinet, and all our foreign ministers,
subject entirely to the appointment of Congress,
and the tenure of the latter class of
officials for life or good behavior, instead of
being selected by the President, as heretofore,
for four or six years. To the disgraceful hunt
for office is to be attributed much of the
acrimony of party feeling which characterizes
presidential campaigns. When our Presidents
are selected and supported solely for their intrinsic
ability and nobility of soul, instead of
for the places they will confer on their party,
we shall begin to seek out our Cincinnatus and
Aratus, and the premium for demagogism
will be lost. But we have statesmen among
us who must see all these evils, and doubtless
they will arrest them in time. We are paying
too high a price for our freedom to have it
stolen from us in future by unscrupulous
political gamesters, who would sacrifice a valuable
principle of government in order to
secure a foreign appointment.”

“I can not avoid feeling sceptical of the
public virtue, when seasons of prosperity and
great wealth succeed these years of trial; and
of late, in casting the horoscope of our young
Confederacy, I have frequently recalled that
fine passage in Montagu's `Reflections on the
Rise and Fall of Republics:' `Greece, once the
nurse of arts and sciences, the fruitful mother
of philosophers, law-givers, and heroes, now
lies prostrate under the iron yoke of ignorance
and barbarism..... Carthage, once
the mighty sovereign of the ocean, and the
centre of universal commerce, which poured
the riches of all nations into her lap, now
puzzles the inquisitive traveller in his researches
after even the vestiges of her ruins.
.... And Rome, the mistress of the
universe, which once contained whatever was
esteemed great or brilliant in human nature,
is now sunk into the ignoble seat of whatever
is esteemed mean and infamous.....
Should Faction again predominate and succeed
in its destructive views, and the dastardly
maxims of luxury and effeminacy universally
prevail amongst us,.... such, too, will
be the fate of Britain;' and I may add of the
Confederacy—for where are the safeguards of
its public purity?”

Electra had finished the bandages, and was
walking slowly before the windows, and, without
looking up from the lint, which she was
tying into small packages, Irene answered:

“The safeguards will be found in the mothers,
wives, and sisters of our land.”

“Ah! but their hands are tied; and they
walk but a short, narrow path, from hearth-stone
to threshold, and back again. They
have, I know, every inclination to exert a restraining
influence, but no power to utilize it.
Sometimes I almost fear that the fabled Norse
Ragnarök is darkening over this continent.
The monsters, Midgard-Serpent, Fenris, and
all, have certainly been unloosed at the
North.”

“Electra, though we are very properly debarred
from the `tented-field,' I have entire
confidence that the cause of our country may
be advanced, and its good promoted, through
the agency, of its daughters; for, out of the
dim historic past come words of encouragement.
Have you forgotten that, when Sparta
forsook the stern and sublime simplicity of her
ancient manners, King Agis found himself
unable to accomplish his scheme of redeeming
his degenerate country from avarice and corruption,
until the ladies of Sparta gave their
consent and support to the plan of reform?
Southern women have no desire to usurp legislative
reins; their appropriate work consists
in moulding the manners and morals of the
nation; in checking the wild excesses of fashionable
life, and the dangerous spirit of extravagance;
of reckless expenditure in dress,
furniture, and equipage, which threatened ruinous
results before the declaration of hostilities.
Noble wives, who properly appreciate
the responsibility of their position, should
sternly rebuke and frown down the disgraceful
idea, which seems to be gaining ground
and favor in our cities, that married women
may, with impunity, seek attentions and admiration
abroad. Married belles and married
beaux are not harmless, nor should they be
tolerated in really good society. Women who
so far forget their duties to their homes and
husbands, and the respect due to public opinion,
as to habitually seek for happiness in the
mad whirl of so-called fashionable life, ignoring
household obligations, should be driven
from well-bred, refined circles, to hide their
degradation at the firesides they have disgraced.
That wives should constantly endeavor
to cultivate social graces, and render themselves
as fascinating as possible, I hold their
sacred duty; but beauty should be preserved,
and accomplishments perfected, to bind their
husband's hearts more closely, to make their
homes attractive, instead of being constantly
paraded before the world for the unholy purpose
of securing the attentions and adulation
of other gentlemen. I do not desire to see
married women recluses; on the contrary, I
believe that society has imperative claims upon
them, which should be promptly met, and
faithfully and gracefully discharged. But
those degraded wives, who are never seen with
their husbands when they can avoid it—who
are never happy unless riding or walking with
strangers, or receiving their attentions at theatres,
concerts, or parties—are a disgrace to the
nation, which they are gradually demoralizing
and corrupting. From the influence of these

few deluded weak libels on our sex, may God
preserve our age and country! They are utterly
unworthy the noble work which calls
loudly to every true Southern woman. Statesmen
are trained up around the mother's arm-chair,
and she can imbue the boy with lofty
sentiments, and inspire him with aims which,
years hence, shall lead him in congressional
halls to adhere to principles, to advance the
Truth — though, thereby, votes for the next
election fall away, like stricken leaves in
autumn. What time has the married belle for
this holy hearthstone mission? The conscientious,
devoted, and patriotic Christian women
of a nation are the safeguards of its liberties
and purity.”

“All perfectly true, and very encouraging
in the abstract; but, Irene, how many women
do you suppose sit down and ponder their individual
responsibility?”

“Electra, my friend, are you sure that you
do? Your profession will give you vast influence
in forming public taste, and I hope much
from its judicious use. Be careful that you
select only the highest, purest types to offer
to your countrymen and women, when Peace
enables us to turn our attention to the great
work of building up a noble school of Southern
Art. We want no feeble, sickly sentimentality,
nor yet the sombre austerity which seems to
pervade your mind, judging from the works
you have shown me.”

A slight quiver crossed the mobile features
of the artist as she bit her full lip, and asked:

“What would you pronounce the distinguishing
characteristic of my works? I saw,
yesterday, that you were not fully satisfied.”

“A morbid melancholy, which you seem to
have fostered tenderly, instead of crushing
vigorously. A disposition to dwell upon the
stern and gloomy aspects of the physical
world, and to intensify and reproduce abnormal
and unhappy phases of character. Your
breezy, sunshiny, joyous moods you have kept
under lock and key while in your studio.”

“You are right; but I merely dipped my
brush in the colors of my own life, and if my
work is gray, and sad, and shadowy, it is no
fault of mine. One who sits at her easel,
listening ever to

should be pardoned if her canvas glows not
with gala occasions, and radiant faces that
have never looked beyond the glittering confines
of Aladdin's palace. Remember, the
`lines' did not fall to me `in pleasant places,'
and it is not strange that I sometimes paint
desert, barren scenes, without grapes of Eshcol
or Tokay. Irene,

“I admit the truth of your criticism, and I
have struggled against the spirit which hovers
with clouding wings over all that I do; but
the shadow has not lifted—God knows whether
it ever will. Do you recollect, among those
fine illustrations of Poe's works which we examined
yesterday, the dim spectral head and
sable pinions brooding mournfully over `The
City in the Sea?' Ah! its darkening counterpart
flits over me. You have finished your
work; come to my room for a few minutes.”

They went up stairs together; and as Electra
unlocked and bent over a large square
trunk, her companion noticed a peculiar curl
about the lines of the mouth, and a heavy
scowl on the broad brow.

“I want to show you the only bright, shining
face I ever painted.”

She unwrapped an oval portrait, placed it
on the mantle-piece, and, stepping back, fixed
her gaze on Irene. She saw a tremor cross
the quiet mouth, and for some seconds the sad
eyes dwelt upon the picture as if fascinated.

“It must have been a magnificent portrait
of your cousin, years ago; but he has changed
materially since it was painted. He looks
much older, sterner, now.”

“Would you have recognized it under any
circumstances?”

“Yes—anywhere; if I had stumbled over
it in the dusty crypts of Luxor, or the icy
wastes of Siberia. I have never seen but one
head that resembled that, or eyes that were
in any degree comparable.”

“Irene, I value this portrait above everything
else save the original; and, as I may be
called to pass through various perils, I want
you to take care of it for me until I come
back to W —. It is a precious trust,
which I would be willing to leave in no hands
but yours.”

“You forget that, before long, I, too, shall
go to Virginia.”

“Then pack it away carefully among your
old family pictures, where it will be secure. I
left my large and best paintings in Italy, with
aunt Ruth, who promised to preserve and
send them to me as soon as the blockade
should be raised.”

“What are Mr. Young's views concerning
this war?”

“He utterly abhors the party who inaugurated
it, and the principles upon which it
is waged. Says he will not return to America,
at least for the present; and as soon as
he can convert his property into money, intends
to move to the South. He opposed and
regretted Secession until he saw the spirit of
the Lincoln dynasty, and from that time he
acknowledged that all hope of Union or reconstruction
was lost. Have you heard anything
from Harvey since the troubles began?”

“It is more than a year since I received a
line from him. He was then still in the West,

but made no allusion to the condition of the
country.”

“Irene, I hope to see Russell soon. You
were once dear friends; have you any message
for him — any word of kind remembrance?”

One of Irene's hands glided to her side, but
she answered, composedly:

“He knows that he always has my best
wishes; but will expect no message.”

On the following day Electra started to
Richmond, taking with her a large supply of
hospital stores, which the ladies of W —
had contributed.

Eric had proposed to his niece the expediency
of selling the Hill, and becoming an
inmate of his snug, tasteful, bachelor home; but
she firmly refused to consent to this plan;
said that she would spend her life in the house
of her birth; and it was finally arranged that
her uncle should reserve such of the furniture
as he valued particularly, and offer the residue
for sale, with the pretty cottage, to which he
was warmly attached. During the remainder
of autumn Irene was constantly engaged in
superintending work for the soldiers, in providing
for several poor families in whom she
was much interested, and in frequent visits to
the plantation, where she found more than
enough to occupy her mind; and Eric often
wondered at the admirable system and punctuality
she displayed—at the grave composure
with which she discharged her daily duties,
and the invariable reticence she observed
with regard to her past life.