University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
THE TROUBADOUR.

About five o'clock in the evening, Nina and Anne amused
themselves with setting a fancy tea-table on the veranda.
Nina had gathered a quantity of the leaves of the live oak,
which she possessed a particular faculty of plaiting in long,
flat wreaths, and with these she garlanded the social round
table, after it had been draped in its snowy damask, while
Anne was busy arranging fruit in dishes with vine-leaves.

“Lettice will be in despair, to-night,” said Anne, looking
up, and smiling at a neatly-dressed brown mulatto girl,
who stood looking on with large, lustrous eyes; “her occupation
's gone!”

“O, Lettice must allow me to show my accomplishments,”
said Nina. “There are some household arts that
I have quite a talent for. If I had lived in what-'s-its-name,
there, that they used to tell about in old times — Arcadia —
I should have made a good housekeeper; for nothing suits
me better than making wreaths, and arranging bouquets.
My nature is dressy. I want to dress everything. I want
to dress tables, and dress vases, and adorn dishes, and dress
handsome women, Anne! So look out for yourself, for
when I have done crowning the table, I shall crown you!”

As Nina talked, she was flitting hither and thither, taking
up and laying down flowers and leaves, shaking out long
sprays, and fluttering from place to place, like a bird.

“It 's a pity,” said Anne, “that life can't be all Arcadia!”

“O, yes!” said Nina. “When I was a child, I remember

there was an old torn translation of a book called Gesner's
Idyls, that used to lie about the house; and I used to
read in it most charming little stories about handsome shepherds,
dressed in white, playing on silver and ivory flutes;
and shepherdesses, with azure mantles and floating hair;
and people living on such delightful things as cool curds and
milk, and grapes, and strawberries, and peaches; and there
was no labor, and no trouble, and no dirt, and no care.
Everybody lived like the flowers and the birds, — growing,
and singing, and being beautiful. Ah, dear, I have never
got over wanting it since! Why could n't it be so?”

“It 's a thousand pities!” said Anne. “But what constant
fight we have to maintain for order and beauty!”

“Yes,” said Nina; “and, what seems worse, beauty itself
becomes dirt in a day. Now, these roses that we are
arranging, to-morrow or next day we shall call them litter,
and wish somebody would sweep them out of the way.
But I never want to be the one to do that. I want some
one to carry away the withered flowers, and wash the soiled
vases; but I want to be the one to cut the fresh roses every
day. If I were in an association, I should take that for my
part. I 'd arrange all their flowers through the establishment,
but I should stipulate expressly that I should do no
clearing up.”

“Well,” said Anne, “it 's really a mystery to me what a
constant downward tendency there is to everything — how
everything is gravitating back, as you may say, into disorder.
Now, I think a cleanly, sweet, tasteful house — and,
above all, table — are among the highest works of art. And
yet, how everything attacks you when you set out to attain
it — flies, cockroaches, ants, mosquitos! And, then, it seems
to be the fate of all human beings, that they are constantly
wearing out and disarranging and destroying all that is
about them.”

“Yes,” said Nina, “I could n't help thinking of that
when we were at the camp-meeting. The first day, I was
perfectly charmed. Everything was so fresh, so cool, so

dewy and sweet; but, by the end of the second day, they
had thrown egg-shells, and pea-pods, and melon-rinds, and
all sorts of abominations, around among the tents, and it
was really shocking to contemplate.”

“How disgusting!” said Anne.

“Now, I 'm one of that sort,” said Nina, “that love order
dearly, but don't want the trouble of it myself. My prime
minister, Aunt Katy, thanks to mamma, is an excellent hand
to keep it, and I encourage her in it with all my heart; so
that any part of the house where I don't go much is in
beautiful order. But, bless me, I should have to be made
over again before I could do like Aunt Nesbit! Did you
ever see her take a pair of gloves or a collar out of a drawer?
She gets up, and walks so moderately across the room, takes
the key from under the napkin on the right-hand side of the
bureau, and unlocks the drawer, as gravely as though she
was going to offer a sacrifice. Then, if her gloves are the
back side, underneath something else, she takes out one
thing after another, so moderately; and then, when the
gloves or collar are found, lays everything back exactly
where it was before, locks the drawer, and puts the key
back under the towel. And all this she 'd do if anybody
was dying, and she had to go for the doctor! The consequence
is, that her room, her drawers, and everything, are
a standing sermon to me. But I think I 've got to be a
much calmer person than I am, before this will come to
pass in my case. I 'm always in such a breeze and flutter!
I fly to my drawer, and scatter things into little whirlwinds;
ribbons, scarf, flowers — everything flies out in a perfect
rainbow. It seems as if I should die if I did n't get the
thing I wanted that minute; and, after two or three such
attacks on a drawer, then comes repentance, and a long
time of rolling up and arranging, and talking to little
naughty Nina, who always promises herself to keep better
order in future. But, my dear, she does n't do it, I 'm sorry
to say, as yet, though perhaps there are hopes of her in
future. Tell me, Anne, — you are not stiff and `poky,' and

yet you seem to be endowed with the gift of order. How
did it come about?”

“It was not natural to me, I assure you,” said Anne.
“It was a second nature, drilled into me by mamma.”

“Mamma! ah, indeed!” said Nina, giving a sigh.
“Then you are very happy! But, come, now, Lettice, I 've
done with all these; take them away. My tea-table has
risen out of them like the world out of chaos,” she said, as
she swept together a heap of rejected vines, leaves, and
flowers. “Ah! I always have a repenting turn, when I 've
done arranging vases, to think I 've picked so many more
than were necessary! The poor flowers droop their leaves,
and look at me reproachfully, as if they said, `You did n't
want us — why could n't you have left us alone?'”

“O,” said Anne, “Lettice will relieve you of that. She
has great talents in the floral line, and out of these she will
arrange quantities of bouquets,” she said, as Lettice, blushing
perceptibly through her brown skin, stooped and swept
up the rejected flowers into her apron.

“What have we here?” said Anne, as Dulcimer, attired
with most unusual care, came bowing up the steps, presenting
a note on a waiter. “Dear me, how stylish! gilt-edged
paper, smelling of myrrh and ambergris!” she continued,
as she broke the seal. “What 's this?

“`The Magnolia Grove troubadours request the presence
of Mr. and Miss Clayton and Miss Gordon at an operatic
performance, which will be given this evening, at eight
o'clock, in the grove.'

“Very well done! I fancy some of my scholars have
been busy with the writing. Dulcimer, we shall be happy
to come.”

“Where upon earth did he pick up those phrases?” said
Nina, when he had departed.

“O,” said Anne, “I told you that he was prime favorite
of the former proprietor, who used to take him with him

wherever he travelled, as people sometimes will a pet monkey;
and, I dare say, he has lounged round the lobbies
of many an opera-house. I told you that he was going to
get up something.”

“What a delightful creature he must be!” said Nina.

“Perhaps so, to you,” said Anne; “but he is a troublesome
person to manage. He is as wholly destitute of any
moral organs as a jackdaw. One sometimes questions
whether these creatures have any more than a reflected
mimicry of a human soul — such as the German stories imagine
in Cobolds and water spirits. All I can see in Dulcimer
is a kind of fun-loving animal. He don't seem to have
any moral nature.”

“Perhaps,” said Nina, “his moral nature is something
like the cypress-vine seeds which I planted three months
ago, and which have just come up.”

“Well, I believe Edward expects to see it along, one of
these days,” said Anne. “His faith in human nature is
unbounded. I think it one of his foibles, for my part;
but yet I try to have hopes of Dulcimer, that some day or
other he will have some glimmering perceptions of the difference
between a lie and the truth, and between his own
things and other people's. At present, he is the most lawless
marauder on the place. He has been so used to having
his wit to cover a multitude of sins, that it 's difficult for a
scolding to make any impression on him. But, hark! is n't
that a horse? Somebody is coming up the avenue.”

Both listened.

“There are two,” said Nina.

Just at this instant Clayton emerged to view, accompanied
by another rider, who, on nearer view, turned out to be
Frank Russel. At the same instant, the sound of violins
and banjos was heard, and, to Anne's surprise, a gayly-dressed
procession of servants and children began to file
out from the grove, headed by Dulcimer and several of his
associates, playing and singing.

“There,” said Anne, “did n't I tell you so? There 's the
beginning of Dulcimer's operations.”

The air was one of those inexpressibly odd ones whose
sharp, metallic accuracy of rhythm seems to mark the delight
which the negro race feel in that particular element of
music. The words, as usual, amounted to very little. Nina
and Anne could hear,

The idea conveyed in these lines being still further carried
out by the regular clapping of hands at every accented
note, while every voice joined in the chorus:

Clayton acknowledged the compliment, as he came up, by
bowing from his horse; and the procession arranged itself
in a kind of lane, through which he and his companion rode
up to the veranda.

“'Pon my word,” said Frank Russel, “I was n't prepared
for such a demonstration. Quite a presidential reception!”

When Clayton came to the steps and dismounted, a dozen
sprang eagerly forward to take his horse, and in the crowding
round for a word of recognition the order of the procession
was entirely broken. After many kind words, and
inquiries in every direction for a few moments, the people
quietly retired, leaving their master to his own enjoyments.

“You really have made quite a triumphal entry,” said
Nina.

“Dulcimer always exhausts himself on all such occasions,”
said Anne, “so that he is n't capable of any further
virtue for two or three weeks.”

“Well, take him while he is in flower, then!” said Russel.
“But how perfectly cool and inviting you look!

Really, quite idyllic! We must certainly have got into a
fairy queen's castle!”

“But you must show us somewhere to shake the dust off
of our feet,” said Clayton.

“Yes,” said Anne, “there 's Aunt Praw waiting to show
you your room. Go and make yourselves as fascinating as
you can.”

In a little while the gentlemen returned, in fresh white
linen suits, and the business of the tea-table proceeded with
alacrity.

“Well, now,” said Anne, after tea, looking at her watch,
“I must inform the company that we are all engaged to the
opera this evening.”

“Yes,” said Nina, “the Magnolia Grove Opera House is
to be opened, and the Magnolia Troubadour Troupe to appear
for the first time.”

At this moment they were surprised by the appearance,
below the veranda, of Dulcimer, with three of his colored
associates, all wearing white ribbons in their button-holes,
and carrying white wands tied with satin ribbon, and
gravely arranging themselves two and two on each side of
the steps.

“Why, Dulcimer, what 's this?” said Clayton.

Dulcimer bowed with the gravity of a raven, and announced
that the committee had come to wait on the gentlemen
and ladies to their seats.

“O,” said Anne, “we were not prepared for our part of
the play!”

“What a pity I did n't bring my opera-hat!” said Nina.
“Never mind,” she said, snatching a spray of multiflora
rose, “this will do.” And she gave it one twist round her
head, and her toilet was complete.

“'Pon my word, that 's soon done!” said Frank Russel,
as he watched the coronet of half-opened buds and roses.

“Yes,” said Nina. “Sit down, Anne; I forgot your
crown. There, wait a moment; let me turn this leaf a little,

and weave these buds in here — so. Now you are a
Baltimore belle, to be sure! Now for the procession.”

The opera-house for the evening, was an open space in
the grove behind the house. Lamps had been hung up
in the trees, twinkling on the glossy foliage. A sort of
booth or arbor was built of flowers and leaves at one end,
to which the party were marshalled in great state. Between
two magnolia-trees a white curtain was hung up;
and the moment the family party made their appearance, a
chorus of voices from behind the scenes began an animated
song of welcome.

As soon as the party was seated, the curtain rose, and
the chorus, consisting of about thirty of the best singers,
males and females, came forward, dressed in their best
holiday costume, singing, and keeping step as they sung,
and bearing in their hands bouquets, which, as they marched
round the circle, they threw at the feet of the company. A
wreath of orange-blossoms was significantly directed at
Nina, and fell right into her lap.

“These people seem to have had their eyes open. Coming
events cast their shadows before!” said Russel.

After walking around, the chorus seated themselves at the
side of the area, and the space behind was filled up with a
dense sea of heads — all the servants and plantation hands.

“I declare,” said Russel, looking round on the crowd of
dark faces, “this sable crowd is turning a silver lining with a
witness! How neat and pretty that row of children look!”
And, as they spoke, a procession of the children of Anne's
school came filing round in the same manner that the other
had done, singing their school-songs, and casting flowers
before the company. After this, they seated themselves on
low seats in front of all the others.

Dulcimer and four of his companions now came into the
centre.

“There,” said Anne, “Dulcimer is going to be the centre
piece. He is the troubadour.”

Dulcimer, in fact, commenced a kind of recitative, to the

tune “Mas'r 's in the cold, cold ground.” After singing
a few lines, the quartet took up the chorus, and their voices
were really magnificent.

“Why,” said Nina, “it seems to me they are beginning
in a very doleful way.”

“O,” said Anne, “wait a minute. This is the old mas'r,
I fancy. We shall soon hear the tune changed.”

And accordingly, Dulcimer, striking into a new tune, began
to rehearse the coming in of a new master.

“There,” said Anne, “now for a catalogue of Edward's
virtues! They must be all got in, rhyme or no rhyme.”

Dulcimer kept on rehearsing. Every four lines, the
quartet struck in with the chorus, which was then repeated
by the whole company, clapping their hands and stamping
their feet to the time, with great vivacity.

“Now, Anne, is coming your turn,” said Nina, as Dulcimer
launched out, in most high-flown strains, on the beauty
of Miss Anne.

“Yes,” said Clayton, “the catalogue of your virtues
will be somewhat extensive.”

“I shall escape, at any rate,” said Nina.

“Don't you be too sure,” said Anne. “Dulcimer has
had his eye on you ever since you 've been here.”

And true enough, after the next stanza, Dulcimer assumed
a peculiarly meaning expression.

“There,” said Anne, “do see the wretch flirting himself
out like a saucy crow! It 's coming! Now look out,
Nina!”

With a waggish expression from the corner of his downcast
eyes, he sung,

“There you are!” said Frank Russel. “Do you see the
grin going round? What a lot of ivory! They are coming
in this chorus, strong!”

And the whole assembly, with great animation, poured
out on the chorus:

This chorus was repeated with enthusiasm, clapping of
hands, and laughing.

“I think the North Carolina rose ought to rise!” said
Russel.

“O, hush!” said Anne; “Dulcimer has n't done yet.”

Assuming an attitude, Dulcimer turned and sang to one
of his associates in the quartet,

To which the other responded, with animation:

“That 's thorough, at any rate!” said Russel.

While Dulcimer went on:

And the other responded:

“And they are getting redder!” said Anne, tapping
Nina with her fan. “Dulcimer is evidently laying out his
strength upon you, Nina!”

Dulcimer went on singing:

And the response,
And the quartet here struck up:

“Dulcimer has had help from some of the muses along
there!” said Clayton, looking at Anne.

“Hush!” said Anne; “hear the chorus.”

This chorus was repeated with three times three, and the
whole assembly broke into a general laugh, when the performers
bowed and retired, and the white sheet, which was
fastened by a pulley to the limb of a tree, was let down
again.

“Come, now, Anne, confess that was n't all Dulcimer's
work!” said Clayton.

“Well, to tell the truth,” said Anne, “'t was got up between
him and Lettice, who has a natural turn for versifying,
quite extraordinary. If I chose to encourage and push
her on, she might turn out a second Phillis Wheatly.”

Dulcimer and his coadjutors now came round, bearing
trays with lemonade, cake, sliced pine-apples, and some
other fruits.

“Well, on my word,” said Russel, “this is quite prettily
got up!”

“O, I think,” said Clayton, “the African race evidently

are made to excel in that department which lies between
the sensuous and the intellectual — what we call the elegant
arts. These require rich and abundant animal nature, such
as they possess; and, if ever they become highly civilized,
they will excel in music, dancing, and elocution.”

“I have often noticed,” said Anne, “in my scholars,
how readily they seize upon anything which pertains to the
department of music and language. The negroes are sometimes
laughed at for mispronouncing words, which they
will do in a very droll manner; but it 's only because they
are so taken with the sounds of words that they will try to
pronounce beyond the sphere of their understanding, like
bright children.”

“Some of these voices here are perfectly splendid,” said
Russel.

“Yes,” said Anne, “we have one or two girls on the
place who have that rich contralto voice which, I think, is
oftener to be found among them than among whites.”

“The Ethiopian race is a slow-growing plant, like the
aloe,” said Clayton; “but I hope, some of these days,
they 'll come into flower; and I think, if they ever do, the
blossoming will be gorgeous.”

“That will do for a poet's expectation,” said Russel.

The performance now gave place to a regular dancing-party,
which went on with great animation, yet decorum.

“Religious people,” said Clayton, “who have instructed
the negroes, I think have wasted a great deal of their
energy in persuading them to give up dancing and singing
songs. I try to regulate the propensity. There is no use
in trying to make the negroes into Anglo-Saxons, any more
than making a grape-vine into a pear-tree. I train the
grape-vine.”

“Behold,” said Russel, “the successful champion of
negro rights!”

“Not so very successful,” said Clayton. “I suppose
you 've heard my case has been appealed; so that my victory
is n't so certain, after all.”

“O,” said Nina, “yes, it must be! I 'm sure no person
of common sense would decide any other way; and your
own father is one of the judges, too.”

“That will only make him the more careful not to be influenced
in my favor,” said Clayton.

The dancing now broke up, and the servants dispersed
in an orderly manner, and the company returned to the
veranda, which lay pleasantly checkered with the light of
the moon falling through trailing vines. The air was full
of those occasional pulsations of fragrance which rise in the
evening from flowers.

“O, how delightful,” said Nina, “this fragrance of the
honeysuckles! I have a perfect passion for perfumes!
They seem to me like spirits in the air.”

“Yes,” said Clayton, “Lord Bacon says, `that the
breath of flowers comes and goes in the air, like the warbling
of music.'”

“Did Lord Bacon say that?” said Nina, in a tone of
surprise.

“Yes; why not?” said Clayton.

“O, I thought he was one of those musty old philosophers,
who never thought of anything pretty!”

“Well,” said Clayton, “then to-morrow let me read you
his essay on gardens, and you 'll find musty old philosophers
often do think of pretty things.”

“It was Lord Bacon,” said Anne, “who always wanted
musicians playing in the next room while he was composing.”

“He did?” said Nina. “Why, how delightful of him!
I think I should like to hear some of his essays.”

“There are some minds,” said Clayton, “large enough
to take in everything. Such men can talk as prettily of a
ring on a lady's finger, as they can wisely on the courses
of the planets. Nothing escapes them.”

“That 's the kind of man you ought to have for a lover,
Anne,” said Nina, laughing; “you have weight enough
to risk it. I 'm such a little whisk of thistle-down that it

would annihilate me. Such a ponderous weight of wisdom
attached to me would drag me under water, and drown
me. I should let go my line, I think, if I felt such a fish
bite.”

“You are tolerably safe in our times,” said Clayton.
“Nature only sends such men once in a century or two.
They are the road-makers for the rest of the world. They
are quarry-masters, that quarry out marble enough for a
generation to work up.”

“Well,” said Nina, “I should n't want to be a quarry-master's
wife. I should be afraid that some of his blocks
would fall on me.”

“Why, would n't you like it, if he were wholly your
slave?” said Frank Russel. “It would be like having the
genius of the lamp at your feet.”

“Ah,” said Nina, “if I could keep him my slave; but
I'm afraid he 'd outwit me at last. Such a man would soon
put me up on a shelf for a book read through. I 've seen
some great men, — I mean great for our times, — and they
did n't seem to care half as much for their wives as they did
for a newspaper.”

“O,” said Anne, “that 's past praying for, with any
husband. The newspaper is the standing rival of the
American lady. It must be a warm lover that can be
attracted from that, even before he is secure of his prize.”

“You are severe, Miss Anne,” said Russel.

“She only speaks the truth. You men are a bad set,”
said Nina. “You are a kind of necessary evil, half civilized
at best. But if ever I set up an establishment, I shall
insist upon taking precedence of the newspaper.”