“To sing a song?”
“The loveliest America has to offer.”
“The most lovely? Why yes!”
The lady pressed her hands against her bosom with her best grace, and she began:
Miss Lucy has a baby,
Lucy, Lucy la
She rocks the baby Lucy
And put it in the grass …
The noble songstress was interrupted in midtune by hellish laughter from the lower deck. She rushed away, mortified, since she saw that the Hungarian appeared to enjoy this interruption.
The Hungarian never learned who the singers were, or the Leonora. They were no longer to be heard. He himself quietly conceded that he had only been listening, and that they had almost managed to put him in a sentimental mood.
When the boat arrived in New Orleans, he had the pleasure shortly before embarkation of overhearing the lady tell the first mate the same tale about her baby that he had heard at their first encounter.
Chapter 3
INTERLUDES
We now lead those of our lady readers who are so inclined back to Algiers, to the lovable cottage in which the sisters live.
Frida’s wise, placid sense appears to have had a pacifying influence on Jenny’s unruly and passionate feelings for her absent husband. The nights when she complained about her hard lot, hanging on her sister’s shoulder for hours, grew less frequent. In fact, Frida sometimes thought Jenny’s longing for Emil was receding, or at least taking on a milder form.
Since the time we first became acquainted with Jenny and Frida, since that day when Jenny embraced Cousin Karl, important changes had taken place in their little household. It is not as if they had altered the way of life they had chosen—no, things went on much as they always had—but they had accepted occupations that gave some hope of a better future, if not a glittering one. Whereas once they had simply lived off the interest of the little capital that remained after Emil’s spendthrift ways, now they were able to put money away for emergencies and to gather more interest, while they earned enough to support a modest existence.
The two sisters were perfectly aware that a person who did not know English and French was doomed to a subordinate position, so they had concentrated great patience and effort on learning these languages, and their efforts paid off all the more because of their mastery of German philology. So far as English went, Frida had some advantage on Jenny, just as Jenny outdid her sister in French. The difference in their accomplishments arose from their characters. The more passionate and emotional Jenny was naturally more inclined to French, while the reflective Frida had an easier time with English. So it happened that when Frida applied for a position at Boursier’s Institution (Rue Toulouse 184, between Rampart and Burgundy),20 she was hired immediately after taking an examination, though for the modest salary of thirty-five dollars a month.
In a mere two months as a piano teacher, Jenny had won entrée to several wealthy French families and acquired no small reputation. Her pupils loved and respected her, and they invested so much enthusiasm that Jenny enjoyed her hours of teaching. The rapid progress of her female students drew others who had already begun with other teachers but whose parents decided to submit them to Jenny’s greater talent.
The two sisters’ leisure time was occupied with caring for the little flower garden in front of the house, with raising rare, good vegetables, with improving the household utensils, and—especially on Sundays—with reading good books. Frida had chosen Goethe as her darling, and she began studying him systematically, rather than making only the quick survey that most of her sex would. As a chief result, she gained a peaceful, secure view on life due to his poetry. If Frida had thought of her husband, she would certainly have had reason to complain over her fate, but her pain evaporated in the light, silver clouds of an Italian sky, and she found a safe haven with the two Leonors. Jenny, on the other hand, preferred to press the lyre of Karl Egon Ebert and Lenau to her heart, or she looked for her Emil in Kinkel’s Otto der Schütz.21 She was afraid of reading novels.
They had very little time during the week, since their teaching hours, which they kept conscientiously, used up the entire day, so they had taken into their service a German maid who had only arrived on the Bremen ship a few months before. She was a very young thing, but despite her years she was a capable and practiced cook. She had served in student inns since the age of twelve, and she had taken turns overseeing the kitchen. In everything else the good little one was a spirited, stupid little fool. As soon as she stepped away from the kitchen stove, she might as well have been in a Spanish village. This is all the more amazing, since a students’ maid is experienced in everything, whether on the dueling field or in the seraglio. But this is the wrong place to hold her past against her, since touching the virgin soil of America washes away all sins. Every girl becomes a virgin again if she doesn’t bring a man with her. The maiden was named Urschl.
Meanwhile, the sisters had constant trouble with little Tiberius, who never wanted to mind. Instead of staying at home when his mistresses were gone, he wandered about in the bushes or hung around with the young black men on the neighboring plantation. That alone would have been fine, but when the Don Juan in him began emerging, that was too much—also a bit too early, since Tiberius had just turned ten a few months before. Even this would not have been too bad if his thoughts had remained with the daughters of Ethiopia, but his imagination avoided this fruitful field and turned to a white woman—a daughter of Germania. The moment Urschl, the saucy cook, entered the house, Tiberius believed he was destined to take a place in her heart from which no master or missus would ever dislodge him. Miss Urschl, who was still quite green and who had barely escaped the claws of the Immigrants’ Intelligence Bureau with a whole hide, was quite pleased at Tiberius’s courting, particularly after the crafty fellow made it clear to her that, after the two ladies, he was the first in the house and that they had bestowed on him command over her conduct both in and outside of the kitchen. The saucy cook from the Lüneburger Heath—where her uncle still held sway over several fields of buckwheat—had naturally not acquired the southern outlook on the relations between black and white, so she subordinated herself without complaint to the commands of the “moor,” as she called a black person.
Tiberius was smart enough not to command the cook in the presence of the sisters. His communication with Miss Urschl was also elevated by the fact that Tiberius knew enough German to be able to make his erotic feelings known. When the girl from the Lüneburg Heath comprehended that her Tiberius was serious, she began to play coy and cause her black shadow to sigh and boil. The following episode demonstrates, however, that Miss Urschl was a pretty dumb little goose: The sisters had left Algiers by ferryboat at eight in the morning, as was their habit, to pursue their professions in New Orleans. Tiberius was alone with Urschl in the kitchen. He had functioned as cook earlier, and he had an excellent understanding of how to prepare some dishes, thanks to Frida’s careful tutoring. The sisters could not do a thing with American cooking. Bouillon à la reine, ragout en coquilles, roast veal with sauce remoulade, flameris, blancmangés and crèmes, Bettelmann, armer Ritter, Magdeburg sausages, even Bavarian Dampfnudel, Rahmstrudel and Mehlspatzen were all rare dishes in America. Urschl knew how to fix all of them, so Tiberius could bow out of the kitchen entirely. Despite that, he snuck back to Urschl’s atelier as often as he could; the saucy cook was truly astounded at his knowledge of cooking and assured him that she would never have expected such knowledge from a moor. But Urschl was all the more astonished when Tiberius assured her that he had figured it all out himself with no one’s advice. Another reason he had been banished from the kitchen was that he could not resist nibbling, and he even had the dreadful habit of taking whole handfuls of raisins or pimentos to give to his friends. Once the ladies had caught him exchanging a whole pot of sugar for a paper kite. Naturally, the sugar and the kite were returned to their previous owners. As punishment, Tiberius was put in the cooling ho
le under the cistern for four hours, including dinnertime, where he was shameless enough to devour a whole jar of canned peaches the ladies had stored. No sooner had the ladies set off for the ferry that morning than he rushed back to the kitchen and sat on the floor next to Urschl, who was busy washing cups. Since, in his tenderness, he had even begun pinching the bare legs of his beloved, Urschl had had the foresight to gather her dress between her legs and press them firmly together.
“My sweetheart,” the little black Don Juan began.
“What do you want?” Urschl asked, turning a bit to the side where her black beau sat.
“I wish we were masters in the house, or that I would be massa and you my lady.”
“I’d like that, too,” the saucy cook declared.
“I wish we could just get married.”
“I’d like that, too, but that wouldn’t work, since we have no money.”
“We’ll save the money. We already have twenty dollars and a picayune—five times more, then we’ll go to the justice of the peace.”
“Tomorrow my month is over, then we’ll have another eight dollars. Keep the money carefully, Tiberius, so no one steals it.”
“Don’t worry, my sweetheart, it is in a good place. When you get your eight dollars, take care that the ladies do not see that you give it to me to keep for you.”
“It’s obvious that I’ll be careful,” Urschl declared.
“Come sit with me, my sweet Urschl.”
“No, not now, Tiberius—I have no time—yesterday I was almost late with the meal.”
“Never mind if the ladies have to wait for their meal a few minutes.”
Tiberius was pressing her more, when she heard someone upstairs going back and forth.
“Devil!” the little scoundrel cried out. “There is someone in the upper room.”
“Go up right away, Tiberius, and see who it is. You left the door open again,” Urschl said anxiously, turning to do something at the stove.
“Devil, hell!” Tiberius cursed, pressing another heartfelt kiss on Urschl’s shoulder. Then he left the kitchen in a hurry.
“Is anyone there?” he called out as he entered the hallway and looked around.
“Anybody there?” he repeated, jumping up the stairs all the way to the upper story.
When Tiberius opened the doors of the drawing room, he discovered a young man in the dark blue, white-bordered uniform of the American No. 2 Fire Company sitting languidly in the deep armchair beside the piano, with one leg laid on the other.
He had placed his heavy hat next to himself on the floor, its bottom turned up. He held a notebook, which he quickly opened and closed. His eyes stared at a picture opposite him, that of a young, beautiful lady. She was wearing a dress of black velvet, and across her breasts was spread a broad, bright blue sash from which hung the enameled cross of an order, half hidden in silver fringes. Anyone seeing this young man for the first time would take him for a Creole. The clear, tan color of his skin, his handsome black moustache, and the full, dark hair justified this assumption.
Tiberius did not recognize the young man at first, since his fireman’s uniform rendered him unrecognizable for some moments.
“The ladies have gone over to the city?” the young man asked the Negro boy, who looked at him in puzzlement. He was an unaccustomed sight in his uniform.
“The ladies will be back home at midday,” Tiberius responded, still astounded. He went back toward the door.
“Tell the ladies that I was here and will return after the firemen’s parade.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The young man made a sign with his hand that Tiberius was to withdraw. He remained sitting in the armchair for a brief time and brooded over the picture hanging opposite him. Then he quickly left the cottage and boarded the ferryboat that had just crossed over from the opposite bank.
Once he arrived on the soil of New Orleans, he saw that the procession of the fire companies had already begun moving along Canal Street. The engines, decorated with ribbons, rosettes, and garlands of flowers, the fluttering banners, the fresh, youthful faces and strong bodies of the firemen in their various uniforms, the happy music of the bands, including splendidly outfitted Negroes with drum and fife—all of it offered a fantastic and enjoyable sight. The chivalry of all New Orleans was on the march, and the petits-maitres of the French District hung on the gaze of the hundreds and hundreds of ladies who stood on the verandahs and balconies, occasionally sending sharp arrows at the firemen’s hearts. In return, they gazed boldly, wantonly into the raven-black eyes of the best ladies of the Crescent City. Everyone was overjoyed and cheerful. Only the brokers of money, real estate, cotton, provisions, and so on displayed dumb, ash-gray faces. In return, they were graced with not one glance from the made-up ladies.
The young man we met only a moment ago in the two sisters’ charming cottage now joined the ranks of his company and took hold of the hose engine.
Let us look back at the cottage in Algiers.
Tiberius, after having waited patiently until the handsome fireman had left, rushed at once to the kitchen to dedicate his attentions once more to Urschl exclusively. He found the cook hard at work slicing eggplant to lay in a pan already crackling on the stove over a rather intense charcoal fire. Fried eggplant was the two sisters’ favorite dish, and it had to appear on their table at least every other day. This was probably the only American food they had come to like. Tiberius fell once more into his old wicked ways, sitting on the floor and pinching the saucy cook on her naked legs. He did not just leave it at that. He groaned and sighed like a love-sick Adonis, even though he had barely passed his tenth year. Urschl was in a hard situation. She knew quite well that it was not easy to serve two masters. Either the midday meal would be ready at the proper time and Tiberius had to stop his gallantry, or the former would be delayed so that she could give her black Adonis a hearing. Which to prefer? Urschl, who did not want to give her employers occasion to be upset with her, but who did not want to be too harsh to Tiberius, either, resorted to a trick.
“What time is it, Tiberius?” she suddenly asked the black scoundrel, who continued his pressing without letup.
“I don’t know,” he responded, “it couldn’t be much before ten.”
“Oh, get up and look at the clock in the dining room.”
“That’s unnecessary, my dear, sweet Urschl. It must be about the same time it was yesterday.”
“Go and look at the clock, Tiberius, or I will be in trouble when the ladies come.”
“Why, then?”
“Shortly before they left, the ladies told me to tell you to take the small carpet downstairs and beat it until they got back. You were also supposed to catch the rabbits that are making so much trouble in the flower garden.”
“I will pound the carpet, and I’ll have time to catch the rabbits tomorrow or the next day.”
“No, Tiberius, that won’t do. The ladies commanded me expressly to have you catch them before midday and stick them back in their little brass hutch.”
“Never mind, Urschl, there is time for that later. I could say that I looked for the damned rabbits but could not catch them.”
“If you don’t want to upset me, Tiberius, do it.”
“But when I have pounded the carpet and caught the rabbits, I’ll return to you, my sweet, dear Urschl.”
The saucy cook rewarded the obedience of little Tiberius with a couple of juicy kisses. He left the kitchen and rushed to complete his assigned duties.
Tiberius was occupied a good two hours with pounding and cleaning the carpet, so it was already past twelve when he went into the flower garden to look for the fugitive bunnies, without success. He searched through everything, even throwing a glance now and then over the neighbor’s fence to try to spy them out on alien territory. In vain! The bunnies had either burrowed under the ground in order to make a safe attack on the young, fresh plants or utterly vanished from the premises. Or, more likely, they had been caught
by a covetous hand.
He was contemplating leaving the garden in order to search under the woodpile and sugarcane pile in the adjoining yard when he happened to glance at the north side of the house. To his amazement, he saw the two bunnies on the wooden hatch of the cistern. One of them, a cute, snow-white beast, was acting out its role as a male, while the other, also white but with a black stripe on its velvety belly, was hopping away. It was acting out the role of a female.
Tiberius had enough zoological wisdom, or at least enough experience, to know that bunnies do not climb onto cisterns but rather remain on the ground. At first he thought that Urschl had played a joke on him so he would have to search a long time. But on closer examination, he discovered that both the bunnies had reached the cistern in the ordinary way. The cistern was the same height as the very deep window that adjoined the little room in which the bunnies had been shut up by Frida shortly before the sisters left. She had forgotten to close the window completely, and the bunnies had found their escape through this opening that led nowhere but to the cistern. When Tiberius saw this, he could hardly wait to get the little beasts into his hands. They could not escape him, for sure, even if they went back through the window into their room, where they could be all the more easily grabbed.
Tiberius flew more than he walked up the stairs to the room from which the rabbits had dared their stroll to the top of the cistern. He entered softly but swiftly. The bunnies were still in the same place, the one still demonstrating his maleness, the other her femaleness.
“Bissy, bissy, bissy!” the pleased rascal purred, rubbing thumb and forefinger against each other.
Whether it is true that love is blind, or whether they were simply terrified by the sudden appearance of the Negro boy—the bunnies did not watch their footing and fell through the slats of the hatch and into the cistern’s deep belly.
“Tuff!” the Negro cried in shock, sticking his head into the cistern in curiosity. It held two thousand gallons of water when filled to the top. At the moment, however, the water stood only three feet above the bottom, although there had been a big rain two days earlier. This paucity was due to Urschl’s negligence: when she had drained off the water for the next day, she had not turned the faucet tightly enough. As a result, the faucet had opened while everyone was sleeping, wasting much of that vital element. It will soon be seen that a benign spirit must have caused the faucet to open, thus saving two persons from an otherwise inevitable death.
The Mysteries of New Orleans (The Longfellow Series of American Languages and Literatures) Page 48