Collected Works of Frances Trollope

by Frances Milton Trollope

  It was exactly as the trio stopped to make this proposed alteration in the arrangement of the baggage, that Steinmark and Edward, obeying the call of Hermann, came forth from the shelter of the orange-trees and joined the party. Steinmark felt that he had perhaps enlisted his new friend in a party too gaily light-hearted to be agreeable to one who had so many heavy cares upon his mind; but it was done, and could not be recalled; so the next thought that crossed his benevolent mind was how to make the day pass pleasantly with him. He perceived at a glance that the gay young baron was enlisted into the playful service of the hour, and perceiving some unfinished arrangement about the packages which surrounded Lotte, he put his arm through Edward’s, and leading him up to her, said, “Here, Lottchen, I bring you a very valuable recruit, able and willing to help you in all the vagaries you may choose to perform. Herr Hochland, give me leave to introduce to you my valued friend Mr. Edward Bligh.”

  If Frederick Steinmark’s object was to put Edward at his ease, he failed completely: it was not ease he felt, — every faculty was on the stretch, every sense was strained. But if, thoughtless of his ease, his purpose was to make him happy, he succeeded perfectly: happiness unfelt, unknown, unimagined till that moment, throbbed in his breast and bounded through his veins.

  He was close to Lotte. Lotte was speaking to him; she smiled too, smiled on him as she placed the light burthen she allotted him on his arm; and with the exception of some ecstatic intervals, when a rapt enthusiasm had seemed to raise him altogether above the joys or sorrows of this mortal state, this moment was decidedly the happiest of his life.

  Joyously then did the troop march onward towards the mill. But though the distance was short, the way — on this occasion at least was long; Fritz overturned the wheelbarrow at one spot, and Sigismond’s frail slipped off his stick at another. Lottchen stumbled as the Herr Hochland was talking to her of fatherland; but Edward was close behind, and his hand prevented her basket, if not herself, from falling. Steinmark and Hermann amused themselves with finding out cross nooks in the short bit of forest they had to pass, and then trying who could best recover them, — an exercise at which the senior beat the junior hollow. Mary and Karl continued together, and pursued their way with as much steadiness as the gambols of the young miller would permit; and Henrich still hung on the skirts of his countryman, enjoying from time to time such renewal of their former conversation as the desultory nature of their progress would permit.

  But it was astonishing to observe the multitude of unforeseen accidents which detained them. Sometimes it was a very harmless snake which darted from bush to brake before them, but which Karl, in the superfluity of his activity, declared must be chased and put out of harm’s way; which meant, as he explained it, to be placed beyond the power of giving or receiving injury for evermore. Then Lotte’s eyes were accidentally raised to a marvellous cluster of wild grapes that hung above their heads, and the baskets must be placed on the ground, and the grapes must be won, before another step forward could be taken. At another time a whole bevy of butterflies seemed to spring up, as it were, from the ground, and showed themselves so brightly beautiful to the unaccustomed eyes of the gay Sigismond, that he must perforce catch some of them. Then followed laughter at his want of skill, accompanied by consolatory assurances that what he mistook for marvels were in truth the most ordinary insects that Louisiana produced. In short, so much time was expended in this ramble over a plain path of a mile and a half long, that by the time they reached the Erdbeere Feld, Karl, who proclaimed himself master of the revels, as one of his manorial rights, declared that if they did not all and every of them set about gathering the strawberries forthwith, and that steadily and perseveringly, without gossip, sport, or idleness of any kind, they might as well set off again to return as they came, for the purpose of the expedition would be defeated, inasmuch as it would be found impossible to complete the work in reasonable time for dinner.

  This solemn remonstrance produced the desired effect — in a moment the whole party were to be seen scattered singly over the field; and though before the commanded quantity was fully furnished, some alteration in this disposition of the gleaners took place, and Sigismond had approached Lotte on one side, and Edward on the other, the business was on the whole well and punctually accomplished. And then the riot and the din of unpacking the wheelbarrow, and disposing with all imaginable inconvenience and enjoyment its contents upon the grass, followed; and that sort of happy, noisy confusion took place, which those only can conceive who have shared in the very delightful but very unaccountable enjoyment of preparing a dinner upon the grass.

  A few short hours before, anyone who well knew Edward Bligh would have declared that no scene could have less charm for him than the one in which he was now engaged. Mirth in his best and happiest days had but little attraction for him; and though he loved to wander for hours amid the beautiful scenery of his native State, the contemplative temper of his mind communicated a pensive, quiet composure to his step, as unlike as possible to the noisy, bounding progress which at one moment sent his present companions forward at the rate of five miles an hour, while at another they all stopped short as if spell-bound, to find subject for mirth in they knew not what, and an excuse for tarrying, they knew not why. Still less, perhaps, was the scene which followed such as he would have heretofore joined in with pleasure; but now his eyes shot forth glances of young joy, as he found himself seated on the grass beside Lotte Steinmark. Could he have looked into her heart, he might perhaps have lost a portion of the intoxicating pleasure he now for the first time tasted. He might have seen that the ready ear, the gentle smile, the courteous reply she lent him, were rather the result of what she believed to be her father’s wishes than of her own. He might have discovered, that even while her beautiful eyes were turned on him, she was unconsciously listening to every word pronounced, whether to her or to another, on the other side, where sat Sigismond. But he saw, he knew nothing but that he was seated in dear, familiar, friendly intercourse beside the only woman who had ever charmed his senses, and taught him to know what poets mean by “Love.”

  In truth, it was a pleasant banquet to all. The jocund laugh went round, and so did the bright light goblet of their native wine — a luxury furnished by the good Baron Steinmark in greater abundance than his rustic brethren wished or approved; but on occasions like the present, the forest family drank to their distant kinsman’s health with cordial gratitude. Then followed some of their still fondly cherished native airs. Lotte sang with the wild untutored sweetness of a bird. Her ear was excellent, and Henrich taught her by his flageolet all the most popular tunes of Germany, a large collection of which had been sent him by his uncle. The words too which she sang were generally of Henrich’s composition, and for the most part expressed his clinging love for the soil that gave him birth.

  It was perhaps in compliment to Sigismond that Lotte on this occasion selected a ballad in which Henrich had poured forth, on a well-known German air and in his native tongue, all the glowing patriotic feelings which more than warmed — which in truth burned in his breast; and the touching style in which she sang it gave sufficient evidence that every word found its echo in her own heart. Frederick and Mary exchanged a glance, and sighed: they well knew Henrich’s ardent love of the country that was no longer his, but till now they had neither of them been fully aware how deeply Lotte sympathised in this feeling.

  The effect of the ballad and Lotte’s manner of singing it was sufficiently powerful on all present. Edward, who understood quite enough of the language to catch the feeling it inspired, would have joyfully given half the existence remaining to him on earth could he thereby have become a native German. The eyes of Henrich overflowed; and even his gay brothers, now so firmly rooted in the soil to which they had been transplanted, looked sad and thoughtful. Young Sigismond alone enjoyed the whole thing — melody, words, and the deep feeling which accompanied them — with unmixed delight. “Charming! charming! charming!” he exclaimed, w
ith clasped hands and glistening eyes. “How little did I expect to hear such sounds in a Louisianian forest!”

  “And now Sigismond,” said Fritz, “it is your turn. Lotte’s words I never heard before; but she sang them to the same air, if I mistake not, on which you composed your own patriotic rhapsody. The tune is good enough to hear twice. We have had, as I guess, the Steinmark version — now let us have the Hochland.”

  A vivid blush dyed the cheeks of the young baron at this address, but it passed in an instant, and with equal frankness and good humour he drew a flute from his pocket, and having skilfully played the beautiful national air which Lotte had just sung, he laid the instrument aside, and sang to the same notes, and in his own musical language, some verses which he had written a few weeks before at Philadelphia, and performed for the benefit of his friend Fritz. The thoughts when put into English might be rendered as follows:

  Hark to the strain!

  Let me hear it again

  ’Tis a spell that can waft me o’er land and o’er sea;

  Oh! hark to the strain!

  Is it pleasure or pain,

  That sends my heart, Fatherland! throbbing to thee?

  It is glorious, when Fancy has taken the helm,

  To mount the gay bark that shall bear us along,

  And, to bound at her touch to some newly-found realm,

  There to wander with her, its strange children among.

  And what is the strain

  We would gladly hear then?

  Tis the cheering yo! yo! and the favouring gale,

  That should sing through our rigging, and tighten our sail.

  And ’tis more glorious still when, with light-hearted glee,

  We in truth start to wander o’er land and o’er sea;

  When the eye of the body roams, hoping to find

  Things as fair as they seemed to the eye of the mind.

  And all may seem fair — and the eye may explore

  With gladness what ne’er met its glances before;

  But the heart aches to feel that the farther we roam,

  The more sadly will Echo repeat the word “home!”

  Then hark to this strain!

  Let us hear it again

  ’Tis a spell that can waft us o’er land and o’er sea;

  Oh! hark to the strain!

  Be it pleasure or pain,

  That sends our hearts, Fatherland! throbbing to thee.

  As a translation never fails to mar the original, it is but fair to believe that the young Sigismond’s verses deserved, in part at least, the applause he received: but when they were ended, and that; resuming his flute, he again drew from it the sweet familiar notes so well known to every individual present except poor Edward, no word of praise followed them, but a tear stood trembling in every eye.

  Karl dashed the foolish tell-tale from his cheek, exclaiming, as he filled his glass with Rhenish wine:

  “Here’s a health to our Fatherland! and a health to thee, too, thou dangerous minstrel of “Home;” but remember that at the next feast I give upon this “bit” — this only bit that I can ever hope to call mine, I will not invite you to share it unless you promise and make oath, before you take your place at the banquet, that you will sing no strain that shall send our hearts aching back to the land which our eyes can never see more.”

  Henrich had buried his face in his hands as they rested on his knees. Lotte’s eyes seemed rooted in the earth, but her fair face bore no doubtful meaning. Steinmark’s head sank upon his bosom; but it was an attitude not unusual with him when indulging the thick-coming fancies drawn from all things known and unknown in heaven and on earth. Hermann, however, as usual, sat very near him, and was aware that that noble and gentle bosom heaved with some painful emotion. Fritz caught the expression of his brother’s eye, and understood in a moment that the impression made by his friend’s song was becoming painful to nearly the whole party. Moved probably more by the wish to put a stop to this than from any sensation of vehement gaiety, he exclaimed, “We have sung our songs — now let us dance our dance, and Mr. Bligh may fancy himself in Fatherland at once. Mother, you shall waltz with me! Lotte shall take Henrich for her partner, and Karl must make the best he can of Hermann; Sigismond shall play to us; and my father and Mr. Bligh sit in judgment on the performances of the whole party.”

  Fritz suited the action to the word, and springing on his feet, he bounded in a genuine waltzing step to the place where his mother sat. But she shook her head, saying, “No, no! Fritz, we can none of us waltz now. But come, boys, let us gather up the fragments of the feast and move homeward. Come, Lotte, love! The sun is getting low, and Americans though we be, we may get a chill if we sit here much longer.”

  The whole party was immediately put in action, and the bustle which ensued did much towards chasing the gloom that appeared to threaten them; but the young baron was by no means insensible to the effect his song had produced, and as they strolled slowly homeward, he could not resist the inclination he felt to ask Lotte if he were right in thinking that she had betrayed a more tender recollection of her native country than was likely to make her quite happy in her adopted one.

  “I hope you are quite wrong,” she replied with a smile, which was, however, followed by a sigh as she added: “It is Henrich who has infected me with this vain longing for a home that can never again be mine. But this is folly, if it be not worse. I fear even that my father remarked the unreasonable feeling your song produced. Indeed, Herr Hochland, you must sing no more such songs to us.”

  “Yet I would sing for ever,” thought the young man, “could I so lure this matchless creature back to my native land.” But he did not speak the thought, and the return of the party was much more silent and much less gay than their setting out. Frederick especially seemed to have lost his gentle, placid cheerfulness; and though he continued to converse with Edward with the same warmth of kindness as before, the spirit of his conversation was fled. The delicate-minded and sensitive Edward, though his knowledge of German was very imperfect, had caught and understood the feeling which had touched the hearts of the exiles while listening to the minstrelsy of their countrymen; but he was far from conceiving how deeply the witnessing this feeling in his children had affected the heart of Frederick.

  Steinmark had brought his family from Germany to America because he believed it to be the best thing he could do for them; and though some natural yearnings towards his native land had occasionally thrown a shade of melancholy over his solitary musings, he had never conceived the idea that such meditations were shared by his light-hearted children. Still less did he imagine that these recollections, which he had never permitted himself to allude to, should, notwithstanding his caution, be the subject of deep and enduring regret to them all. Though Frederick Steinmark was more capable than most men of combating his own feelings, he had no such power when encountering those of his children, and the discovery he had just made oppressed him heavily, and he longed to be alone. Nevertheless, he remembered that it was some days since Edward had ventured to visit the poor prisoner, and he therefore detained him till, having seen the whole family safely established in the common sitting-room, he could take him safely to the loft in which he was concealed.

  With cautious steps they threaded their way behind the outbuildings of the farm, and having entered an empty barn and secured the door behind them, they mounted the ladder that led to the little chamber above; but when they entered and looked round it, its sable tenant was no longer visible. Every hole and corner was examined, but in vain. However strange the fact appeared, it could not be doubted — Cæsar was gone.

  “This is very strange, Bligh,” said Steinmark; “so devotedly attached as this poor fellow appeared to you, is it possible that he should thus leave the asylum in which you had placed him without letting you know his intention?”

  “It is not possible,” replied Edward in a voice of great emotion. “The poor fellow has been traced and seized. Unhappy boy! His fate wil
l be dreadful!”

  “But surely, if this were the case, some of the people about the farm must have known it, Edward? Remember that though it is just possible he might have been traced to the premises, it is not so that his pursuers should so exactly know where to find him as to render all search needless.”

  “But did they not choose their time well? Your whole family absent — your servants occupied at their mid-day meal perhaps. Alas! Mr. Steinmark, I have not a shadow of hope or doubt but that he is in the hands of his ferocious and remorseless enemies — My poor Cæsar!”

  Steinmark answered not, but carefully examined the rough chamber in which they stood.

  “It was here,” he said at length, “that I always found him seated when I made my nightly visit to him: it was here I left him last night, a little after ten o’clock. He was in the habit, remember, of constantly employing the hours of his captivity either in reading the books I left with him, or in making the little wicker-baskets for which he cut and prepared the materials with his knife. Had he been so employed when taken, should we not find some symptoms of the sudden interruption? But observe — here are the four volumes that I lent him, put carefully together upon this rafter; and there is neither knife, basket, chip, nor stick of any kind, to indicate that he was broken in upon during the hours of light and occupation. Observe too, that there is no remnant of the food I brought him; and there was more than he would have eaten till the twenty-four hours were past. In short, improbable as it may appear, I am persuaded that Cæsar took his voluntary departure in the course of last night; and that, unless he encounters some mischance, we shall probably find him here again as unexpectedly as we have lost him.”