MARIE had awakened her old nurse, whom she looked upon almost in the
light of the mother who had died in giving her birth, and with them I
remained for the rest of the night, and in the morning I informed my
uncle of the mysterious occurrence. His surprise was extreme, but, like
me, his pride would not permit him to believe that a slave would venture
to raise his eyes to his daughter. The nurse received the strictest
orders from my uncle never to leave Marie alone for a moment, but as the
sittings of the Provincial Assembly, the threatening aspect of the
affairs of the colony, and the superintendence of the plantation allowed
him but little leisure, he authorized me to accompany his daughter
whenever she left the house, until the celebration of our nuptials, and
at the same time, presuming that the daring lover must be lurking in the
neighbourhood, he ordered the boundaries of the plantation to be more
strictly guarded than ever.
After all these precautions had been taken, I determined to put the
matter to further proof. I returned to the summer-house by the river,
and repairing the destruction of the evening before, I placed a quantity
of fresh flowers in their accustomed place. When the time arrived at
which Marie usually sought the sweet shades of this sequestered spot, I
loaded my rifle and proposed to escort her thither. The old nurse
followed a few steps behind.
Marie, to whom I had said nothing about my having set the place to
rights, entered the summer-house the first. “See, Leopold,” said she,
“my nest is in the same condition in which I left it yesterday; here are
your flowers thrown about in disorder and trampled to pieces, and there
is that odious bouquet which does not appear at all faded since
yesterday; indeed, it looks as if it had been freshly gathered.”
I was speechless with rage and surprise. There was my morning’s work
utterly ruined, and the wild flowers, at whose freshness Marie was so
much astonished, had insolently usurped the place of the roses that I
had strewn all over the place.
“Calm yourself,” said Marie, who noticed my agitation; “this insolent
intruder will come here no more; let us put all thoughts of him on one
side, as I do this nasty bunch of flowers.”
I did not care to undeceive her, and to tell her that he _had_ returned,
yet I was pleased to see the air of innocent indignation with which she
crushed the flowers under her foot, but hoping that the day would again
come when I should meet my mysterious rival face to face, I made her sit
down between her nurse and myself.
Scarcely had we done so than Marie put her finger on my lips; a sound,
deadened by the breeze and the rippling of the stream, had struck upon
her ear. I listened; it was the notes of a guitar, the same melody that
had filled me with fury on the preceding evening. I made a movement to
start from my seat, but a gesture of Marie’s detained me.
“Leopold,” whispered she, “restrain yourself, he is going to sing, and
we shall learn who he is.”
As she spoke, a few more notes were struck on the guitar, and then from
the depths of the wood came the plaintive melody of a Spanish song,
every word of which has remained deeply engraved on my memory.
Why dost thou fear me and fly me?
Say, has my music no charms?
Do you not know that I love you?
Why, then, these causeless alarms?
Maria!
When I perceive your slight figure
Glide through the cocoa-nut grove
Sometimes I think ’tis a spirit
Come to reply to my love.
Maria!
Sweeter your voice to mine ears
Than the bird’s song in the sky,
That from the kingdom I’ve lost,
Over the wide ocean fly.
Maria!
Far away, once I was king,
Noble, and powerful, and free;
All I would gladly give up
For a word, for a gesture from thee,
Maria!
Tall and upright as a palm,
Sweet in your young lover’s eyes
As the soft shade of the tree
Mirrored in cool water lies.
Maria!
But know you not that the storm
Comes and uproots the fair tree?
Jealousy comes like that storm,
Bringing destruction to thee,
Maria!
Tremble, Hispaniola’s daughter,
Lest all should fade and decay;
And vainly you look for the arm
To bear you in safety away.
Maria!
Why, then, repulse my fond love?
Black I am, whilst you are white;
Night and the day, when united,
Bring forth the beautiful light.
Maria!