"_Aurore loves me_!"
The thought thus expressed was of younger date than the day of my
removing to Bringiers from the plantation. A month had elapsed since
that day.
The details of my life during that month would possess but little
interest for you, reader; though to me every hour was fraught with hopes
or fears that still hold a vivid place in my memory. When the heart is
charged with love, every trifle connected with that love assumes the
magnitude of an important matter; and thoughts or incidents that
otherwise would soon be forgotten, hold a firm place in the memory. I
could write a volume about my affairs of that month, every line of which
would be deeply interesting to _me_, but not to _you_. Therefore I
write it not; I shall not even present you with the journal that holds
its history.
I continued to live in the hotel at Bringiers. I grew rapidly stronger.
I spent most of my time in rambling through the fields and along the
Levee--boating upon the river--fishing in the bayous--hunting through
the cane-breaks and cypress-swamps, and occasionally killing time at a
game of billiards, for every Louisiana village has its billiard salon.
The society of Reigart, whom I now called friend, I enjoyed--when his
professional engagements permitted.
His books, too, were my friends; and from these I drew my first lessons
in botany. I studied the _sylva_ of the surrounding woods, till at a
glance I could distinguish every tree and its kind--the giant cypress,
emblem of sorrow, with tall shaft shooting out of the apex of its
pyramidal base, and crowned with its full head of sad dark foliage,--
sadder from its drapery of _tillandsia_; the "tupelo" (_Nyssa
aquatica_), that nymph that loves the water, with long delicate leaves
and olive-like fruit--the "persimmon," or "American lotus" (_Diospyros
Virginiana_), with its beautiful green foliage and red date-plums--the
gorgeous magnolia grandiflora, and its congener, the tall tulip-tree
(_Liriodendron tulipifera_)--the water-locust (_Gleditschia
monosperma_); and, of the same genus, the three-thorned honey-locust
(_triacanthos_), whose light pinnated leaves scarce veil the sun--the
sycamore (_platanus_), with its smooth trunk and wide-reaching limbs of
silvery hue--the sweet-gum (_Liquidambar styraciflua_), exuding its
golden drops--the aromatic but sanitary "sassafras" (_Laurus
sassafras_)--the "red-bay" (_Laurus Caroliniensis_), of cinnamon-like
aroma--the oaks of many species, at the head of which might be placed
that majestic evergreen of the southern forests, the "live-oak"
(_Quercus virens_)--the "red ash," with its hanging bunches of
_samarce_--the shady nettle-tree (_Celtis crassifolia_), with its large
cordate leaves and black drupes--and last, though not least interesting,
the water-loving cotton-wood (_Populus angulata_). Such is the sylva
that covers the alluvion of Louisiana.
It is a region beyond the limits of the true palm-tree; but this has its
representative in the palmetto--"latanier" of the French--the _Sabal_
palm of the botanist, of more than one species, forming in many places
the underwood, and giving a tropical character to the forest.
I studied the parasites--the huge llianas, with branches like
tree-trunks, black and gnarled; the cane-vines, with pretty star-like
flowers; the muscadine grape-vines, with their dark purple clusters; the
_bignonias_, with trumpet-shaped corollas; the _smilacae_, among which
are conspicuous the _Smilax rotundifolia_, the thick bamboo-briar, and
the balsamic sarsaparilla.
Not less interesting were the vegetable forms of cultivation--the
"staples" from which are drawn the wealth of the land. These were the
sugar-cane, the rice-reed, the maize and tobacco-plants, the cotton
shrub, and the indigo. All were new to me, and I studied their
propagation and culture with interest.
Though a month apparently passed in idleness, it was, perhaps, one of
the most profitably employed of my life. In that short month I acquired
more real knowledge than I had done during years of classic study.
But I had learnt one fact that I prized above all, and that was, that _I
was beloved by Aurore_!
I learnt it not from her lips--no words had given me the assurance--and
yet I was certain that it _was_ so; certain as that I lived. Not all
the knowledge in the world could have given me the pleasure of that one
thought!
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"_Aurora loves me_!"
This was my exclamation, as one morning I emerged from the village upon
the road leading to the plantation. Three times a week--sometimes even
more frequently--I had made this journey. Sometimes I encountered
strangers at the house--friends of Mademoiselle. Sometimes I found her
alone, or in company with Aurore. The latter I could never find alone!
Oh! how I longed for that opportunity!
My visits, of course, were ostensibly to Mademoiselle. I dared not seek
an interflow with the slave.
Eugenie still preserved the air of melancholy, that now appeared to have
settled upon her. Sometimes she was even sad,--at no time cheerful. As
I was not made the confidant of her sorrows, I could only guess at the
cause. Gayarre, of course, I believed to be the fiend.
Of him I had learnt little. He shunned me on the road, or in the
fields; and upon _his_ grounds I never trespassed. I found that he was
held in but little respect, except among those who worshipped his
wealth. How he was prospering in his suit with Eugenie I knew not. The
world talked of such a thing as among the "probabilities"--though one of
the strange ones, it was deemed. I had sympathy for the young Creole,
but I might have felt it more profoundly under other circumstances. As
it was, my whole soul was under the influence of a stronger passion--my
love for Aurore.
"Yes--Aurore loves me!" I repeated to myself as I passed out from the
village, and faced down the Levee road.
I was mounted. Reigart, in his generous hospitality, had even made me
master of a horse--a fine animal that rose buoyantly under me, as though
he was also imbued by some noble passion.
My well-trained steed followed the path without need of guidance, and
dropping the bridle upon his neck, I left him to go at will, and pursued
the train of my reflections.
I loved this young girl--passionately and devotedly I loved her. She
loved me. She had not declared it in words, but her looks; and now and
then a slight incident--scarce more than a fleeting glance or gesture--
had convinced me that it was so.
Love taught me its own language. I needed no interpreter--no tongue to
tell I was beloved.
These reflections were pleasant, far more than pleasant; but others
followed them of a very different nature.
With whom was I in love? A slave! True, a beautiful slave--but still a
slave! How the world would laugh! how Louisiana would laugh--nay, scorn
and persecute! The very proposal to make her my wife would subject me
to derision and abuse. "What! marry a slave! 'Tis contrary to the laws
of the land!" Dared I to marry her--even were she free?--she, a
_quadroon_!--I should be hunted from the land, or shut up in one of its
prisons!
All this I knew, but not one straw cared I for it. The world's obloquy
in one scale, my love for Aurore in the other--the former weighed but a
feather.
True, I had deep regret that Aurore was a slave, but it sprang not from
that consideration. Far different was the reason of my regret. _How
was I to obtain her freedom_? That was the question that troubled me.
Up to this time I had made light of the matter. Before I knew that I
was beloved it seemed a sequence very remote. But it was now brought
nearer, and all the faculties of my mind became concentrated on that one
thought--"How was I to obtain her freedom?" Had she been an ordinary
slave, the answer would have been easy enough; for though not rich, my
fortune was still equal to the _price of a human being_!
In my eyes Aurore was priceless. Would she also appear so in the eyes
of her young mistress? Was my bride for sale on any terms? But even if
money should be deemed an equivalent, would Mademoiselle _sell_ her to
_me_? An odd proposal, that of buying _her_ slave for my wife! What
would Eugenie Besancon think of it?
The very idea of this proposal awed me; but the time to make it had not
yet arrived.
I must first have an interview with Aurore, demand a confession of her
love, and then, if she consent to become mine,--_my wife_,--the rest may
be arranged. I see not clearly the way, but a love like mine will
triumph over everything. My passion nerves me with power, with courage,
with energy. Obstacles must yield; opposing wills be coaxed or crushed;
everything must give way that stands between myself and my love!
"Aurore! I come! I come!"