Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE MAID OF MAIDEN LANE A Sequel to "The Bow of Orange Ribbon." A Love
Story
BY AMELIA E. BARR Author of "The Bow of Orange Ribbon," "Friend
Olivia," etc.
1900
CONTENTS
I. THE HOME OF CORNELIA MORAN
II. THIS IS THE WAY OF LOVE
III. HYDE AND ARENTA
IV. THROWING THINGS INTO CONFUSION
V. TURNING OVER A NEW LEAF
VI. AUNT ANGELICA
VII. ARENTA'S MARRIAGE
VIII. TWO PROPOSALS
IX. MISDIRECTED LETTERS
X. LIFE TIED IN A KNOT
XI. WE HAVE DONE WITH TEARS AND TREASONS
XII. A HEART THAT WAITS
XIII. THE NEW DAYS COME
XIV. HUSH! LOVE IS HERE!
CHAPTER I
THE HOME OF CORNELIA MORAN
Never, in all its history, was the proud and opulent city of New York
more glad and gay than in the bright spring days of
Seventeen-Hundred-and-Ninety-One. It had put out of sight every trace
of British rule and occupancy, all its homes had been restored and
re-furnished, and its sacred places re-consecrated and adorned. Like a
young giant ready to run a race, it stood on tiptoe, eager for
adventure and discovery--sending ships to the ends of the world, and
round the world, on messages of commerce and friendship, and
encouraging with applause and rewards that wonderful spirit of
scientific invention, which was the Epic of the youthful nation. The
skies of Italy were not bluer than the skies above it; the sunshine of
Arcadia not brighter or more genial. It was a city of beautiful, and
even splendid, homes; and all the length and breadth of its streets
were shaded by trees, in whose green shadows dwelt and walked some of
the greatest men of the century.
These gracious days of Seventeen-Hundred-and-Ninety-One were also the
early days of the French Revolution, and fugitives from the French
court--princes and nobles, statesmen and generals, sufficient for a new
Iliad, loitered about the pleasant places of Broadway and Wall Street,
Broad Street, and Maiden Lane. They were received with courtesy, and
even with hospitality, although America at that date almost universally
sympathized with the French Republicans, whom they believed to be the
pioneers of political freedom on the aged side of the Atlantic. The
merchants on Exchange, the Legislators in their Council Chambers, the
working men on the wharves and streets, the loveliest women in their
homes, and walks, and drives, alike wore the red cockade. The
Marseillaise was sung with The Star Spangled Banner; and the notorious
Carmagnole could be heard every hour of the day--on stated days,
officially, at the Belvedere Club. Love for France, hatred for England,
was the spirit of the age; it effected the trend of commerce, it
dominated politics, it was the keynote of conversation wherever men and
women congregated.
Yet the most pronounced public feeling always carries with it a note of
dissent, and it was just at this day that dissenting opinion began to
make itself heard. The horrors of Avignon, and of Paris, the brutality
with which the royal family had been treated, and the abolition of all
religious ties and duties, had many and bitter opponents. The clergy
generally declared that "men had better be without liberty, than
without God," and a prominent judge had ventured to say publicly that
"Revolution was a dangerous chief justice."
In these days of wonderful hopes and fears there was, in Maiden Lane, a
very handsome residence--an old house even in the days of Washington,
for Peter Van Clyffe had built it early in the century as a bridal
present to his daughter when she married Philip Moran, a lawyer who
grew to eminence among colonial judges. The great linden trees which
shaded the garden had been planted by Van Clyffe; so also had the high
hedges of cut boxwood, and the wonderful sweet briar, which covered the
porch and framed all the windows filling the open rooms in summer time
with the airs of Paradise. On all these lovely things the old Dutchman
had stamped his memory, so that, even to the third generation, he was
remembered with an affection, that every springtime renewed.
One afternoon in April, 1791, two men were standing talking opposite to
the entrance gates of this pleasant place. They were Captain Joris Van
Heemskirk, a member of the Congress then sitting in Federal Hall, Broad
Street, and Jacobus Van Ariens, a wealthy citizen, and a deacon in the
Dutch Church. Van Heemskirk had helped to free his own country and was
now eager to force the centuries and abolish all monarchies.
Consequently, he believed in France; the tragedies she had been
enacting in the holy name of Liberty, though they had saddened, had,
hitherto, not discouraged him. He only pitied the more men who were
trying to work out their social salvation, without faith in either God
or man. But the news received that morning had almost killed his hopes
for the spread of republican ideas in Europe.
"Van Ariens," he said warmly, "this treatment of King Louis and his
family is hardly to be believed. It is too much, and too far. If King
George had been our prisoner we should have behaved towards him with
humanity. After this, no one can foresee what may happen in France."
"That is the truth, my friend," answered Van Ariens. "The good Domine
thinks that any one who can do so might also understand the
Revelations. The French have gone mad. They are tigers, sir, and I care
not whether tigers walk on four feet or on two. WE won our freedom
without massacres."
"WE had Washington and Franklin, and other good and wise leaders who
feared God and loved men."
"So I said to the Count de Moustier but one hour ago. But I did not
speak to him of the Almighty, because he is an atheist. Yet if we were
prudent and merciful it was because we are religious. When men are
irreligious, the Lord forsakes them; and if bloodshed and bankruptcy
follow it is not to be wondered at."
"That is true, Van Ariens; and it is also the policy of England to let
France destroy herself." "Well, then, if France likes the policy of
England, it is her own affair. But I am angry at France; she has
stabbed Liberty in Europe for one thousand years. A French Republic!
Bah! France is yet fit for nothing but a despotism. I wish the Assembly
had more control--"
"The Assembly!" cried Van Heemskirk scornfully. "I wish that Catherine
of Russia were now Queen of France in the place of that poor Marie
Antoinette. Catherine would make Frenchmen write a different page in
history. As to Paris, I think, then, the devil never sowed a million
crimes in more fruitful ground."
"Look now, Captain, I am but a tanner and currier, as you know, but I
have had experiences; and I do not believe in the future of a people
who are without a God and without a religion."
"Well, so it is, Van Ariens. I will now be silent, and wait for the
echo; but I fear that God has not yet said 'Let there be peace.' I saw
you last night at Mr. Hamilton's with your son and daughter. You made a
noble entrance."
"Well, then, the truth is the truth. My Arenta is worth looking at; and
as for Rem, he was not made in a day. There are generations of Zealand
sailors behind him; and, to be sure, you may see the ocean in his grey
eyes and fresh open face. God is good, who gives us boys and girls to
sit so near our hearts."
"And such a fair, free city for a home!" said Van Heemskirk as he
looked up and down the sunshiny street. "New York is not perfect, but we
love her. Right or wrong, we love her; just as we love our mother, and
our little children."
"That, also, is what the Domine says," answered Van Ariens; "and yet,
he likes not that New York favours the French so much. When Liberty has
no God, and no Sabbath day, and no heaven, and no hell, the Domine is
not in favour of Liberty. He is uneasy for the country, and for his
church; and if he could take his whole flock to heaven at once, that
would please him most of all."
"He is a good man. With you, last night, was a little maid--a great
beauty I thought her--but I knew her not. Is she then a stranger?"
"A stranger! Come, come! The little one is a very child of New York.
She is the daughter of Dr. Moran--Dr. John, as we all call him."
"Well, look now, I thought in her face there was something that went to
my heart and memory."
"And, as you know, that is his house across the street from us, and it
was his father's house, and his grandfather's house; and before that,
the Morans lived in Winckle Street; and before that, in the Lady's
Valley; so, then, when Van Clyffe built this house for them, they only
came back to their first home. Yes, it is so. The Morans have seen the
birth of this city. Who, then, can be less of a stranger in it than the
little beauty, Cornelia?"
"As you say, Van Ariens."
"And yet, in one way, she is a stranger. Such a little one she was,
when the coming of the English sent the family apart and away. To the
army went the Doctor, and there he stayed, till the war was over. Mrs.
Moran took her child, and went to her father's home in Philadelphia.
When those redcoats went away forever from New York, the Morans came
back here, but the little girl they left in the school at Bethlehem,
where those good Moravian Sisters have made her so sweet as themselves;
so pure! so honest-hearted! so clever! It was only last month she came
back to New York, and few people have seen her; and yet this is the
truth--she is the sweetest maid in Maiden Lane; though up this side,
and down that side, are some beauties--the daughters of Peter
Sylvester; and of Jacob Beckley; and of Claes Vandolsom. Oh, yes! and
many others. I speak not of my Arenta. But look now! It is the little
maid herself, that is coming down the street."
"And it is my grandson who is at her side. The rascal! He ought now to
be reading his law books in Mr. Hamilton's office. But what will you?
The race of young men with old heads on their shoulders is not yet
born--a God's mercy it is not!"
"We also have been young, Van Heemskirk."
"I forget not, my friend. My Joris sees not me, and I will not see
him." Then the two old men were silent, but their eyes were fixed on
the youth and maiden, who were slowly advancing towards them; the sun's
westering rays making a kind of glory for them to walk in.
She might have stepped out of the folded leaves of a rosebud, so lovely
was her face, framed in its dark curls, and shaded by a gypsy bonnet of
straw tied under her chin with primrose-coloured ribbons. Her dress was
of some soft, green material; and she carried in her hand a bunch of
daffodils. She was small, but exquisitely formed, and she walked with
fearlessness and distinction Yet there was around her an angelic
gravity, and that indefinable air of solitude, which she had brought
from innocent studies and long seclusion from the tumult and follies of
life.
Of all this charming womanhood the young man at her side was profoundly
conscious. He was the gallant gentleman of his day, hardly touching the
tips of her fingers, but quite ready to fall on his knees before her. A
tall, sunbrowned, military-looking young man, as handsome as a Greek
god, with eyes of heroic form; lustrous, and richly fringed; and a
beautiful mouth, at once sensitive and seductive. He was also very
finely dressed, in the best and highest mode; and he wore his sword as
if it were a part of himself. It was no more in his way than if it were
his right arm. Indeed, all his movements were full of confidence and
ease; and yet it was the vivacity, vitality, and ready response of his
face that was most attractive.
His wonderful eyes were bent upon the maid at his side; he saw no other
earthly thing. With a respectful eagerness, full of admiration, he
talked to her; and she answered his words--whatever they were--with a
smile that might have moved mountains. They passed the two old men
without any consciousness of their presence, and Van Heemskirk smiled,
and then sighed, and then said softly--
"So much youth, and beauty, and happiness! It is a benediction to have
seen it! I shall not reprove Joris at this time. But now I must go back
to Federal Hall; the question of the Capital makes me very anxious.
Every man of standing must feel so."
"And I must go to my tan pits, for it is the eye of the master that
makes the good servant. You will vote for New York, Van
Heemskirk?--that is a question I need not to ask?"
"Where else should the capital of our nation be? I think that
Philadelphia has great presumptions to propose herself against New
York:--this beautiful city between the two rivers, with the Atlantic
Ocean at her feet!"
"You say what is true, Van Heemskirk. God has made New York the
capital, and the capital she will be; and no man can prevent it. It was
only yesterday that Senator Greyson from Virginia told me that the
Southern States are against Philadelphia. She is very troublesome to
the Southern States, day by day dogging them with her schemes for
emancipation. It is the way to make us unfriends."
"I think this, Van Ariens: Philadelphia may win the vote at this time;
she has the numbers, and she has 'persuasions'; but look you! NEW YORK
HAS THE SHIPS AND THE COMMERCE, AND THE SEA WILL CROWN HER! 'The
harvest of the rivers is her revenue; and she is the mart of nations.'
That is what Domine Kunz said in the House this morning, and you may
find the words in the prophecy of Isaiah, the twenty-third chapter."
During this conversation they had forgotten all else, and when their
eyes turned to the Moran house the vision of youth and beauty had
dissolved. Van Heemskirk's grandson, Lieutenant Hyde, was hastening
towards Broadway; and the lovely Cornelia Moran was sauntering up the
garden of her home, stooping occasionally to examine the pearl-powdered
auriculas or to twine around its support some vine, straggling out of
its proper place.
Then Van Ariens hurried down to his tanning pits in the swamp; and Van
Heemskirk went thoughtfully to Broad Street; walking slowly, with his
left arm laid across his back, and his broad, calm countenance beaming
with that triumph which he foresaw for the city he loved. When he
reached Federal Hall, he stood a minute in the doorway; and with
inspired eyes looked at the splendid, moving picture; then he walked
proudly toward the Hall of Representatives, saying to himself, with
silent exultation as he went:
"The Seat of Government! Let who will, have it; New York is the
Crowning City. Her merchants shall be princes, her traffickers the
honourable of the earth; the harvest of her rivers shall be her royal
revenue, and the marts of all nations shall be in her streets."