Part 1 (1/2)
The Grandissimes.
by George Was.h.i.+ngton Cable.
PHOTOGRAVURES
”They paused a little within the obscurity of the corridor, and just to rea.s.sure themselves that everything _was_ 'all right'” _Frontispiece_.
”She looked upon an unmasked, n.o.ble countenance, lifted her own mask a little, and then a little more; and then shut it quickly”.
”The daughter of the Natchez sitting in majesty, clothed in many-colored robes of s.h.i.+ning feathers crossed and recrossed with girdles of serpent-skins and of wampum”.
”Aurora,--alas! alas!--went down upon her knees with her gaze fixed upon the candle's flame”.
”The young man with auburn curls rested the edge of his burden upon the counter, tore away its wrappings and disclosed a painting”.
”Silently regarding the intruder with a pair of eyes that sent an icy chill through him and fastened him where he stood, lay Palmyre Philosophe”.
”On their part, they would sit in deep attention, s.h.i.+elding their faces from the fire, and responding to enunciations directly contrary to their convictions with an occasional 'yes-seh,' or 'ceddenly,' or 'of coze,'
or,--prettier affirmation still,--a solemn drooping of the eyelids”.
”Bras-Coupe was practically declaring his independence on a slight rise of ground hardly sixty feet in circ.u.mference and lifted scarce above the water in the inmost depths of the swamp”.
”'Ma lill dotter, wad dad meggin you cry? Iv you will tell me wad dad mague you cry, I will tell you--on ma _second word of honor_'--she rolled up her fist--'juz wad I thing about dad 'Sieur Frowenfel!'”.
”His head was bowed, a heavy grizzled lock fell down upon his dark, frowning brow, one hand clenched the top of his staff, the other his knee, and both trembled violently”.
”The tall figure of Palmyre rose slowly and silently from her chair, her eyes lifted up and her lips moving noiselessly. She seemed to have lost all knowledge of place or of human presence”.
”They turned in a direction opposite to the entrance and took chairs in a cool nook of the paved court, at a small table where the hospitality of Clemence had placed gla.s.ses of lemonade”.
_In addition to the foregoing, the stories are ill.u.s.trated with eight smaller photogravures from drawings by Mr. Herter_.
CHAPTER I
MASKED BATTERIES
It was in the Theatre St. Philippe (they had laid a temporary floor over the parquette seats) in the city we now call New Orleans, in the month of September, and in the year 1803. Under the twinkle of numberless candles, and in a perfumed air thrilled with the wailing ecstasy of violins, the little Creole capital's proudest and best were offering up the first cool night of the languidly departing summer to the divine Terpsich.o.r.e. For summer there, bear in mind, is a loitering gossip, that only begins to talk of leaving when September rises to go. It was like hustling her out, it is true, to give a select _bal masque_ at such a very early--such an amusingly early date; but it was fitting that something should be done for the sick and the dest.i.tute; and why not this? Everybody knows the Lord loveth a cheerful giver.
And so, to repeat, it was in the Theatre St. Philippe (the oldest, the first one), and, as may have been noticed, in the year in which the First Consul of France gave away Louisiana. Some might call it ”sold.”
Old Agricola Fusilier in the rumbling pomp of his natural voice--for he had an hour ago forgotten that he was in mask and domino--called it ”gave away.” Not that he believed it had been done; for, look you, how could it be? The pretended treaty contained, for instance, no provision relative to the great family of Brahmin Mandarin Fusilier de Grandissime. It was evidently spurious.
Being b.u.mped against, he moved a step or two aside, and was going on to denounce further the detestable rumor, when a masker--one of four who had just finished the contra-dance and were moving away in the column of promenaders--brought him smartly around with the salutation:
”_Comment to ye, Citoyen Agricola!_”
”H-you young kitten!” said the old man in a growling voice, and with the teased, half laugh of aged vanity as he bent a baffled scrutiny at the back-turned face of an ideal Indian Queen. It was not merely the _tutoiement_ that struck him as saucy, but the further familiarity of using the slave dialect. His French was unprovincial.