CHAPTER II. IMAGES AND VOICES OF THE PAST.
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At supper, the elder of the two travelers seemed much
preoccupied; and this profound thought in one usually so
joyous and full of entertaining talk, excited the young
man's surprise. The traveler apparently heard nothing
of the conversation of those around him; the bustle, the
clatter, the thousand noises of a hotel meal, made no
impression on him, on his ears or mind. Sunk in a smiling,
wistful reverie, his eyes bent on the walls of the large
apartment, he seemed to have lost the consciousness of
any outer world, living for the moment in that brighter
universe—his memory.
At last he roused himself and looking round, saw the
young man's eyes fixed inquiringly on him.
“Ah!” he said, smiling, “you have caught me in a
reverie, my boy; and I see from your eyes—I always
judge from the eyes of people's thoughts—that you are
curious to know what thoughts are chasing each other
through my mind. Ah, I have made a plunge far back
into the bright waters of the past, as some one says: and
I am refreshed by my plunge! Memory is a grand endowment,
and one of our purest earthly enjoyments—though
sometimes, it is true, very saddening.”
“But your memories were not, sir, to judge from your
smiling face.”
“No, no! you are right.”
“Happy memories—happy memories—they must be a
very great delight, sir,” murmured the young man.
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“It lies in a great degree with the individual, independent
of the character of his past, to make them pleasant
or sombre, Max,” his companion said.
“How is that, sir?”
“I will tell you. You saw me just now, abstracted
from all this bustle, dead to all this confusion of clattering
cups, and plates, and more clattering conversation.
I was thus abstracted because in this very room, long
years ago, a scene took place which impresses me even
now with all the force of reality. Now, from that scene I
might have derived either bitter or pleasant thought. I
had the election, and chose the pleasant. Did you not
see me smiling?”
“Yes, sir; may I ask what was the scene you allude to?”
“Ah, one of the merry diversions of my youth. Enough!
that is all gone—gone with my youth. To rake in the cold
ashes for names and images and gayly-uttered words,” the
traveler said, sadly, a cloud passing across his fine forehead,
“would be lost labor. Let them rest; I have had
my moment's pleasant thought—I have heard again those
joyous and heart-moving words—I have caught again the
echoes of that merry laughter! Now let them die away
for me; those beautiful forms may disappear, for they
have performed their part. Come! let us go.”
And the traveler rose from the table, and, followed by
his young companion, left the room. Then leaving the
young man, who complained of fatigue, he took his way
down Queen Street, glancing thoughtfully around him.
Standing on the bridge, his eyes fixed upon a stone
house which crowned the slope beyond, the traveler mused
and sighed. Then, as if mastered by a sudden impulse,
he ascended the slope, the setting sun lighting up radiantly
his erect muscular form, and going to the door of
this house, knocked at it. A servant appeared and informed
the traveler that his master was absent; this
seemed, however, to be scarcely a disappointment to the
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visitor: and a piece of money slipped into the negro's
hand speedily smoothed all obstacles to his entrance.
Standing in that fine apartment we have entered so
often in past times, the stranger looked around him with
his old thoughtful smile. There were the panels and
wainscoting and cornice, all elaborately carved with
flowers and birds and satyr-faces, those objects much
affected by our noble ancestors; there were the large
andirons with Minerva's head still stately on their tops;
there was the very vine around the window; and—yes!
for a wonder—the very harpsichord so well known in old
days, and eloquent of mincing minuets and merry maidens!
The stranger's eyes grew dreamy; and absorbed, apparently,
in other scenes and objects than those around
him, he stood motionless there in that room, whose very
atmosphere seemed to have steeped his senses in forgetfulness
of the real world; arousing for him, however,
all the long-dormant splendor, and gay utterances of the
golden past. The stranger really thought he saw there
before the harpsichord that stately form, upright and stiff,
but full of tender charity and affection, with the silk net
upon her deep black hair! And there upon her feet!—
The stranger uttered a slight laugh, which died away in
the dim sunset chamber. He really thought he heard
that gliding minuet again roll to him, freighted with all
the life and joy and freshness of his sparkling youth; he
thought he saw that young fair form, a star, a moonbeam,
something bright and rare, glide through the royal dance!
Did he only think he saw that young fair form? Cold
word to express the power of memory! There she was
plainly, courtesying with the merry smile, and shaking
her beautiful head at him till the curls rippled round her
child-face like bright April clouds! There were the white
jeweled hands, lost in the falling lace—yellow, in truth,
as then was the fashion, but yellower by the contrast!
There was the little slipper when she made the courtesy!
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There plainly was, moreover, a young man who made
most graceful bows, who ambled, sidled, nearly touched
the floor when, pressing to his heart the hat with its broad
streaming ribbon, he inclined profoundly to his fairy
partner: there was that young man now again approaching
that bright child; there he was plainly with his
wicked smile—and in his hand!—there plainly!—
The stranger laughed aloud.
“Ah, what a dreamer I am becoming,” he said, “here
I have been guilty of just what I have berated Max for;
I have engaged in irrational melancholy musings about
things and scenes gone into the far past—which might as
well be gone into oblivion—`What's Hecuba to him or
he to Hecuba?' Come, come, I must not indulge this fit
of musing any longer; the sun has set.”
And the stranger left the house.
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Cooke, John Esten, 1830-1886 [1854], Leather stocking and silk, or, Hunter John Myers and his times: a story of the valley of Virginia. (Harper and Brothers, New York) [word count] [eaf515T].
