Athalie, or, A southern villeggiatura: "A winter's tale."

Front matter

AT HA LIE,

on,

“A WINTER’S TALE.”

Preface

V illeggiatura — country diversions or residence.

The story of Lettice Tilney is founded upon fact.

My own uncle had a small steamboat, which he used in hunting expeditions before the war, as I describe in the case of the little Louis d’Or. The adventures of General Yon Lingard are neither impossible nor improbable in our forests.

This is all I have to say by way of explanation or preface. My work must take its chances.

FILIA.

A SOUTHERN VILLEGGIATURA.

Chapter I

The Wilderness, Dec. 20, 18 — . My Dear Annis :

Here we are, all safely arrived and distributed to our respective apartments in this long, rambling house of Mrs. Dulany’s. The Christmas party comprises, first, of course, our hostess ; but you have seen Mrs. Dulany, so I sha’n’t waste time in describing her. You know the slight, delicate person, the soft, calm manner, the vibrating voice, the spirituelle countenance, the large brown eyes with their steady glance, the bits of white hands, so active in all good works, so skilful on piano, tambour, or easel ; you recall the quick sympathy, the genial hospitality which characterizes Mrs. Dulany.

We reached here late in the evening. We heard the murmur of voices in the drawing-room as we hurried past it, but we were conducted immediately to our apartment by our considerate hostess, where our suppers were served to us, and, after relaxing our weary limbs by a delightful bath, we just took one peep from the windows of our dressing-room, which look out upon the lake (it was so lovely in the bright moonlight), and then we gladly crept into bed and slept the dreamless sleep of exhausted travellers.

We were awakened about eight A.M. the morning after by the sound of Julie’s voice, saying, “Your coffee, please, Miss Emma ; Mr. Arthur, your coffee, please.”

I sprang bolt upright in bed, wide awake in an instant. Arthur opened one sleepy eye. With difficulty I made him comprehend that it was late, and time to take his matutinal coffee if he wanted any. Arthur has come here with vast plans as to shooting, hunting, boating, &c. &c., but all of these generally reputed amusements of men requiring early rising to enable the devotee to attain any success in their practice, I fear Arthur’s ducks and deer and fish will remain in primeval, undisturbed bliss, as my charming but procrastinating husband does hate early rising and all its concomitants. However, he grumbled very little at this time, but, sitting up in bed, took his coffee, and then lay back and went to sleep again.

We breakfast enfamille at eleven, or, if we choose, privately in our dressing-rooms. Arthur selected the latter mode of existence on arrival, and accordingly lounges in usually every day just as we all draw up around the lunch-table at two

A SOUTHERN VILLEGGIATURA.

o’clock P.M. He brightened up perceptibly when he received, on the first day, the merry salutations of Sophie and Ellen Fortier, and also recognized the fair Athalie Deslondes, who is here, for a wonder, without the hete , her dreadful husband. These constitute our female department at present. Arthur, Conrad, and Louis Stillman, and a Prussian traveller, a Colonel Yon Lingqrd. a decoree from Solferino and Magenta, make up the covey of men.

Old Mr. Foster aids Mrs. Dulany in doing the honors of the establishment. Mrs. D. does not live of course in the splendid style she did when you and I visited her before the war, in that forty-roomed palace of hers on the river, but still it is very pleasant. We have everything needful for comfort, even for luxury, but of plainer material than formerly. Of books, musical instruments, boats, dogs, guns, &c. &c., there is plenty, and there is even built out a new wing containing a good, new billiard-table ; and up in a sort of tower overlooking this most beautiful of lakes, she has fitted up a delightful studio, in which she spends a part of every day. This is the only room in which we do not feel at liberty to intrude at pleasure. We never go there unless she invites us, which she does sometimes, not so often, however, as we could wish.

It is a delightful spot, filled with all the rubbish that artists love. It is lighted by one large window, or sort of dome in the mausard roof. The light can be controlled, heightened or lessened at will, by touching certain pulleys and weights which draw or fling open the blinds. It is carpeted, has a deep fireplace and a recess at one end, concealed by damask curtains, behind which one finds a luxurious couch and sofas, and washstand for ablutions after painting. The view of the lake is superb from a little fantastic balcony, which projects before the one door of entrance into this paradise. Mrs. Dulany is just now painting this view. This lake is large, about twenty miles long by six miles in width. It is finely wooded to the margin, and has one pretty island, with an elevated point in its midst like a cone. Mrs. Dulany says it is an Indian mound. She has built a little pavilion upon it, and we are to go over some morning to take luncheon there — some warm, sunny day, such as we so often have in this delicious climate even in the midst of winter. The lake abounds in water-fowl in winter, and in terrapins and alligators in summer. The steamboats come into the lake once a week out of the Red River, bringing freight and mails from New Orleans. There are few persons living around here. Mrs. Dulany owns a wide stretch of country, and her neighbors are rare and distant. This is only one of her estates — you know she was a Durochet, and a great heiress — but this is her favorite winter home. It is always healthy. There is no malaria here even in summer. The land is not near so fertile as in the swamp proper, but it is quite as level, and very rich in grasses and forest-trees. Nothing could be handsomer, I think, than the trees here, with their graceful draperies of vines. The ground in the open glades is carpeted with the yellow jasmine, and shrubs of wild azalea and verbenas abound. I don’t think it is so splendid with lilies as the lower

A SO UTHERN VILLE G GIA TUBA.

plateau of the Mississippi valley, but it is very beautiful. A day or so since, Arthur went in a skiff completely out of the lake into the river which feeds it. As he returned in the glow of the sunset, shooting his skiff through the narrow neck of the river where it enters the lake, the whole panorama of the lake — with the single islet like a gem on its broad bosom, the sky with its splendid glow, and the enormous trees which girdle the lake as in a setting of mosaic (for the leaves are of every tint and hue still, russet and green, and gold and red, and purple and brown) — was spread out before him. In the enthusiasm of the moment, Arthur sprang upright in the boat, at the risk of upsetting it, took off his hat, waved it over his head, and cheered loudly. You know it takes a good deal to move Arthur, he is generally so unexcitable and seemingly indifferent. Col. Yon Lingard was with him, and told us of Arthur’s fit of ecstasy, else we should never have known anything about it. I shall keep you au courant to our existence. The company has divided itself already into groups of “ natural selection.”

Conrad and Louis Stillman pair off generally with the pretty Fortiers ; old Mr. Foster is my devoted. Dear old man 1 His hair is white as snow, but he will tell those dreadful long anecdotes of his hunting and fishing expeditions. However, Mrs. Dulany is a watchful hostess. She never permits anybody to be bored or victimized in her house. What great tact she has, to be sure ! She swoops down like a hawk in the most unhoped-for and most unexpected manner, just at the very minute that one begins to succumb to the terrors of satiety or discomfort, and carries one off into her higher atmosphere of perpetual peace and fulness of vitality. I think I am indebted to Mr. Foster’s known proclivities to anec -dotage for many priceless moments of rich enjoyment, and of the attention of this wondrously gifted woman. Arthur lounges around in the sweetest temper and most good-humored way possible, lazily considerate and kind to everybody. Col. Yon Lingard, a “Yon” of the purest blood, is a pattern card of his compatriots. He seems much inclined to abate his grandeur even so low as to lie at the fairy feet of Athalie Deslondes. As for Athalie, she is just as wayward, just as coquettish, just as graceful, just as beautiful as she always was ! Takes all this homage as a matter of sovereign right, with a cool banalite that must be aggravating to a man with any sensibility. You know what she has been ^nce her marriage — a star shining dangerously on the waves of society, which, might toss and surge at will below her without disturbing her equanimity. She is an exasperating woman ! No one believes Athalie has any heart, or any use for one, except to supply physical blood to her full, cool veins. But I know better, Annis. Athalie Deslondes is capable of deep affection, true friendship, and of intense passions. But she has marked out a line of life for herself, and she intends to follow it out if woman can. She has got the loveliest toilettes right from Paris ; everything cl merveille. She is bewilderingly beautiful en grande tenue every day at dinner. You ought to see her.

Good-by. Write every day to your sister, Emma Lalande.

A SOUTHERN VTLLE G GIA TURA.

P. S. — We are expecting Miss Clementina Dandridge and her nephew “ Benny,” or Mr. Benjamin Dandridge I suppose we’ll have to call him, now that he is six foot two in height, wears a moustache, and has become a hadji, having travelled all over thelnown earth, Mecca included. Benny used to be a little pest, and Miss Clementina spoiled and adored him in the most aggravating way. Athalie shrugs her white shoulders whenever she speaks of Miss Clemmy. The truth is, Athalie, who likes a respectable flirtation, even while she is rigid in regard to les convenances, does not care to have Miss Clemmy’s sharp eyes in her near neighborhood, especially as Miss C. is a cousin of old Deslondes, and — This Prussian, my dear, is extremely good-looking, decidedly agreeable, and evidently epris de ses beaux yeux. Poor Athalie ! Clemmy will find her out the first day, “ I bet” as the Yankees say.

Arthur smokes about fifteen cigars per diem. He is too lazy for anything. He is languidly attentive to Athalie, but you know I am never jealous. The truth is, I know I suit Arthur exactly, and the other women fatigue him in a very little while. Louis Stillman is stupider than ever. He has a genius for silence. I don’t think he utters ten words a day, or ever opens his mouth except to put something in it. Yet he is said to have been a good soldier during the war — a favorite scout of Beauregard’s — I suppose because he is dumb and impassive as an Indian chief. They tell several anecdotes of his daring and cunning. He went into the enemy’s camp often in disguise. Ellen Fortier seems to like him. She says the first time she ever saw him he was led by her father’s house with his hands tied together, and fastened by a rope to a Federal soldier’s saddle. As the enemy passed through Tennessee, they had caught Louis on a foraging expedition. Conrad is as handsome and vain as ever.

I hear a bustle in the hall ; the steamboat has just landed. Miss Clemmy is come, and “Mr. Benjamin.” One good thing for me will be, that I sha’n’t have so much of old Daddy Foster, because he has an ancient gossiping love for Miss Clemmy, and he’ll keep all his longest and most interesting stories for her delectation ; upon which I claim your felicitations. Adieu. Je vous embr.asse mille, millefois.

Chapter II

Mrs. Dulany’s guests gathered together rather earlier than was their custom, in the drawing-room, before dinner, on the day after the dispatch of Emma Lalande’s letter to her sister. They were all curious to see the additions to their little circle. Arthur Lalande lounged slowly in after everybody else had appeared, and threw himself languidly into a fauteuil, conveniently located near a sofa occupied at the moment by Mrs. Deslondes. Taking her mother-of-pearl fan coolly out of her hand, and complaining of the heat of the room after his long fatigue of two games of billiards with Col. Yon Lingard, Arthur began to fan himself as well as the fair Athalie, uttering a few commonplace words of compliment upon her exquisite toilette. Athalie wore a full dress of black lace over lilac satin, with gold and purple heartsease scattered in her hair, and a cluster in her bodice.

She was very decollete; her white shoulders gleamed like polished marble in the soft lamplight. Her beautiful rounded arms were bare to the shoulder. She had a single gold band around each fine wrist, and one resplendent ring on her left hand. She wore no other ornament ; not a jewel broke with its glitter the soft coloring of her dress and her burnished, waving hair. Athalie was of that rare type of creole beauty, a blonde with dark brown eyes and bright golden hair. The tintings of her face were perfect, only a very delicate pink upon her cheeks, while her lips glowed with carnation. Her eyebrows — not arched, but a straight pencil-line across a full, low, rounded forehead— furnished a'n inexhaustible theme for innumerable young poets of the city, who patronized the cor ners of the Sunday Picayune and Times newspapers. Indeed, never was any woman, since the days of Helen, more besung in all sorts of metres, both in French and English, than this cold, beautiful Athalie. She was acknowledged to be the beauty, par excellence , of New Orleans, and a very central star in the beau monde. Yet, in spite of the ordinary mechancete of society, Athalie had, so far, escaped all jealousies, all envyings, all malignities, by her imperturbable sweetness of disposition, and her cool impassiveness of manner, which was yet so courteous to all men. So, while the world knew that her marriage with old Monsieur Deslondes had been entirely one of convenances , yet no living man could boast that he had ever encountered more than *a ray of kindliness from Athalie’s soft, calm eyes. They met everybody’s with a frank, level gaze of affability, but not a glance had ever spoken to any man of any central fire or warmth in the soul which vivified the lovely form. But a physiologist would have said there met in her two diverse nationalities and temperaments — one lymphatic, the other passionate. She looked like a Danish Eric, but her eyes were those of a Spaniard. She was so habituated to homage, that she received it as a matter of course. She was never specially grateful for anybody’s admiration. She had been surfeited with it. She knew she was beautiful. She smiled now, with a slight arching of her brows, at Arthur’s affected fatigue. She did not trouble herself to open her lips to reply to him, and he did not seem to expect that she would ; for, saying, “ You are a most delightful woman, Mrs. Deslondes ; the only woman I know in this world who appreciates silence,” Arthur settled himself more comfortably in his chair before he continued, with his eyes half shut,

“ Now let’s be quiet, and wait for the entree! Do you know, Mrs. Deslondes, that word ‘entree,1 grande entree , always makes me think of Dan Rice’s circus ? — in the opening, you know, when all the performers prance in on resplendent steeds, dressed up in Persian or Turkish costumes. I wonder what character Miss Clem, means to take !”

“Any other would be more agreeable than her own, I expect, Mr. Lalande,” said the beauty, with a curve of her red lips, which were

A SOUTHERN VILLEGGIATURA.

opened as slightly as possible to give utterance to her words.

“Ah 1 well — I like a little acid occasionally in life, either in saladsor society. It wakes one up. That’s the reason I married my wife. She is as tart and pungent at times as cayenne pepper. When one is imperturbably amiable one’s self, one really appreciates a little temper at times — that sort of a thing prevents satiety. I do dislike a woman who is always smiling, or a lake that is always smooth like this one. Toujours perdrix exhausts me directly. I should blow my brains out in disgust if my wife did not vary her words,” said Arthur.

Mrs. Deslondes laughed a low, rippling laugh, as she, glanced at Arthur’s comically serious face, and then she looked towards his wife, who just at that moment was standing near a portfolio of engravings open on a tall easel. Mrs. Lalande held one of the pictures off at a short distance in one hand, while she pointed with her fan in the other hand at some portion of the picture, speaking earnestly and rapidly trf Col. Yon Lingard, who stood by hef side, and who was smiling as if muclr amused at something the witty little woman was saying. Emma Lalande was a tiny bit of a woman, with a clear brown skin, a brilliant flushing color, and black eyes that danced and glittered like diamonds. She was very slight in figure, but not too thin for her height, though her whole aspect suggested the thought of a fire-fly — she was so little, so dark, and such effervescing flashes of brilliancy in her face. Her motions were quick and agile as a squirrel’s, rather deft and vivacious than graceful. She gesticulated a good deal in conversation, but she was not exhaustively emotional. Col. Yon Lingard, a handsome man of thirty-five or forty, stood bending near the little woman, listening, with a slight smile, to her evidently amusing observations ; but occasionally his eyes stole, as if involuntarily, to the sofa where Athalie Deslondes sat in all the splendor of her beauty. She seemed unconscious of his glances of admiration. She leaned back against the satin cushions, a marvel of nature. God never created a fairer type of womanhood than a blonde crecle. That’s what Col. Yon Lingard thought, and his eyes said so. Louis Stillman sat by the chair of Ellen Fortier, while his brother Conrad, leaning over the ottoman of Sophie, managed at the same time to catch at intervals a glimpse, in the opposite mirror, of his own handsome face and figure. Near the fireplace stood Mrs. Dulany, the hostess, and her uncle, Mr. Foster. Mrs. Dulany’s face and figure were attractive still, though she was past the bloom 'of youth. She wore a gown of black velvet trimmed with rich lace. Her hair was still black, but had one gray streak just in front. It was folded smoothly around her head, and partly covered with lappets of white lace, caught up with stars of diamonds. She had been a widow for four years. There were small lines about her quiet mouth, which told of grief; markings about the eyes, which spoke of tears ; and a slight line or two in the brow, that showed the continuous action of deep thought. She had the countenance of a student and a thinker. Her uncle, Mr. Foster, was tall and well made, his figure wonderfully straight for a man of seventy years. His hair and beard were snowy-

A SOUTHERN VILLEGGIATURA.

white, but not scant ; his complexion ruddy, much embrowned by sun and wind. He had been a mighty hunter in his day, and still ventured out on a fine day on a deer-hunt. Bear-hunting he had to give up — it was sport too violent for his rheumatic limbs. He spent much time now in fishing and in bird-shooting — milder sports which conformed better with his old age. His shot was still true, his hand steady, though he had to use spectacles in order to see his game. He was very kindly, even genial, in his character, full of gallantry towards women, and his manner showed tender reverence and affection for his niece. His only fault as a companion was that he would sometimes tell long and prosy anecdotes of his past prowess, and showed something of the garrulity of age. While the party were thus grouped, the door was suddenly flung open, and Miss Clementina Dandridge entered the room, leaning upon the arm of her nephew. Miss “Clemmy” was a woman of sixty. She was tall ; she had a hooked nose, and a wide mouth, with rather thick lips. Her upper teeth, false now, projected in a singular mode out of her mouth ; and when she smiled, she showed jdie whole gum. The lower teeth were small, white, and even ; her chin long and pointed ; her eyes of a keen gray — she wore glasses with gold rims ; her eyebrows were black and straight; her hair still black by aid of art, and she wore it elaborately coiffed, with blacky lace and pink roses. She was slightly lame, and carried an ebony cane with a gold head in her left hand. She did not lean upon her cane, however, just now, but upon the arm of her nephew. Miss Clementina was dressed in a common moire silk, flounced with black lace. Her neck and bust and arms were still full and handsome, and she displayed them in all the plenitude of their charms. Her neck was slightly veiled with a tulle chemisette, but her arms were naked to far above the elbow. She had falls of deep lace in her short sleeves. Magnificent bracelets gleamed on her wrists over the tops of her white gloves. Miss “ Clemmy’s ” diamonds were so splendid that they made even Athalie Deslondes’ calm heart slightly covetous for an instant. For Athalie did not know that there was a standing joke in New Orleans society about Miss “ Clemmy’s” diamonds. She went to Paris every alternate year, and always returned thence with a new set of brilliants, which she sported extensively for a while, and then the splendid diamonds would disappear. People were malicious enough to say that “ it was because paste would lose lustre in time.” But Miss Clemmy was known to be rich enough to wear real jewels, and all such friendly observations were made sotto voce.

Miss Clemmy had another passion besides her weakness for diamonds — scandal, and her nephew “Bobby.” She liked musical boxes, and she had her rooms filled with every form of musical box that Genevan ingenuity could frame. She had big boxes and little boxes, snuff-boxes that played one tune, and little birds that hopped out of automaton tulips and lilies, and sung several tunes ; and lastly, she had purchased a three thousand dollar orchestrion, which was wound up afid set going whenever she received her friends, which she did en grande tenue every Sunday evening. Being a Roman

A SOUTHERN VILLE G GIA TURA .

Catholic, Miss Clemmy entertained every Sunday as a religious duty. “ Benny” stood the orchestrion on two of these occasions after his return to America, and then he prevailed upon his aunt to allow it to be removed out of the parlor into a distant apartment, whence the sounds came modified and softened, so much that it did not put an end any longer to conversation. “ Benny” disliked mechanical music. He was too good a musician himself to like it. But Miss Clemmy was incorrigible about music-boxes. Benny had to give in to his aunt’s tastes. Indeed, he was very good to the old woman — devoted to her in spite of all her eccentricities. “ Benny” was a plain-looking man, with fine dark eyes. He led his aunt up to Mrs. Dulany, was duly welcomed, and as he turned away from his hostess, his countenance flushed with pleasure, a sudden smile illuminated his face, transforming it literally by a brief radiance.

“Little Emma Grevenbergl ” he exclaimed, extending both hands to Mrs. Lalande.

Emma laughed, her mischievous elfish laugh, as she replied,

“Teasing Benny Dandridge 1” Then she gave him one little claw to shake. Benny took it in both of his, and kissed it with empressement. Emma presented him to Arthur.

“My husband, Mr. Dandridge. My old playfellow and — ”

“And victim,” interpolated Benny,. shaking hands with Arthur. “ My dear sir, from my ancient experiences, I really don’t know whether to congratulate or condole with you upon your connection with my playmate. She tormented me so, seven years ago, that my aunt sent me abroad in order to protect me from her tyranny and machinations; for I adored her, and, was reduced to despair a hundred times a day by her cruelty.”

“ Yes,” said Arthur, languidly, “Emma has told me. I like it; I like my wife to be a little whimsical, it amuses me.”

Benny shrugged his shoulders in real French style, “ chacun d son goutT He laughed, and then he went back to his aunt and Mrs. Dulany.

Dinnerwasannounced. Mr. Foster took in Miss Clemmy, Mrs. Dulany summoned Arthur to her side, leaving Emma to Benny’s care; while the others paired off as usual, the Fortiers with the Stillmans, and Athalie, slowly rising from her sofa, took Col. Yon Lingard’s proposed arm.

Col. Yon Lingard said something in a low voice as they went into the adjoining dining-room, evidently complimentary, for his eye gleamed and his manner was impressive. For one instant Athalie’s fair cheek flushed as he spoke, but it paled as quickly, and she replied to him in her customary sweet, even tones, * which sounded always cold and pure as the notes of a dove.