In her desire to somewhat equalise things, Annette gave her cousin a very flowery description of her grandmother’s strange visitor. She described him as the most beautiful, elegant, and graceful of human creatures; and she emphasised very strongly her grandmother’s strong claim upon his affection and attention--“‘a friendship in its third generation,’ he called it, Sappha, and I suppose we shall see a great deal of him. He is to call to-morrow to consult grandmother about his money and his business.”
“Where does he come from?” Sappha asked, but in such a listless way that Annette responded angrily, “It is easy to see you do not care where he comes from. I thought you would feel some interest in such a romantic affair. What are the old men and women who will be here to-night in comparison with such an adorable young man? And how you have dressed yourself for them! Do you imagine they will appreciate, or, perhaps, even notice it?”
“I dressed myself in honour of the day, and for my father and mother’s oldest friends. Here are some of them coming. I must help mother to receive them.”
“I am afraid it is going to be an unlucky and disagreeable night,” sighed Annette to herself, as she stood by the fire watching the rapid arrival of cloaked and hooded guests. As she mused amid the happy sounds of welcome, she noticed a sudden shutting and opening of Sappha’s bright eyes, and an expression of more eager delight on her face. A quick presentiment flashed through Annette’s mind, and she followed her cousin’s glance to the little group advancing. Yes, it was as she expected!--Leonard Murray’s fair head towered in youthful beauty and animation above all the white-haired men and women entering the room with him. Then Annette slipped sweetly past all obstructions, and with a smile said softly to Sappha: “‘I dressed myself in honour of the day, and for my father and mother’s oldest friends!’ Oh, Sappha! Sappha! Is Mr. Murray among their oldest friends?”
Sappha’s face burned, but fortunately there was no time for words. The judge and Peter were seating their guests, and every one was for the moment silent and attentive. Madame, his mother, had the head of the table, and every guest saluted her as they passed to their own seats. And what a goodly company it was! Such sturdy, stalwart men; such rosy-faced, comfortable-looking, handsome women! such good-will and fellow-feeling! such amiable admiration of each other’s dress and appearance! And when the slaves brought in, at shoulder height, the hot savoury dishes, such simultaneous delight to find them the Hollandish delicacies, which now remain to us only in printed descriptions; yes, even to the little saucers of that dear condiment made of pickled and spiced red cabbage, once so welcome and necessary to the Dutch palate. And pray, what mouth once familiar with its savour and flavour and relish could resist the delicately thin, purple strips? Olives were already taking its place at the tables of the high-bred citizens, who loved French fashions and French cooking; but among these old-fashioned, picturesque figures, its antique, homely taste and aspect was surely beautiful and fitting. At any rate, there was no one at Judge Bloommaert’s dinner table who would not have passed by caviare or olives or any other condiment in its favour.
Who has ever written down happiness? and what superfluity of words would describe the good fellowship of the next hour? There was no “hush” on any source of innocent pleasure. With the good food went good wine and good company, and above all, and through all, a good fellowship bounded by the strongest of public and private ties.
And as the more substantial dishes gave place to fruits and confections, the nobler part of the feast took its precedency. The wine was consecrated to patriotism and friendship, in heartfelt toasts; and one of the earliest, and the most enthusiastic, was given to Madame Jonaca Bloommaert. It was a spontaneous innovation, roused by her beautiful old age, and her young enthusiasm, and she was for a moment embarrassed by the unexpected. Only for a moment; then she rose erect as a girl, her face kindling to her emotions, and in a clear voice answered the united salutation:
“My friends, I thank you all. There has been much talk of the Dutch and of the Americans. Well, then, I am a Dutchwoman, and I am an American. Both names are graven on my soul. America is my home, America is my native land, and I would give my own life for her prosperity. But also, Holland is my _Vaderland_! and my _Moederland_! I have never seen it, I never shall see it, but what then? When our _Vaderland_ and _Moederland_ is lost to sight, good Dutchmen, and good Dutchwomen, _find it in their hearts_!” Her thin hands were clasped over her breast, her eyes full of a solemn ecstacy; for that moment she put off the vesture of her years, and stood there, shining in the eternal youth of the soul.
In the midst of feelings not translatable she sat down, and as the little tumult subsided Peter Bloommaert rose, and said:
“My dear grandmother has opened our hearts for the song my brother Chris wrote, the night before he went away. I promised to sing it for him this night, and my friend, Leonard Murray--who has it set to some good music--will help me. It is my business to build, it is my brother Christopher’s business to sail, and to fight, but I say this--and it is the truth--if America, my native land, needs my hands for fighting, the love I bear for my _Vaderland_ will only make me fight the better for my native land.” Then he looked at Leonard, and the two young, vibrant voices, blended Christopher’s “Flag Song” with a stirring strain of catching melody:
O Flag of the Netherlands, are not our hearts All flagbearers sacred to thee? To our song, and our shout, O banner fly out! Fly out o’er the land and the sea! Unfold thee, unfold thee, invincible flag, Remember thy brave, younger years, When men crying ‘Freedom!’ died underneath thee, ’Mid storming and clashing of spears. Flag of Fidelity! Piety, Courage! Thy Blue, White, and Red We salute!
Thou art blue as the skies, and red as the dawn, Thou art white as the noonday light; Fidelity gave thee her beautiful blue, And Piety bound thee in white. Then Faith and Fidelity went to the field Where the blood of thy heroes was shed; And there, where the sword was the breath of the Lord, They gave thee thy ribbon of red. Flag of Fidelity! Piety! Courage! Thy Blue, White, and Red We salute!
The enthusiasm evoked by this _Vlaggelied_ was kept up in toast and story and song until the big clock in the hall struck seven. Then the judge and Colonel Rutgers rose; they were going to speak at a dinner given by the officers of the Third New York State Artillery, and others were going either to the theatre or to Scudder’s Museum, both of which buildings were to be brilliantly illuminated. But a few of the guests would willingly have prolonged the present pleasure, and old Samuel Van Slyck said:
“Well, then, judge, too fast is your clock. There is yet one good half-hour before seven.”
“No, no, Van Slyck,” answered the judge, “a Dutch clock goes always just so; you cannot make it too fast.” And to this national joke the party rose; they rose with a smile that ended in an involuntary sigh and the little laughing stir with which human beings try to hide the breaking up of a happiness.
Cloaked and hooded, the majority went northward up Broadway; but quite a number went eastward to Nassau, Wall, and State streets. In this party were Madame Bloommaert and Annette, their escorts being Peter, and Leonard Murray. They were the last to leave, for they were in no great hurry; so they took leisurely farewells, and some of the women drank a cup of tea standing cloaked in the parlour. In this short postponement Leonard found the moments he had been longing for. Never had Sappha been so entrancing in his eyes, and the radiancy of her beauty had not charmed him more than the graceful generosity with which she had suffered herself to be eclipsed for the honour and pleasures of others. And, oh, how sweet he made the cup of tea he brought her, with such honeyed words of praise! And how proud and happy he was made by her answer.
“If I was fair to you, dear Leonard, I have my perfect wish; for when you are not here, then all the world is nothing.”
They were both happy and excited, and it is little wonder if they betrayed to Annette’s sharp eyes more than they intended. She was spending all her fascinations on her cousin Peter, but while making eyes at cousin Peter was not oblivious of her cousin Sappha. And when the festal hours were quite over and she was alone with her grandmother, she could not avoid giving utterance to her suspicions:
“Grandmother,” she said, putting the tips of her fingers together and resting her chin upon them, “I have an idea.”