Among those who shed tears, at hearing Maggy’s ballads, were several French noblemen, officers in the army of his most Christian Majesty Louis the Sixteenth, at that time the good ally of the confederated States of America. These members of the most artificial and luxurious court in Europe, the principal part of whom had joined the expedition to reinforce Washington out of sheer ennui, having long ago exhausted every phase of life that even Paris presented, were delighted beyond measure at the artless singing of this innocent child of nature. It was not mere highbred courtesy either, which induced them to extol her simple ballads, though never were men more polished in manner than the French nobility of that day. But, as we have said, the unbidden tears started into their eyes as they listened, and there was an earnestness in their tones, that carried the conviction of truth with them, when they told Major Gordon that they had never heard such singing from the gay Marchionesses of Versailles, or even the stars of the opera.
For it was with Major Gordon that these visitors always came. Whenever a French officer brought letters of introduction to the city, our hero was one of the first he called upon; and the latter took his guest to the Aylesfords, as a matter of course. Indeed, had he not done so, he would have constantly been besieged for an introduction to our heroine, as the Duc de Lauzun, who had met her early in the winter, went back to camp enthusiastic in her praise. “La belle Americaine,” as he called her, had, he said, the grace and refinement of a Marchioness, with a freshness and originality that was perfectly bewitching. It was said of him, by his intimates, that he had really lost his heart; and it is certain that, years after, when he had became le Duc de Biron, he would talk of the fair Philadelphian; and once he was heard to declare, with a sigh, that he had seen, in America, “the sprightliness and beauty of Marie Antoinette, combined with the innocence and truthfulness of St. Pierre’s Virginia;” and it was to our heroine that he referred.
If Mrs. Warren worshipped Maggy, the orphan adored her cousin. It was beautiful, indeed, to see the constant evidences which the child gave of her affection for Kate. When the latter spoke even the most trivial words, Maggy listened eagerly, and seemed by her looks to appeal to others to hear also. On one occasion, when our heroine was sick for a few days with cold and fever, the orphan went almost distracted. She always waylaid Dr. Rush on his retiring, in order to receive the assurance from himself, that Kate was really only triflingly indisposed. When her cousin recovered sufficiently to come down again to dinner, Maggy was nearly beside herself for joy, dancing and skipping about the convalescent, bursting into snatches of song, and continually catching Kate’s hand and kissing it.
This slight indisposition reminded our heroine of an unfulfilled intention regarding Maggy. Kate had early resolved to dower the orphan with a portion of her own wealth, and now, as soon as she had recovered, she sent for her attorney and directed him to make out a deed of gift, in favor of the child, as well as to prepare other law papers for her.
“If anything should happen to me,” she said, “I wish my affianced husband to inherit the principal part of my estate; but I wish, as much, that Maggy shall not be unprovided for; and I desire also to leave a competence to my aunt.”
These generous wishes were accordingly fulfilled. The Major, when he heard of the intentions of his betrothed with respect to himself, would have remonstrated; but Kate silenced him by the gravity of her reply, declaring that, “if he was not worthy to be entrusted with her fortune, in case of her decease, he surely was not with her happiness, if she lived.”
Thus the winter passed on. March, with its blustering winds, succeeded; April, fickle as ever, followed; and May, blushing and beautiful, came in. The appointed time of the wedding had nearly arrived, and every body was on the qui vive for an event which promised to be so dazzling.
CHAPTER L.
A WEDDING IN 1780
Her gentle spirit,
Commits itself to yours to be directed,
As from her lord, her governor, her king. —Shakespeare.
To cheer thy sickness, watch thy health,
Partake, but never waste thy wealth,
Or stand with smile unmurmuring by,
And lighten half thy poverty. —Byron.