Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 56, No. 345, July, 1844

THE DOLEFUL LAY OF THE NOBLE WIFE OF ASAN AGA

What is yon so white beside the greenwood? Is it snow, or flight of cygnets resting? Were it snow, ere now it had been melted; Were it swans, ere now the flock had left us. Neither snow nor swans are resting yonder, 'Tis the glittering tents of Asan Aga. Faint he lies from wounds in stormy battle; There his mother and his sisters seek him, But his wife hangs back for shame, and comes not. When the anguish of his hurts was over, To his faithful wife he sent this message— "Longer 'neath my roof thou shalt not tarry, Neither in my court nor in my household." When the lady heard this cruel sentence, 'Reft of sense she stood, and rack'd with anguish: In the court she heard the horses stamping, And in fear that it was Asan coming, Fled towards the tower, to leap and perish. Then in terror ran her little daughters, Calling after her, and weeping sorely, "These are not the steeds of Father Asan; 'Tis thy brother Pintorovich coming!" And the wife of Asan turn'd to meet him; Sobbing, threw her arms around her brother. "See the wrongs, O brother, of thy sister! These five babes I bore, and must I leave them?" Silently the brother from his girdle Draws the ready deed of separation, Wrapp'd within a crimson silken cover. She is free to seek her mother's dwelling— Free to join in wedlock with another. When the woful lady saw the writing, Kiss'd she both her boys upon the forehead, Kiss'd on both the cheeks her sobbing daughters; But she cannot tear herself for pity From the infant smiling in the cradle! Rudely did her brother tear her from it, Deftly lifted her upon a courser, And in haste, towards his father's dwelling, Spurr'd he onward with the woful lady. Short the space; seven days, but barely seven— Little space I ween—by many nobles Was the lady—still in weeds of mourning— Was the lady courted in espousal. Far the noblest was Imoski's cadi; And the dame in tears besought her brother— "I adjure thee, by the life thou bearest, Give me not a second time in marriage, That my heart may not be rent asunder If again I see my darling children!" Little reck'd the brother of her bidding, Fix'd to wed her to Imoski's cadi. But the gentle lady still entreats him— "Send at least a letter, O my brother! To Imoski's cadi, thus imploring— I, the youthful widow, greet thee fairly, And entreat thee, by this selfsame token, When thou comest hither with thy bridesmen, Bring a heavy veil, that I may shroud me As we pass along by Asan's dwelling, So I may not see my darling orphans." Scarcely had the cadi read the letter, When he call'd together all his bridesmen, Boune himself to bring the lady homewards, And he brought the veil as she entreated. Jocundly they reach'd the princely mansion, Jocundly they bore her thence in triumph; But when they drew near to Asan's dwelling, Then the children recognized their mother, And they cried, "Come back unto thy chamber— Share the meal this evening with thy children;" And she turn'd her to the lordly bridegroom— "Pray thee, let the bridesmen and their horses Halt a little by the once-loved dwelling, Till I give these presents to my children." And they halted by the once-loved dwelling, And she gave the weeping children presents, Gave each boy a cap with gold embroider'd, Gave each girl a long and costly garment, And with tears she left a tiny mantle For the helpless baby in the cradle. These things mark'd the father, Asan Aga, And in sorrow call'd he to his children— "Turn again to me, ye poor deserted; Hard as steel is now your mother's bosom; Shut so fast, it cannot throb with pity!" Thus he spoke; and when the lady heard him, Pale as death she dropp'd upon the pavement, And the life fled from her wretched bosom As she saw her children turning from her.

MY FIRST LOVE

A SKETCH IN NEW YORK

"Margaret, where are you?" cried a silver-toned voice from a passage outside the drawing-room in which I had just seated myself. The next instant a lovely face appeared at the door, its owner tripped into the room, made a comical curtsy, and ran up to her sister.

"It is really too bad, Margaret; pa' frets and bustles about, nearly runs over me upon the stairs, and then goes down the street as if 'Change were on fire. Ma' yawns, and will not hear of our going shopping, and grumbles about money—always money—that horrid money! Ah! dear Margaret, our shopping excursion is at an end for to-day!"

Sister Margaret, to whom this lamentation was addressed, was reclining on the sofa, her left hand supporting her head, her right holding the third volume of a novel. She looked up with a languishing and die-away expression—

"Poor Staunton will be in despair," said her sister. "This is at least his tenth turn up and down the Battery. Last night he was a perfect picture of misery. I could not have had the heart to refuse to dance with him. How could you be so cruel, Margaret?"

"Alas!" replied Margaret with a deep sigh, "how could I help it? Mamma was behind me, and kept pushing me with her elbow. Mamma is sometimes very ill-bred." And another sigh burst from the overcharged heart of the sentimental fair one.

"Well," rejoined her sister, "I don't know why she so terribly dislikes poor Staunton; but to say the truth, our gallopade lost nothing by his absence. He is as stiff as a Dutch doll when he dances. Even our Louisianian backwoodsman here, acquits himself much more creditably."

And the malicious girl gave me such an arch look, that I could not be angry with the equivocal sort of compliment paid to myself.

"That is very unkind, Arthurine," said Margaret, her checks glowing with anger at this attack upon the graces of her admirer.

"Don't be angry, sister," cried Arthurine, running up to her, throwing her arms round her neck, and kissing and soothing her till she began to smile. They formed a pretty group. Arthurine especially, as she skipped up to her sister, scarce touching the carpet with her tiny feet, looked like a fairy or a nymph. She was certainly a lovely creature, slender and flexible as a reed, with a waist one could easily have spanned with one's ten fingers; feet and hands on the very smallest scale, and of the most beautiful mould; features exquisitely regular; a complexion of lilies and roses; a small graceful head, adorned with a profusion of golden hair; and then large round clear blue eyes, full of mischief and fascination. She was, as the French say, à croquer.

"Heigho!" sighed the sentimental Margaret. "To think of this vulgar, selfish man intruding himself between me and such a noble creature as Staunton! It is really heart-breaking."

"Not quite so bad as that!" said Arthurine. "Moreland, as you know, has a good five hundred thousand dollars; and Staunton has nothing, or at most a couple of thousand dollars a-year—a mere feather in the balance against such a golden weight."

"Love despises gold," murmured Margaret.

"Nonsense!" replied her sister; "I would not even despise silver, if it were in sufficient quantity. Only think of the balls and parties, the fêtes and pic-nics! Saratoga in the summer—perhaps even London or Paris! The mere thought of it makes my mouth water."

"Talk not of such joys, to be bought at such a price!" cried Margaret, quoting probably from some of her favourite novels.

"Well, don't make yourself unhappy now," said Arthurine. "Moreland will not be here till tea-time; and there are six long hours to that. If we had only a few new novels to pass the time! I cannot imagine why Cooper is so lazy. Only one book in a year! What if you were to begin to write, sister? I have no doubt you would succeed as well as Mrs Mitchell. Bulwer is so fantastical; and even Walter Scott is getting dull."

"Alas, Howard!" sighed Margaret, looking to me for sympathy with her sorrows.

"Patience, dear Margaret," said I. "If possible, I will help you to get rid of the old fellow. At any rate, I will try."

Rat-tat-tat at the house door. Arthurine put up her finger to enjoin silence, and listened. Another loud knock. "A visit!" exclaimed she with sparkling eyes. "Ha! ladies; I hear the rustle of their gowns." And as she spoke the door opened, and the Misses Pearce came swimming into the room, in all the splendour of violet-coloured silks, covered with feathers, lace, and embroideries, and bringing with them an atmosphere of perfume.

The man who has the good fortune to see our New York belles in their morning or home attire, must have a heart made of quartz or granite if he resists their attractions. Their graceful forms, their intellectual and somewhat languishing expression of countenance, their bright and beaming eyes, their slender figures, which make one inclined to seize and hold them lest the wind should blow them away, their beautifully delicate hands and feet, compose a sum of attraction perfectly irresistible. The Boston ladies are perhaps better informed, and their features are usually more regular; but they have something Yankeeish about them, which I could never fancy, and, moreover, they are dreadful blue-stockings. The fair Philadelphians are rounder, more elastic, more Hebe-like, and unapproachable in the article of small-talk; but it is amongst the beauties of New York that romance writers should seek for their Julias and Alices. I am certain that if Cooper had made their acquaintance whilst writing his books, he would have torn up his manuscripts, and painted his heroines after a less wooden fashion. He can only have seen them on the Battery or in Broadway, where they are so buried and enveloped in finery that it is impossible to guess what they are really like. The two young ladies who had just entered the room, were shining examples of that system of over-dressing. They seemed to have put on at one time the three or four dresses worn in the course of the day by a London or Paris fashionable.

It was now all over with my tête-à-tête. I could only be de trop in the gossip of the four ladies, and I accordingly took my leave. As I passed before the parlour door on my way out, it was opened, and Mrs Bowsends beckoned me in. I entered, and found her husband also there.

"Are you going away already, my dear Howard?" said the lady.

"There are visitors up stairs."

"Ah, Howard!" said Mrs Bowsends.

"The workies16 have carried the day," growled her husband.

"That horrid Staunton!" interrupted his better half. "Only think now'—

"Our side lost—completely floored. But you've heard of it, I suppose, Mister Howard?"

I turned from one to the other in astonished perplexity, not knowing to which I ought to listen first.

"I don't know how it is," whined the lady, "but that Mr Staunton becomes every day more odious to me. Only think now, of his having the effrontery to persist in running after Margaret! Hardly two thousand a-year "—

"Old Hickory is preparing to leave Hermitage already.17 Bank shares have fallen half per cent in consequence," snarled her husband.

They were ringing the changes on poor Staunton and the new president.

"He ought to remember the difference of our positions," said Mrs B., drawing herself up with much dignity.

"Certainly, certainly!" said I. "And the governor's election is also going desperate bad," said Mr Bowsends.

"And then Margaret, to think of her infatuation! Certainly she is a good, gentle creature; but five hundred thousand dollars!" This was Mrs Bowsends.

"By no means to be despised," said I.

The five hundred thousand dollars touched a responsive chord in the heart of the papa.

"Five hundred thousand," repeated he. "Yes, certainly; but what's the use of that? All nonsense. Those girls would ruin a Croesus."

"You need not talk, I'm sure," retorted mamma. "Think of all your bets and electioneering."

"You understand nothing about that," replied her husband angrily. "Interests of the country—congress—public good—must be supported. Who would do it if we"—

"Did not bet," thought I.

"You are a friend of the family," said Mrs Bowsends, "and I hope you will"—

"Apropos," interrupted her loving husband. "How has your cotton crop turned out? You might consign it to me. How many bales?"

"A hundred; and a few dozen hogsheads of tobacco."

"Some six thousand dollars per annum," muttered the papa musingly; "hm, hm."

"As to that," said I negligently, "I have sufficient capital in my hands to increase the one hundred bales to two hundred another year."

"Two hundred! two hundred!" The man's eyes glistened approvingly. "That might do. Not so bad. Well, Arthurine is a good girl. We'll see, my dear Mr Howard—we'll see. Yes, yes—come here every evening—whenever you like. You know Arthurine is always glad to see you."

"And Mr and Mrs Bowsends?" asked I.

"Are most delighted," replied the couple, smiling graciously.

I bowed, agreeably surprised, and took my departure. I was nevertheless not over well pleased with a part of Mr Bowsends' last speech. It looked rather too much as if my affectionate father-in-law that was to be, wished to balance his lost bets with my cotton bales; and, as I thought of it, my gorge rose at the selfishness of my species, and more especially at the stupid impudent egotism of Bowsends and the thousands who resemble him. To all such, even their children are nothing but so many bales of goods, to be bartered, bought, and sold. And this man belongs to the haut-ton of New York! Five-and-twenty years ago he went about with a tailor's measure in his pocket—now a leader on 'Change, and member of twenty committees and directorships.

But then Arthurine, with her seventeen summers and her lovely face, the most extravagant little doll in the whole city, and that is not saying a little, but the most elegant, charming—a perfect sylph! It was now about eleven months since I had first become acquainted with the bewitching creature; and, from the very first day, I had been her vassal, her slave, bound by chains as adamantine as those of Armida. She had just left the French boarding-school at St John's. That, by the by, is one of the means by which our mushroom aristocracy pushes itself upwards. A couple of pretty daughters, brought up at a fashionable school, are sure to attract a swarm of young fops and danglers about them; and the glory of the daughters is reflected upon the papa and mamma. And this little sorceress knew right well how to work her incantations. Every heart was at her feet; but not one out of her twenty or more adorers could boast that he had received a smile or a look more than his fellows. I was the only one who had perhaps obtained a sort of passive preference. I was allowed to escort her in her rides, walks, and drives; to be her regular partner when no other dancer offered, and suchlike enviable privileges. She flirted and fluttered about me, and hung familiarly on my arm, as she tripped along Broadway or the Battery by my side. In addition to all these little marks of preference, it fell to my share of duty to supply her with the newest novels, to furnish her with English Keepsakes and American Tokens and Souvenirs, and to provide the last fashionable songs and quadrilles. All this had cost me no small sum; but I consoled myself with the reflection, that my presents were made to the prettiest girl in New York, and that sooner or later she must reward my assiduities. Twice had fortune smiled upon me; in one instance, when we were standing on the bridge at Niagara, looking down on the foaming waters, and I was obliged to put my arm round her waist, for fear she should become dizzy and fall in—in doing which, by the by, I very nearly fell in myself. A similar thing occurred on a visit we made to the Trenton falls. That was all I had got for my pains, however, during the eleven months that I had trifled away in New York—months that had served to lighten my purse pretty considerably. It is the fashion in our southern states to choose our wives from amongst the beauties of the north. I had been bitten by the mania, and had come to New York upon this important business; but having been there nearly a year, it was high time to make an end of matters, if I did not wish to be put on the shelf as stale goods.

This last reflection occurred to me very strongly as I was walking from the Bowsends' house towards Wall Street, when suddenly I caught sight of my fellow-sufferer Staunton. The Yankee's dolorous countenance almost made me smile. Up he came, with the double object of informing me that the weather was very fine, and of offering me a bite at his pigtail tobacco. I could not help expressing my astonishment that so sensitive and delicate a creature as Margaret should tolerate such a habit in the man of her choice.

"Pshaw!" replied the simpleton. "Moreland chews also."

"Yes, but he has got five hundred thousand dollars, and that sweetens the poison."

"Ah!" sighed Staunton.

"Keep up your courage, man; Bowsends is rich."

The Yankee shook his head.

"Two hundred thousand, they say; but to-morrow he may not have a farthing. You know our New Yorkers. Nothing but bets, elections, shares, railways, banks. His expenses are enormous; and, if he once got his daughters off his hands, he would perhaps fail next week."

"And be so much the richer next year," replied I.

"Do you think so?" said the Yankee, musingly.

"Of course it would be so. Mean time you can marry the languishing Margaret, and do like many others of your fellow citizens; go out with a basket on your arm to the Greenwich market, and whilst your delicate wife is enjoying her morning slumber, buy the potatoes and salted mackerel for breakfast. In return for that, she will perhaps condescend to pour you out a cup of bohea. Famous thing that bohea! capital antidote to the dyspepsia!"

"You are spiteful," said poor Staunton.

"And you foolish," I retorted. "To a young barrister like you, there are hundreds of houses open."

"And to you also."

"Certainly."

"And then I have this advantage—the girl likes me."

"I am liked by the papa and the mamma, and the girl too."

"Have you got five hundred thousand dollars?"

"No."

"Poor Howard!" cried Staunton, laughing.

"Go to the devil!" replied I, laughing also.

We had been chatting in this manner for nearly a quarter of an hour, when a coach drove out of Greenwich Street, in which I saw a face that I thought I knew. One of the Philadelphia steamers had just arrived. I stepped forward.

"Stop!" cried a well-known voice.

"Stop!" cried I, hastening to the coach door.

It was Richards, my school and college friend, and my neighbour, after the fashion of the southern states; for he lived only about a hundred and seventy miles from me. I said good-by to poor simple Staunton, got into the coach, and we rattled off through Broadway to the American hotel.

"For heaven's sake, George!" exclaimed my friend, as soon as we were installed in a room, "tell me what you are doing here. Have you quite forgotten house, land, and friends? You have been eleven months away."

"True," replied I; "making love—and not a step further advanced than the first."

"The report is true, then, that you have been harpooned by the Bowsends? Poor fellow! I am sorry for you. Just tell me what you mean to do with the dressed-up doll when you get her? A young lady who has not enough patience even to read her novels from beginning to end, and who, before she was twelve years old, had Tom Moore and Byron, Don Juan perhaps excepted, by heart. A damsel who has geography and the globes, astronomy and Cuvier, Raphael's cartoons and Rossini's operas, at her finger-ends; but who, as true as I am alive, does not know whether a mutton chop is cut off a pig or a cow—who would boil tea and cauliflowers in the same manner, and has some vague idea that eggs are the principal ingredient in a gooseberry pie."

"I want her for my wife, not for my cook," retorted I, rather nettled.

"Who does not know," continued Richards, "whether dirty linen ought to be boiled or baked."

"But she sings like St Cecilia, plays divinely, and dances like a fairy."

"Yes, all that will do you a deal of good. I know the family; both father and mother are the most contemptible people breathing."

"Stop there!" cried I; "they are not one iota better or worse than their neighbours."

"You are right."

"Well, then, leave them in peace. I have promised to drink tea there at six o'clock. If you will come, I will take you with me."

"Know then already, man. I will go, on one condition; that you leave New York with me in three days."

"If my marriage is not settled," replied I.

"D——d fool!" muttered Richards between his teeth.

Six o'clock struck as we entered the drawing-room of my future mother-in-law. The good lady almost frightened me as I went in, by her very extraordinary appearance in a tremendous grey gauze turban, fire-new, just arrived by the Henri Quatre packet-ship from Havre, and that gave her exactly the look of one of our Mississippi night-owls. Richards seemed a little startled; and Moreland, who was already there, could not take his eyes off this remarkable head-dress. Miss Margaret was costumed in pale green silk, her hair flattened upon each side of her forehead a la Marguerite, (see the Journal des Modes,) and looking like Jephtha's daughter, pale and resigned, but rather more lackadaisical, with a sort of "though-absent-not-forgot" look about her, inexpressibly sentimental and interesting. The contrast was certainly rather strong between old Moreland, who sat there, red-faced, thickset, and clumsy, and the airy slender Staunton, who, for fear of spoiling his figure, lived upon oysters and macaroon, and drank water with a rose leaf in it.

I had brought the languishing beauty above described, Scott's Tales of my Grandfather, which had just appeared.

"Ah! Walter Scott!" exclaimed she, in her pretty melting tones. Then, after a moment's pause, "The vulgar man has not a word to say for himself;" said she to me, in a low tone.

"Wait a little," replied I; "he'll improve. It is no doubt his modest timidity that keeps his lips closed."

Margaret gave me a furious look.

"Heartless mocker!" she exclaimed.

Meanwhile Richards had got into conversation with Bowsends. The unlucky dog, who did not know that his host was a violent Adams-ite, and had lost a good five thousand dollars in bets and subscriptions to influence the voices of the sovereign people at the recent election, had fallen on the sore subject. He began by informing his host that Old Hickory would shortly leave the Hermitage to assume his duties as president.