Daisy in the Field Part 37

Not at that moment, for I was sick and cold, as he said. I could not get accustomed to these things, with all the practice I had.

"No fire in her?" said papa, calmly. "There is ammunition enough, Ransom. I don't want to see the fire, for my part. I am glad there is one of us that keeps cool. My darling, you look pale - what is it for?"

"Fire that burns with a blue flame," said mamma.

"Blue?" - said papa, with a look at me which somehow set us all to laughing.

"The carmine is coming in again," said mamma. "I profess I do not understand you, Daisy."

I was afraid she began to suspect me.

It was very true that mamma did not understand me; and it was the unhappiness of my life. I tried hard to narrow the distance between us, by every opportunity that the days or the hours gave; and a certain accord was after a time established anew in our relations with each other. Mamma again took to adorning and playing with me; again studied my toilettes and superintended my dressing; made me as exquisite as herself in all outward paraphernalia. I let her alone; in this at least I could gratify her; and no occasion of gratifying her was to be lost. Papa was pleased too, though I think it made less difference to him what I was dressed in; yet he observed me, and smiled in a way to show his pleasure whenever a new device of mamma's produced a new effect. She sought society for herself and me now. We removed from Geneva and went to Florence. I was thankful it was not to Paris. Every foot of Italy had great charms for me; and I dreamed over Florence, with a delighted fancy that never grew tired or tame. That my evenings were spent in what I did not care for, could not spoil my days. Our walks and drives, which papa and I often now took alone, were delicious beyond expression. I forgot the whirl of the night before and of the evening to come, and I was the child Daisy again, I think, in very much. At night mamma had me.

There was a lull at this time in the news from home. Both parties in America were gathering up their strength; and in the mean time the only affairs we heard of were inconclusive skirmishes, sometimes turning out for the advantage of one side, sometimes of the other; but not to signal advantage for anybody. I hoped, with such a lull, that things might subside into a state susceptible of composition. I might have reasoned, if I looked at home, upon the unlikelihood of any such thing. No news of advantages lost or gained had any effect upon my mother and brother but to make them more keen in the cause and more relentless in pursuit of their end. The hearing of a trifling success was like a taste of blood to the lion; the loss of Beaufort and its forts was turned into an occasion of triumph because "the great naval expedition" had accomplished no greater things. They laughed at McClellan's review of troops; and counted up the gains his adversaries were to realise from the co-operation of foreign well-wishers.

And then the taking of Mason and Slidell put them into a fume of indignation and scorn. My father shared, though more gently, in all this. I was alone. Could I tell them that my heart was with the Northern army; and how it went out after every gleam of one particular sabre?

My mother drew me into society by degrees. I hardly knew where the line was pa.s.sed, between quiet conversaziones and brilliant and courtly a.s.semblies. It was pa.s.sed when I was unwitting of it, or when I felt unable to help it. My mother had been so much alienated by my behaviour toward Marshall and De Saussure, that I thought it needful to please her by every means in my power, short of downright violation of conscience.

"Children, obey your parents _in the Lord_," - I did not forget; I thought I was doing the very thing. For it was not to please myself, that I let my mother make me look as she chose and let her take me - where she would. My heart was too sore to be ambitious and too sober to feel the flutterings of vanity. I knew the effect of her doings was often what satisfied her; but the nearest approach to a thrill of vanity in myself was, I think, the wish that Christian could see me. And as he could not, I seemed to wear an armour of proof against other eyes. I did not care for them.

Nevertheless, I began to be sensible that they cared for me. I obeyed my mother at first because she signified her will very absolutely, and allowed me to see that any refusal on my part would make a breach between us. I left myself in her hands, to dress and adorn and lead about as she liked; I could not help it without an effort that would have parted us. And besides, I believe I accepted these engrossments of society as a sedative to keep me from thinking. They took a great deal of tine and occupied my attention while they lasted.

By degrees there came a change. As I said, I was admired. At first I cared little for any eyes but those which could not see me; but that did not last. I began to like to be admired.

Soon after that, it dimly dawned upon me, that some of those whom I saw now every day, might come to admire me too much. I had learnt a lesson. There were several gentlemen, whose society I liked very well, who gave us, I began to perceive, a great deal of it. I saw them at night; I saw them by day; they met us in our walks; they even joined us in our rides. One was a German; a very cultivated and agreeable talker, well-bred, and in high position at Florence. Another was a delightful Italian; poor I think. A third was a young English n.o.bleman; rich, but nothing more that I could discover. The German talked to me; the Italian sang with me; the Englishman followed me, and was most at home in our house of them all. I had been taking the good of all this, in a nice society way, enjoying the music and the talk and the information I got from the two first, and I am afraid enjoying too the flowers and the attentions of the third, as well as of still others whom I have not mentioned. I was floating down a stream and I had not thought about it, only enjoyed in a careless way; till a little thing startled me.

"We do not have so much time for our walks as we used, Daisy,"

papa said one day when he came into the drawing-room and found me with my habit on. "Where are you going now?"

"To ride, papa, with Lord Montjoy."

"My Daisy is not a daisy any longer," said papa, folding me in his arms. "She has grown into a white camellia. Going to ride with Lord Montjoy! -"

I cannot say what in these last words of papa gave me a whole revelation.

"I think you are mistaken, papa," I said. "I am Daisy yet."

"I _was_ mistaken," said papa smiling, but rather shadowedly, I thought; - "I should have said a rose camellia. Here is Lord Montjoy, my dear. Go."

I am sure Lord Montjoy had little satisfaction in that ride; at least I am sure I had little. I was longing for time to think, and frightened besides. But when the ride was over, mamma wanted me; the evening claimed me for a grand reception; the morning held me in sleep; we had company at luncheon; I was engaged with another riding party in the afternoon, and another a.s.sembly expected me at night. I could not rest or think, as I wanted to think, till night and morning had again two or three times tossed me about as a society ball. I think one's mind gets to be something like a ball too, when one lives such a life; all one's better thoughts rolled up, like a hybernating hedgehog, and put away as not wanted for use. I had no opportunity to unroll mine for several days.

But I could not bear this state of things long; and at last I excused myself from a party one morning and went to walk with papa; and then that hedgehog of thoughts began to stir and unfold and come to life. Still I wanted quiet. We had been going through a picture gallery, where I did not see the pictures; then, as often before, I persuaded papa to walk on further and take post where we could look at our leisure on the beautiful Dome. This was an unceasing pleasure to me. Papa was not so fond of it; he came for my sake, as he often was accustomed to do. To-day, instead of soothing, its majestic beauty roused all there was to rouse within me. I suppose we were a long time silent, but I do not know.

"Daisy, you are very quiet," papa said at length.

"Yes papa," I said, rousing myself. "I was thinking."

"That is an old disease of yours, my pet. I wish I could enjoy that great Dome as much as you do."

"Papa, it is so perfect!"

"The Grecian temples suit me better, Daisy."

"Not me, papa."

"Why do they not? What can equal their grace and symmetry?"

"It is cold beauty, papa; there is nothing to lift the thoughts up; and I don't believe those who built them had any high thoughts - spiritual thoughts, I mean, papa."

"And you think the builder of the Dome of Florence had?"

"Yes, sir - I think so."

"The one means no more to me than the other, Daisy."

"Papa," I said, "don't you remember, when you sent me word I must stay two years longer in school without seeing you and mamma, you sent me a promise too? - by Aunt Gary."

"I remember very well, Daisy. Are you going to claim the promise?"

"Papa, may I?"

"Certainly."

"But, papa, -does the promise stand good, like Herod's promise to that dancing woman? is it to be whatever I ask?"

"I believe I said so, Daisy. By the way, why do you not like dancing?"

"I suppose I should like it, papa, if I let myself do it."

"Why not let yourself do it? You do not want to make yourself singular, Daisy."

"No more than I must, papa. But about your promise."

"Yes. Well?"

"It stands good, papa? if it is 'to the half of your kingdom.' "

"That was a rash promise of Herod, Daisy."

"Yes, papa; but I am not a dancing girl."

Papa laughed, and looked at me, and laughed again, and seemed a good deal amused.

"What put that argument into your mouth?" he said. "And what is the reason that it is an argument? You are very absurd, Daisy! You are very absurd not to dance; so your mother says; and I am absurd too, by that reasoning; for I like you better than if you did. Well, not being a dancing girl, what is your pet.i.tion? I reckon it will stand good, even to the half of my kingdom. Though indeed I do not know how much of a kingdom will remain to me, by the time matters are composed at home.

There will be no crops grown at the South this year."

"It would not cost more to go to Palestine, would it, papa, than to live as we are doing now?"

"Palestine!" he exclaimed. "Your mother would never go to Palestine, Daisy."

"But you and I might, papa, - for a few months. You know mamma wants to go to Paris, to be there with Aunt Gary, who is coming."