But that which keepeth us apart is not
Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of earth,
But the distractions of a various lot,
As various as the climates of our birth.
My blood is all meridian--were it not
I had not left my clime, nor should I be,
In spite of tortures, ne'er to be forgot,
A slave again of love, at least of thee!
--Byron.
The life of Berenice was lonely enough. She had perseveringly rejected
the visits of her neighbors, until at length they had taken her at her
word and kept away from her house.
She had persistently declined the invitations of Mrs. Brudenell to join
the family circle at Washington every winter, until at last that lady
had ceased to repeat them and had also discontinued her visits to
Brudenell Hall.
Berenice passed her time in hoping and praying for her husband's return,
and in preparing and adorning her home for his reception; in training
and improving the negroes; in visiting and relieving the poor; and in
walking to the turnstile and watching the high-road.
Surely a more harmless and beneficent life could not be led by woman;
yet the poisonous alchemy of detraction turned all her good deeds into
evil ones.
Poor Berenice--poor in love, was rich in gold, and she lavished it with
an unsparing hand on the improvement of Brudenell. She did not feel at
liberty to pull down and build up, else had the time-worn old mansion
house disappeared from sight and a new and elegant villa had reared its
walls upon Brudenell Heights. But she did everything else she could to
enhance the beauty and value of the estate.
The house was thoroughly repaired, refurnished, and decorated with great
luxury, richness, and splendor. The grounds were laid out, planted, and
adorned with all the beauty that taste, wealth, and skill could produce.
Orchards and vineyards were set out. Conservatories and pineries were
erected. The negroes' squalid log-huts were replaced with neat stone
cottages, and the shabby wooden fences by substantial stone walls.
And all this was done, not for herself, but for her husband, and her
constant mental inquiry was: "After all, will Herman be pleased?"
Yet when the neighbors saw this general renovation, of the estate, which
could not have been accomplished without considerable expenditure of
time, money, and labor, they shook their heads in strong disapprobation,
and predicted that that woman's extravagance would bring Herman
Brudenell to beggary yet.
She sought to raise the condition of the negroes, not only by giving
them neat cottages, but by comfortably furnishing their rooms, and
encouraging them to keep their little houses and gardens in order,
rewarding them for neatness and industry, and established a school for
their children to learn to read and write. But the negroes--hereditary
servants of the Brudenells--looked upon this stranger with jealous
distrust, as an interloping foreigner who had, by some means or other,
managed to dispossess and drive away the rightful family from the old
place. And so they regarded all her favors as a species of bribery, and
thanked her for none of them. And this was really not ingratitude, but
fidelity. The neighbors denounced these well-meant efforts of the
mistress as dangerous innovations, incendiarisms, and so forth, and
thanked Heaven that the Brudenell negroes were too faithful to be led
away by her!