Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhymeChild, Lydia Maria
General
Autumnal leaves: tales and sketches in prose and rhyme
Child, Lydia Maria
American essays -- 19th century; American fiction -- 19th century; Short stories, American
A clergyman of the Reformed Dutch Church, who witnessed this
manifestation of hostility toward the baby, adduced it as a proof of the
inherent depravity of the human heart. But time showed that the
depravity was not very deep. Jan felt the bitter pang of being
superseded where he loved, but he had a disposition too kindly to retain
ill-will. His heart soon adopted the infant, and they became friends and
playmates. When little Lambert grew old enough to toddle about, it was
the prettiest of all imaginable sights to see them together among the
vine-leaves that crept through the green lattice-work of the verandah.
The blue-eyed baby, plump and fair, draped in white muslin, formed a
beautiful contrast to his brown companion. They looked like two cupids
at play; one in marble, the other in bronze. But though they were almost
inseparable companions, and extremely fond of each other, it came to
pass through a process of painful weaning, on the part of little Jan.
Many a time he “sighed among his playthings,” when he saw Maria
caressing her babe, without noticing that he was in the room. Many a
time tears fell on his neglected offering of flowers.
He was, however, far more fortunate than most slaves who happen to be
petted playthings in their childhood; for he only passed out of an
atmosphere of love into an atmosphere of considerate kindness. His quick
ear for all variations of sound continued to be a great source of
gratification to himself and his indulgent mistress. His voice was
small, like himself, but it had a bird-like sweetness; and its very
imperfections, resulting as they did from weakness and inexperience,
imparted an infantine charm to his performances, like the lisping of
childish prattle, or the broken utterance of a foreigner. When he could
sing two or three simple melodies, Madame Van der Veen gave him a little
guitar, and taught him to accompany his voice. The population of Java is
an assemblage of various nations; and as he listened intently to
whatever he heard hummed, whistled, or played, in the parlour or in the
slave-quarters, he knew snatches of a great variety of tunes when he was
six years old. It was his pleasure to twine Hindoo, Arab, Javanese,
English, and Dutch melodies into improvised fantasias, which resembled
grotesque drawings, representing birds and monkeys, flowers, fruit, and
human faces, bound together in a graceful tangle of vines. At eight
years old, he was often trusted to go to Grésik on errands. Following
his usual habits of listening and observing, during these visits to the
city he added greatly to his stock of popular airs, and soon learned to
imitate all manner of instruments, as he had formerly imitated the
birds. Hindoo lullabies, Arab dances, the boat-songs of the Javanese, as
they passed up and down the river, English marches, Dutch drinking
songs, and Chinese jingle-jangles, he could give a lively version of
them all; and he was frequently called into the parlour to repeat them
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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