see how it is!” muttered Doortje. “So—so—turkeys—turkeys; ducks—ducks—quaack—quaack—quaack—gobble, gobble, gobble—” Here, the old hag set up such an imitation of ducks, geese, turkeys, game-cocks, and other birds, that one who was in an outer room, might well have imagined he heard the cries of a regular poultry-yard. I was startled, myself, for the imitation was very admirable—but Guert was obliged to wipe the perspiration from his face.
“That will do—that will do, Mother!” the young man exclaimed. “I see, you know all about it; and there is no use in attempting disguises with you. Now, tell me, if I am ever to be a married man, or not. My errand here, is to learn that fact; and I may as well own it, at once.”
“The world has many women in it—and fair faces are plenty, in Albany,” once more mumbled the woman, examining her cards, with great attention. “A youth, like you, might marry twice, even.”
“No, that is impossible; if I do not marry a particular lady, I shall never marry at all.”
“Yes—yes—I see how it is!—You are in love, young man.”
“D’ye hear that, Corny! Isn’t it wonderful, how these creatures can tell? I admit the truth of what you say; but, describe to me the lady that I love.”
Guert had forgotten, altogether, that the use of the word lady, completely betrayed the fact of his disguise; since no man, truly of his dress and air, would think of applying such a word to his sweetheart. 30 I could not prevent these little betrayals of himself, however; for, by this time, my companion was too much excited, to hear reason.
“The lady that you love,” answered the fortune-teller, deliberately, and with the manner of one that proceeded with great confidence, “is very handsome, in the first place.”
“True as the sun in the heavens, Mother!”
“Then, she is virtuous, and amiable, and wise, and witty, and good.”
“The Gospel is not more certain! Corny, this surpasses belief!”
“Then, she is young. Yes, she is young, and fair, and good; three things that make her much sought after.”
“Why is she so long reflecting on my offers, Mother, tell me that, I beg of you; or, will she ever consent to have me?”
“I see—I see—it is all here, on the cards. The lady cannot make up her mind.”
“Listen to that, now, Corny; and do not tell me there is nothing in this art. Why does she not make up her mind? For Heaven’s sake, let me know that? A man may tire of offering to marry an angel, and getting no answer. I wish to know the reason of her doubts.”
“A woman’s mind is not easily read. Some are in haste, while some are not. I am of opinion you wish to get an answer before the lady is ready to give it. Men must learn to wait.”
“She really seems to know all about it, Corny! Much as I have heard of this woman, she exceeds it all! Good Mother, can you tell me how I can gain the consent of the woman I love?”
“That is only to be had by asking. Ask once, ask twice, ask thrice.”
“By St. Nicholas! I have asked, already, twenty times! If asking would do it, she would have been my wife a month since. What do you think, Corny—no, I’ll not do it—it is not manly to get the secrets of a woman’s heart, by means like these—I’ll not ask her!”
“The crown is paid, and the truth must be said. The lady you love, loves you, and she does not love you; she will have you, and she won’t have you; she thinks yes, and she says no.”
Guert now trembled all over, like an aspen-leaf.
“I do not believe there is any harm, Corny, in asking whether I gained or lost by the affair of the river? I will ask her that much, of a certainty. Tell me, Mother, am I better or worse, for a certain thing that happened about a month ago—about the time that the ice went, and that we had a great freshet?”
“Guert Ten Eyck, why do you try me thus?” demanded the fortune-teller, solemnly. “I knew your father, and I knew your mother; I knew your ancestors in Holland, and their children in America. Generations on generations have I known your people, and you are the first that I have seen so ill-clad! Do you suppose, boy, that old Doortje’s eyes are getting dim, and that she cannot tell her own nation? I saw you on the river—ha! ha! ‘t was a pleasant sight—Jack and Moses, too; how they snorted, and how they galloped! Crack—crack—that’s the ice—there comes the water!—See, that bridge may hit you on the head! Do you take care of this bird, and do you take care of that—and all will come round with the seasons. Answer me one thing, Guert Ten Eyck, and answer me truly. Know you ever a young man who goes quickly into the bush?”
“I do, Mother; this young man, my friend, intends to go in a few days, or as soon as the weather is settled.”
“Good! go you with him—absence makes a young woman know her own mind, when asking will gain nothing. Go you with him, I say; and if you hear muskets fired, go near them; fear will sometimes make a young woman speak. You have your answer, and I will tell no more. Come hither, young owner of many half-joes, and touch that card.”
“I did as ordered; when the woman began to mumble to herself, and to run over the pack as rapidly as she could. Kings, aces, and knaves were examined, one after another, until she had got the Queen of Hearts in her hand, which she held up to me in triumph.
“That is your lady. She is a queen of too many hearts! The Hudson did that for you, that it has done for many a poor man before you. Yes, yes; the river did you good: but water will drown, as well as make tears. Do you beware of Knights Barrownights!” 31
Here Mother Doortje came to a dead stand in her communications, and not another syllable of any sort could either of us get from her; though, between us, as many as twenty questions were asked. Signs were made for us to depart; and when the woman found our reluctance, she laid a crown for each of us, on the table, with a dignified air, and went into a corner, seated herself, and began to rock her body, like one impatient of our presence. After so unequivocal a sign that she considered her work as done, we could not well do less than return; leaving the money behind us, as a matter of course.
Chapter XIX
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship, too rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
—Shelley
Guert Ten Eyck was profoundly impressed with what he had heard, in his visit to the fortune-teller. It affected his spirits, and, as will be seen, it influenced all his subsequent conduct. As for myself, I will not say that I totally
