Littlepage Manuscripts: Satanstoe, The Chainbearer & The Redskins (Complete Edition). James Fenimore Cooper
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is nothing more in it than trick and management; pretending that this very woman kept the blacks of the town in pay, to bring her information; and that she never told anything of the past, which was true, that had not been previously communicated to herself. I shall not pretend to affirm that the art goes as far as many imagine; but, it strikes me, that it is very presuming, to deny that there is some truth in these matters. I do not wish to appear credulous; though, at the same time, I hold it to be wrong to deny our testimony to facts that we are convinced are true. 29
Doortje commenced by shuffling an exceedingly dirty pack of cards; which had probably been used five hundred times, on similar duty. She next caused Mr. Worden to cut these cards; when a close and musing examination succeeded. All this time, not a syllable was said; though we were startled by a low whistle, from the woman; which brought the raven upon her shoulder.
“Well, Mother,” cried Mr. Worden, with a little impatience, at what he fancied mummery, “I am dying to hear what has happened, that I may put the more faith in what is to happen. Tell me something of the crop of wheat, I put into the ground, last autumn; how many bushels I sowed, and on how many acres; whether on new land, or on old?”
“Ay, ay, you have sowed!—and you have sowed!” answered the woman, on a high key, for her; “but your seed fell among tares, and on the flinty ground; and you’ll never reap a soul among ‘em all! Broadcast may you sow—but narrow will be your harvest.”
The Rev. Mr. Worden gave a loud hem—placed his arms akimbo—and seemed determined to brazen it out; though, I could easily perceive, that he felt excessively awkward.
“How is it, with my cattle? and shall I send much mutton to market, this season?”
“A wolf, in sheep’s clothing!” muttered Doortje. “No—no—you like hot suppers, and ducks, and lectures to cooks more than gathering in the harvest of the Lord!”
“Come, this is folly, woman!” exclaimed the parson, angrily. “Give me some common sense, for my good French crown. What do you see, in that knave of diamonds, that you study its face so closely?”
“A loping Dominie!—a loping Dominie!” screamed the hag, several times, rather than exclaiming aloud. “See!—he runs, for life; but Beelzebub will overtake him!”
There was a sudden, and dead pause; for the Rev. Mr. Worden had caught up his hat, and darted from the room; quitting the house, as if already busily engaged in the race alluded to. Guert shook his head, and looked serious; but, perceiving that the woman was already tranquil, and was actually shuffling the cards anew, in his behalf, he advanced to learn his fate. I saw the eyes of Doortje fastened keenly on him, as he took his stand near the table, and the corners of her mouth curled in a significant smile. What that meant, exactly, I have never been able to ascertain.
“I suppose, you wish to know something of the past, like all the rest of them,” mumbled the woman, “so that you may have faith in what you hear about the future?”
“Why, Mother,” answered Guert, passing his hand through his own fine head of natural curls, and speaking a little hastily, “I do not know that it is any great matter about the past. What is done, is done; and there is an end of it. A young man may not wish to hear of such things, at the moment, perhaps, when he is earnestly bent on doing better. We are all young, once in our lives, and we can grow old only after having been so.”
“Yes—yes—I 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