The Goodness of Saint Rocque

by Alice Dunbar-Nelson

　　

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Manuela was tall and slender and graceful, and once you knew herthe lithe form could never be mistaken. She walked with the easyspring that comes from a perfectly arched foot. To-day she sweptswiftly down Marais Street, casting a quick glance here and therefrom under her heavy veil as if she feared she was beingfollowed. If you had peered under the veil, you would have seenthat Manuela's dark eyes were swollen and discoloured about thelids, as though they had known a sleepless, tearful night.There had been a picnic the day before, and as merry a crowd ofgiddy, chattering Creole girls and boys as ever you could seeboarded the ramshackle dummy-train that puffed its way wheezilyout wide Elysian Fields Street, around the lily-covered bayous,to Milneburg-on-the-Lake. Now, a picnic at Milneburg is a thingto be remembered for ever. One charters a rickety-looking,weather-beaten dancing-pavilion, built over the water, and afterstoring the children--for your true Creole never leaves the smallfolks at home--and the baskets and mothers downstairs, the youngfolks go up-stairs and dance to the tune of the best band youever heard. For what can equal the music of a violin, a guitar,a cornet, and a bass viol to trip the quadrille to at apicnic?Then one can fish in the lake and go bathing under the primbath-houses, so severely separated sexually, and go rowing on thelake in a trim boat, followed by the shrill warnings of anxiousmamans. And in the evening one comes home, hat crowned with coolgray Spanish moss, hands burdened with fantastic latanier basketswoven by the brown bayou boys, hand in hand with your dearestone, tired but happy.At this particular picnic, however, there had been bitterness ofspirit. Theophile was Manuela's own especial property, andTheophile had proven false. He had not danced a single waltz orquadrille with Manuela, but had deserted her for Claralie, blondeand petite. It was Claralie whom Theophile had rowed out on thelake; it was Claralie whom Theophile had gallantly led to dinner;it was Claralie's hat that he wreathed with Spanish moss, andClaralie whom he escorted home after the jolly singing ride intown on the little dummy-train.Not that Manuela lacked partners or admirers. Dear no! she wastoo graceful and beautiful for that. There had been more thanenough for her. But Manuela loved Theophile, you see, and no onecould take his place. Still, she had tossed her head and let hersilvery laughter ring out in the dance, as though she were thehappiest of mortals, and had tripped home with Henri, leaning onhis arm, and looking up into his eyes as though she adored him.This morning she showed the traces of a sleepless night and anaching heart as she walked down Marais Street. Across wide St.Rocque Avenue she hastened. "Two blocks to the river and onebelow--" she repeated to herself breathlessly. Then she stood onthe corner gazing about her, until with a final summoning of adesperate courage she dived through a small wicket gate into agarden of weed-choked flowers.There was a hoarse, rusty little bell on the gate that gavequerulous tongue as she pushed it open. The house that sat backin the yard was little and old and weather-beaten. Its one-storyframe had once been painted, but that was a memory remote andtraditional. A straggling morning-glory strove to conceal itstime-ravaged face. The little walk of broken bits of brick wasreddened carefully, and the one little step was scrupulouslyyellow-washed, which denoted that the occupants were cleanly aswell as religious.Manuela's timid knock was answered by a harsh "Entrez."It was a small sombre room within, with a bare yellow-washedfloor and ragged curtains at the little window. In a corner wasa diminutive altar draped with threadbare lace. The red glow ofthe taper lighted a cheap print of St. Joseph and a brazencrucifix. The human element in the room was furnished by alittle, wizened yellow woman, who, black-robed, turbaned, andstern, sat before an uncertain table whereon were greasy cards.Manuela paused, her eyes blinking at the semi-obscurity within.The Wizened One called in croaking tones:"An' fo' w'y you come here? Assiez-la, ma'amzelle."Timidly Manuela sat at the table facing the owner of the voice."I want," she began faintly; but the Mistress of the Cardsunderstood: she had had much experience. The cards were shuffledin her long grimy talons and stacked before Manuela."Now you cut dem in t'ree part, so--un, deux, trois, bien! Youmek' you' weesh wid all you' heart, bien! Yaas, I see, I see!"Breathlessly did Manuela learn that her lover was true, but "datlight gal, yaas, she mek' nouvena in St. Rocque fo' hees love.""I give you one lil' charm, yaas," said the Wizened One when theseance was over, and Manuela, all white and nervous, leaned backin the rickety chair. "I give you one lil' charm fo' to ween himback, yaas. You wear h'it 'roun' you' wais', an' he come back.Den you mek prayer at St. Rocque an' burn can'le. Den you comeback an' tell me, yaas. Cinquante sous, ma'amzelle. Merci.Good luck go wid you."Readjusting her veil, Manuela passed out the little wicket gate,treading on air. Again the sun shone, and the breath of theswamps came as healthful sea-breeze unto her nostrils. Shefairly flew in the direction of St. Rocque.There were quite a number of persons entering the white gates ofthe cemetery, for this was Friday, when all those who wish goodluck pray to the saint, and wash their steps promptly at twelveo'clock with a wondrous mixture to guard the house. Manuelabought a candle from the keeper of the little lodge at theentrance, and pausing one instant by the great sun-dial to see ifthe heavens and the hour were propitious, glided into the tinychapel, dim and stifling with heavy air from myriad wish-candlesblazing on the wide table before the altar-rail. She said herprayer and lighting her candle placed it with the others.Mon Dieu! how brightly the sun seemed to shine now, she thought,pausing at the door on her way out. Her small finger-tips, stillbedewed with holy water, rested caressingly on a gamin's head.The ivy which enfolds the quaint chapel never seemed so green;the shrines which serve as the Way of the Cross never seemed soartistic; the baby graves, even, seemed cheerful.Theophile called Sunday. Manuela's heart leaped. He had beenspending his Sundays with Claralie. His stay was short and hewas plainly bored. But Manuela knelt to thank the good St.Rocque that night, and fondled the charm about her slim waist.There came a box of bonbons during the week, with a decorativecard all roses and fringe, from Theophile; but being a Creole,and therefore superstitiously careful, and having been reared bya wise and experienced maman to mistrust the gifts of a recreantlover, Manuela quietly thrust bonbons, box, and card into thekitchen fire, and the Friday following placed the second candleof her nouvena in St. Rocque.Those of Manuela's friends who had watched with indignationTheophile gallantly leading Claralie home from High Mass onSundays, gasped with astonishment when the next Sunday, with hisusual bow, the young man offered Manuela his arm as theworshippers filed out in step to the organ's march. Claralietossed her head as she crossed herself with holy water, and thepink in her cheeks was brighter than usual.Manuela smiled a bright good-morning when she met Claralie in St.Rocque the next Friday. The little blonde blushed furiously, andManuela rushed post-haste to the Wizened One to confer upon thisnew issue."H'it ees good," said the dame, shaking her turbaned head. "Sheees 'fraid, she will work, mais you' charm, h'it weel beat her."And Manuela departed with radiant eyes.Theophile was not at Mass Sunday morning, and murderous glancesflashed from Claralie to Manuela before the tinkling of theHost-Bell. Nor did Theophile call at either house. Two heartsbeat furiously at the sound of every passing footstep, and twominds wondered if the other were enjoying the beloved one'ssmiles. Two pair of eyes, however, blue and black, smiled onothers, and their owners laughed and seemed none the less happy.For your Creole girls are proud, and would die rather than letthe world see their sorrows.Monday evening Theophile, the missing, showed his rather sheepishcountenance in Manuela's parlour, and explained that he, withsome chosen spirits, had gone for a trip--"over the Lake.""I did not ask you where you were yesterday," replied the girl,saucily.Theophile shrugged his shoulders and changed the conversation.The next week there was a birthday fete in honour of Louise,Theophile's young sister. Everyone was bidden, and no onethought of refusing, for Louise was young, and this would be herfirst party. So, though the night was hot, the dancing went onas merrily as light young feet could make it go. Claraliefluffed her dainty white skirts, and cast mischievous sparkles inthe direction of Theophile, who with the maman and Louise wasbravely trying not to look self-conscious. Manuela, tall andcalm and proud-looking, in a cool, pale yellow gown wasapparently enjoying herself without paying the slightestattention to her young host."Have I the pleasure of this dance?" he asked her finally, in alull of the music.She bowed assent, and as if moved by a common impulse theystrolled out of the dancing-room into the cool, quaint garden,where jessamines gave out an overpowering perfume, and a cagedmocking-bird complained melodiously to the full moon in the sky.It must have been an engrossing tete-a-tete, for the call tosupper had sounded twice before they heard and hurried into thehouse. The march had formed with Louise radiantly leading on thearm of papa. Claralie tripped by with Leon. Of course, nothingremained for Theophile and Manuela to do but to bring up therear, for which they received much good-natured chaffing.But when the party reached the dining-room, Theophile proudly ledhis partner to the head of the table, at the right hand of maman,and smiled benignly about at the delighted assemblage. Now youknow, when a Creole young man places a girl at his mother's righthand at his own table, there is but one conclusion to be deducedtherefrom.If you had asked Manuela, after the wedding was over, how ithappened, she would have said nothing, but looked wise.If you had asked Claralie, she would have laughed and said shealways preferred Leon.If you had asked Theophile, he would have wondered that youthought he had ever meant more than to tease Manuela.If you had asked the Wizened One, she would have offered you acharm.But St. Rocque knows, for he is a good saint, and if you believein him and are true and good, and make your nouvenas with a cleanheart, he will grant your wish.

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