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V I L L E T T E.
By CURRER BELL,
AUTHOR OF " JANE EYRE," " SHIRLEY," ETC.
IN THKEE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 65, CORNHILL.
SMITH, TAYLOR & CO., BOMBAY.
1853.
The Author of this work reserves the right of translating it.
London :
Printed by Stewart and Murray',
Old Bailey.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
Chapter Page
XVII. — Auld Lang Syne 1
XVIIL— La Terrasse 29
XIX. — We quarrel 47
XX.— The Cleopatra 61
XXI.— The Concert 85
XXIL— Reaction 126
XXILL— The Letter 160
XXIV.— Yashti 179
XXV. — M. de Bassompierre .... 205
XXVI. — The Little Countess .... 232
XXVn.— A Burial 259
XXVIII.— The Hotel Crecy . • ... 288
VILLETTE.
CHAPTER XVII.
AULD LANG SYNE.
Where my soul went during that swoon I
cannot tell. Whatever she saw, or wherever she
travelled in her trance on that strange night, she
kept her own secret; never whispering a word to
Memory, and baffling Imagination by an indis-
soluble silence. She may have gone upward, and
come in sight of her eternal home, hoping for leave
to rest now, and deeming that her painful union
with matter was at last dissolved. While she so
deemed, an angel may have warned her away from
heaven's threshold, and, guiding her weeping down,
have bound her, once more, all shuddering and
unwilling, to that poor frame, cold and wasted, of
VOL. II. B
VILLETTE.
whose companionship she was grown more than
weary.
I know she re-entered her prison with pain, with
reluctance, with a moan and a long shiver. The
divorced mates, Spirit and Substance, were hard to
re-unite : they greeted each other, not in an embrace,
but a racking sort of struggle. The returning sense
of sight came upon me, red, as if it swam in blood ;
suspended hearing rushed back loud, like thunder ;
consciousness revived in fear: I sat up appalled,
wondering into what region, amongst what strange
beings I was waking. At first I knew nothing
I looked on : a wall was not a wall — a lamp not
a lamp. I should have understood what we call
a ghost, as well as I did the commonest object;
which is another way of intimating that all my eye
rested on struck it as spectral. But the faculties
soon settled each in its place ; the life-machine
presently resumed its wonted and regular working.
Still, I knew not where I was ; only in time
I saw I had been removed from the spot where
I fell : I lay on no portico-step ; night and
tempest were excluded by walls, windows, and
ceiling. Into some house I had been carried, — but
what house ?
AULD LANG SYNE. O
I could only think of the pensionnat in the Rue
Fossette. Still half-dreaming, I tried hard to dis-
cover in what room they had put me ; whether the
great dormitory, or one of the little dormitories.
I was puzzled, because I could not make the
glimpses of furniture I saw, accord with my know-
ledge of any of these apartments. The empty white
beds were wanting, and the long line of large
windows. " Surely," thought I, " it is not to
Madame Beck's own chamber they have carried
me ! " And here my eye fell on an easy chair
covered with blue damask. Other seats, cushioned
to match, dawned on me by degrees ; and at last
I took in the complete fact of a pleasant parlour,
with a wood-fire on a clear-shining hearth, a carpet
where arabesques of bright blue relieved a ground
of shaded fawn ; pale walls over which a slight but
endless garland of azure forget-me-nots ran mazed
and bewildered amongst myriad gold leaves and
tendrils. A gilded mirror filled up the space
between two windows, curtained amply with blue
damask. In this mirror I saw nivself laid, not in
bed, but on a sofa. I looked spectral ; my eyes
larger and more hollow, my hair darker than was
natural, by contrast with my thin and ashen face.
4 VILLETTE.
It was obvious, not only from the furniture, but
from the position of windows, doors, and fire-place,
that this was an unknown room in an unknown
house.
Hardly less plain was it that my brain was not
yet settled ; for, as I gazed at the blue arm-chair,
it appeared to grow familiar ; so did a certain
scroll-couch, and not less so the round centre-table,
with a blue covering, bordered with autumn-tinted
foliage ; and, above all, two little footstools with
worked covers, and a small ebony-framed chair»
of which the seat and back were also worked with
groups of brilliant flowers on a dark ground.
Struck with these things, I explored further.
Strange to say, old acquaintance were all about
me, and" auld lang syne" smiled out of every nook.
There were two oval miniatures over the mantel-
piece, of which I knew by heart the pearls about
the high and powdered " heads ;" the velvets circling
the white throats ; the swell of the full muslin ker-
chiefs ; the pattern of the lace sleeve-ruffles. Upon
the mantel-shelf there were two china vases, some
relics of a diminutive tea-service, as smooth as
enamel and as thin as egg-shell, and a white
centre-ornament, a classic group in alabaster, pre-
AULD LANG SYNE. O
served under glass. Of all these things I could
have told the peculiarities, numbered the flaws or
cracks, like any clairvoyante. Above all, there was
a pair of handscreens, with elaborate pencil-draw-
ings finished like line-engravings ; these, my very
eyes ached at beholding again, recalling hours when
they had followed, stroke by stroke and touch by
touch, a tedious, feeble, finical, school-girl pencil
held in these fingers, now so skeleton-like.
Where was I? Not only in what spot of the
world, but in what year of our Lord ? For all these
objects were of past days, and of a distant country.
Ten years ago I bade them good by ; since my
fourteenth year they and I had never met. I gasped
audibly, " Where am I ?"
A shape hitherto unnoticed, stirred, rose, came
forward ; a shape inharmonious with the environ-
ment, serving only to complicate the riddle further.
This was no more than a sort of native bonne, in
a common-place bonne's cap and print-dress. She
spoke neither French nor English, and I could get
no intelligence from her, not understanding her
phrases of dialect. But she bathed my temples and
forehead with some cool and perfumed water, and
then she heightened the cushion on which I reclined,.
6 VILLETTE.
made signs that I was not to speak, and resumed
her post at the foot of the sofa.
She was busy knitting ; her eyes thus drawn from
me, I could gaze on her without interruption. I did
mightily wonder how she came there, or what she
could have to do among the scenes, or with the days
of my girlhood. Still more I marvelled what those
scenes and days could now have to do with me.
Too weak to scrutinize thoroughly the mystery, I
tried to settle it by saying it was a mistake, a dream,
a fever-fit ; and yet I knew there could be no mis-
take, and that I was not sleeping, and I believed I
was sane. I wished the room had not been so well
lighted, that I might not so clearly have seen the
little pictures, the ornaments, the screens, the worked
chair. All these objects, as well as the blue-damask
furniture, were, in fact, precisely the same, in every
minutest detail, with those I so well remembered, and
with which I had been so thoroughly intimate, in the
drawing-room of my godmother's house at Bretton.
Methought the apartment only was changed, being
of different proportions and dimensions.
I thought of Bedreddin Hassan, transported in his
sleep from Cairo to the gates of Damascus. Had a
Genius stooped his dark wing down the storm to
AULD LANG SYNE. /
whose stress I had succumbed, and gathering me
from the church-steps, and " rising high into the
air," as the eastern tale said, had he borne me over
land and ocean, and laid me quietly down beside a
hearth of Old England ? But no ; I knew the fire
of that hearth burned before its Lares no more — it
went out long ago, and the household gods had been
carried elsewhere.
The bonne turned again to survey me, and seeing
my eyes wide open, and, I suppose, deeming their
expression perturbed and excited, she put down her
knitting. I saw her busied for a moment at a little
stand ; she poured out water, and measured drops
from a phial : glass in hand, she approached me.
What dark-tinged draught might she now be offer-
ing ? what Genii-elixir or Magi-distillation ?
It was too late to inquire — --I had swallowed it pas-
sively, and at once. A tide of quiet thought now
came gently caressing my brain ; softer and softer
rose the flow, with tepid undulations smoother than
balm. The pain of weakness left my limbs, my
muscles slept. I lost power to move ; but, losing at
the same time wish, it was no privation. That kind
bonne placed a screen between me and the lamp ; I
saw her rise to do this, but do not remember seeing
8 VILLETTE.
her resume her place : in the interval between the
two acts, I " fell on sleep."
At waking, lo ! all was again changed. The light
of high day surrounded me ; not, indeed, a warm,
summer light, but the leaden gloom of raw and
blustering* autumn. I felt sure now that I was in
the pensionnat — sure by the beating rain on the
casement ; sure by the " wuther " of wind amongst
trees, denoting a garden outside ; sure by the chill,
the whiteness, the solitude, amidst which I lay. I
say whiteness — for the dimity curtains, dropped before
a French bed, bounded my view.
I lifted them ; I looked out. My eye, prepared to
take in the range of a long, large, and white-washed
chamber, blinked bafHed, on encountering the limited
area of a small cabinet — a cabinet with sea-green
walls ; also, instead of five wide and naked windows,
there was one high lattice, shaded with muslin fes-
toons : instead of two dozen little stands of painted
wood, each holding a basin and an ewer, there was a
toilette table dressed, like a lady for a ball, in a
white robe over a pink skirt ; a polished and large
glass crowned, and a pretty pincushion frilled with
AULD LANG SYNE. ^
lace adorned it. This toilette, together with a small,
low, green and white chintz arm-chair, a wash-stand
topped with a marble slab, and supplied with utensils
of pale-green ware, sufficiently furnished the tiny
chamber.
Reader, I felt alarmed! Why? you will ask.
What was there in this simple and somewhat pretty
sleeping-closet to startle the most timid? Merely
this — These articles of furniture could not be real,
solid arm-chairs, looking-glasses, and wash-stands —
they must be the ghosts of such articles ; or, if this
were denied as too wild an hypothesis — and, con-
founded as I was, I did denv it — there remained but
to conclude that I had myself passed into an abnor-
mal state of mind ; in short, that I was very ill and
delirious : and even then, mine was the strangest
figment with which delirium had ever harassed a
victim.
I knew — I was obliged to know — the green chintz
of that little chair ; the little snug chair itself, the
carved, shining-black, foliated frame of that glass;
the smooth, milky-green of the china vessels on the
stand ; the very stand too, with its top of gray mar-
ble, splintered at one corner ; — all these I was com-
pelled to recognize and to hail, as last night I had,
10 VILLETTE.
perforce, recognized and hailed the rosewood, the
drapery, the porcelain, of the drawing-room.
Bretton ! Bretton ! and ten years ago shone re-
flected in that mirror. And why did Bretton and
my fourteenth year haunt me thus? Why, if they
came at all, did they not return complete? Why
hovered before my distempered vision the mere fur-
niture, while the rooms and the locality were gone?
As to that pin-cushion made of crimson satin, orna-
mented with gold beads and frilled with thread-lace,
I had the same right to know it as to know the
screens — I had made it myself. Rising with a
start from the bed, I took the cushion in my hand
and examined it. There was the cipher "L. L. B."
formed in gold beads, and surrounded with an
oval wreath embroidered in white silk. These
were the initials of my godmother's name — Louisa
Lucy Bretton.
Am I in England ? Am I at Bretton? I muttered ;
and hastily pulling up the blind with which the lattice
was shrouded, I looked out to try and discover where
I was ; half-prepared to meet the calm, old, handsome
buildings and clean gray pavement of St. Ann's
Street, and to see at the end, the towers of the
minster : or, if otherwise, fully expectant of a town
AULD LANG SYNE. 11
view somewhere, a rue in Villette, if not a street in
a pleasant and ancient English city.
I looked, on the contrary, through a frame of
leafage, clustering round the high lattice, and forth
thence to a grassy mead-like level, a lawn-terrace
with trees rising from the lower ground beyond —
high forest-trees, such as I had not seen for many a
day. They were now groaning under the gale of
October, and between their trunks I traced the line
of an avenue, where yellow leaves lay in heaps and
drifts, or were whirled singly before the sweeping-
west wind. Whatever landscape might lie further
must have been flat, and these tall beeches shut it
out. The place seemed secluded, and was to me
quite strange : I did not know it at all.
Once more I lay down. My bed stood in a little
alcove; on turning my face to the wall, the room
with its bewildering accompaniments became ex-
cluded. Excluded ? No ! For as I arranged my
position in this hope, behold, on the green space
between the divided and looped-up curtains, hung a
broad, gilded picture-frame enclosing a portrait. It
was drawn — well drawn, though but a sketch — in
water-colours ; a head, a boy's head, fresh, life-like,
speaking, and animated. It seemed a youth of
12 VILLETTE.
sixteen, fair-complexioned, with sanguine health in
his cheek ; hair long, not dark, and with a sunny
sheen; penetrating eyes, an arch mouth, and a gay
smile. On the whole a most pleasant face to look
at, especially for those claiming a right to that
youth's affection — parents, for instance, or sisters.
Any romantic little school-girl might almost have
loved it in its frame. Those eyes looked as if when
somewhat older they would flash a lightning response
to love : I cannot tell whether they kept in store
the steady-beaming shine of faith. For whatever
sentiment met him in form too facile, his lips
menaced, beautifully but surely, caprice and light
esteem.
Striving to take each new discovery as quietly as
I could, I whispered to myself —
" Ah ! that portrait used to hang in the breakfast-
room, over the mantel-piece : somewhat too high, as
I thought. I well remember how I used to mount
a music-stool for the purpose of unhooking it, hold-
ing it in my hand, and searching into those bonny
wells of eyes, whose glance under their hazel lashes
seemed like a pencilled laugh ; and well I liked to
note the colouring of the cheek, and the expression
of the mouth." I hardly believed fancy could im-
AULD LANG SYNE. 13
prove on the curve of that mouth, or of the chin;
even my ignorance knew that both were beautiful,
and pondered, perplexed over this doubt: "How it
was that what charmed so much, could at the same
time so keenly pain?" Once, byway of test, I took
little Missy Home, and, lifting her in my arms, told
her to look at the picture.
" Do you like it, Polly ? " I asked. She never
answered, but gazed long, and at last a darkness
went trembling through her sensitive eye, as she said,
" Put me down." So I put her down, saying to
myself: " The child feels it too."
All these things did I now think over, adding,
" He had his faults, yet scarce ever was a finer
nature; liberal, suave, impressible." My reflec-
tions closed in an audibly pronounced word,
" Graham !"
"Graham!" echoed a sudden voice at the bedside.
" Do you want Graham?"
I looked. The plot was but thickening; the
wonder but culminating. If it was strange to see
that well-remembered pictured form on the wall,
still stranger was it to turn and behold the equally
well-remembered living form opposite — a woman, a
lady, most real and substantial, tall, well-attired,
14 VILLETTE.
wearing widow's silk, and sucli a cap as best became
her matron and motherly braids of hair. Hers, too,
was a good face ; too marked, perhaps, now for
beauty, but not for sense or character. She was
little changed ; something sterner, something more
robust — but she was my godmother : still the dis-
tinct vision of Mrs. Bretton.
I kept quiet, yet internally I was much agitated :
my pulse fluttered, and the blood left my cheek,
which turned cold.
" Madam, where am I ? " I inquired.
" In a very safe asylum ; well protected for the
present: make your mind quite easy till you get a
little better; you look ill this morning."
" I am so entirely bewildered, I do not know
whether I can trust my senses at all, or whether
they are misleading me in every particular: but you
speak English, do you not, madam?"
* I should think you might hear that : it would
puzzle me to hold a long discourse in French."
" You do not come from England?"
" I am lately arrived thence. Have you been
long in this country? You seem to know my son?"
" Do I, madam ? Perhaps I do. Your son —
the picture there?"
AITLD LANG SYNE. 15
" That is his portrait as a youth. While looking
at it, you pronounced his name."
"Graham Bretton?"
She nodded.
" I speak to Mrs. Bretton, formerly of Bretton,
shire ? "
" Quite right ; and you, I am told, are an
English teacher in a foreign chool here : my son
recognized you as such."
" How was I found, madam, and by whom 1 "
"My son shall tell you that by-and-by," said she ;
" but at present you are too confused and weak for
conversation : try to eat some breakfast, and then
sleep."
Notwithstanding all I had undergone — the bodily
fatigue, the perturbation of spirits, the exposure to
weather — it seemed that I was better : the fever, the
real malady which had oppressed my frame, was
abating; for, whereas during the last nine days I
had taken no solid food, and suffered from continual
thirst, this morning, on breakfast being offered,
I experienced a craving for nourishment : an inward
faintness which caused me eagerly to taste the tea
this lady offered, and to eat the morsel of dry toast
she allowed in accompaniment. It was only a
16 VILLETTE.
morsel, but it sufficed ; keeping up my strength till
some two or three hours afterwards, when the bonne
brought me a little cup of broth and a biscuit.
As evening began to darken, and the ceaseless
blast still blew wild and cold, and the rain streamed
on, deluge-like, I grew weary — very weary of my bed.
The room, though pretty, was small : I felt it
confining ; I longed for a change. The increasing
chill and gathering gloom, too, depressed me ; I
wanted to see — to feel firelight. Besides, I kept
thinking of the son of that tall matron : when
should I see him ? Certainly not till I left my room.
At last the bonne came to make my bed for the
night. She prepared to wrap me in a blanket and
place me in the little chintz chair; but, declining
these attentions, I proceeded to dress myself. The
business was just achieved, and I was sitting down to
take breath, when Mrs. Bretton once more appeared.
" Dressed !" she exclaimed, smiling with that
smile I so well knew — a pleasant smile, though not
soft; — "You are quite better then? Quite strong
—eh?"
She spoke to me so much as of old she used to
speak that I almost fancied she was beginning to
know me. There was the same sort of patronage
AULD LANG SYNE. 17
in her voice and manner that, as a girl, I had al-
ways experienced from her — a patronage I yielded to
and even liked ; it was not founded on conventional
grounds of superior wealth or station (in the last
particular there had never been any inequality; her
degree was mine) but on natural reasons of physical
advantage : it was the shelter the tree gives the herb,
I put a request without further ceremony.
" Do let me go down stairs, madam ; I am so
cold and dull here."
" I desire nothing better, if you are strong enough
to bear the change," was her rej}ly. " Come then ;
here is an arm." And she offered me hers : I
took it, and we descended one flight of carpeted
steps to a landing where a tall door, standing open,
gave admission into the blue damask room. How
pleasant it was in its air of perfect domestic comfort!
How warm in its amber lamp-light and vermilion
fire-flush ! To render the picture perfect, tea stood
ready on the table — an English tea, whereof the
whole shining service glanced at me familiarly;
from the solid silver urn, of antique pattern, and the
massive pot of the same metal, to the thin porcelain
cups, dark with purple and gilding-. I knew the
very seed-cake of peculiar form, baked in a peculiar
VOL. II. c
18 VILLETTE.
mould, which alv-ays had a place on the tea-table at
Bretton. Graham liked it, and there it was as of
yore — set before Graham's plate with the silver
knife and fork beside it. Graham was then expected
to tea : Graham was now, perhaps, in the house ;
ere many minutes I might see him,
" Sit down — sit down," said my conductress, as
my step faltered a little in passing to the hearth.
She seated me on the sofa, but I soon passed behind
it, saying the fire was too hot ; in its shade I found
another seat which suited me better. Mrs. Bretton
was never wont to make a fuss about any person or
anything; without remonstrance she suffered me
to have my own way. She made the tea, and she
took up the newspaper. I liked to watch every
action of my godmother; all her movements were
so young : she must have been now above fifty, yet
neither her sinews nor her spirit seemed yet touched
by the rust of age. Though portly, she was alert,
and though serene, she was at times impetuous —
good health and an excellent temperament kept her
green as in her spring.
While she read, I perceived she listened —
listened for her son. She was not the woman ever
to confess herself uneasy, but there was yet no lull
AULD LANG SYNE. 19
in the weather, and if Graham were out in
that hoarse wind — roaring still unsatisfied — I
well knew his mother's heart would be out with
him.
" Ten minutes "behind his time," said she, looking
at her watch; then, in another minute, a lifting of
her eyes from the page, and a slight inclination of
her head towards the door, denoted that she heard
some sound. Presently her brow cleared; and then
even my ear, less practised, caught the iron clash of a
gate swung to, steps on gravel, lastly the door-bell.
He was come. His mother filled the tea-pot from
the urn, she drew nearer the hearth the stuffed and
cushioned blue chair — her own chair by right, but
I saw there was one who might with impunity
usurp it. And when that one came up the stairs —
which he soon did, after, I suppose, some such
attention to the toilet as the wild and wet night
rendered necessary, and strode straight in —
"Is it you, Graham?" said his mother, hiding a
glad smile and speaking curtly,
"Who else should it be, mama?" demanded the
Unpunctual, possessing himself irreverently of the
abdicated throne.
" Don't you deserve cold tea, for being late ?"
20 VILLETTE.
"I shall not get my deserts, for the urn sings
cheerily."
" Wheel yourself to table, lazy boy : no seat will
serve you but mine ; if you had one spark of a sense
of propriety, you would always leave that chair for
the Old Lady."
" So I should ; only the dear Old Lady persists in
leaving it for me. How is your patient, mama?"
"Will she come forward and speak for herself?"
said Mrs. Bretton, turning to my corner; and at
this invitation, forward I came. Graham courte-
ously rose up to greet me. He stood tall on the hearth,
a figure justifying his mother's unconcealed pride.
"So you are come down," said he; " you must
be better then — much better. I scarcely expected
we should meet thus, or here. I was alarmed last
night, and if I had not been forced to hurry away to
a dying patient, I certainly would not have left you ;
but my mother herself is something of a doctress,
and Martha an excellent nurse. I saw the case was
a fainting-fit, not necessarily dangerous. What
brought it on, I have yet to learn, and all particu-
lars ; meantime, I trust you really do feel better."
" Much better," I said calmly. " Much better, I
thank you, Dr. John."
AULD LANG SYNE. 21
For, reader, this tall young man — this darling-
son — this host of mine — this Graham Bretton, was
Dr. John : he, and no other ; and, what is more,
I ascertained this identity scarcely with surprise.
What is more, when I heard Graham's step on the
stairs, I knew what manner of figure would enter,
and for whose aspect to prepare my eyes. The dis-
covery was not of to-day, its dawn had penetrated
my perceptions long since. Of course I remem-
bered young Bretton well ; and though ten years
(from sixteen to twenty-six) may greatly change the
boy as they mature him to the man, yet they could
bring no such utter difference as would suffice wholly
to blind my eyes, or baffle my memory. Dr. John
Graham Bretton retained still an affinity to the
youth of sixteen : he had his eyes ; he had some of
his features; to wit, all the excellently-moulded
lower half of the face ; I found him out soon. I
first recognized him on that occasion, noted several
chapters back, when my unguardedly-fixed attention
had drawn on me the mortification of an implied re-
buke. Subsequent observation confirmed, in every
point, that early surmise. I traced in the gesture,
the port, and the habits of his manhood, all his boy's
promise. I heard in his now deep tones the accent
22 VILLETTE.
of former clays. Certain turns of phrase, peculiar
to him of old, were peculiar to him still; and so was
many a trick of eye and lip, many a smile, many a
sudden ray levelled from the irid, under his well-
charactered brow.
To say anything on the subject, to hint at my dis-
covery, had not suited my habits of thought, or as-
similated with my system of feeling. On the con-
trary, I had preferred to keep the matter to myself.
I liked entering his presence covered with a cloud
he had not seen through, while he stood before
me under a ray of special illumination, which shone
all partial over his head, trembled about his feet, and
cast light no farther.
Well I knew that to him it could make little dif-
ference, were I to come forward and announce " This
is Lucy Snowe ! ' So I kept back in my teacher's
place ; and as he never asked my name, so I never
gave it. He heard me called " Miss," and " Miss
Lucy ; " he never heard the surname, " Snowe." As
to spontaneous recognition — though I, perhaps, was
still less changed thanhe — the idea never approached
his mind, and why should I suggest it?
During tea, Dr. John was kind, as it was his na-
ture to be ; that meal over, and the tray carried out,
AULD LANG SYNE. 23
he made a cosy arrangement of the cushions in a
corner of the sofa, and obliged me to settle
amongst them. He and his mother also drew to
the fire, and ere we had sat ten minutes, I caught
the eye of the latter fastened steadily upon me.
Women are certainly quicker in some things than
men.
" Well," she exclaimed, presently ; "I have seldom
seen a stronger likeness ! Graham, have you ob-
served it ? "
"Observed what? What ails the Old Lady now?
How you stare, mama ! One would think you had
an attack of second-sight."
" Tell me, Graham, of whom does that young lady
remind you ? " pointing to me.
" Mama, you put her out of countenance. I often
tell you abruptness is your fault; remember, too,
that to you she is a stranger, and does not know
your ways."
" Now, when she looks down ; now, when she
turns sideways, who is she like, Graham ? '
" Indeed, mama, since you propound the riddle, I
think you ought to solve it ! "
" And you have known her some time, you say —
ever since you first began to attend the school in the
24 VILLETTE.
Rue Fossette ; — yet you never mentioned to me that
singular resemblance ! "
" I could not mention a thing of which I never
thought, and which I do not now acknowledge.
What can you mean ? "
" Stupid boy ! look at her."
Graham did look : but this was not to be endured ;
I saw how it must end, so I thought it best to antici-
pate.
" Dr. John," I said, " has had so much to do and
think of, since he and I shook hands at our last
parting in St. Ann's Street, that, while I readily
found out Mr. Graham Bretton, some months ago,
it never occurred to me as possible that he should
recognize Lucy Snowe."
" Lucy Snowe ! I thought so ! I knew it ! " cried
Mrs. Bretton. And she at once stepped across the
hearth and kissed me. Some ladies would, perhaps,
have made a great bustle upon such a discovery
without being particularly glad of it ; but it was not
my godmother's habit to make a bustle, and she
preferred all sentimental demonstration in bas-relief.
So she and I got over the surprise with few words
and a single salute ; yet I daresay she was pleased,
and I know I was. While we renewed old acquain-
AL'LD LANG SYNE. 25
tance, Graham, sitting opposite, silently disposed of
his paroxysm of astonishment.
" Mama calls me a stupid boy, and I think I
am so;" at length he said, " for, upon my honour,
often as I have seen you, I never once suspected
this fact: and yet I perceive it all now. Lucy
Snowe ! To be sure ! I recollect her perfectly, and
there she sits ; not a doubt of it. But," he added,
" you surely have not known me as an old acquain-
tance all this time, and never mentioned it?"
u That I have," was my answer.
Dr. John commented not. I supposed he re-
garded my silence as eccentric, but he was indulgent
in refraining from censure. I dare say, too, he
would have deemed it impertinent to have interro-
gated me very closely, to have asked me the why and
wherefore of my reserve ; and, though he might
feel a little curious, the importance of the case was
by no means such as to tempt curiosity to infringe
on discretion.
For my part, I just ventured to inquire whether
he remembered the circumstance of my once looking
at him very fixedly ; for the slight annoyance he had
betrayed on that occasion, still lingered sore on my
mind.
26
VILLETTE.
"I think I do!" said lie: "I think I was even
cross with you."
"You considered me a little bold, perhaps?" I
inquired.
" Not at all. Only, shy and retiring as your
general manner was, I wondered what personal or
facial enormity in me proved so magnetic to your
usually averted eyes."
" You see how it was, now?"
" Perfectly."
And here Mrs. Bretton broke in with many, many
questions about past times ; and for her satisfaction I
had to recur to gone-by troubles, to explain causes
of seeming estrangement, to touch on single-handed
conflict with Life, with Death, with Grief, with Fate.
Dr. John listened, saying little. He and she then told
me of changes they had known: even with them, all
had not gone smoothly, and fortune had retrenched
her once abundant gifts. But so courageous a mother,
with such a champion in her son, was well fitted to
fight a good fight with the world, and to prevail
ultimately. Dr. John himself was one of those
on whose birth benign planets have certainly smiled.
Adversity might set against him her most sullen
front : he was the man to beat her down with smiles.
AULD LANG SYNE.
27
Strong and cheerful, and firm and courteous ; not
rash, yet valiant; he was the aspirant to woo Destiny
herself, and to win from her stone eye-balls a beam
almost loving.
In the profession he had adopted, his success was
now quite decided. Within the last three months,
he had taken this house (a small chateau, they told
me, about half a league without the Porte de Crecy) ;
this country site being chosen for the sake of his
mother's health, with which town air did not now
agree. Hither he had invited Mrs. Bretton, and
she, on leaving England, had brought with her such
residue furniture of the former St. Ann's Street man-
sion, as she had thought fit to keep unsold. Hence
my bewilderment at the phantoms of chairs, and the
wraiths of looking glasses, tea urns, and tea cups.
As the clock struck eleven, Dr. John stopped his
mother.
" Miss Snowe must retire now," he said ; " she is
beginning to look very pale. To-morrow I will
venture to put some questions respecting the cause
of her loss of health. She is much changed indeed,
since last July, when I saw her enact with no little
spirit, the part of a very killing fine gentleman.
As to last night's catastrophe, I am sure thereby
28 VILLETTE.
hangs a tale, but we will inquire no further this
evening. Good night, Miss Lucy."
And so, he kindly led me to the door, and holding
a wax candle, lighted me up the one flight of steps.
When I had said my prayers, and when I was
undressed and laid down, I felt that I still had
friends. Friends, not professing vehement attach-
ment, not offering the tender solace of well-matched
and congenial relationship ; on whom, therefore, but
moderate demand of affection was to be made, of
w^hom but moderate expectation formed; but towards
whom, my heart softened instinctively and yearned
with an importunate gratitude, which I entreated
Reason betimes to check.
" Do not let me think of them too often, too much
too fondly," I implored; " let me be content with a
temperate draught of this living stream : let me not
run athirst, and apply passionately to its welcome
waters : let me not imagine in them a sweeter taste
than earth's fountains know. Oh ! would to God !
I may be enabled to feel enough sustained by an
occasional, amicable intercourse, rare, brief, un-
engrossing and tranquil : quite tranquil !'
Still repeating this word, I turned to my pillow ;
and, still repeating it, I steeped that pillow with tears.
LA TERRASSE. 29
CHAPTER XVIII.
LA TERRASSE.
These struggles with the natural character, the
strong native bent of the heart, may seem futile and
fruitless, but in the end they do good. They tend,
however slightly, to give the actions, the conduct,
that turn which Reason approves, and which
Feeling, perhaps, too often opposes : they certainly
make a difference in the general tenor of a life, and
enable it to be better regulated, more equable,
quieter on the surface ; and it is on the surface only
the common gaze will fall. As to what lies below,
leave that with God. Man, your equal, weak as
you, and not fit to be your judge, may be shut out
thence: take it to your Maker — show Him the
secrets of the spirit He gave — ask Him how you are
to bear the pains He has appointed — kneel in His
presence, and pray with faith for light in darkness,
30 VILLETTE.
for strength in piteous weakness, for patience in
extreme need. Certainty, at some hour, though
perhaps not your hour, the waiting waters will stir ;
in some shape, though perhaps not the shape you
dreamed, which your heart loved, and for which it
bled, the healing herald will descend. The cripple
and the blind, and the dumb, and the possessed, will
be led to bathe. Herald, come quickly ! Thousands
lie round the pool, weeping and despairing, to see
it, through slow years, stagnant. Long are j the
" times " of Heaven : the orbits of angel messengers
seem wide to mortal vision ; they may en-ring ages :
the cycle of one departure and return may clasp
unnumbered generations ; and dust, kindling to
brief suffering life, and, through pain, passing back
to dust, may meanwhile perish out of memory again,
and yet again. To how many maimed and mourn-
ing millions is the first and sole angel visitant, him
easterns call Azrael.
I tried to get up next morning, but while I was
dressing, and at intervals drinking cold water from
the carafe on my washstand, with design to brace up
that trembling weakness which made dressing so
difficult, in came Mrs. Bretton.
" Here is an absurdity ! " was her morning accost.
LA TERRASSE. 31
" Not so," she added, and dealing with me at once
in her own brusque, energetic fashion — that fashion
which I used formerly to enjoy seeing- applied to
her son, and by him vigorously resisted — in two
minutes she consigned me captive to the French
bed.
" There you lie till afternoon," said she. " My
boy left orders before he went out that such should
be the case, and I can assure you my son is master
and must be obeyed. Presently you shall have
breakfast."
Presently she brought that meal — brought it with
her own active hands — not leaving me to servants.
She seated herself on the bed while I ate. Now it
is not everybody, even amongst our respected
friends and esteemed acquaintance, whom we like
to have near us, whom we like to watch us, to wait
on us, to approach us with the proximity of a nurse
to a patient. It is not every friend whose eye is
a light in a sick room, whose presence is there
a solace : but all this was Mrs. Bretton to me ; all
this she had ever been. Food or drink never
pleased me so well as when it came through her
hands. I do not remember the occasion when
her entrance into a room had not made that room
32 VILLETTE.
cheerier. Our natures own predilections and anti-
pathies alike strange. There are people from whom
we secretly shrink, whom we would personally avoid,
though reason confesses that they are good people :
there are others with faults of temper, &c, evident
enough, beside whom we live content, as if the air
about them did us good. My godmother's lively
black eye and clear brunette cheek, her warm,
prompt hand, her self-reliant mood, her decided
bearing, were all beneficial to me as the atmosphere
of some salubrious climate. Her son used to call
her "the old lady;" it filled me with pleasant
wonder to note how the alacrity and power of five-
and- twenty still breathed from her and around her.
" I would. bring my work here," she said, as she
took from me the emptied tea-cup, " and sit with
you the whole day, if that overbearing John Graham
had not put his veto upon such a proceeding.
1 Now, mama,' he said, when he went out, ' take
notice, you are not to knock up your god-daughter
with gossip,' and he particularly desired me to
keep close to my own quarters, and spare you my
fine company. He says, Lucy, he thinks you have
had a nervous fever, judging from your look, — is
that so?"
LA TERRASSE. 33
I replied that I did not quite know what my ail-
ment had been, but that I had certainly suffered
a good deal, especially in mind. Further, on this
subject, I did not consider it advisable to dwell, for
the details of what I had undergone belonged to
a portion of my existence in which I never expected
my godmother to take a share. Into what a new
region would such a confidence have led that hale,
serene nature ! The difference between her and me
might be figured by that between the stately ship,
cruising safe on smooth seas, with its full comple-
ment of crew, a captain gay and brave, and ven-
turous and provident; and the life-boat, which most
days of the year lies dry and solitary in an old, dark
boat-house, only putting to sea when the billows run
high in rough weather, when cloud encounters water,
when danger and death divide between them the
rule of the great deep. No, the " Louisa Bretton "
never was out of harbour on such a night, and in
such a scene : her crew could not conceive it ; so the
half-drowned life- boat man keeps his own counsel,
and spins no yarns.
She left me, and I lay in bed content : it was good
of Graham to remember me before he went out.
My day was lonely, but the prospect of coming
VOL. II. d
34 VILLETTE.
evening abridged and cheered it. Then, too, I felt
weak, and rest seemed welcome; and after the
morning hours were gone by — those hours which
always bring, even to the necessarily unoccupied, a
sense of business to be done, of tasks waiting ful-
filment, a vague impression of obligation to be
employed — when this stirring time was past, and
the silent descent of afternoon hushed housemaid
steps on the stairs and in the chambers, I then
passed into a dreamy mood, not unpleasant.
My calm little room seemed somehow like a cave
in the sea. There was no colour about it, except that
white and pale green, suggestive of foam and deep
water; the blanched cornice was adorned with shell-
shaped ornaments, and there were white mouldings
like dolphins in the ceiling-angles. Even that one
touch of colour visible in the red satin pincushion
bore affinity to coral; even that dark, shining glass
might have mirrored a mermaid. When I closed
my eyes, I heard a gale, subsiding at last, bearing
upon the house-front like a settling swell upon a
rock-base. I heard it drawn and withdrawn far, far
off, like a tide retiring from a shore of the upper
world — a world so high above that the rush of its
largest waves, the dash of its fiercest breakers could
LA TERRASSE. 35
sound down in this submarine Lome, only like
murmurs and a lullaby.
Amidst these dreams came evening*, and then
Martha brought a light; with her aid I was quickly
dressed, and, stronger now than in the morning, I
made my way down to the blue saloon unassisted.
Dr. John, it appears, had concluded his round of
professional calls earlier than usual; his form was
the first object that met my eyes as I entered the
parlour ; he stood in that window-recess opposite
the door, reading the close type of a newspaper by
such dull light as closing day yet gave. The fire
shone clear, but the lamp stood on the table unlit,
and tea was not yet brought up.
As to Mrs. Bretton, my active godmother — who, I
afterwards found, had been out in the open air all
day — lay half-reclined in her deep-cushioned chair,
actually lost in a nap. Her son seeing me, came
forward. I noticed that he trod carefully, not to
wake the sleeper; he also spoke low: his mellow
voice never had any sharpness in it; modulated as at
present, it was calculated rather to soothe than startle
slumber.
" This is a quiet little chateau," he observed, after
inviting me to sit near the casement, " I don't know
36 VILLETTE.
whether you may have noticed it in your walks :
though, indeed, from the chaussee it is not visible ;
just a mile beyond the Porte de Crecy, you turn
down a lane which soon becomes an avenue, and
that leads you on, through meadow and shade, to the
very door of this house. It is not a modern place, but
built somewhat in the old style of the Basse- Ville.
It is rather a rnanoir than a chateau ; they call it
' La Terrasse,' because its front rises from a broad
turfed walk, whence steps lead down a grassy slope
to the avenue. See yonder! The moon rises: she
looks well through the tree boles."
Where, indeed, does the moon not look well?
What is the scene, confined or expansive, which her
orb does not hallow? Rosy or fiery, she mounted
now above a not distant bank ; even while we
watched her flushed ascent, she cleared to gold, and
in very brief space, floated up stainless into a now
calm sky. Did moonlight soften or sadden Dr.
Bretton? Did it touch him with romance? I think
it did. Albeit of no sighing mood, he sighed in
watching it: sighed to himself quietly. No need to
ponder the cause or the course of that sigh ; I knew
it was wakened by beauty : I knew it pursued
Ginevra. Knowing this, the idea pressed upon me
LA TERRASSE. 37
that it was in some sort my duty to speak the name
he meditated. Of course he was ready for the sub-
ject: I saw in his countenance a teeming plenitude
of comment, question and interest; a pressure of
language and sentiment, only checked, I thought, by
sense of embarrassment how to begin. To spare
him this embarrassment was my best, indeed my sole
use. I had but to utter the idol's name, and love's
tender litany would flow out. I had just found a
fitting phrase: " You know that Miss Fanshawe is
gone on a tour with the Cholmondeleys," and was
opening my lips to speak it, when he scattered my
plans by introducing another theme.
" The first thing this morning," said he, putting
his sentiment in his pocket, turning from the moon,
and sitting down, " I went to the Rue Fossette, and
told the cuisiniere that you were safe and in good
hands. Do you know I actually found that she had
not yet discovered your absence from the house :
she thought you safe in the great dormitory. With
what care must you have been waited on !"
" Oh ! all that is very conceivable," said I.
" Goton could do nothing for me but bring me a
little tisane and a crust of bread, and I had rejected
both so often during the past week, that the good
38 VILLETTE.
woman got tired of useless journeys from the
dwelling-house kitchen to the school-dormitory, and
only came once a day at noon, to make my bed.
Believe, however, that she is a good natured creature,
and would bave been delighted to cook me cotelettes
de mouton,if I could have eaten them."
" What did Madam Beck mean by leaving you
alone ? "
" Madam Beck could not foresee that I should
fall ill."
u Your nervous system bore a good share of the
suffering ? "
" I am not quite sure what my nervous system is,
but I was dreadfully low-spirited."
" Which disables me from helping you by pill or
potion. Medicine can give nobody good spirits.
My art halts at threshold of Hypochondria : she
just looks in and sees a chamber of torture, but can
neither say nor do much. Cheerful society would
be of use ; you should be as little alone as possible ;
you should take plenty of exercise."
Acquiescence and a pause followed these re-
marks. They sounded all right, I thought, and
bore the safe sanction of custom, and the well worn
stamp of use.
LA TERIIASSE. 39
i( Miss Snowe," recommenced Dr. John — my
health, nervous system included, being now some-
what to my relief, discussed and done with — " is it
permitted me to ask what ryour religion now is?
Are you a Catholic ? "
I looked up in some surprise — " A Catholic? No !
Why suggest such an idea ? "
" The manner in which you were consigned to me
last night, made me doubt."
" I consigned to you? But, indeed, I forget, It
remains yet for me to learn how I fell into your
hands."
" Why, under circumstances that puzzled me. I
had been in attendance all day yesterday on a case
of singularly interesting, and critical character ; the
disease being rare, and its treatment doubtful: I
saw a similar and still finer case in a hospital at
Paris ; but that will not interest you. At last a
mitigation of the patient's most urgent symptoms
(acute pain is one of its accompaniments) liberated
me, and I set out homeward. My shortest way la}*
through the BasseVille, and as the night was exces-
sively dark, wild and wet, I took it. In riding past
an old church belonging to a community of
Beguines, I saw by a lamp burning over the porch
40 VILLETTE.
or deep arch of the entrance, a priest lifting some
object in his arms. The lamp was bright enough to
reveal the priest's features clearly, and I recognized
him ; he was a man I have often met by the sick
beds of both rich and poor : and, chiefly, the latter.
He is, I think, a good old man, far better than most
of his class in this country ; superior, indeed, in
every way: better informed, as well as more devoted
to duty. Our eyes met, he called on me to stop ;
what he supported was a woman, fainting or dying.
I alighted.
"'This person is one of your countrywomen,' he
said : ' save her, if she is not dead.'
"My countrywoman, on examination, turned out to
be the English teacher at Madam Beck's pension-
nat. She was perfectly unconscious, perfectly blood-
less, and nearly cold.
" ' What does it all mean?' was my inquiry.
" He communicated a curious account : that vou
had been to him that evening at confessional ; that
your exhausted and suffering appearance, coupled
with some things you had said — "
"Things I had said ? I wonder what things !':
"Awful crimes, no doubt; but he did not tell me
what: there, you know, the seal of the confessional
LA TERRASSE. 41
checked his garrulity and my curiosity. Your con-
fidences, however, had not made an enemy of the
good father ; it seems he was so struck, and felt so
sorry that you should be out on such a night alone,
lie had esteemed it a christian duty to watch when
you quitted the church, and so to manage as not to
lose sight of you, till you should have reached
home. Perhaps the worthy]man might, half uncon-
sciously, have blent in this proceeding, some little of
the subtility of his class : it might have been his
resolve to learn the locality of your home — did you
impart that in your confession ?"
" I did not : on the contrary, I carefully avoided
the shadow of any indication ; and as to my con-
fession, Dr. John, I suppose you will think me mad
for taking such a step, but I could not help it :
I suppose it was all the fault of what you call my
c nervous system.' I cannot put the case into
words, but, my days and nights were grown intoler-
able ; a cruel sense of desolation pained my
mind : a feeling that would make its way, rush
out, or kill me — like (and this you will under-
stand, Dr. John) the current which passes
througli the heart, and which, if aneurism or any
other morbid cause obstructs its natural channels,
42 VILLETTE.
seeks abnormal outlet. I wanted companionship,
I wanted friendship, I wanted counsel. I could find
none of these in closet, or chamber, so I went and
sought them in church and confessional. As to what
I said, it was no confidence, no narrative. I have
done nothing wrong- : my life has not been active
enough for any dark deed, either of romance or
reality : all I poured out was a dreary, desperate
complaint."
" Lucy, you ought to travel for about six months :
why, your calm nature is growing quite excitable !
Confound Madame Beck! Has the little buxom
widow no bowels, to condemn her best teacher to
solitarv confinement?"
" It was not Madame Beck's fault," said I ; "it
is no living being's fault, and I won't hear any one
blamed."
"Who is in the wrong then, Lucy?"
"Me — Dr. John — me ; and a great abstraction on
whose wide shoulders I like to lay the mountains of
blame they were sculptured to bear : me and Fate."
" ' Me' must take better care in future," said Dr.
John — smiling, I suppose, at my bad grammar.
" Change of air — change of scene ; those are my
prescriptions," pursued the practical young doctor.
LA TEURASSE.
43
" But to return to our muttons, Lucy. As yet, Pere
Silas, with all his tact (they say he is a Jesuit), is
no wiser than you choose him to be ; for, instead of
returning to the Rue Fossette, your fevered wan-
derings— there must have been high fever "
" No, Dr. John : the fever took its turn that
night — now, don't make out that I was delirious,
for I knowr differently."
" Good ! you were as collected as myself at this
moment, no doubt ! Your wanderings had taken
an opposite direction to the Pensionnat. Near the
Beguinage, amidst the stress of flood and gust, and
in the perplexity of darkness, you had swooned and
fallen. The priest came to your succour, and the
physician, as we have seen, supervened. Between
us we procured a fiacre and brought you here.
Pere Silas, old as he is, would carry you up stairs,
and lay you on that couch himself. He would
certainly have remained with you till suspended
animation had been restored ; and so should I, but,
at that juncture, a hurried messenger arrived from
the dying patient I had scarcely left — the last duties
were called for — the physician's last visit and the
priest's last rite ; extreme unction could not be
deferred. Pere Silas and myself departed together,
44 VILLETTE.
my mother was spending the evening abroad ; we
gave you in charge to Martha, leaving directions,
which it seems she followed successfully. Now, are
you a Catholic ?"
" ISTot yet," said I, with a smile. "And never let
Pere Silas know where I live, or he will try to con-
vert me; but give him my best and truest thanks
when you see him, and if ever I get rich I will send
him money for his charities. See, Dr. John, your
mother wakes ; you ought to ring for tea.'*
Which he did ; and, as Mrs. Bretton sat up —
astonished and indignant at herself for the indul-
gence to which she had succumbed, and fully pre-
pared to deny that she had slept at all — her son
came gaily to the attack :
"Hushaby, mama! Sleep again. You look
the picture of innocence in your slumbers."
" My slumbers, John Graham ! What are you
talking about ? You know I never do sleep by day:
it was the slightest doze possible."
" Exactly ! a seraph's gentle lapse — a fairy's
dream. Mama, under such circumstances, you
always remind me of'Titania."
" That is because you, yourself, are so like Bot-
tom."
LA TERRASSE. 45
" Miss Snowe — did you ever hear anything like
mania's wit ? She is a most sprightly woman of
her size and age."
" Keep your compliments to yourself, sir, and do
not neglect your own size : which seems to me a
good deal on the increase. Lucy, has he not rather
the air of an incipient John Bull ? He used to be
slender as an eel, and now I fancy in him a sort
of heavy-dragoon bent — a beef-eater tendency.
Graham, take notice ! If you grow fat I disown
you."
" As if you could not sooner disown your own
personality ! I am indispensable to the old lady's
happiness, Lucy. She would pine away in green
and yellow melancholy if she had not my six feet
of iniquity to scold. It keeps her lively — it main-
tains the wholesome ferment of her spirits."
The two were now standing opposite to each
other, one on each side the fire-place ; their words
were not very fond, but their mutual looks atoned
for verbal deficiencies. At least, the best treasure
of Mrs. Bretton's life was certainly casketed in her
son's bosom ; her dearest pulse throbbed in his
heart. As to him, of course another love shared his
feelings with filial love; and* no doubt, as the new
46 VILLETTE.
passion was the latest born, so he assigned it in his
emotions Benjamin's portion. Ginevra ! Ginevra!
Did Mrs. Bretton yet know at whose feet her own
young idol had laid his homage ? Would she
ap|3rove that choice ? I could not tell ; but I could
well guess that if she knew Miss Fanshawe's con-
duct towards Graham: her alternations between
coldness and coaxing, and repulse and allurement;
if she could at all suspect the pain with which she
had tried him ; if she could have seen, as I had seen,
his fine spirits subdued and harassed, his inferior
preferred before him, his subordinate made the
instrument of his humiliation — then Mrs. Bretton
would have pronounced Ginevra imbecile, or per-
verted, or both. Well — I thought so too.
That second evening passed as sweetly as the
first — mora sweetly indeed : we enjoyed a smoother
interchange of thought; old troubles were not re-
verted to, acquaintance was better cemented ; I felt
happier, easier, more at home. That night— instead
of crying myself asleep — I went down to dreamland
by a pathway bordered with pleasant thoughts.
WE QUARREL. 47
CHAPTER XIX.
WE QUARREL.
During the first days of my stay at the Terrace,
Graham never took a seat near me, or in his fre-
quent pacing of the room approached the quarter
where I sat, or looked preoccupied, or more grave
than usual, but I thought of Miss Fanshawe and
expected her name to leap from his lips. I kept
my ear and mind in perpetual readiness for the
tender theme ; my patience was ordered to be per-
manently under arms, and my sympathy desired to
keep its cornucopia replenished and ready for out-
pouring. At last, and after a little inward struggle
which I saw and respected, he one day launched
into the topic. It was introduced delicately ;
anonymously as it were.
" Your friend is spending her vacation in travel-
48 VILLETTE.
ling, I hear?" "Friend, forsooth!" thought I to
myself: but it would not do to contradict ; he must
have his own way ; I must own the soft impeach-
ment : friend let it be. Still, by way of experiment,
I could not help asking whom he meant ?
He had taken a seat at my work-table ; he now
laid hands on a reel of thread which lie proceeded
recklessly to unwind.
" Ginevra — Miss Fanshawe, has accompanied the
Cholmondeleys on a tour through the south of
France ? "
" She has."
" Do you and she correspond ? "
" It will astonish you to hear that I never once
thought of making application for that privilege."
" You have seen letters of her writing ?"
" Yes ; several to her uncle."
"They will not be deficient in wit and naivete',
there is so much sparkle, and so little art in her
soul?"
" She writes comprehensibly enough when she
writes to M. de Bassompierre : he who runs may
read." (In fact, Ginevra's epistles to her wealthy
kinsman were commonly business documents, un-
equivocal applications for cash.)
WE QUARREL. 49
" And her handwriting ? It must be pretty, light,
ladylike, I should think V
It was, and I said so.
ls I verily believe that all she does is well done,"
said Dr. John; and as I seemed in no hurry to
chime in with this remark, he added : " You, who
know her, could you name a point in which she is
deficient?"
" She does several things very well." (" Flirtation
amongst the rest/' subjoined I, in thought.)
" When do you suppose she will return to town ? "
he soon inquired.
" Pardon me, Dr. John, I must explain. You
honour me too much in ascribing; to me a degree
of intimacy with Miss Fanshawe I have not the
felicity to enjo}*. I have never been the depositary
of her plans and secrets. Yrou will find her par-
ticular friends in another sphere than mine : amongst
the Cholmondeleys, for instance."
He actually thought I was stung with a kind of
jealous pain similar to his own ! " Excuse her ; "
he said, "judge her indulgently; the glitter of
fashion misleads her, but she will soon find out that
these people are hollow, and will return to you with
augmented attachment and confirmed trust. I
VOL. II. e
50 VILLETTE.
know something of the Cholmondeleys ; superficial,
showy, selfish people : depend on it, at heart
Ginevra values you beyond a score of such."
" You are very kind." I said briefty. A dis-
claimer of the sentiments attributed to me burned
on my lips, but I extinguished the flame. I sub-
mitted to be looked upon as the humiliated, cast-off,
and now pining confidante of the distinguished Miss
Fanshawe : but, reader, it was a hard submission.
" Yet, you see," continued Graham, " while I
comfort you, I cannot take the same consolation to
myself; I cannot hope she will do me justice. De
Hamal is most worthless, yet I fear he pleases her :
wretched delusion ! "
My patience really gave way, and without notice :
all at once. I suppose illness and weakness had
worn it and made it brittle.
"Dr. Bretton," I broke out, " there is no delusion
like your own. On all points but one you are
a man, frank, healthful, right-thinking, clear-
sighted : on this exceptional point you are but
a slave. I declare, where Miss Fanshawe is con-
cerned, you merit no respect; nor have you mine."
I got up, and left the room very much excited.
This little scene took place in the morning ;
WE QUARREL. 51
I had to meet him again in the evening, and then
I saw I had done mischief. He was not made of
common clay, not put together out of vulgar
materials ; while the outlines of his nature had been
shaped with breadth and vigour, the details em-
braced workmanship of almost feminine delicacy :
finer, much finer, than you could be prepared to
meet with ; than you could believe inherent in him,
even after years of acquaintance. Indeed, till some
over-sharp contact with his nerves had betrayed, by
its effects, their acute sensibility, this elaborate con-
struction must be ignored ; and the more especially
because the sympathetic faculty was not prominent
in him : to feel, and to seize quickly another's feelings,
are separate properties ; a few constructions possess
both, some neither. Dr. John had the one gift in
exquisite perfection ; and because I have admitted
that he was not endowed with the other in equal
degree, the reader will considerately refrain from
passing to an extreme, and pronouncing him ur-
sympathizing, unfeeling : on the contrary, he was
a kind, generous man. Make your need known,
his hand was open. Put your grief into words, he
turned no deaf ear. Expect refinements of per-
ception, miracles of intuition, and realize disappoint-
52 VILLETTE.
ment. This night, when Dr. John entered the
room, and met the evening lamp, I saw well and at
one jjlance his whole mechanism.
To one who had named him " slave," and, on any
WW if
point, banned him from respect, he must now have
peculiar feelings. That the epithet was well applied,
and the ban just, might be; he put forth no denial
that it was so : his mind even candidly revolved
that unmanning possibility. He sought in this accu-
sation the cause of that ill-success which had got so
galling a hold on his mental peace. Amid the
worry of a self-condemnatory soliloquy, his de-
meanour seemed grave, perhaps cold, both to me
and his mother. And yet there was no bad feeling,
no malice, no rancour, no littleness in his counte-
nance, beautiful with a man's best beauty, even in
its depression. When I placed his chair at the
table, which I hastened to do, anticipating the
servant, and when I handed him his tea, which
I did with trembling care, he said —
" Thank you, Lucy," in as kindly a tone of his
full pleasant voice as ever my ear welcomed.
For my part, there was only one plan to be
pursued ; I must expiate my culpable vehemence, or
I must not sleep that night. This would not do at
WE QUARREL. 53
all; I could not stand it: I made no pretence of
capacity to wage war on this footing. School
solitude, conventual silence and stagnation, any-
thing seemed preferable to living embroiled with
Dr. John. As to Ginevra, she might take the silver
wings of a dove, or any other fowl that flies, and
mount straight up to the highest place, among the
highest stars, where her lover's highest flight of
fancy chose to fix the constellation of her charms :
never more be it mine to dispute the arrangement.
Long I tried to catch his eye. Again and again
that eye just met mine ; but, having nothing to say,
it withdrew, and I was baffled. After tea, he sat
sad and quiet, reading a book. I wished I could
have dared to go and sit near him, but it seemed
that if I ventured to take that step, he would
infallibly evince hostility and indignation. I longed
to speak out, and I dared not whisper. His mother
left the room; then, moved by insupportable regret,
I just murmured the words " Dr. Bretton."
He looked up from his book; his eyes were not
cold or malevolent, his mouth wras not cynical ; he
was ready and willing to hear what I might have to
say : his spirit was of vintage too mellow and
generous to sour in one thunder-clap.
54 VILLETTE.
" Dr. Bretton, forgive my hasty words : do, do
forgive them."
He smiled that moment I spoke. " Perhaps I
deserved them, Lucy. If you don't respect me, I
am sure it is because" I am not respectable. I fear,
I am an awkward fool : I must manage badly in
some way, for where I wish to please, it seems I
don't please."
" Of that you cannot be sure ; and even if such
be the case, is it the fault of vour character, or of
another's perceptions? But now, let me unsay
what I said, in anger. In one thing, and in all
things, I deeply respect you. If you think scarcely
enough of yourself, and too much of others, what
is that but an excellence ?"
" Can I think too much of Ginevra ? "
" I believe you may; you believe you can't. Let
us agree to differ. Let me be pardoned ; that is
what I ask."
" Do you think I cherish ill-will for one warm
■word 1 "
"I see you do not and cannot; but just say,
' Lucy, I forgive you ! ' Say that, to ease me of the
heart-ache."
" Put away your heart-ache, as I will put away
WE QUARREL. 55
mine : for you wounded me a little, Lucy. Now,
when the pain is gone, I more than forgive: I feel
grateful, as to a sincere well-wisher."
" I am your sincere well-wisher : you are right."
Thus our quarrel ended.
Reader, if in the course of this work, vou find
that my opinion of Dr. John, undergoes modifica-
tion, excuse the seeming inconsistency. I give the
feeling as at the time I felt it ; I describe the view
of character as it appeared when discovered.
He showred the fineness of his nature by being
kinder to me after that misunderstanding than
before. IN^ay, the very incident which, by my
theory, must in some degree estrange me and him,
changed, indeed, somewhat our relations ; but not in
the sense I painfully anticipated. An invisible,
but a cold something, very slight, very transparent,
but very chill : a sort of screen of ice had hither-
to, all through our two lives, glazed the medium
through which we exchanged intercourse. Those few
warm words, though only warm with anger, breathed
on that frail frost-work of reserve ; about this time,
it gave note of dissolution. I think from that da},
so long as we continued friends, he never in dis-
course stood on topics of ceremony with me. He
56 VILLETTE.
seemed to know that if he would but talk about
himself, and about that in which he was most
interested, my expectation would always be an-
swered, my wish always satisfied. It follows, as a
matter of course, that I continued to hear much of
rt Ginevra."
"Ginevra!" He thought her so fair, so good;
he spoke so lovingly of her charms, her sweetness,
her innocence, that, in spite of my plain prose
knowledge of the reality, a kind of reflected glow
began to settle on her idea, even for me. Still,
reader, I am free to confess, that he often talked
nonsense ; but I strove to be unfailingly patient
with him. I had had my lesson : I had learned how
severe for me was the pain of crossing, or grieving,
or disappointing him. In a strange and new sense?
I grew most selfish, and quite powerless to deny my.
self the delight of indulging his mood, and being-
pliant to his will. He still seemed to me most
absurd when he obstinately doubted, and desponded
about his power to win in the end Miss Fanshawe's
preference. The fancy became rooted in my own mind
more stubbornly than ever, that she was only
coquetting to goad him, and that, at heart, she
coveted every one of his words and looks. Some-
WE QUARREL. Ji
times he harassed me, in spite of my resolution to
bear and hear ; in the midst of the indescribable
gall-honey pleasure of thus bearing and hearing,
he struck so on the flint of what firmness I owned,
that it emitted fire once and again. I chanced to
assert one day, with a view to stilling his impa-
tience, that in my own mind, I felt positive Miss
Fanshawe must intend eventually to accept him.
" Positive ! It was easy to say so, but had I any
grounds for such assurance?"
" The best grounds."
"Now, Lucy, do tell me what !"
" You know them as well as I ; and, knowing
them Dr. John, it really amazes me that you should
not repose the frankest confidence in her fidelity.
To doubt, under the circumstances, is almost to
insult."
" Now you are beginning to speak fast and to
breathe short ; but speak a little faster and breathe
a little shorter, till you have given an explanation
— a full explanation : I must have it."
" You shall, Dr. John. In some cases, yoif are a
lavish, generous man : you are a worshipper ever
ready with the votive offering ; should Pere Silas
ever convert you, you will give him abundance of alms
58 VILLETTE.
for his poor, you will supply his altar with tapers,
and the shrine of your favourite saint you will do
your best to enrich : Ginevra, Dr. John "
" Hush !" said he, " don't go on."
" Hush, I will riot: and go on I will: Ginevra has
had her hands filled from your hands more times
than I can count. You have sought for her the
costliest flowers ; you have busied your brain in
devising gifts, the most delicate : such, one would
have thought, as only a woman could have imagined ;
and in addition, Miss Fanshawe owns a set of
ornaments, to purchase which your generosity must
have verged on extravagance."
The modesty Ginevra herself had never evinced
in this matter, now flushed all over the face of her
admirer.
"Nonsense!" he said, destructively snipping a
skein of silk with my scissors. " I offered them to
please myself: I felt she did me a favour in accept-
ing them."
" She did more than a favour, Dr. Johu : she
pledged her very honour that she would make you
some return; and if she cannot pay you in affection,
she ought to hand out a business-like equivalent, in
the shape of some rouleaux of gold pieces."
WE QUARREL. 59
" But you don't understand her ; she is far too
disinterested to care for my gifts, and too simple-
minded to know their value."
I laughed out: I had heard her adjudge to every
jewel its price ; and well I knew money-embarrass-
ment, money-schemes, money's worth, and en-
deavours to realize supplies, had, young as she was,
furnished the most frequent, and the favourite
stimulus of her thoughts for years.
He pursued. " You should have seen her when-
ever I have laid on her lap some trifle; so cool, so
unmoved : no eagerness to take, not even pleasure
in contemplating. Just from amiable reluctance
to grieve me, she would permit the bouquet to lie
beside her, and perhaps consent to bear it away.
Or, if I achieved the fastening of a bracelet on her
ivory arm, however pretty the trinket might be
(and I always carefully chose what seemed to me
pretty, and what of course was not valueless), the
glitter never dazzled her bright eyes : she would
hardly cast one look on my gift."
" Then, of course, not valuing it, she would un-
loose, and return it to you ? "
" No ; for such a repulse she was too good-
natured. She would consent to seem to forget what
60 VILLETTE.
I had done, and retain the offering- with lady-like
quiet and easy oblivion. Under such circumstances,
how can a man build on acceptance of his presents
as a favourable symptom ? For my part, were I to
offer her all I have, and she to take it, such is her
incapacity to be swayed by sordid considerations,
I should not venture to believe the transaction
advanced me one step."
" Dr John," I began, "Love is blind;" but just
then a blue, subtle ray sped sideways from Dr.
John's eye : it reminded me of old days, it reminded
me of his picture : it half led me to think that part,
at least, of his professed persuasion of Miss Fan-
shawe's na'iuete was assumed ; it led me dubiously
to conjecture that perhaps, in spite of his passion
for her beauty, his appreciation of her foibles might
possibly be less mistaken, more clear-sighted, than
from his general language was presumable. After
all it might be only a chance look, or at best, the
token of a merely momentary impression. Chance
or intentional, real or imaginary, it closed the con-
versation.
THE CLEOPATKA.
61
CHAPTER XX.
THE CLEOPATRA.
My stay at La Terrasse was prolonged a fortnight
beyond the close of the vacation. Mrs. Bretton's
kind management procured me this respite. Her
son having one day delivered the dictum that "Lucy
was not yet strong enough to go back to that den of
a Pensionnat," she at once drove over to the Rue
Fossette, had an interview with the directress, and
procured the indulgence, on the plea of prolonged
rest and change being necessary to perfect recovery.
Hereupon, however, followed an attention 1 could
very well have dispensed with, viz. — a polite call
from Madame Beck.
That lady — one fine day — actually came out in a
fiacre as far as the chateau. I suppose she had
resolved within herself to see what manner of place
Dr. John inhabited. Apparently, the pleasant site
62 VILLETTE.
and neat interior surpassed her expectations ; she
eulogized all she saw, pronounced the blue salon
" une piece magnifique," profusely congratulated
me on the acquisition of friends, " tellement dignes,
aimables, et respectables/' turned also a neat com-
pliment in my favour, and, upon Dr. John coming
in, ran up to him with the utmost buoyancy, open-
ing at the same time such a fire of rapid language,
all sparkling with felicitations and protestations
about his " chateau," — " madame sa mere, la digne
chatelaine :" also his looks ; which indeed were very
flourishing, and at the moment additionally embel-
lished by the good-natured but amused smile with
which he always listened to madame's fluent and
florid French. In short, Madame shone in her
very best phase that day, and came in and went
out quite a living catherine-wheel of compliments,
delight, and affability. Half-purposely, and half to
ask some question about school-business, I followed
her to the carriage, and looked in after she was
seated and the door closed. In that brief fraction of
time what a change had been wrought! An instant
ago, all sparkles and jests, she now sat sterner than
a judge and graver than a sage. Strange little
woman !
THE CLEOPATRA. 63
I went back and teased Dr. John about Madame' s
devotion to him. How he laughed ! What fun
shone in his eyes as he recalled some of her fine
speeches, and repeated them, imitating her voluble
delivery ! He had an acute sense of humour, and
was the finest company in the world — when he could
forget Miss Fanshawe.
To "sit in sunshine calm and sweet" is said to be
excellent for weak people ; it gives them vital force.
When little Georgette Beck was recovering from
her illness, I used to take her in my arms and walk
with her in the garden by the hour together, be-
neath a certain wall hung with grapes, which the
Southern sun was ripening : that sun cherished her
little pale frame quite as effectually as it mellowed
and swelled the clustering fruit.
There are human tempers, bland, glowing, and
genial, within whose influence it is as good for the
poor in spirit to live, as it is for the feeble in frame
to bask in the glow of noon. Of the number of
these choice natures were certainly both Dr. Bret-
ton's and his mother's. They liked to communicate
happiness, as some like to occasion misery : they did
64 VJLLETTE.
it instinctively ; without fuss, and apparently, with
little consciousness : the means to give pleasure rose
spontaneously in their minds. Every day while I
stayed with them, some little plan was proposed
which resulted in beneficial enjoyment. Fully oc-
cupied as was Dr. John's time, he still made it in
his way to accompany us in each brief excursion. I
can hardly tell how he managed his engagements ;
they were numerous, yet by dint of system, he
classed them in an order which left him a daily
period of liberty. I often saw him hard- worked,
yet seldom over-driven ; and never irritated, con-
fused, or oppressed. What he did was accomplished
with the ease and grace of all-sufficing strength ;
with the bountiful cheerfulness of high and un-
broken energies. Under his guidance I saw, in that
one happy fortnight, more of Villette, its environs,
and its inhabitants, than I had seen in the whole
eight months of my previous residence. He took
me to places of interest in the town, of whose names
I had not before so much as heard ; with willingness
and spirit he communicated much note-worthy in-
formation. He never seemed to think it a trouble
to talk to me, and, I am sure, it was never a task to
me to listen. It was not his way to treat subjects
THE CLEOPATRA. 65
coldly and vaguely ; he rarely generalized, never
prosed. He seemed to like nice details almost as
much as I liked them myself; he seemed observant
of character : and not superficially observant, either.
These points gave the quality of interest to his dis-
course ; and the fact of his speaking direct from his
own resources, and not borrowing or stealing from
books — here a dry fact, and there a trite phrase, and
elsewhere a hackneyed opinion — ensured a fresh-
ness, as welcome as it was rare. Before my eyes,
too, his disposition seemed to unfold another phase ;
to pass to a fresh day : to rise in new and nobler
dawn.
His mother possessed a good development of
benevolence, but he owned a better and larger. I
found, on accompanying him to the Basse- Ville —
the poor and crowded quarter of the city — that his
errands there were as much those of the philan-
thropist as the physician. I understood presently
that — cheerfully, habitually, and in single-minded
unconsciousness of any special merit distinguishing
his deeds — he was achieving, amongst a very
wretched population, a world of active good. The
lower orders liked him well ; his poor patients in the
hospitals welcomed him with a sort of enthusiasm.
VOL. II. p
66 VILLETTE.
But stop — I must not, from the faithful narrator,
degenerate into the partial eulogist. Well, full
well, do I know that Dr. John was not perfect, any-
more than I am perfect. Human fallibility leavened
him throughout : there was no hour, and scarcely
a moment of the times I spent with him, that in
act, or speech, or look, he did not betray something
that was not of a god. A god could not have the
cruel vanity of Dr. John, nor his sometime levity.
No immortal could have resembled him in his
occasional temporary oblivion of all but the present
— in his passing passion for that present ; shown
not coarsely, by devoting it to material indulgence,
but selfishly, by extracting from it whatever it could
yield of nutriment to his masculine self-love : his
delight was to feed that ravenous sentiment, without
thought of the price of provender, or care for the
cost of keeping it sleek and high-pampered.
The reader is requested to note a seeming con-
tradiction in the two views which have been given
of Graham Bretton — the public and private — the
out-door and the in-door view. In the first, the
public, he is shown oblivious of self; as modest in
the display of his energies, as earnest in their exer-
cise. In the second, the fireside picture, there is
THE CLEOPATRA. 67
expressed consciousness of what he has and what
he is ; pleasure in homage, some recklessness in
exciting, some vanity in receiving the same. Both
portraits are correct.
It was hardly possible to oblige Dr. John quietly
and in secret. When you thought that the fabri-
cation of some trifle dedicated to his use had been
achieved unnoticed, and that, like other men, he
would use it when placed ready for his use, and
never ask whence it came, he amazed you by a
smilingly-uttered observation or two proving that
his eye had been on the work from commencement
to close : that he had noted the design, traced its
progress, and marked its completion. It pleased
him to be thus served, and he let his pleasure beam
in his eye and play about his mouth.
This would have been all very well, if he had not
added to such kindly and unobtrusive evidence a
certain wilfulness in discharging what he called
debts. When his mother worked for him, he paid
her by showering about her his bright animal spirits,
with even more affluence than his gay, taunting,
teasing, loving wont. If Lucy Snowe were dis-
covered to have put her hand to such work, he
planned, in recompense, some pleasant recreation.
68 VILLETTE.
I often felt amazed at his perfect knowledge of
Villette ; a knowledge not merely confined to its
open streets, but penetrating to all its galleries,
salles, and cabinets : of every door which shut in an
object worth seeing, of every museum, of every hall,
sacred to art or science, he seemed to possess the
" Open ! Sesame." I never had a head for science,
but an ignorant, blind, fond instinct inclined me to
art. I liked to visit the picture-galleries, and I
dearly liked to be left there alone. In company,
a wretched idiosyncracy forbade me to see much or
to feel anything. In unfamiliar company, where it
was necessary to maintain a flow of talk on the
subjects in presence, half an hour would knock me
up, with a combined pressure of physical lassitude
and entire mental incapacity. I never yet saw the
well-reared child, much less the educated adult,
who could not put me to shame, by the sustained
intelligence of its demeanour under the ordeal of a
conversable sociable visitation of pictures, historical
sites or buildings, or any lions of public interest.
Dr. Bretton was a cicerone after my own heart ; he
would take me betimes, ere the galleries were filled,
leave me there for two or three hours, and call for
me when his own engagements were discharged.
THE CLEOPATRA. 69
Meantime, I was happy ; happy, not always in
admiring, but in examining, questioning, and form-
ing conclusions. In the commencement of these
visits, there was some misunderstanding and conse-
quent struggle between Will and Power. The
former faculty exacted approbation of that which it
was considered orthodox to admire ; the latter
groaned forth its utter inability to pay the tax ; it
was then self-sneered at, spurred up, goaded on to
refine its taste, and whet its zest. The more it was
chidden, however, the more it wouldn't praise. Dis-
covering gradually that a wronderful sense of fatigue
resulted from these conscientious efforts, I began to
reflect whether I might not dispense with that great
labour, and concluded eventually that I might, and
so sank sujiine into a luxury of calm before ninety-
nine out of a hundred of the exhibited frames.
It seemed to me that an original and good pic-
ture was just as scarce as an original and good
book ; nor did I, in the end, tremble to say to
myself, standing before certain chef cY ceuvres bearing
great names, " These are not a whit like nature.
Nature's daylight never had that colour ; never was
made so turbid, either by storm or cloud, as it is
laid out there, under a sky of indigo : and that
70 VILLETTE.
indigo is not ether ; and those dark weeds plastered
upon it are not trees." Several very well executed
and complacent-looking fat women struck me as by
no means the goddesses they appeared to consider
themselves. Many scores of marvellously-finished
little Flemish pictures, and also of sketches, excel-
lent for fashion-books, displaying varied costumes
in the handsomest materials, gave evidence of
laudable industry whimsically applied. And yet
there were fragments of truth here and there which
satisfied the conscience, and gleams of light that
cheered the vision. Nature's power here broke
through in a mountain snow-storm ; and there her
glory in a sunny southern day. An expression in
this portrait proved clear insight into character ;
a face in that historical painting, by its vivid filial
likeness, startlingly reminded you that genius gave
it birth. These exceptions I loved : they grew dear
as friends.
One day, at a quiet early hour, I found myself
nearly alone in a certain gallery, wherein one par-
ticular picture of pretentious size, set up in the best
light, having a cordon of protection stretched before
it, and a cushioned bench duly set in front for the
accommodation of worshipping connoisseurs, who,
THE CLEOPATRA. 71
having' gazed themselves off their feet, might be
fain to complete the business sitting : this picture,
I say, seemed to consider itself the queen of the
collection.
It represented a woman, considerably larger, I
thought, than the life. I calculated that this lady,
put into a scale of magnitude suitable for the re-
ception of a commodity of bulk, would infallibly
turn from fourteen to sixteen stone. She was,
indeed, extremely well fed : very much butcher's
meat — to say nothing of bread, vegetables, and
liquids — must she have consumed to attain that
breadth and height, that wealth of muscle, that
affluence of flesh. She lay half-reclined on a couch :
why, it would be difficult to say ; broad daylight
blazed round her; she appeared in hearty health,
strong enough to do the work of two plain cooks ;
she could not plead a weak spine ; she ought to
have been standing, or at least sitting bolt upright.
She had no business to lounge away the noon on a
sofa. She ought likewise to have worn decent
garments ; a gown covering her properly, which
was not the case: out of abundance of material —
seven-and-twenty yards, I should say, of drapery —
she managed to make inefficient raiment. Then,
72 VILLETTE.
for the wretched untidiness surrounding her, there
could be no excuse. Pots and pans — perhaps I
ought to say vases and goblets — were rolled here and
there on the foreground; a perfect rubbish of
flowers was mixed amongst them, and an absurd
and disorderly mass of curtain upholstery smothered
the couch and cumbered the floor. On referring
to the catalogue, I found that this notable pro-
duction bore name " Cleopatra."
Well, I was sitting wondering at it (as the bench
was there, I thought I might as well take advan-
tage of its accommodation), and thinking that
while some of the details — as roses, gold cups, jewels,
&c. — were very prettily painted, it was on the whole
an enormous piece of claptrap ; the room, almost
vacant when I entered, began to fill. Scarcely
noticing this circumstance (as, indeed, it did not
matter to me) I retained my seat; rather to rest
myself than with a view to studying this huge,
dark-complexioned gipsy-queen; of whom, indeed,
I soon tired, and betook myself for refreshment
to the contemplation of some exquisite little pictures
of still life : wild-flowers, wild- fruit, mossy wood-
nests, casketing eggs that looked like pearls
seen through clear green sea- water ; all hung
THE CLEOPATRA. 73
modestly beneath that coarse and preposterous
canvass.
Suddenly a light tap visited my shoulder. Start-
ing, turning, I met a face bent to encounter mine ;
a frowning, almost a shocked face it was.
" Que faites vous ici ? " said a voice.
" Mais, monsieur, je m' amuse. "
" Vous vous amusez ! et a quoi, s'il vous plait ?
Mais d'abord, faites-moi le plaisir de vous lever :
prenez mon bras, et allons de l'autre cote."
I did precisely as I was bid. M. Paul Emanuel
(it was he) returned from Rome, and now a travelled
man, was not likely to be less tolerant of insub-
ordination now, than before this added distinction
laurelled his temples.
" Permit me to conduct you to your party,"
said he, as we crossed the room.
" I have no party."
" You are not alone ? "
" Yes, monsieur."
" Did you come here unaccompanied 1 "
" No, monsieur. Dr. Bretton brought me
here."
"Dr. Bretton and Madame his mother, of
course ? "
74 VILLETTE.
t<
No ; only Dr. Bretton."
" And he told you to look at that picture 1 "
" By no means : I found it out for myself."
M. Paul's hair was shorn close as raven down,
or I think it would have bristled on his head.
Beginning now to perceive his drift, I had a certain
pleasure in keeping cool, and working him up.
" Astounding insular audacity ! " cried the Pro-
fessor. " Singulieres femmes que ces Anglaises !"
" What is the matter, monsieur V
" Matter ! How dare you, a young person, sit
coolly down, with the self-possession of a garcon,
and look at that picture 1 "
" It is a very ugly picture, but I cannot at all
see why I should not look at it."
" Bon ! bon ! Speak no more of it. But you
ought not to be here alone."
" If, however, I have no society — no party, as you
say? And then, what does it signify whether I
am alone, or accompanied ? nobody meddles with
me."
** Taisez-vous, et asseyez-vous la — la ! ,: Setting
down a chair with emphasis in a particularly dull
corner, before a series of most specially dreary
" cadres."
THE CLEOPATRA. 75
" Mais, monsieur."
" Mais, mademoiselle, asseyez vous, et ne bougez
pas — entendez-vous? jusqu' a ce qu'on vienne vous
cherclier, ou que je vous donne la permission."
"Quel triste coin!" cried I, "et quels laids tableaux!"
And " laids," indeed, they were; being a set of
four, denominated in the catalogue " La vie d'une
femme." They were painted rather in a remark-
able style — flat, dead, pale and formal. The first
represented a "Jeune Fille," coming out of a
church-door, a missal in her hand, her dress very
prim, her eyes cast down, her mouth pursed up —
the image of a most villanous little precocious
she-hypocrite. The second, a "Mariee" with a
long white veil, kneeling at a prie-dieu in her
chamber, holding her hands plastered together,
finger to finger, and showing the whites of her
eyes in a most exasperating manner. The third,
a " Jeune Mere," hanging disconsolate over a clayey
and puffy baby with a face like an unwholesome
full moon. The fourth, a " Veuve," being a
black woman, holding by the hand a black little
girl, and the twain studiously surveying an elegant
French monument, set up in a corner of some Pere
la Chaise. All these four " Anges " were grim and
76 VILLETTE.
gray as burglars, and cold and vapid as ghosts.
What women to live with ! insincere, ill-humoured,
bloodless, brainless nonentities ! As bad in their
way as the indolent gipsy-giantess, the Cleopatra,
in hers.
It was impossible to keep one's attention long
confined to these masterpieces, and so, by degrees,
I veered round, and surveyed the gallery.
A perfect crowd of spectators was by this time
gathered round the Lioness, from whose vicinage
I had been banished ; nearly half this crowd were
ladies, but M. Paul afterwards told me, these
were " cles dames," and it was quite proper for
them to contemplate what no " demoiselle " ought to
glance at. I assured him plainly I could not agree
in this doctrine, and did not see the sense of it ;
whereupon, with his usual absolutism, he merely
requested my silence, and also, in the same breath,
denounced my mingled rashness and ignorance.
A more despotic little man than M. Paul never
filled a professor's chair. I noticed, by the way,
that he looked at the picture himself quite at his
ease, and for a very long while : he did not,
however, neglect to glance from time to time my
way, in order, I suppose, to make sure that I
THE CLEOPATRA. 77
was obeying orders, and not breaking bounds.
By and by, he again accosted me.
"Had I not been ill?" he wished to know:
" he understood I had."
" Yes, but I was now quite well."
" Where had I spent the vacation?"
" Chiefly in the Rue Fossette ; partly with
Madame Bretton."
" He had heard that I was left alone in the
Rue Fossette ; was that so?"
" Not quite alone : Marie Broc " (the cretin) " was
with me."
He shrugged his shoulders ; varied and contra-
dictory expressions played rapidly over his coun-
tenance. Marie Broc was well known to M. Paul ;
he never gave a lesson in the third division (contain-
ing the least advanced pupils), that she did not occa-
sion in him a sharp conflict between antagonistic im-
pressions. Her personal appearance, her repulsive
manners, her often unmanageable disposition, irri-
tated his temper, and inspired him with strong
antipathy; a feeling he was too apt to conceive
when his taste was offended or his will thwarted.
On the other hand, her misfortunes constituted a
strong claim on his forbearance and compassion —
78 VILLETTE.
sucli a claim as it was not in his nature to deny ;
hence resulted almost daily drawn battles between
impatience and disgust on the one hand, pity and a
sense of justice on the other; in which, to his credit
be it said, it was very seldom that the former feelings
prevailed : when they did, however, M. Paul showed
a phase of character which had its terrors. His
passions were strong, his aversions and attach-
ments alike vivid ; the force he exerted in holding
both in check, by no means mitigated an observer's
sense of their vehemence. With such tendencies, it
may well be supposed he often excited in ordinary
minds fear and dislike ; yet it was an error to fear
him : nothing drove him so nearly frantic as the
tremor of an apprehensive and distrustful spirit;
nothing soothed him like confidence tempered with
gentleness. To evince these sentiments, however, re-
quired a thorough comprehension of his nature ; and
his nature was of an order rarely comprehended.
" How did you get on with Marie Broc ? " he
asked, after some minutes' silence.
" Monsieur, I did my best ; but it was terrible to
be alone with her ! "
" You have, then, a weak heart ! You lack cour-
age; and, perhaps, charity. Yours are not the
THE CLEOPATRA. 79
qualities which might constitute a Sister of
Mercy."
[He was a religious little man, in his way : the
self-denying and self-sacrificing part of the Catholic
religion commanded the homage of his soul.]
" I don't know, indeed : I took as good care of
her as I could ; but when her aunt came to fetch her
away, it was a great relief."
" Ah ! you are an egotist. There are women who
have nursed hospitals-full of similar unfortunates.
You could not do that ? "
" Could Monsieur do it himself? "
" Women who are worthy the name ought infi-
nitely to surpass our coarse, fallible, self-indulgent
sex, in the power to perform such duties."
" I washed her, I kept her clean, I fed her, I tried
to amuse her ; but she made mouths at me instead
of speaking."
"You think you did great things ?"
" No ; but as great as I could do."
" Then limited are your powers, for in tending one
idiot, you fell sick."
" Not with that, monsieur ; I had a nervous fever :
my mind was ill."
" Vraiment ! Vous valez peu de chose. You are
80 VILLETTE.
not cast in an heroic mould ; your courage will not
avail to sustain you in solitude ; it merely gives you
the temerity to gaze with sang-froid at pictures of
Cleopatra."
It would have been easy to show anger at the
teasing, hostile tone of the little man. I had never
been angry with him yet, however, and had no pre-
sent disposition to begin.
"Cleopatra!" I repeated, quietly. " Monsieur, too,
has been looking at Cleopatra ; what does he think
of her?"
" Cela ne vaut rien," he responded. ct line femme
superbe — une taille d'imperatrice, des formes de
Junon, mais une personne dont je ne voudrais ni
pour femme, ni pour fille, ni pour sceur. Aussi vous
ne jeterez plus un seul coup d' ceil de sa cote."
" But I have looked at her a great many times
while Monsieur has been talking : I can see her
quite well from this corner."
" Turn to the wall and study your four pictures
of a woman's life."
" Excuse me, M. Paul ; they are too hideous :
but if you admire them, allow me to vacate my
seat and leave you to their contemplation."
" Mademoiselle," he said, grimacing a half-smile,
THE CLEOPATRA. 81
or what he intended for a smile, though it was but
a grim and hurried manifestation. " You nurs-
lings of Protestantism astonish me. You un-
guarded Englishwomen walk calmly amidst red-hot
ploughshares and escape burning. I believe, if
some of you were thrown into Nebuchadnezzar's
hottest furnace, you would issue forth untraversed
by the smell of fire."
" Will Monsieur have the goodness to move an
inch to one side 1 "
"How! At what are you gazing now? You
are not recognizing an acquaintance amongst that
group of jeunes gens Vs
" I think so Yes, I see there a person I
know."
In fact, I had caught a glimpse of a head too
pretty to belong to any other than the redoubted
Colonel de Hamal. What a very finished, highly-
polished little pate it was ! What a figure, so trim
and natty ! What womanish feet and hands !
How daintily he held a glass to one of his
optics ! with what admiration he gazed upon the
Cleopatra ! and then, how engagingly he tittered and
whispered a friend at his elbow ! Oh, the man of
sense ! Oh, the refined gentleman of superior taste
VOL. I'. G
82 VILLETTE.
and tact ! I observed him for about ten minutes,
and perceived that he was exceedingly taken with
this dusk and portly Venus of the Nile. So much
was I interested in his bearing, so absorbed in
divining his character by his looks and movements,
I temporarily forgsot M. Paul ; in the interim a
group came between that gentleman and me ; or
possibly his scruples might have received another
and worse shock from my present abstrac-
tion, causing him to withdraw voluntarily : at
any rate, when I again looked round, he was
gone.
My eye, pursuant of the search, met not him,
but another and dissimilar figure, well seen amidst
the crowd, for the height as well as the port
lent each its distinction. This way came Dr. John,
in visage, in shape, in hue, as unlike the dark,
acerb, and caustic little professor, as the fruit of the
Hesperides might be unlike the sloe in the wild
thicket ; as the high-couraged but tractable Arabian
is unlike the rude and stubborn " sheltie." He was
looking for me, but had not yet explored the
corner where the schoolmaster had just put me. I
remained quiet ; yet another minute I would watch*
He approached de Hamal ; he paused near him ;
THE CLEOPATRA. 83
I thought he had a pleasure in looking over his
head ; Dr. Bretton, too, gazed on the Cleopatra. I
doubt if it were to his taste : he did not simper
like the little Count; his mouth looked fastidious,
his eve cool; without demonstration he stepped
aside, leaving room for others to approach. I saw
now that he was waiting, and, rising, I joined him.
We took one turn round the gallery ; with
Graham it was very pleasant to take such a turn.
I always liked dearly to hear what he had to say
about either pictures or books ; because, without
pretending to be a connoisseur, he always spoke
his thought, and that was sure to be fresh : very
often it was also just and pithy. It was pleasant
also to tell him some things he did not know — he
listened so kindly, so tcachably ; unformalized by
scruples lest so to bend his bright handsome head,
to gather a woman's rather obscure and stammering;
explanation, should emperil the dignity of his
manhood. And when he communicated informa-
tion in return, it was with a lucid intelligence that
left all his words clear graven on the memory :
no explanation of his giving, no fact of his narrating,
did I ever forget.
As we left the gallery, I asked him what he
84 VILLETTE.
thought of the Cleopatra (after making him laugh
by telling him how Professor Emanuel had sent me
to the right-about, and taking him to see the sweet
series of pictures recommended to my attention.)
"Pooh!" said he, "My mother is a better-
looking woman. I heard some French fops,
yonder, designating her as ' le type du voluptueux ;'
if so, I can only say, *le voluptueux' is little to my
liking. Compare that mulatto with Ginevra ! "
THE CONCERT. 85
CHAPTER XXV.
THE CONCERT.
One morning, Mrs. Bretton, coming promptly
into my room, desired me to open my drawers
and show her my dresses; which I did, without
a word.
" That will do," said she, when she had turned
them over. "You must have a new one."
She went out. She returned presently with a
dress-maker. She had me measured. " I mean,"
said she, "to follow my own taste, and to have
my own way in this little matter."
Two days after came home — a pink dress !
"That is not for me," I said, hurriedly, feeling
that I would almost as soon clothe myself in the
costume of a Chinese lady of rank.
"We shall see whether it is for you or not,"
86 VILLETTE.
rejoined my godmother, adding with her resistless
decision. " Mark my words. You will wear it
this very evening."
I thought I should not: I thought no human
force should avail to put me into it. A pink
dress ! I knew it not. It knew not me. I had not
proved it.
My godmother went on to decree that I was to
go with her and Graham to a concert that same
night : which concert, she explained, was a grand
affair to he held in the large salle, or hall of the
principal musical society. The most advanced of
the pupils of the Conservatoire were to perform :
it was to be followed by a lottery " au benefice des
pauvres ; " and to crown all, the King, Queen, and
Prince of Labassecour were to be present. Graham,
in sending tickets, had enjoined attention to costume
as a compliment due to royalty : he also recom-
mended punctual readiness by seven o'clock.
About six, I was ushered up-stairs. Without any
force at all, I found myself led and influenced by
another's will, unconsulted, unpersuaded, quietly
over-ruled. In short the pink dress went on,
softened by some drapery of black lace. I was
pronounced to be en grande tenue, and requested
THE CONCERT. 87
to look in the glass. I did so with some fear and
trembling ; with more fear and trembling, I turned
away. Seven o'clock struck ; Dr. Bretton was
come ; my godmother and I went down. She
was clad in brown velvet ; as I walked in her
shadow, how I envied her those folds of grave,
dark majesty ! Graham stood in the drawing-
room doorway.
" I do hope he will not think I have been decking
myself out to draw attention," was my uneasy
aspiration.
" Here, Lucy, are some flowers," said he, giving
me a bouquet. He took no further notice of my
dress than was conveyed in a kind smile and satis-
fied nod, which calmed at once my sense of shame
and fear of ridicule. For the rest, the dress was
made with extreme simplicity, guiltless of flounce
or furbelow ; it was but the li^ht fabric and bright
tint which scared me, and since Graham found in
it nothing absurd, my own eye consented soon to
become reconciled.
I suppose people who go every night to places
of public amusement, can hardly enter into the
fresh gala feeling with which an opera or a concert
is enjoyed by those for whom it is a rarity. I am
88 VILLETTE.
not sure that I expected great pleasure from the
concert, having but a very vague notion of its
nature, but I liked the drive there well. The snug
comfort of the close carriage on a cold though fine
night, the pleasure of setting out with companions
so cheerful and friendly, the sight of the stars
glinting fitfully through the trees as we rolled
along the avenue ; then the freer burst of the
night-sky when we issued forth to the open chaus-
see, the passage through the city gates, the lights
there burning, the guards there posted, the pre-
tence of inspection to which we there submitted,
and which amused us so much — all these small
matters had for me, -in their novelty, a peculiar
exhilarating charm. How much of it lay in the
atmosphere of friendship diffused about me, I
know not : Dr. John and his mother were both in
their finest mood, contending animatedly with each
other the whole way, and as frankly kind to me as
if I had been of their kin.
Our way lay through some of the best streets of
Villette, streets brightly lit, and far more lively now
than at hi<rli noon. How brilliant seemed the
shops ! How glad, gay, and abundant flowed the
tide of life along the broad pavement! While I
THE CONCERT.
89
looked, the thought of the Rue Fossette came
across me — of the walled-in garden and school-
house, and of the dark, vast " classes," where, as at
this very hour, it was my wont to wander all
solitary, gazing at the stars through the high,
blindless windows, and listening to the distant
voice of the reader in the refectory, monotonously
exercised upon the " lecture pieuse." Thus must
I soon again listen and wander; and this shadow
of the future stole with timely sobriety across the
radiant present.
By this time we had got into a current of car-
riages all tending in one direction, and soon the
front of a great illuminated building blazed before
us. Of what I should see within this building, I
had, as before intimated, but an imperfect idea ; for
no place of public entertainment had it ever been
my lot to enter yet.
We alighted under a portico where there was a
great bustle and a great crowd, but I do not dis-
tinctly remember further details, until I found
myself mounting a majestic staircase wide and
easy of ascent, deeply and softly carpeted with
crimson, leading up to great doors closed solemnly,
and whose panels were also crimson-clothed.
90 VILLETTE.
I hardly noticed by what magic these doors were
made to roll back — Dr. John managed these points ;
roll back they did, however, and within was dis-
closed a hall — grand, wide, and high, whose sweep-
ing circular walls, and domed hollow ceiling, seemed
to me all dead gold (thus with nice art was it stain-
ed), relieved by cornicing, fluting and garlandry,
either bright," like gold burnished, or snow-white,
like alabaster, or white and gold mingled in wreaths
of gilded leaves and spotless lilies : wherever dra-
pery hung, wherever carpets were spread, or
cushions placed, the sole colour employed was
deep crimson. Pendant from the dome, flamed
a mass that dazzled -me — a mass, I thought, of
rock - crystal, j sparkling with facets, streaming
with drops, ablaze with stars, and gorgeously
tinged with dews of gems dissolved, or fragments
of rainbows shivered. It was only the chandelier,
reader, but for me it seemed] the work of eastern
genii : I almost looked to see if a huge, dark cloudy
hand — that of the Slave of the Lamp — were not
hovering in the lustrous and ^perfumed atmosphere
of the cupola, guarding its wondrous treasure.
"We moved on — I was not at all conscious whither
— but at some turn we suddenly encountered ano-
THE CONCERT. 91
ther party approaching from the opposite direction.
I just now see that group, as it flashed uj)on me for
one moment. A handsome middle-aged lady in
dark velvet ; a gentleman who might be her son —
the best face, the finest figure, I thought, I had
ever seen ; a third person in a pink dress and black
lace mantle.
I noted them all — the third person as well as the
other two — and for the fraction of a moment, be-
lieved them all strangers, thus receiving an impartial
impression of their appearance. But the impression
was hardly felt and not fixed, before the conscious-
ness that I faced a great mirror, filling a compart-
ment between two pillars, dispelled it : the party was
our own party. Thus for the first, and perhaps
only time in my life, I enjoyed the " giftie" of seeing
myself as others see me. ~No need to dwell on the
result. It brought a jar of discord, a pang of
regret ; it was not flattering, yet, after all, I ought
to be thankful : it might have been worse.
At last, we were seated in places commanding a
good general view of that vast and dazzling, but warm
and cheerful hall. Already it was filled, and filled
with a splendid assemblage. I do not know that
the women were very beautiful, but their dresses
92 V1LLETTE.
were so perfect ; and foreigners, even such as are
ungraceful in domestic privacy, seem to possess
the art of appearing graceful in public : however
blunt and boisterous those every-day and home
movements connected with peignoir and papillotes,
there is a slide, a bend, a carriage of the head and
arms, a mien of the mouth and eyes, kept nicely in
reserve for gala use — always brought out with the
grande toilette, and duly put on with the
" parure."
Some fine forms there were here and there,
models of a peculiar style of beauty ; a style, I
think, never seen in England : a solid, firm-set,
sculptural style. These shapes have no angles : a
caryatid in marble is almost as flexible ; a Phidian
goddess is not more perfect in a certain still and
stately sort. They have such features as the Dutch
painters give to their madonnas : low-country classic
features, regular but round, straight but stolid ; and
for their depth of expressionless calm, of passionless
peace, a polar snow-field could alone offer a type.
Women of this order need no ornament, and they
seldom wear any ; the smooth hair, closely braided,
supplies a sufficient contrast to the smoother cheek
and brow ; the dress cannot be too simple ; the
THE CONCERT. 93
rounded arm and perfect neck require neither
bracelet nor chain.
With one of these beauties I once had the honour
and rapture to be perfectly acquainted : the inert
force of the deep, settled love she bore herself, was
wonderful ; it could only be surpassed by her
proud impotency to care for any other living thing.
Of blood, her cool veins conducted no flow ;
placid lymph filled and almost obstructed her
arteries.
Such a Juno as I have described, sat full in our
view — a sort of mark for all eyes, and quite con-
scious that so she was, but proof to the magnetic
influence of gaze or glance : cold, rounded, blonde,
and beauteous, as the white column, capitalled
with gilding, which rose at her side.
Observing that Dr. John's attention was much
drawn towards her, I entreated him in a low voice
"for the love of heaven to shield well his heart.
You need not fall in love with that lady," I said,
" because, I tell you before-hand, you might die at
her feet, and she would not love you again.',
" Very well," said he, " and how do you know
that the spectacle of her grand insensibility might
not with me be the strongest stimulus to homage?
94 VILLETTE.
The sting of desperation is, I think, a wonderful
irritant to my emotions : but (shrugging his
shoulders) you know nothing about these things ;
I'll address myself to my mother. Mama, I'm in a
dangerous way."
" As if that interested me ! " said Mrs. Bretton.
" Alas ! the cruelty of my lot ! " responded her
son. " Never man had a more unsentimental mother
than mine : she never seems to think that such
a calamity can befall her as a daughter-in-
law."
" If I don't, it is not for want of having that same
calamity held over my head : you have threatened
me with it for the last ten years. ( Mama, I am
going to be married soon ! ' was the cry before you
were well out of jackets."
" But, mother, one of these days it will be
realized. All of a sudden, when you think you are
most secure, I shall go forth like Jacob or Esau, or
any other patriarch, and take me a wife : perhaps of
these which are of the daughters of the land."
" At your peril, John Graham ! that is all."
" This mother of mine means me to be an old
bachelor. What a jealous old lady it is! But now
just look at that splendid creature in the pale blue
THE CONCERT. 95
satin dress, and hair of paler brown, with ' reflets
satines * as those of her robe. Would you notj feel
proud, mama, if I were to bring that goddess
home some day, and introduce her to you as
Mrs. Bretton, junior?"
" You will bring no goddess to La Terrasse : that
little chateau will not contain two mistresses ; es-
pecially if the second be of the height, bulk, and
circumference of that mighty doll in wood and
wax, and kid and satin.' '
"Mama, she would fill your blue chair so
admirably ! "
" Fill my chair ? I defy the foreign usurper ! a
rueful chair should it be for her : but hush, John
Graham ! Hold your tongue, and use your eyes."
During the above skirmish, the hall which, I had
thought, seemed full at our entrance, continued to
admit party after party, until the semicircle before
the stage presented one dense mass of heads,
sloping from floor to ceiling. The stage, too, or
rather the wide temporary platform, larger than any
stage, desert half an hour since, was now overflow-
ing with life; round two grand pianos, placed
about the centre, a white flock of young girls, the
pupils of the Conservatoire, had noiselessly poured.
96 VILLETTE.
I had noticed their gathering, while Graham and
his mother were engaged in discussing the belle in
blue satin, and had watched with interest the process
of arraying and marshalling them. Two gentlemen,
in each of whom I recognized an acquaintance,
officered this virgin troop. One, an artistic looking
man, bearded, and with long hair, was a noted
pianiste, and also the first music teacher in Villette;
he attended twice a week at Madame Beck's pen-
sionat, to give lessons to the few pupils whose
parents were rich enough to allow their daughters
the privilege of his instructions ; his name was
M. Josef Emanuel, and he was half-brother to
M. Paul : which potent personage was now visible in
the person of the second gentleman.
M. Paul amused me ; I smiled to myself as I
watched him, he seemed so thoroughly in his
element — standing conspicuous in presence of a
wide and grand assemblage, arranging, restrain-
ing, over-aweing about one hundred young ladies.
He was, too, so perfectly in earnest — so energetic,
so intent, and, above all, so absolute : and yet what
business had he there 1 What had he to do with
music or the Conservatoire — he who could hardly
distinguish one note from another ? I knew that it
THE CONCERT. §7
was his love of display and authority which had
brought him there — a love not offensive, only because
so naive. It presently became obvious that his
brother, M. Josef, was as much under his control
as were the girls themselves. Never was such a
little hawk of a man as that M. Paul ! Ere long,
some noted singers and musicians dawned upon the
platform : as these stars rose, the comet-like pro-
fessor set. Insufferable to him were all notorieties
and celebrities : where he could not outshine, he fled.
And now all was prepared : but one compartment
of the hall waited to be filled — a compartment
covered with crimson, like the grand staircase and
doors, furnished with stuffed and cushioned benches,
ranged on each side of two red regal chairs, placed
solemnly under a canopy.
A signal was given, the doors rolled back, the
assembly stood up, the orchestra burst out, and, to
the welcome of a choral burst, enter the Kin"",
the Queen, the Court of Labassecour.
Till then, I had never set eyes on living king or
queen ; it may consequently be conjectured how I
strained my powers of vision to take in these spe-
cimens of European royalty. By whomsoever
majesty is beheld for the first time, there will always
VOL. IT. H
98 VILLETTE.
be experienced a vague surprise bordering on disap-
pointment, that the same does not appear seated, en
permanence, on a throne, bonneted with a crown,
and furnished, as to the hand, with a sceptre. Look-
ing out for a king and queen, and seeing only
a middle-aged soldier and a rather young lady, I
felt half cheated, half pleased.
Well do I recall that King — a man of fifty, a
little bowed, a little gray : there was no face in all
that assembly which resembled his. I had never
read, never been told anything of his nature or his
habits; and at first the strong hieroglyphics
graven as with iron stylet on his brow, round his
eyes, beside his mouth, puzzled and baffled instinct.
Ere long, however, if I did not know, at least I felt,
the meaning of those characters written without
hand. There sat a silent sufferer — a nervous,
melancholy man. Those eyes had looked on the
visits of a certain ghost — had long waited the
comings and goings of that strangest spectre,
Hypochondria. Perhaps he saw her now on that
stage, over against him, amidst all that brilliant
throng. Hypochondria has that wont, to rise in the
midst of thousands — dark as Doom, pale as Malady,
and well nigh strong as Death. Her comrade
THE CONCERT. 99
and victim thinks to be happy one moment — " Not
so," says she ; " I come." And she freezes the blood
in his heart, and beclouds the light in his eye.
Some might say it was the foreign crown pressing
the King's brows which bent them to that peculiar
and painful fold ; some might quote the effects of
early bereavement. Something there might be of
both these ; but these as embittered by that darkest
foe of humanity — constitutional melancholy. The
Queen, his wife, knew this : it seemed to me, the
reflection of her husband's grief lay, a subduing
shadow, on her own benignant face. A mild,
thoughtful, graceful woman that princess seemed ;
not beautiful, not at all like the women of solid
charms and marble feelings described a page or two
since. Hers was a somewhat slender shape; her
features, though distinguished enough, were toe*/
suggestive of reigning dynasties and royal] lines
to give unqualified pleasure. The expressi on
clothing that profile was agreeable in the pre sent
instance ; but you could not avoid connecting it
with remembered effigies, where similar lines
appeared, under phase ignoble; feeble, or sensual,
or cunning, as the case might be. T>ie Queen's
eye, however, was her own ; and pity, goodness,
100 VILLETTE.
sweet sympathy, blessed it with divinest light-
She moved no sovereign, but a lady — kind, loving,
elegant. Her little son, the Prince of Labassecour,
and young Due de Dindonneau, accompanied her :
he leaned on his mother's knee ; and, ever and anon,
in the course of that evening, I saw her observant
of the monarch at her side, conscious of his be-
clouded abstraction, and desirous to rouse him from
it by drawing his attention to their son. She often
bent her head to listen to the boy's remarks, and
would then smilingly repeat them to his sire. The
moody King started, listened, smiled, but invariably
relapsed as soon as his good angel ceased speaking.
Pull mournful and significant was that spectacle!
Not the less so because, both for the aristocracy
and the honest bourgeoisie of Labassecour, its
peculiarity seemed to be wholly invisible : I could
i lot discover that one soul present was either struck
or touched.
"vxVith the King and Queen had entered their court,
comprising two or three foreign ambassadors ; and
with tLiem came the elite of the foreigners then
resident in Villette. These took possession of the
crimson L enches ; the ladies were seated ; most
of the men remained standing : their sable rank,
THE CONCERT.
101
lining the back ground, looked like a dark foil to
the splendour displayed in front. Nor was this
splendour without varying light and shade and
gradation : the middle distance was filled with
matrons in velvets and satins, in plumes and gems ;
the benches in the foreground, to the Queen's right
hand, seemed devoted exclusively to young girls,
the flower — perhaps, I should rather say, the bud —
of Villette aristocracy. Here were no jewels, no
head-dresses, no velvet pile or silken sheen : purity,
simplicity, and aerial grace reigned in that virgin
band. Young heads simply braided, and fair forms
(I was going to write sylph forms, but that would
have been quite untrue: several of these "jeunes
filles," who had not numbered more than sixteen or
seventeen years, boasted contours as robust and
solid as those of a stout Englishwoman of five-and-
twenty) — fair forms robed in white, or pale rose, or
placid blue, suggested thoughts of heaven and
angels. I knew a couple, at least, of these " rose
et blanches" specimens of humanity. Here was a
pair of Madame Beck's late pupils — Mesdemoiselles
Mathilde and Angelique : pupils, who, during their
last year at school, ought to have been in the first
class, but whose brains had never got them beyond.
102 VILLETTE.
the second division. In English, thev had been
under my own charge, and hard work it was to get
them to translate rationally a page of " The Vicar
of Wakefield." Also during three months I had
one of them for my vis-a-vis at table, and the
quantity of household bread, butter, and stewed
fruit, she would habitually consume at " second
dejeuner " was a real world's wonder — to be ex-
ceeded only by the fact of her actually pocketing
slices she could not eat. Here be truths — whole-
some truths, too.
I knew another of these seraphs — the prettiest,
or, at any rate, the least demure and hypocri-
tical-looking of the lot: she was seated by the
daughter of an English peer, also an honest,
though haughty-looking girl ; both had entered in
the suite of the British embassy. She (i.e. my
acquaintance) had a slight pliant figure, not at
all like the forms of the foreign damsels ; her hair,
too, was not close-braided, like a shell or a skull-
cap of satin ; it looked like hair, and waved from
her head, long, curled, and flowing. She chatted
away volubly, and seemed full of a light-headed
sort of satisfaction with herself and her position.
I did not look at Dr. Bretton ; but I knew that
THE CONCERT. 103
he, too, saw Ginevra Fanshawe : be bad become so
quiet, be answered so briefly bis mother's remarks,
he so often suppressed a sigh. Why should he
sigh? He had confessed a taste for the pursuit
of love under difficulties ; here was full gratification
for that taste. His lady-love beamed upon him
from a sphere above his own : he could not come
near her; he was not certain that he could win
from her a look. I watched to see if she would so
far favour him. Our seat was not far from the
crimson benches; we must inevitably be seen
thence, by eyes so quick and roving as Miss Fan-
shawe's, and very soon those optics of hers were
upon us : at least, upon Dr. and Mrs. Bretton. I
kept rather in the shade and out of sight, not wish-
ing to be immediately recognized : she looked quite
steadily at Dr. John, and then she raised a glass to
examine his mother; a minute or two afterwards
she laughingly whispered her neighbour ; upon the
performance commencing, her rambling attention
was attracted to the platform.
On the concert I need not dwell ; the reader
would not care to have my impressions thereanent :
and, indeed, it would not be worth while to record
them, as they were the impressions of an ignorance
104 VILLETTE.
crasse. The young ladies of the Conservatoire,
being very much frightened, made rather a tre-
mulous exhibition on the two grand pianos. M.
Josef Emanuel stood by them while they played ;
but he had not the tact or influence of his kinsman,
wlio, under similar circumstances, would certainly
have compelled pupils of his to demean themselves
with heroism and self-possession. M. Paul would
have placed the hysteric debutantes between two
fires — terror of the audience, and terror of himself —
and would have inspired them with the courage
of desperation, by making the latter terror incom-
parably the greater : M. Josef could not do this.
Following the white muslin pianistes, came a
fine, full-grown, sulky lady in white satin. She
sang. Her singing just affected me like the tricks
of a conjuror : I wondered how she did it — how
she made her voice run up and down, and cut such
marvellous capers; but a simple Scotch melody,
played by a rude street minstrel, has often moved
me more deeply.
Afterwards stepped forth a gentleman, who, bend-
ing his body a good deal in the direction of the
King and Queen, and frequently ^approaching his
white-gloved hand to the region of his heart,
THE CONCERT. 105
vented a bitter outcry against a certain "faussc
Isabelle." I thought lie seemed especially to
solicit the Queen's sympathy : but, unless I am
egregiously mistaken, her Majesty lent her attention
rather with the calm of courtesy than the earnest-
ness of interest. This gentleman's state of mind
was very harrowing, and I was glad when he
wound up his musical exposition of the same.
Some rousing choruses struck me as the best
part of the evening's entertainment. There were
present, deputies from all the best provincial choral
societies; genuine, barrel-shaped, native Labasse-
couriens. These worthies gave voice without
mincing the matter : their hearty exertions had
at least this good result — the ear drank thence a
satisfying sense of power.
Through the whole performance — timid instru-
mental duets, conceited vocal solos, sonorous,
brass-lunged choruses — my attention gave but
one eye and one ear to the stage, the other being
permanently retained in the service of Dr. Bret-
ton : I could not forget him, nor cease to question
how he was feeling, what he was thinking, whe-
ther he was amused or the contrary. At last he
spoke.
106 VILLETTE.
" And how do you like it all, Lucy ? You are
very quiet," he said, in his own cheerful tone.
li I am quiet," I said, " because I am so very,
very much interested : not merely with the music,
but with everything about me."
He then proceeded to make some further re-
marks, with so much equanimity and composure
that I began to think he had really not seen what
I had seen, and I whispered —
" Miss Fanshawe is here : have you noticed
her?"
" Oh, yes ! and I observed that you noticed
her too."
" Is she come with Mrs. Cholmondeley, do you
think ? "
" Mrs. Cholmondeley is there with a very grand
party. Yes : Ginevra was in her train ; and Mrs.
Cholmondeley was in Lady # # # ' s train, who
was in the Queen's train. If this were not one of
the compact little minor European courts, whose
very formalities are little more imposing than
familiarities, and whose gala grandeur is but home-
liness in Sunday array, it would sound all very
fine."
" Ginevra saw you, I think ? "
THE CONCERT. 107
" So do I think so. I have had my eye on her
several times since you withdrew yours ; and I
have had the honour of witnessing a little spectacle
which you were spared."
I did not ask what : I waited voluntary informa-
tion ; which was presently given.
" Miss Fanshawe," he said, " has a companion
with her — a lady of rank. I happen to know Lady
Sara by sight; her noble mother has called me
in professionally. She is a proud girl, but not in
the least insolent, and I doubt whether Ginevra
will have gained ground in her estimation by
making a butt of her neighbours."
"What neighbours?"
" Merely myself and my mother. As to me it
is all very natural : nothing, I suppose, can be
fairer game than the young bourgeois doctor ; but
my mother 1 I never saw her ridiculed before.
Do you know, the curling 'lip, and sarcastically
levelled glass thus directed, gave me a most curious
sensation ? "
" Think nothing of it, Dr. John : it is not worth
while. If Ginevra were in a giddy mood, as she
is eminently to-night, she would make no scruple
of laughing at that mild, pensive Queen, or that
108 . VILLETTE.
melancholy King. She is not actuated by malevo-
lence, but sheer, heedless folly. To a feather-
brained school-girl nothing is sacred."
" But you forget : I have not been accustomed
to look on Miss Fanshawe in the light of a feather-
brained school-girl. Was she not my divinity —
the angel of my career? "
" Hem ! There was your mistake."
<c To speak the honest truth, without any false
rant or assumed romance, there actually was a
moment, six months ago, when I thought her
divine. Do you remember our conversation about
the presents? I was not quite open with you in
discussing that subject : the warmth with which
you took Lit up amused me. By way of having the
full benefit of your lights, I allowed you to
think me more in the dark than I really was. It
was that test of the presents which first proved
Ginevra mortal. Still her beauty retained its
fascination : three days — three hours ago, I was
very much her slave. As she passed me to-night,
triumphant in beauty, my emotions did her homage;
but for one luckless sneer, I should yet be the
humblest of her servants. She might have scoffed at
me, and, while wounding, she would not soon have
THE CONCERT. 109
alienated me : through myself, she could not in
ten years have done what, in a moment, she has
done through my mother."
He held his peace awhile. Never hefore had I
seen so much fire and so little sunshine in Dr.
John's blue eye, as just now.
"Lucy," he recommenced, " look well at my
mother, and say, without fear or favour, in what
light she now appears to you."
" As she always does, — an English, middle -class
gentlewoman ; well, though gravely dressed, habi-
tually independent of pretence, constitutionally
composed and cheerful."
" So she seems to me — bless her ! The merry
may laugh with mama, but the weak only will
laugh at her. She shall not be ridiculed, with my
consent at least; nor without my — my scorn — my
antipathy — my "
He stopped : and it was time — for he was getting
excited — more it seemed than the occasion war-
ranted. I did not then know that he had witnessed
double cause for dissatisfaction with Miss Fan-
shawe. The glow of his complexion, the expansion
of his nostril, the bold curve which disdain gave
his well-cut under lip, showed him in a new and
110 VILLETTE.
striking phase. Yet the rare passion of the
constitutionally suave and serene, is not a plea-
sant spectacle; nor did I like the sort of vindic-
tive thrill which passed through his strong young
frame.
" Do I frighten you, Lucy?" he asked.
" I cannot tell why you are so very angry."
" For this reason," he muttered in my ear :
" Ginevra is neither a pure angel nor a pure-minded
woman."
" Nonsense ! you exaggerate : she has no great
harm in her."
" Too much for me. I can see where you are
blind. Now, dismiss the subject. Let me amuse
myself by teasing mama : I will assert that she is
flagging. Mama, pray rouse yourself."
" John, I will certainly rouse you, if you are
not better conducted. Will you and Lucy be silent,
that T may hear the singing V*
They were then thundering in a chorus, under
cover of which all the previous dialogue had taken
place.
" You hear the singing, mama ! Now, I will
wager my studs — which are genuine — against your
paste brooch "
THE CONCERT. Ill
"My paste brooch, Graham? Profane boy!
you know that it is a stone of value."
" Oh ! that is one of your superstitions : you were
cheated in the business."
" I am cheated in fewer things than you imagine.
How do you happen to be acquainted with young
ladies of the court, John ? I have observed two of
them pay you no small attention during the last
half hour."
" I wish you would not observe them."
"Why not? Because one of them satirically
levels her eye-glass at me ? She is a pretty, silly
girl: but are you apprehensive that her titter will
discomfit the old lady?"
" The sensible, admirable old lady! Mother, you
are better to me than ten wives yet."
" Don't be demonstrative, John, or I shall faint,
and you will have to carry me out; and if that
burden were laid upon you, you would reverse your
last speech, and exclaim, ' Mother, ten wives could
hardly be worse to me than you are ! ' "
The concert over, the Lottery " au benefice des
Pauvres" came next: the interval between was one
112 VILLETTE.
of general relaxation, and the pleasantest imaginable
stir and commotion. The white flock was cleared
from the platform ; a busy throng of gentlemen
crowded it instead, making arrangements for the
drawing; and amongst these — the busiest of all —
reappeared that certain well-known form, not tall
but active, alive with the energy and movement of
three tall men. How M. Paul did work! How
he issued directions, and at the same time, set his
own shoulder to the wheel ! Half-a-dozen assist-
ants were at his beck to remove the pianos, &c. ;
no matter, he must add to their strength his own.
The redundancy of his alertness was half-vexing,
half-ludicrous : in my mind I both disapproved and
derided most of this fuss. Yet, in the midst of pre-
judice and annoyance, I could not, while watching,
avoid perceiving a certain not disagreeable naivete
in all he did and said; nor could I be blind to
certain vigorous characteristics of his physiognomy,
rendered conspicuous now by the contrast with a
throng of tamer faces : the deep, intent keenness of
his eye, the power of his forehead — pale, broad, and
full — the mobility of his most flexible mouth. He
lacked the calm of force, but its movement and its
fire he signally possessed.
THE CONCERT. 113
Meantime the whole hall was in a stir ; most
people rose and remained standing, for a change ;
some walked about, all talked and laughed. The
crimson compartment presented a peculiarly ani-
mated scene. The long cloud of gentlemen, break-
ing into fragments, mixed with the rainbow line of
ladies ; two or three officer-like men approached
the King and conversed with him. The Queen,
leaving her chair, glided along the rank of young
ladies, who all stood up as she passed ; and to each
in turn I saw her vouchsafe some token of kindness
—a gracious word, look or smile. To the two pretty
English girls, Lady Sara and Ginevra Fanshawe,
she addressed several sentences; as she left them,
both, and especially the latter, seemed to glow all
over with gratification, They were afterwards
accosted by several ladies, and a little circle of
gentlemen gathered round them ; amongst these —
the nearest to Ginevra — stood the Count de Hamal.
" This room is stiflingly hot ;" said Dr. Bretton,
rising with sudden impatience. " Lucy — mother —
will you come a moment to the fresh air?"
"Go with him Lucy;" said Mrs. Bretton. " I
would rather keep my seat."
Willingly would I have kept mine also, but
VOL. II. i
114 VILLETTE.
Graham's desire must take precedence of my own ;
I accompanied him.
We found the night-air keen ; or at least, I did :
he did not seem to feel it ; but it was very still, and
the star-sown sky spread cloudless. I was wrap-
ped in a fur shawl. We took some turns on the
pavement; in passing under a lamp, Graham en-
countered my eye.
" You look pensive, Lucy : is it on my ac-
count ? "
" I was only fearing that you were grieved."
"Not at all: so be of good cheer — as I am.
Whenever I die, Lucy, my persuasion is that it
will not be of heart-complaint. I may be stung,
I may seem to droop for a time, but no pain or
malady of sentiment has yet gone through my
whole system. You have always seen me cheerful
at home ? "
" Generally."
" I am glad she laughed at my mother. I would
not give the old lady for a dozen beauties. That
sneer did me all the good in the world. Thank
you, Miss Fanshawe ! " And he lifted his hat from
his waved locks, and made a mock reverence.
" Yes," he said, " I thank her. She has made
THE CONCERT.
11.
me feel that nine parts in ten of my heart have
always been sound as a bell, and the tenth bled
from a mere puncture : a lancet-prick that will heal
in a trice."
" You are angry just now, heated and indignant ;
you will think and feel differently to-morrow."
" /heated and indignant ! You don't know me.
On the contrary, the heat is gone: I am cool as
the night — which, by the way, may be too cool
for you. We will go back."
" Dr. John — this is a sudden change."
iC Not it : or if it be, there are good reasons for
it — two good reasons : I have told you one. But
now let us re-enter."
We did not easily regain our seats ; the lottery
was begun, and all was excited confusion ; crowds
blocked the sort of corridor along which we had to
pass : it was necessary to pause for a time. Hap-
pening to glance round— indeed I half fancied I
heard my name pronounced — I saw quite near, the
ubiquitous, the inevitable M. Paul. He was look-
ing at me gravely and intently : at me, or rather,
at my pink dress — sardonic comment on which
gleamed in his eye. Now it was his habit to in-
dulge in strictures on the dress, both of the teachers
116 VILLETTE.
and pupils, at Madame Beck's — a habit which
the former, at least, held to be an offensive imper-
tinence : as yet I had not suffered from it — my
sombre daily attire not being calculated to attract
notice. I was in no mood to permit any new en-
croachment to-night : rather than accept his banter,
I would ignore his presence, and accordingly steadily
turned my face to the sleeve of Dr. John's coat;
finding in that same black sleeve a prospect more
redolent of pleasure and comfort, more genial,
more friendly, I thought, than was offered by the
dark little Professor's unlovely visage. Dr. John
seemed unconsciously to sanction the preference
by looking down and saying in his kind voice,
" Ay, keep close to my side, Lucy : these crowd-
ing burghers are no respecters of persons."
I could not, however, be true to myself. Yielding
to some influence, mesmeric or otherwise — an in-
fluence unwelcome, displeasing, but effective — I
again glanced round to see if M. Paul was gone.
No, there he stood on the same spot, looking still,
but with a changed eye ; he had penetrated my
thought and read my wish to shun him. The mock-
ing but not ill-humoured gaze was turned to a
swarthy frown, and when I bowed, with a view to
THE CONCERT. 117
conciliation, I got only the stiffest and sternest of
nods in return.
" Whom have you made angry, Lucy ? " whis-
pered Dr. Bretton, smiling. " Who is that savage-
looking friend of yours?"
" One of the professors at Madame Beck's : a
very cross little man."
"He looks mighty cross just now: what have
you done to him? What is it all about? Ah,
Lucy, Lucy ! tell me the meaning of this."
" No mystery, I assure you. M. Emanuel is very
exigeant, and because I looked at your coat sleeve,
instead of curtseying and dipping to him, he thinks
I have failed in respect."
" The little " began Dr. John : I know not
what more he would have added, for at that moment
I was nearly thrown down amongst the feet of the
crowd. M. Paul had rudely pushed past, and was
elbowing his way with such utter disregard to the
convenience and security to all round him, that
a very uncomfortable pressure was the conse-
quence.
" I think he is what he himself would call
' mediant,' " said Dr. Bretton. I thought so,
too.
118 VILLETTE.
Slowly and with difficulty we made our way
along the passage, and at last regained our seats.
The drawing of the lottery lasted nearly an hour ;
it was an animating and amusing scene ; and as we
each held tickets, we shared in the alternations of
hope and fear raised by each turn of the wheel.
Two little girls, of five and six years old, drew the
numbers ; and the prizes were duly proclaimed from
the platform. These prizes were numerous, though
of small value. It so fell out, that Dr. John and
I each gained one : mine was a cigar-case, his a
lady's head-dress — a most airy sort of blue and
silver turban, with a streamer of plumage on one
side, like a light snowy cloud. He was excessively
anxious to make an exchange; but I could not be
brought to hear reason, and to this day I keep my
cigar-case: it serves, when I look at it, to remind
me of old times, and one happy evening.
Dr. John, for his part, held his turban at arm's
length between his finger and thumb, and looked
at it with a mixture of reverence and embarrass-
ment highly provocative of laughter. The contem-
plation over, he was about coolly to deposit the
delicate fabric on the ground between his feet ; he
seemed to have no shadow of an idea of the treat-
THE CONCERT. 119
ment or stowage it ought to receive : if bis mother
had not come to the rescue, I think he would finally
have crushed it under his arm like an opera-hat ;
she restored it to the band-box whence it had issued.
Graham was quite cheerful all the evening, and
his cheerfulness seemed natural and unforced. His
demeanour, his look, is not easily described ; there
was something in it peculiar, and, in its way,
original. I read in it no common mastery of the
passions, and a fund of deep and healthy strength
which, without any exhausting effort, bore down
Disappointment and extracted her fang. His manner
now, reminded me of qualities I had noticed in him
when professionally engaged amongst the poor, the
guilty, and the suffering, in the Basse-Ville : he
looked at once determined, enduring, and sweet-
tempered. Who could help liking him ? He be-
traved no weakness which harassed all vour feelings
with considerations as to how its faltering must be
propped ; from him broke no irritability which
startled calm and quenched mirth ; his lips let fall
no caustic that burned to the bone ; his eye shot no
morose shafts that went cold and rusty and venomed
through your heart: beside him was rest and refuge
— around him, fostering sunshine.
120 VILLETTE.
And yet lie had neither forgiven nor forgotten
Miss Fanshawe. Once angered, I doubt if Dr.
Bretton were to be soon propitiated — once alien-
ated, whether he were ever to be reclaimed. He
looked at her more than once ; not stealthily or
humbly, but with a movement of hard}'', open ob-
servation. De Hamal was now a fixture beside
her ; Mrs. Cholmondeley sat near, and they and
she were wholly absorbed in the discourse, mirth,,
and excitement, with which the crimson seats were
as much astir as any plebeian part of the hall. In
the course of some apparently animated discussion,
Ginevra once or twice lifted her hand and arm ; a
handsome bracelet gleamed upon the latter. I saw
that its gleam flickered in Dr. John's eye — quicken-
ing therein a derisive, ireful sparkle ; he laughed : —
" I think," he said, " I will lay my turban on my
wonted altar of offerings ; there, at any rate, it
would be certain to find favour : no grisette has a
more facile faculty of acceptance. Strange! for after
all, I know she is a girl of family. "
" But you don't know her education, Dr. John, "
said I. " Tossed about all her life from one foreign
school to another, she may justly proffer the plea of
ignorance in extenuation of most of her faults. And
THE CONCERT. 121
then, from what she says, I believe her father and
mother were brought up much as she has been
brought up."
" I always understood she had no fortune ; and
once I had pleasure in the thought, " said he.
" She tells me, ' ' I answered, " that they are poor
at home ; she always speaks quite candidly on such
points : you never find her lying, as these foreigners
will often lie. Her parents have a large family :
they occupy such a station and possess such con-
nections as, in their opinion, demand display ;
stringent necessity of circumstances and inherent
thoughtlessness of disposition combined, have en-
gendered reckless unscrupulousness as to how they
obtain the means of sustaining a good appearance.
This is the state of things, and the only state of things
she has seen from childhood upwards. "
" I believe it — and I thought to mould her to
something better : but, Lucy, to speak the plain
truth, I have felt a new thing to-night, in look-
ing at her and De Hamal. I felt it before noticing
the impertinence directed at my mother. I saw a
look interchanged between them immediately after
their entrance, which threw a most unwelcome light
on my mind. "
122 VILLETTE.
" How do you mean ? You have long been aware
of the flirtation they keep up ? "
" Ay, flirtation ! That might be an innocent girl-
ish wile to lure on the true lover ; but what I refer
to was not flirtation : it was a look marking mutual
and secret understanding — it was neither girlish nor
innocent. No woman, were she as beautiful as
Aphrodite, who could give or receive such a glance-
shall ever be sought in marriage by me : I would
rather wed a paysanne in a short petticoat and high
cap — and be sure that she was honest. '
I could not help smiling. I felt sure he now ex-
aggerated the case : Ginevra, I was certain, was
honest enough, with all her giddiness. I told him
so. He shook his head, and said he would not be
the man to trust her with his honour.
" The only thing, " said I, " with which you may
safely trust her. She would unscrupulously damage
a husband's purse and property, recklessly try his
patience and temper : I don't think she would
breathe, or let another breathe, on his honour. ,:
" You are becoming her advocate," said he. " Do
you wish me to resume my old chains 1 '
" No : I am glad to see you free, and trust that
free you will long remain. Yet be, at the same time,
just."
THE CONCERT. 123
" I am so : just as Rhadamanthus, Lucy. When
once I am thoroughly estranged, I cannot help
being severe. But look ! the King and Queen are
rising. I like that Queen : she has a sweet counte-
nance. Mama, too, is excessively tired ; we shall
never get the old lady home if we stay longer. "
" I tired, John ? ' cried Mrs. Bretton, looking at
least as animated and as wide-awake as her son, " I
would undertake to sit you out yet : leave us both
here till morning, and we should see which would
look the most jaded by sunrise. "
" I should not like to try the experiment ; for, in
truth, mama, you are the most unfading of ever-
greens, and the freshest of matrons. It must then
be on the plea of your son's delicate nerves and
fragile constitution that I found a petition for our
speedy adjournment. "
" Indolent young man ! You wish you were in
bed, no doubt ; and I suppose you must be humoured.
There is Lucy, too, looking quite done up. For
shame, Lucy ! At your age, a week of evenings-out
would not have made me a shade paler. Come
away, both of you ; and you may laugh at the old
lady as much as you please, but, for my part, I shall
take charge of the band-box and turban. "
124 VILLETTE.
Which she did accordingly. I offered to relieve
lier, but was shaken off with kindly contempt : my
godmother opined that I had enough to do to take
care of myself. Not standing on ceremony now, in
the midst of the gay " confusion worse confounded "
succeeding to the King and Queen's departure,
Mrs. Bretton preceded us, and promptly made us a
lane through the crowd. Graham followed, apos-
trophizing his mother as the most flourishing grisette
it had ever been his good fortune to see charged
with carriage of a band-box ; he also desired me to
mark her affection for the sky-blue turban, and an-
nounced his conviction that she intended one day to
wear it.
The night was now very cold and very dark, but
with little delay we found the carriage. Soon we
were packed in it, as warm and as snug as at a
fire-side ; and the drive home was, I think, still
pleasanter than the drive to the concert. Pleasant
it was, even though the coachman — having spent in
the shop of a " marchand de vin " a portion of the
time we passed at the concert — drove us along the
dark and solitary chaussee, far past the turn leading
down to La Terrasse ; we, who were occupied in
talking and laughing, not noticing the aberration —
THE CONCERT. 125
till at last, Mrs. Bretton intimated that though she
had always thought the chateau a retired spot, she
did know it was situated at the world's end, as she
declared seemed now to be the case, for she believed
we had been an hour and a half en route, and had
not yet taken the turn down the avenue.
Then Graham looked out, and perceiving only
dim-spread fields, with unfamiliar rows of pollards
and limes ranged along their else invisible sunk-
fences, began to conjecture how matters were, and
calling a halt and descending, he mounted the box
and took the reins himself. Thanks to him, we
arrived safe at home about an hour and a half
beyond our time.
Martha had not forgotten us ; a cheerful fire was
burning, and a neat supper spread in the dining-
room : we were glad of both. The winter dawn
was actually breaking before we gained our cham-
bers. I took off my pink dress and lace mantle
with happier feelings than I had experienced m
putting them on. Kot all, perhaps, who had shone
brightly arrayed at that concert could say the same ;
for not all had been satisfied with friendship — with
its calm comfort and modest hope.
126 VILLETTE.
CHAPTER XXIII.
REACTION.
Yet three days, and then I must go back to the
Pensionnat. I almost numbered the moments of
these clays upon the clock ; fain would I have
retarded their flight ; but they glided by while
I watched them : they were already gone while I
yet feared their departure.
" Lucy will not leave us to-day," said Mrs.
[Bretton, coaxingly, at breakfast ; " she knows we
can procure a second respite."
61 I would not ask for one if I might have it for
a word," said I. " I long to get the good-bye over,
and to be settled in the Rue Fossette again. 1
must go this morning: I must go directly; my
trunk is packed and corded."
It appeared, however, that my going depended
upon Graham ; he had said he would accompany
REACTION. 127
me, and it so fell out that he was engaged all day,
and only returned home at dusk. Then ensued a
little combat of words. Mrs. Bretton and her
son pressed me to remain one night more. I
could have cried, so irritated and eager was I to
be gone. I longed to leave them as the criminal
on the scaffold longs for the axe to descend : that
is, I wished the pang over. How much I wished it,
they could not tell. On these points, mine was a
state of mind out of their experience.
It was dark when Dr. John handed me from the
carriage at Madame Beck's door. The lamp above
was lit ; it rained a November drizzle, as it had
rained all day : the lamplight gleamed on the wet
pavement. Just such a night was it as that on
which, not a year ago, I had first stopped at this
very threshold ; just similar was the scene. I
remembered the very shapes of the paving-stones
which 1 had noted with idle eye, while, with a thick-
beating heart, I waited the unclosing of that door
at which I stood — a solitary and a suppliant. On
that night, too, I had briefly met him who now
stood with me. Had I ever reminded him of
that rencontre, or explained it? I had not, nor
ever felt the inclination to do so : it was a pleasant
128 VILLETTE.
thought, laid by in my own mind, and best kept
there.
Graham rung the bell. The door was instantly
opened, for it was just that period of the evening
when the half-boarders took their departure — con-
sequently, Rosine was on the alert.
" Don't come in," said I to him; but he stepped
a moment into the well-lighted vestibule. I had
not wished him to see that " the water stood in my
eyes," for his was too kind a nature ever to be
needlessly shown such signs of sorrow. He always
wished to heal — to relieve — when, physician as he
was, neither cure nor alleviation were, perhaps, in
his power.
" Keep up your courage, Lucy. Think of my
mother and myself as true friends. We will not
forget you."
" Nor will I forget you, Dr. John."
My trunk was now brought in. We had
shaken hands ; he had turned to go, but he was
not satisfied : he had not done or said enough to
content his generous impulses.
" Lucy," — stepping after me — " shall you feel
very solitary here?"
« At first I shall."
REACTION. 129
" Well, my mother will soon call to see you ; and,
meantime, I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll write
— just any cheerful nonsense that comes into my
head— shall I?"
"Good, gallant heart!" thought I to myself;
but I shook my head, smiling, and said, '{ Never
think of it: impose on yourself no such task.
You write to me! — you'll not have time."
" Oh ! I will find or make time. Good-bye ! ':
He was gone. The heavy door crashed to :
the axe had fallen — the pang was experienced.
Allowing myself no time to think or feel —
swallowing tears as if they had been wine — I
passed to madame's sitting-room to pay the neces-
sary visit of ceremony and respect. She received
me with perfectly well-acted cordiality — was even
demonstrative, though brief, in her welcome. In
ten minutes I was dismissed. From the salle a.
manger I proceeded to the refectory, where pupils
and teachers were now assembled for evening
study : again I had a welcome, and one not, I
think, quite hollow. That over, I was free to
repair to the dormitory.
" And will Graham really write 1 " I questioned,
as I sank tired on the edge of the bed.
VOL. IT. K
ISO VILLETTE.
Reason, coming stealthily up to me through the
twilight of that long, dim chamber, whispered
sedately, —
" He may write once. So kind is his nature,
it may stimulate him for once to make the effort.
But it cannot be continued — it may not be re-
j^eated. Great were that folly which should build
on such a promise — insane that credulity which
should mistake the transitory rain-pool, holding
in its hollow one draught, for the perennial spring
yielding the supply of seasons."
I bent my head : I sat thinking an hour longer.
Reason still whispered me, laying on my shoulder
a withered hand, and frostily touching my ear with
the chill blue lips of eld.
" If," muttered she, " if he should write, what
then ? Do you meditate pleasure in replying ?
Ah, fool I I warn you ! Brief be your answer.
Hope no delight of heart — no indulgence of
intellect : grant no expansion to feeling — give
holiday to no single faculty : dally with no friendly
exchange: foster no genial intercommunion. . . ."
"But I have talked to Graham and you did
not chide," I pleaded.
" No," said she, " I needed not. Talk for you
REACTION. 131
is good discipline. You converse imperfectly.
While you speak, there can be no oblivion of
inferiority — no encouragement to delusion : pain,
privation, penury stamp your language . . .
. " But," I again broke in, " where the bodily
presence is weak and the speech contemptible,
surely there cannot be error in making written
language the medium of better utterance than
faltering lips can achieve ? "
Reason only answered, " At your peril you
cherish that idea, or suffer its influence to animate
any writing of yours ! "
" But if I feel, may I never express ? "
" 'Sever!" declared Reason.
I groaned under her bitter sternness. Never —
never — oh, hard word ! This hag, this Reason,
wTould not let me look up, or smile, or hope :
she could not rest unless I were altogether crushed,
cowed, broken-in, and broken-down. According
to her, I was born only to work for a piece of
bread, to await the pains of death, and steadily
through all life to despond. Reason might be
right; yet no wonder we are glad at times to
defy her, to rush from under her rod and give
a truant hour to Imagination — her soft, bright foe,
132 VILLETTE.
our sweet Help, our divine Hope. We shall and
must break bounds at intervals, despite the terrible
revenge that awaits our return. Reason is vin-
dictive as a devil : for me, she was always envenomed
as a step-mother. If I have obeyed her it has
chiefly been with the obedience of fear, not of love.
Long ago I should have died of her ill-usage : her
stint, her chill, her barren board, her icy bed, her
savage, ceaseless blows ; but for that kinder Power
who holds my secret and sworn allegiance. Often
has Reason turned me out by night, in mid-winter,
on cold snow, flinging for sustenance the gnawed,
bone dogs had forsaken : sternly has she vowed
her stores held nothing more for me — harshly
denied my right to ask better things. . . . Then,
looking up, have I seen in the sky a head amidst
circling stars, of which the midmost and the
brightest lent a ray sympathetic and attent, A
spirit, softer and better than Human Reason,
has descended with quiet flight to the waste —
bringing all round her a sphere of air borrowed
of eternal summer ; bringing perfume of flowers
which cannot fade — fragrance of trees whose fruit
is life ; bringing breezes pure from a world whose
day needs no sun to lighten it. My hunger has
REACTION. 133
this good angel appeased with food, sweet and
strange, gathered amongst gleaning angels, gar-
nering their dew-white harvest in the first fresh
hour of a heavenly day ; tenderly has she assuaged
the insufferable tears which weep away life itself —
kindly given rest to deadly weariness — generously
lent hope and impulse to paralyzed despair.
Divine, compassionate, succourable influence !
When I bend the knee to other than God, it
shall be at thy white and winged feet, beautiful on
mountain or on plain. Temples have been reared
to the Sun — altars dedicated to the Moon. Oh,
greater glory ! To thee neither hands build, nor
lips consecrate ; but hearts, through ages, are faith-
ful to thy worship. A dwelling thou hast, too
wTide for wralls, too high for dome — a temple
whose floors are space — rites whose mysteries
transpire in presence, to the kindling, the harmony
of worlds !
Sovereign complete ! thou hadst, for endurance,
thy great army of martyrs ; for achievement, thy
chosen band of worthies. Deity unquestioned,
thine essence foils decay !
This daughter of Heaven remembered me to-
night; she saw me weep and she came with com-
134 VILLETTE.
fort : '•' Sleep," she said. " Sleep, sweetly — I gild
thy dreams ! "
She kept her word, and watched me through a
night's rest; but at dawn Reason relieved the guard.
I awoke with a sort of start ; the rain was dashing
against the panes, and the wind uttering a peevish
cry at intervals; the night-lamp was dying on the
black circular stand in the middle of the dormitory :
day had already broken. How I pity those whom
mental pain stuns instead of rousing ! This morning
the pang of waking snatched me out of bed like a
hand with a giant's gripe. How quickly I dressed
in the cold of the raw dawn ! How deeply I drank
of the ice-cold water in my carafe ! This was always
my cordial, to which, like other dram-drinkers, I had
eager recourse when unsettled by chagrin.
Ere long the bell rang its reveillee to the whole
school. Being dressed, I descended alone to the
refectory, where the stove was lit and the air was
warm ; through the rest of the house it was cold,
with the nipping severity of a continental winter:
though now but the beginning of November, a north
wind had thus early brought a wintry blight over
Europe. I remember the black stoves pleased me
little wThen I first came ; but now I began to associate
REACTION. 135
with them a sense of comfort, and liked them, as in
England, we like a fireside.
Sitting down before this dark comforter, I pre-
sently fell into a deep argument with myself on life
and its chances, on destiny and her decrees. My
mind, calmer and stronger now than last night,
made for itself some imperious rules, prohibiting
under deadly penalties all weak retrospect of happi-
ness past ; commanding a patient journeying through
the wilderness of the present, enjoining a reliance
on faith — a watching of the cloud and pillar which
subdue while they guide, and awe while they illu-
mine— hushing the impulse to fond idolatry, check-
ing the longing out-look for a far-off promised land
whose rivers are, perhaps, never to be reached save
in dying dreams, whose sweet pastures are to be
viewed but from the desolate and sepulchral summit
of a Nebo.
By degrees, a composite feeling of blended strength
and pain wound itself wirily round my heart, sus-
tained, or at least restrained, its throbbings, and
made me fit for the day's work. I lifted my head.
As I said before, I was sitting near the stove, let
into the wall beneath the refectory and the carre,
and thus sufficing to heat both apartments. Piercing
136 VILLETTE.
the same wall, and close beside the stove, was a
window, looking also into the carre ; as I looked up
a cap-tassel, a brow, two eyes filled a pane of that
window ; the fixed gaze of those two eyes hit right
against my own glance : they were watching me. I
had not till that moment known that tears were on
my cheek, but I felt them now.
This was a strange house, where no corner was
sacred from intrusion, where not a tear could be
shed, nor a thought pondered, but a spy was at hand
to note and to divine. And this new, this out-door,
this male spy, what business had brought him to the
premises at this unwonted hour? What possible
right had he to intrude on me thus ? No other pro-
fessor would have dared to cross the carre before the
class-bell rang. M. Emanuel took no account of
hours nor of claims : there was some book of refe-
rence in the first-class library which he had occasion
to consult ; he had come to seek it : on his way he
passed the refectory. It was very much his habit to
wear eyes before, behind, and on each side of him :
he had seen me through the little window — he now
opened the refectory door, and there he stood.
" Mademoiselle, vous etes triste."
" Monsieur, j'en ai bien le droit."
REACTION. 137
" Vous ctes malade de coeur et d'humeur," he
pursued. " You are at once mournful and mutinous.
I see on your cheek two tears which I know are
hot as two sparks, and salt as two crystals of the sea.
While I speak you eye me strangely. Shall I tell
you of what I am reminded while watching you?'
" Monsieur, I shall be called away to prayers
shortly ; my time for conversation is very scant and
brief at this hour — excuse — "
" I excuse everything*," he interrupted ; " my
mood is so meek, neither rebuff nor, perhaps,
insult could ruffle it. You remind me, then, of a
young she wild creature, new caught, untamed,
viewing with a mixture of fire and fear the first
entrance of the breaker-in."
Unwarrantable accost ! — rash and rude if ad-
dressed to a pupil ; to a teacher inadmissible. He
thought to provoke a warm reply ; I had seen him
vex the passionate to explosion before now. In
me his malice should find no gratification ; I sat
silent.
" You look," said he, " like one who would
snatch at a draught of sweet poison, and spurn
wholesome bitters wTith disgust."
" Indeed, I never liked bitters ; nor do I believe
138 VILLETTE.
them wholesome. And to whatever is sweet, he it
poison or food, you cannot, at least, deny its own
delicious quality — sweetness. Better, perhaps, to
die quickly a pleasant death, than drag on long
a charmless life."
" Yet," said he, " you should take your bitter
dose duly and daily, if I had the power to ad-
minister it ; and, as to the well-beloved poison, I
would, perhaps, break the very cup which held it."
I sharply turned my head away, partly because
his presence utterly displeased me, and partly be-
cause I wished to shun questions : lest, in my present
mood, the effort of answering should overmaster
self-command.
" Come," said he, more softly, " tell me the
truth — you grieve at being parted from friends — is
it not so ? "
The insinuating softness was not more acceptable
than the inquisitorial curiosity. I was silent. He
came into the room, sat down on the bench about
two yards from me, and persevered long, and, for
him, patiently, in attempts to draw me into conver-
sation— attempts necessarily unavailing, because I
could not talk. At last I entreated to be let alone.
In uttering the request, my voice faltered, my head
REACTION. 139
sank on my arms and the table. I wept bitterly,
though quietly. He sat a while longer. I did not
look up nor speak, till the closing door and his
retreating step told me that he was gone. These
tears proved a relief.
I had time to bathe my eyes before breakfast,
and I suppose I appeared at that meal as serene as
any other person : not, however, quite as jocund-
looking as the young lady who placed herself in the
seat opposite mine, fixed on me a pair of somewhat
small eyes twinkling gleefully, and frankly stretched
across the table a white hand to be shaken. Miss
Fanshawe's travels, gaieties, and flirtations agreed
with her mightily ; she had become quite plump,
her cheeks looked as round as apples. I had seen
her last in elegant evening attire. I don't know that
she looked less charming now in her school-dress, a
kind of careless peignoir of a dark-blue material,
dimly and dingily plaided with black. I even think
this dusky wrapper gave her charms a triumph ;
enhancing by contrast the fairness of her skin, the
freshness of her bloom, the golden beauty of her
tresses.
" I am glad you are come back, Timon," said
she. Timon was one of her dozen names for me.
140 VILLETTE.
" You don't know how often I have wanted you in
this dismal hole."
" Oh ! have you? Then, of course, if you
wanted me, you have something for me to do :
stocking's to mend, perhaps V I never gave
Ginevra a minute's or a farthing's credit for dis-
interestedness."
"Crabbed and crusty as ever!" said she. "I
expected as much : it would not be you if you did
not snub one. But now, come, grandmother, I
hope you like coffee as much, and pistolets as little
as ever: are you disposed to barter?"
il Take your own way."
This way consisted in a habit she had of making
me convenient. She did not like the morning cup of
coffee; its school brewage not being strong or sweet
enough to suit her palate ; and she had an excel-
lent appetite,like any other healthy school-girl, for the
morning pistolets or rolls, which were new-baked
and very good, and of which a certain allowance
was served to each. This allowance beino- more than
I needed, I gave half to Ginevra ; never varying
in my preference, though many others used to covet
the superfluity; and she in return would sometimes
give me a portion of her coffee. This morning I
REACTION. 141
was glad of the draught ; hunger I had none, and
with thirst I was parched. I don't know why I
choose to give my bread rather to Ginevra than
to another ; nor why, if two had to share the con-
venience of one drinking-vessel, as sometimes hap-
pened— for instance, when we took a long walk
into the country, and halted for refreshment at a
farm — I always contrived that she should be my
convive, and rather liked to let her take the lion's
share, whether of the white beer, the sweet wine, or
the new milk: so it was, however, and she knew it;
and, therefore, while we wrangled daily, we were
never alienated.
After breakfast my custom was to withdraw to the
first classe, and sit and read, or think (oftenest the
latter) there alone, till the nine o'clock bell threw
open all doors, admitted the gathered rush of ex-
ternes and demi-pensionnaires, and gave the signal
for entrance on that bustle and business to which,
till five p. m., there was no relax.
I was just seated this morning, when a tap came
to the door.
" Pardon, mademoiselle," said a pensionnaire,
entering gently ; and having taken from her desk
some necessary book or paper, she withdrew on tip-
142 VILLETTE.
toe, murmuring, as she passed me, " Que mademoi-
selle est appliquee ! "
Appliquee, indeed ! The means of application
were spread before me, but I was doing nothing .
and had done nothing, and meant to do nothing.
Thus does the world give us credit for merits we
have not. Madame Beck herself deemed me a
regular bas-bleu, and often and solemnly used to
warn me not to study too much, lest " the blood
should all go to my head." Indeed, everybody in
the Rue. Fossette held a superstition that " Meess
Lucie " was learned ; with the notable exception of
M. Emanuel : who, by means peculiar to himself,
and quite inscrutable to me, had obtained a not
inaccurate inkling of my real qualifications, and
used to take quiet opportunities of chuckling
in my ear his malign glee over their scant
measure. For my part, I never troubled myself
about this penury. I dearly like to think my own
thoughts ; I had great pleasure in reading a few
books, but not many : preferring always those in
whose style or sentiment the writer's individual
nature was plainly stamped; flagging inevitably
over characterless books, however clever and meri-
torious: perceiving well that, as far as my own
REACTION. 143
mind was concerned, God had limited its powers
and its action — thankful, I trust, for the gift be-
stowed, but unambitious of higher endowments,
not restlessly eager after higher culture.
The polite pupil was scarcely gone, when, un-
ceremoniously, without tap, in burst a second
intruder. Had I been blind I should have known
who this was. A constitutional reserve of manner
had by this time told with wholesome and, for me,
commodious effect, on the manners of my co-inmates ;
rarely did I now suffer from rude or intrusive
treatment. When I first came, it would happen
once and again that a blunt German would clap me
on the shoulder, and ask me to run a race ; or a
riotous Labassecourienne seize me by the arm and
drag me towards the play-ground : urgent pro-
posals to take a swing at the " Pas de Geant,"
or to join in a certain romping hide-and-seek game
called " Un, deux, trois," were formerly also of
hourly occurrence ; but all these little attentions
had ceased some time ago — ceased, too, without
my finding it necessary to be at the trouble of
point-blank cutting them short. I had now no
familiar demonstration to dread or endure, save
from one quarter ; and as that was English I could
144 VILLETTE.
bear it. Ginevra Fanshawe made no scruple of —
at times — catching me as I was crossing the carre,
whirling me round in a compulsory waltz, and
heartily enjoying the mental and physical discom-
fiture her proceeding induced. Ginevra Fanshawe it
was who now broke in upon my " learned leisure."
She carried a huge music-book under her arm.
" Go to your practising," said I to her at once:
" away with you to the little salon ! "
" Not till I have had a talk with you, chere amie.
I know where you have been spending your vaca-
tion, and how you have commenced sacrificing to
the graces, and enjoying life like any other belle.
I saw you at the concert the other night, dressed,
actually, like anybody else. Who is your tail-
leuse?"
" Tittle-tattle : how prettily it begins ! My tail-
leuse ! — a fiddlestick! Come, sheer off, Ginevra.
I really don't want your company."
" But when I want yours so much, ange farouche,
what does a little reluctance on your part signify ?
Dieu merci ! we know how to manoeuvre with our
gifted compatriote — the learned ' ourse Britannique/
And so, Ourson, you know Isidore ? n
" I know John Bretton."
REACTION. ]45
" Oh, hush !" (putting her fingers in her ears) " you
crack my tympanums with your rude Anglicisms.
But, how is our well-beloved John? Do tell me
about him. The poor man must be in a sad wray.
What did he say to my behaviour the other night X
Wasn't I cruel?"
"Do you think I noticed you ? "
"It was a delightful evening. Oh, that divine
de Hamal ! And then to watch the other sulking
and dying in the distance ; and the old lady — my
future mama-in-law ! But I am afraid I and Lady
Sara were a little rude in quizzing her."
" Lady Sara never quizzed her at all ; and for
what you did, don't make yourself in the least un-
easy : Mrs. Bretton will survive your sneer."
" She may : old ladies are tough ; but that poor
son of hers ! Do tell me what he said : I saw he
was terribly cut up."
" He said you looked as if, at heart, you were
already Madame de Hamal."
" Did he ? " she cried, with delight. " He noticed
that? How charming! I thought he would be
mad with jealousy."
" Ginevra, have you seriously done with Dr.
Bretton ? Do you wTant him to give you up ? "
VOL. II. L
146 VILLETTE.
"Oh! you know lie cant do that: but wasn't he
mad ? "
"Quite mad," I assented; "as mad as a March
hare."
" Well, and how ever did you get him home ? "
" How ever, indeed ! Have you no pity on his
poor mother and me ? Fancy us holding him
tight down in the carriage, and he raving between
us, fit to drive everybody delirious. The very coach-
man went wrong, somehow, and we lost our way."
"You don't say so? You are laughing at me.
iSTow, Lucy Snowe "
" I assure you it is fact — and fact, also, that Dr.
Bretton would not stay in the carriage : he broke
from us, and would ride outside."
" And afterwards ? "
" Afterwards — when we did reach home — the
scene transcends description."
"Oh, but describe it — you know it is such fun ! '
" Fun for you, Miss Fanshawe ; but" (with stern
gravity) " you know the proverb — l What is sport to
one may be death to another.' "
"Go on, there's a darling Timon."
" Conscientiously, I cannot, unless you assure mo
you have some heart."
REACTION. 147
" I have — sucli an immensity, you don't know ! '
" Good ! In that case, you will be able to con-
ceive Dr. Graham Bretton rejecting* his supper in
the first instance — the chicken, the sweet-bread
prepared for his refreshment, left on the table un-
touched. Then but it is of no use dwelling at
length on harrowing details. Suffice it to say, that
never, in the most stormy fits and moments of his
infancy, had his mother such work to tuck the
sheets about him as she had that night."
"He wouldn't lie still?"
" He wouldn't lie still : there it was. The sheets
might be tucked in, but the thing was to keep them
tucked in."
" And what did he say 1 "
" Say ! Can't you imagine him demanding his
divine Ginevra, anathematizing that demon, De
Hamal — raving about golden locks, blue eyes, white
arms, glittering bracelets?"
" No, did he ? He saw the bracelet ? "
" Saw the bracelet ? Yes, as plain as I saw it :
and, perhaps, for the first time, he saw also the
brand-mark with which its pressure has circled
your arm. Ginevra," (rising, and changing my
tone) " come, we will have an end of this. Go
148 VILLETTE.
away to your practising." And I opened the
door.
" But you've not told me all."
" You had better not wait until I do tell you all.
Such extra communicativeness could give you no
pleasure. March ! "
" Cross thing ! " said she; but she obeyed : and,
indeed, the first classe was my territory, and she
could not there legally resist a notice of quittance
from me.
Yet, to speak the truth, never had I been less
dissatisfied with her than I was then. There wras
pleasure in thinking of the contrast between the
reality and my description — to remember Dr. John
enjoying the drive home, eating his supper with
relish, and retiring to rest with Christian com-
posure. It was only when I saw him really unhappy
that I felt really vexed with the fair, frail cause of
his suffering.
A fortnight passed ; I was getting once more
inured to the harness of school, and lapsing from
the passionate pain of change to the palsy of custom.
REACTION. 149
One afternoon in crossing the carre, on my way to
the first class, where I was expected to assist at a
lesson of " style and literature," I saw, standing by
one of the long and large windows, Rosine, the
portress. Her attitude, as usual, was quite non-
clialante. She always " stood at ease ;" one of her
hands rested in her apron-pocket, the other, at this
moment, held to her eyes a letter, whereof Made-
moiselle coolly perused the address, and deliberately
studied the seal.
A letter ! The shape of a letter similar to that
had haunted my brain in its very core for seven
days past. I had dreamed of a letter last night.
Strong magnetism drew me to that letter now ; yet,
whether I should have ventured to demand of Rosine
so much as a glance at that white envelope, with the
spot of red wax in the middle, I know not. No ; I
think I should have sneaked past in terror of a
rebuff from Disappointment: my heart throbbed
now as if I already heard the tramp of her approach.
Nervous mistake ! It was the rapid step of the
Professor of Literature measuring the corridor. I
fled before him. Could I but be seated quietly at
my desk before his arrival, with the class under my
orders all in disciplined readiness, he would, perhaps.
150 VILLETTE.
exempt me from notice ; but, if caught lingering in
the carre, I should be sure to come in for a special
harangue. I had time to get seated, to enforce
perfect silence, to take out my work, and to com-
mence it amidst the profoundest and best trained
hush, ere M. Emanuel entered with his vehement
burst of latch and panel, and his deep, redundant
bow, prophetic of choler.
As usual he broke upon us like a clap of thunder;
but instead of flashing lightning-wise "from the door
to the estrade, his career halted midway at my desk.
Setting his face towards me and the window, his
back to the pupils and the room, he gave me a
look — such a look as might have licensed me to
stand straight up and demand what he meant — a
look of scowling distrust.
" Voila ! pour vous," said he, drawing his hand
from his waistcoat, and placing on my desk a letter
— the very letter I had seen in Rosine's hand — the
letter whose face of enamelled white and single
Cyclop's-eye of vermilion-red had printed them-
selves so clear and perfect on the retina of an inward
vision. I knew it, I felt it to be the letter of my
hope, the fruition of my wish, the release from my
doubt, the ransom from my terror. This letter M.
REACTION. 151
Paul, with his unwarrantably interfering habits, had
taken from the portress, and now delivered it
himself.
I might have been angry, but had not a second
for the sensation. Yes : I held in my hand not a
slight note, but an envelope, which must, at least,
contain a sheet : it felt, not flimsy, but firm, substan-
tial, satisfying. And here was the direction, i( Miss
Lucy Snowe," in a clean, clear, equal, decided hand ;
and here was the seal, round, full, deftly dropped by
untremulous fingers, stamped with the well-cut
impress of initials, ie J. G. B." I experienced a
happy feeling — a glad emotion which went warm to
my heart, and ran lively through all my veins. For
once a hope was realized. I held in my hand a
morsel of real solid joy : not a dream, not an image of
the brain, not one of those shadowy chances imagina-
tion pictures, and on which humanity starves but
cannot live; not a mess of that manna I drearily
eulogized awhile ago — which, indeed, at first melts
on the lips with an unspeakable and preternatural
sweetness, but which, in the end, our souls full
surely loathe ; longing deliriously for natural and
earth-grown food, wildly praying Heaven's Spirits to
reclaim their own spirit-dew and essence — an aliment
152 V1LLETTE.
divine, but for mortals deadly. It was neither sweet
hail, nor small coriander-seed — neither slight wafer,
nor luscious honey, I had lighted on; it was the wild
savoury mess of the hunter, nourishing and salu-
brious meat, forest -fed or desert -reared, fresh,
healthful, and life-sustaining. It was what the old
dying patriarch demanded of his son Esau, pro-
mising him in requital the blessing of his last
breath. It was a godsend ; and I inwardly thanked
the God who had vouchsafed it. Outwardly I only
thanked man, crying, " Thank you, thank you,
Monsieur ! "
Monsieur curled his lip, gave me a vicious
glance of the eye, and strode to his estrade. M.
Paul was not at all a good little man, though he
had good points.
Did I read my letter there and then ? Did I
consume the venison at once and with haste, as if
Esau's shaft flew every day 1
1 knew better. The cover with its address ; the
seal, with its three clear letters, was bounty and
abundance for the present. I stole from the room,
I procured the key of the great dormitory which was
kept locked by day. I went to my bureau ; with a
sort of haste and trembling lest Madame should
REACTION. 153
creep up-stairs and spy me, I opened a drawer, un-
locked a box, and took out a case, and — having feasted
my eyes with one more look, and approached the
seal, with a mixture of awe and shame and delight,
to my lips — I folded the untasted treasure, yet all
fair and inviolate, in silver paper, committed it to
the case, shut up box and drawer, reclosed, relocked
the dormitory, and returned to class, feeling as if
fairy tales were true and fairy gifts no dream.
Strange, sweet insanity ! And this letter, the source
of my joy, I had not yet read : did not yet know the
number of its lines.
When I re-entered the school-room, behold M.
Paul raging like a pestilence ! Some pupil had not
spoken audibly or distinctly enough to suit his ear
and taste, and now she and others were weeping,
and he was raving from his estrade almost livid.
Curious to mention, as I appeared, he fell on me.
" Was I the mistress of these girls ? Did I
profess to teach them the conduct befitting ladies ?
— and did I permit and, he doubted not, encourage
them to strangle their mother-tongue in their
throats, to mince and mash it between their
teeth, as if they had some base cause to be
ashamed of the words they uttered ? Was this
154 VILLETTE.
modesty ? He knew better. It was a vile pseudo
sentiment — the offspring or the forerunner of
evil. Rather than submit to this mopping and
mowing, this mincing and grimacing, this grinding
of a noble tongue, this general affectation and
sickening stubbornness of the pupils of the first
class, he would throw them up for a set of insup-
portable petites maitresses, and confine himself to
teaching the A B C to the babies of the third
lvision.
What could I say to all this? Really nothing;
and I hoped he would allow me to be silent.
The storm recommenced.
" Every answer to his queries was then refused ?
It seemed to be considered in that place — that
conceited boudoir of a first class, with its preten-
tious book-cases, its green-baized desks, its rubbish
of flower-stands, its trash of framed pictures and
maps, and its foreign surveillante, forsooth ! — it
seemed to be the fashion to think there that the
Professor of Literature was not worthy of a reply !
These were new ideas ; imported, he did not doubt,
straight from ' la Grande Bretaigne': they savoured
of island insolence and arrogance."
Lull the second — the girls, not one of whom
REACTION. 155
was ever known to weep a tear for the rebukes
of any other master, now all melting like snow-
statues before the intemperate heat of M. Emanuel :
I, not yet much shaken, sitting down, and ven-
turing to resume my work.
Something — either in my continued silence or in
the movement of my hand, stitching — transported
M. Emanuel beyond the last boundary of patience;
he actually sprung from his estrade. The stove
stood near my desk, and he attacked it; the little
iron door was nearly dashed, from its hinges, the
fuel was made to fly.
" Est-ce que vous avez l'intention de m'in-
sulter?" said he to me, in a low, furious voice,
as he thus outraged, under pretence of arranging,
the fire.
It was time to soothe him a little if possible.
ei Mais, monsieur," said I, " I wTould not insult
you for the world. I remember too well that you
once said we should be friends."
I did not intend my voice to falter, but it did :
more, I think, through the agitation of late delight
than in any spasm of present fear. Still there
certainly was something in M. Paul's anger — a
kind of passion of emotion — that specially tended to
156 VILLETTE.
draw tears. I was not unhappy, nor much afraid,
yet I wept.
" Allons, allons ! " said he presently, looking
round and seeing the deluge universal. " Decidedly
I am a monster and a ruffian. I have only one
pocket-handkerchief," he added, " but if I had
twenty, I would offer you each one. Your
teacher shall be your representative. Here, Miss
Lucy."
And he took forth and held out to me a clean
silk handkerchief. Now a person who did not
know M. Paul, who was unused to him and his
impulses, would naturally have bungled at this
offer — declined accepting the same — etcetera. But
I too plainly felt this would never do : the slightest
hesitation would have been fatal to the incipient
treaty of peace. I rose and met the handkerchief
half-way, received it with decorum, wiped therewith
my eyes, and, resuuiing my seat, and retaining the
flag of truce in my hand and on my lap, took
especial care during the remainder of the lesson to
touch neither needle nor thimble, scissors nor
muslin. Many a jealous glance did M. Paul cast
at these implements ; he hated them mortally,
considering sewing a source of distraction from the
REACTION. 157
attention due to himself. A very eloquent lesson
he gave, and very kind and friendly was he to
the close. Ere he had done, the clouds were
dispersed and the sun shining out — tears were
exchanged for smiles.
In quitting the room he paused once more at
my desk.
"And your letter?' said he, this time not quite,
fiercely.
" I have not yet read it, monsieur."
i( Ah ! it is too good to read at once : you
save it, as, when I was a boy, I used to save a
peach whose bloom was very ripe ? '
The guess came so near the truth, I could not
prevent a suddenly-rising warmth in my face from
revealing as much.
" You promise yourself a pleasant moment,"
said he, l( in reading that letter ; you will open it
when alone — n'est ce pas? Ah! a smile answers.
Well, well ! one should not be too harsh ; ' la
jeunesse n'a qu'un temps.
" Monsieur, monsieur ! " I cried or rather whis-
pered after him, as he turned to go, " do not leave me
under a mistake. This is merely a friend's letter.
Without reading it, I can vouch for that."
158 VILLETTE.
" Je congois, je concois : on sait ce que c'est
qa'un ami. Bon-jour, mademoiselle ! "
" But, monsieur, here is your handker-
chief."
" Keep it, keep it, till the letter is read, then
bring' it me ; I shall read the billet's tenor in
your eyes."
When he was gone, the pupils having already
poured out of the school-room into the berceau, and
thence into the garden and court to take their cus-
tomary recreation before the five o'clock dinner, I
stood a moment thinking, and absently twisting the
handkerchief round my arm. For some reason —
gladdened, I think, by a sudden return of the golden
glimmer of childhood, roused by an unwonted
renewal of its buoyancy, made merry by the liberty
of the closing hour, and, above all, solaced at heart
by the joyous consciousness of that treasure in the
case, box, drawer up-stairs, — I fell to playing with
the handkerchief as if it were a ball, casting it
into the air and catching it as it fell. The game
was stopped by another hand than mine — a
hand emerging from a paletot-sleeve and stretched
over my shoulder ; it caught the extemporized
plaything and bore it away with these sullen words :
REACTION. 159
" Je vois bien que vous vous moquez de moi et
tie mes effets."
Really that little man was dreadful : a mere
sprite of caprice and ubiquity : one never knew
either his whim or his whereabout.
160
VILLETTE.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE LETTER.
When all was still in the house ; when dinner was
over and the noisy recreation-hour past ; when
darkness had set in, and the quiet lamp of study
was lit in the refectory ; when the externes were
gone home, the clashing door and clamorous bell
hushed for the evening ; when Madame was safely
settled in the salle a manger in company with her
mother and some friends ; I then glided to the
kitchen, begged a bougie for one half hour for a
particular occasion, found acceptance of my petition
at the hands of my friend Goton, who answered
" Mais certainement, chou-chou, vous en aurez deux,
si vous voulez." And, light in hand, I mounted
noiseless to the dormitory.
Great was my chagrin to find in that apartment a
pupil gone to bed indisposed, — greater when I
THE LETTER. 161
recognized amid the muslin night-cap borders, the
et figure chiffonee " of Mistress Ginevra Fanshawe ;
supine at this moment, it is true — but certain to
wake and overwhelm me with chatter when the
interruption would be least acceptable : indeed, as
I watched her, a slight twinkling of the eyelids
warned me that the present appearance of repose
might be but a ruse, assumed to cover sly vigilance
over " Timon's ' movements : she was not to be
trusted. And I had so wished to be alone, just to
read my precious letter in peace.
Well, I must go to the classes. Having sought and
found my prize in its casket, I descended. Ill-luck
pursued me. The classes were undergoing sweep-
ing and purification by candle-light, according to
hebdomadal custom : benches were piled on desks,
the air was dim with dust, damp coffee-grounds
(used by Labassecourien housemaids instead of tea-
leaves) darkened the floor ; all was hopeless con-
fusion. Baffled, but not beaten, I withdrew, bent
as resolutely as ever on finding solitude somewhere.
Taking a key whereof I knew the repository, I
mounted three staircases in succession, reached a
dark, narrow, silent landing, opened a worm-eaten
door, and dived into the deep, black, cold garret.
VOL. II. m
162 VILLETTE.
Here none would follow me — none interrupt —
not Madame herself. I shut the garret-door ; I
placed my light on a doddered and mouldy chest of
drawers ; I put on a shawl, for the air was ice-cold ;
I took my letter, trembling with sweet impatience ;
I broke its seal.
" Will it be long— will it be short ? " thought I,
passing my hand across my eyes to dissipate the
silvery dimness of a suave, south wind shower.
It was lon°\
« Will it be cool ?— will it be kind ? "
It was kind.
To my checked, bridled, disciplined expectation,
it seemed very kind ; to my longing and famished
thought it seemed, perhaps, kinder than it was.
So little had I hoped, so much had I feared ;
there was a fullness of delight in this taste of frui-
tion— such, perhaps, as many a human being passes
through life without ever knowing. The poor
English teacher in the frosty garret, reading by a
dim candle guttering in the wintry air, a letter simply
good-natured — nothing more : though that good-
nature then seemed to me god-like — was happier
than most queens in palaces.
Of course, happiness of such shallow origin could
THE LETTER.
163
but be brief; yet, while it lasted, it was genuine
and exquisite: a bubble — but a sweet bubble— of
real honey-dew. Dr. John had written to me at
length ; he had written to me with pleasure ; he
had written in benignant mood, dwelling with sunny
satisfaction on scenes that had passed before his
eyes and mine, — on places we had visited together —
on conversations we had held — on all the little
subject-matter, in short, of the last few halcyon
weeks. But the cordial core of the delight was, a
conviction the blithe, genial language generously
imparted, that it had been poured out — not merely
to content me — but to gratify himself. A gratification
he might never more desire, never more seek — an
hypothesis in every point of view approaching the
certain ; but that concerned the future. This present
moment had no pain, no blot, no want ; full, pure,
perfect, it deeply blessed me. A passing seraph
seemed to have rested beside me, leaned towards
my heart, and reposed on its throb a softening,
cooling, healing, hallowing wing. Dr. John, you
pained me afterwards : forgiven be every ill — freely
forgiven — for the sake of that one dear remembered
good !
Are there wicked things, not human, which envy
164 VILLETTE.
human bliss? Are there evil influences haunting
the air, and poisoning it for man ? What was near
me? . . .
Something in that vast solitary garret sounded
strangely. Most surely and certainly I heard, as
it seemed, a stealthy foot on that floor : a sort of
gliding out from the direction of the black recess
haunted by the malefactor cloaks. I turned : my
light was dim ; the room was long — but, as I
live ! I saw in the middle of that ghostly
chamber a figure all black or white ; the skirts
straight, narrow, black ; the head bandaged, veiled,
white.
Say what you will, reader — tell me I was nervous,
or mad ; affirm that I was unsettled by the excite-
ment of that letter ; declare that I dreamed : this I
vow — I saw there — in that room — on that night —
an image like — a nun.
I cried out ; I sickened. Had the shape ap-
proached me I might have swooned. It receded : I
made for the door. How I descended all the stairs
I know not. By instinct I shunned the refectory,
and shaped my course to Madame's sitting-room : I
burst in. I said —
" There is something in the grenier : I have been
THE LETTER. 165
there : I saw something. Go and look at it, all of
you!
I said, "All of you ;" for the room seemed to me
full of people, though, in truth, there were but four
present : Madame Beck ; her mother, Madame Kint,
who was out of health, and now staying with her on
a visit ; her brother M. Victor Kint, and another
gentleman : who, when I entered the room, was
conversing with the old lady, and had his back
towards the door.
My mortal fear and faintness must have made me
deadly pale. I felt cold and shaking. They all
rose in consternation ; they surrounded me. I urged
them to go to the grenier ; the sight of the gentle-
men did me good and gave me courage : it seemed
as if there was some help and hope, with men at
hand. I turned to the door, beckoning them to
follow. They wanted to stop me ; but I said they
must come this way : they must see what I had
seen — something strange, standing in the middle of
the garret. And, now, I remembered my letter, left
on the drawers with the light. This precious letter !
Flesh or spirit must be defied for its sake. I flew
up stairs, hastening the faster as I knew I was fol-
lowed : they were obliged to come.
166 VILLETTE.
Lo ! When I readied the garret-door, all within
was dark as a pit : the light was out. Happily,
some one — Madame, I think, with her usual calm
sense — had brought a lamp from the room ; speedily,
therefore, as they came up, a ray pierced the opaque
blackness. There stood the bougie quenched on the
drawers ; but where was the letter? And I looked
for that now, and not for the nun.
" My letter ! my letter ! " I panted and plained,
almost beside myself. I groped on the floor, wring-
ing my hands wildly. Cruel, cruel doom ! To
have my bit of comfort preternaturally snatched
from me, ere I had well tasted its virtue !
I don't know what the others were doing ; I could
not watch them : they asked me questions 1 did not
answer ; they ransacked all corners ; they prattled
about this and that, disarrangement of cloaks, a
breach or crack in the sky-light — I know not what.
" Something or somebody has been here," was
sagely averred.
"Oh! they have taken my letter!" cried the
grovelling, groping, monomaniac.
" What letter, Lucy? My dear girl, what letter?"
asked a known voice in my ear. Could I believe
that ear ? No : and I looked up. Could I trust
THE LETTER. 167
ray eyes ? Had I recognized the tone ? Did I now
Jook on the face of the writer of that very letter?
Was this gentleman near me in this dim garret,
John Graham — Dr. Bretton himself?
Yes : it was. He had been called in that very
evening to prescribe for some access of illness in old
Madame Kint; he was the second gentleman pre-
sent in the salle a manner when I entered.
" Was it my letter, Lucy 1"
" Your own : yours — the letter you wrote to me
I had come here to read it quietly. I could not
find another spot where it was possible to have
it to myself. I had saved it all day — never opened
it till this evening : it was scarcely glanced over : I
cannot bear to lose it. Oh, my letter !"
" Hush! don't cry and distress yourself so
cruelly. What is it worth ? Hush ! Come out
of this cold room ; they are going to send for the
police now to examine further: we need not stay
here— come, we will go down."
A warm hand, taking my cold fingers, led me
down to a room where there was a fire. Dr. John
and I sat before the stove. He talked to me and
soothed me with unutterable goodness, promising
me twenty letters for the one lost. If there are
168 VILLETTE.
words and wrongs like knives, whose deep-inflicted
lacerations never heal — cutting injuries and insults
of serrated and poison-dripping edge — so, too, there
are consolations of tone too fine for the ear not
fondly and for ever to retain their echo : caressing
kindnesses — loved, lingered over through a whole
life, recalled with unfaded tenderness, and answer-
ing the call with undimmed shine, out of that raven
cloud foreshadowing Death himself. I have been
told since, that Dr. Bretton was not so nearly
perfect as I thought him : that his actual character
lacked the depth, height, compass, and endurance
it possessed in my creed. I don't know : he was as
good to me as the well is to the parched wayfarer —
as the sun to the shivering jail-bird. I remember
him heroic. Heroic at this moment will I hold
him to be.
He asked me, smiling, why I cared for his
letter so very much. I thought, but did not
say, that I prized it like the blood in my veins.
I only answered that I had so few letters to care
for.
" I am sure you did not read it," said he ; " or you
would think nothing of it ! "
" I read it, but only once. I want to read it
THE LETTER. 169
again. I am sorry it is lost." And I could not
help weeping afresh.
" Lucy, Lucy, my poor little god-sister (if there
be such a relationship), here — here is your letter.
Why is it not better worth such tears, and such
tenderly exaggerating faith ! "
Curious, characteristic manoeuvre ! His quick
eye had seen the letter on the floor where I sought
it ; his hand, as quick, had snatched it up. He had
hidden it in his waistcoat pocket. If my trouble
had wrought with a whit less stress and reality, I
doubt whether he would ever have acknowledged
or restored it. Tears of temperature one degree
cooler than those I shed would only have amused
Dr. John.
Pleasure at reo-ainins: made me forget merited
reproach for the teasing torment ; my joy was
great ; it could not be concealed : yet I think it
broke out more in countenance than language. I
said little.
" Are you satisfied now ? " asked Dr. John.
I replied that I was — satisfied and happy.
" Well then," he j;>roceeded, « how do you feel
physically ? Are you growing calmer ? Not much ;
for you tremble like a leaf still."
170 VILLETTE.
It seemed to me, however, that I was sufficiently
calm : at least I felt no longer terrified. I expressed
myself composed.
" You are able, consequently, to tell me what
you saw? Your account was quite vague, do you
know ? You looked white as the wall ; but you
only spoke of f something,' not defining what. Was
it a man ? Was it an animal? What was it?"
" I never will tell exactly what I saw," said I,
is unless some one else sees it too, and then I will
give corroborative testimony ; but otherwise, I shall
be discredited and accused of dreaming."
" Tell me," said Dr. Bretton ; " I will hear it in
my professional character : I look on you now from
a professional point of view, and I read, perhaps, all
you would conceal — in your eye, which is curiously
vivid and restless ; in your cheek, which the blood
has forsaken ; in your hand, which you cannot
steady. Come, Lucy, speak and tell me."
" You would laugh ? "
" If you don't tell me you shall have no more
letters."
"You are laughing now."
" I will again take away that single epistle : being
mine, I think I have a right to reclaim it."
THE LETTER. 171
I felt raillery in his words : it made me grave
and quiet; but I folded up the letter and covered
it from sight.
" You may hide it, but I can possess it any
moment I choose. You don't know my skill in
sleight of hand : I might practise as a conjuror
if I liked. Mama says sometimes, too, that
I have an harmonizing property of tongue and
eye ; but you never saw that in me — did you
Lucy ? "
" Indeed — indeed — when you were a mere boy I
used to see both : far more then than now — for now
you are strong, and strength dispenses with sub-
tlety. But still, Dr. John, you have what they call
in this country ' un air fin,' that nobody can mis-
take. Madame Beck saw it, and "
" And liked it," said he, laughing, " because
she has it herself. But, Lucy, give me that letter —
you don't really care for it."
To this provocative speech I made no answer.
Graham in mirthful mood must not be humoured
too far. Just now there was a new sort of smile
playing about his lips — very sweet, but it grieved
me somehow — a new sort of light sparkling in his
172 VILLETTE.
eyes : not hostile, but not reassuring. I rose to go
— I bid him good night a little sadly.
His sensitiveness — that peculiar, apprehensive,
detective faculty of his — felt in a moment the un-
spoken complaint — the scarce-thought reproach.
He asked quietly if I was offended. I shook my
head as implying a negative.
" Permit me, then, to speak a little seriously to
you before you go. You are in a highly nervous
state. I feel sure from what is apparent in your
look and manner, however well - controlled, that
whilst alone this evening in that dismal, perish-
ing sepulchral garret — that dungeon under the
leads, smelling of damp and mould, rank with
pthisis and catarrh : a place you never ought to
enter — that you saw, or thought you saw, some
appearance peculiarly calculated to impress the
imagination. I know you are not, nor ever were,
subject to material terrors, fears of robbers, &c. — I
am not so sure that a visitation, bearing a spectral
character, would not shake your very mind. Be
calm now. This is all a matter of the nerves, I
see : but just specify the vision."
« You will tell nobody?"
THE LETTER. 173
" Nobody — most certainly. You may trust me
as implicitly as you did Pere Silas. Indeed, the
doctor is perhaps the safer confessor of the two,
though he has not gray hair."
" You will not laugh ? "
" Perhaps I may, to do you good ; but not in
scorn. Lucy, I feel as a friend towards you,
though your timid nature is slow to trust."
He now looked like a friend : that indescribable
smile and sparkle were gone; those formidable
arched curves of lip, nostril, eyebrow, were de-
pressed ; repose marked his attitude — attention
sobered his aspect. Won to confidence, I told him
exactly what I had seen : ere now I had narrated
to him the legend of the house — whiling away with
that narrative an hour of a certain mild October
afternoon, when he and I rode through Bois
l'Etang.
He sat and thought, and while he thought, we
heard them all coming down stairs.
" Are they going to interrupt? " said he, glancing
at the door with an annoyed expression.
" They will not come here," I answered ; for we
were in the little salon where Madame never sat
in the evening, and where it was by mere chance
] 74 VILLETTE.
that heat was still lingering- in the stove. They
passed the door and went on to the salle-a-manger.
"Now," he pursued, "they will talk about thieves,
burglars, and so on : let them do so — mind you
say nothing, and keep your resolution of describing
your nun to nobody. She may appear to you
again : don't start."
"You think then," I said, with secret horror,
" she came out of my brain, and is now gone in
there, and may glide out again at an hour and a
day when I look not for her ? "
" I think it a case of spectral illusion : I fear,
following on and resulting from long-continued
mental conflict."
" Oh, Doctor John — I shudder at the thought of
being liable to such an illusion ! It seemed so real.
Is there no cure? — no preventive?"
"Happiness is the cure — a cheerful mind the
preventive : cultivate both."
No mockery in this world ever sounds to me so
hollow as that of being told to cultivate happiness.
What does such advice mean? Happiness is not a
potato, to be planted in mould, and tilled with
manure. Happiness is a glory shining far down
upon us out of Heaven. She is a divine dew which
THE LETTER. 175
the soul, on certain of its summer mornings, feels
dropping upon it from the amaranth bloom and
golden fruitage of Paradise.
"Cultivate happiness!" I said briefly to the
doctor : " do you cultivate happiness ? How do you
manage
?"
" I am a cheerful fellow by nature : and then
ill-luck has never dogged me. Adversity gave me
and my mother one passing scowl and brush, but
we defied her, or rather laughed at her, and she
went by."
" There is no cultivation in all this."
" I do not give way to melancholy."
"Yes : I have seen you subdued by that feeling."
u About Ginevra Fanshawe — eh ? "
" Did she not sometimes make you miserable ? '
"Pooh! stuff! nonsense! You see lam better
now."
If a laughing eye with a lively light, and a face
bright with beaming and healthy energy, could
attest that he was better, better he certainly was.
" You do not look much amiss, or greatly out
of condition," I allowed.
"And why, Lucy, can't you look and feel as I do
— buoyant, courageous, and fit to defy all the nuns
176 VILLETTE.
and flirts in Christendom ? I would give gold on
the spot just to see you snap your ringers. Try
the manoeuvre."
" If I were to bring Miss Fanshawe into your
presence just now?"
" I vow, Lucy, she should not move me : or, she
should move me but by one thing — true, yes,
and passionate love. I would accord forgiveness at
no less a price."
" Indeed ! a smile of hers would have been a
fortune to you a while since."
" Transformed,Lucy : transformed ! Remember, you
once called me a slave! but I am a free man now ! '
He stood up : in the port of his head, the carriage
of his figure, in his beaming eye and mien, there
revealed itself a liberty which was more than ease
— a mood which was disdain of his past bondage.
" Miss Fanshawe," he pursued, " has led me
through a phase of feeling which is over : I have
entered another condition, and am now much dis-
posed to exact love for love — passion for passion —
and good measure of it too."
" Ah, Doctor ! Doctor ! you said it was your
nature to pursue Love under difficulties— to be
charmed by a proud insensibility ! "
THE LETTER. 177
He laughed, and answered, " My nature varies :
the mood of one hour is sometimes the mockery of
the next. Well, Lucy " (drawing- on his gloves),
" will the Nun come again to-night, think you ? '
" I don't think she will."
" Give her my compliments, if she does — Dr.
John's compliments — and entreat her to have the
goodness to wait a visit from him. Lucy, was she
a pretty nun? Had she a pretty face? You have
not told me that yet ; and that is the really im-
portant point."
" She had a white cloth over her face," said I,
" but her eyes glittered."
"Confusion to her goblin trappings!" cried he,
irreverently : " but at least she had handsome eyes —
bright and soft."
li Cold and fixed," was my reply.
" No, no, we'll none of her: she shall not haunt
yon, Lucy. Give her that shake of the hand, if she
comes again. Will she stand that, do you think?"
" I thought it too kind and cordial for a ghost to
stand ; and so was the smile which matched it, and
accompanied his ' Good night.' "
VOL. II. n
178 VILLETTE.
And had there been anything in the garret?
What did they discover ? I believe, on the closest
examination, their discoveries amounted to very
little. They talked, at first, of the cloaks being
disturbed ; but Madame Beck told me afterwards
she thought they hung much as usual : and as for
the broken pane in the skylight, she affirmed that
aperture was rarely without one or more panes
broken or cracked : and besides, a heavy hail-storm
had fallen a few days ago. Madame questioned me
very closely as to what I had seen, but I only
described an obscure figure clothed in black : I took
care not to breathe the word " nun," certain that
this word would at once suggest to her mind an
idea of romance and unreality. She charged me to
say nothing on the subject to any servant, pupil, or
teacher, and highly commended my discretion in
coming to her private salle-a-manger, instead of
carrying the tale of horror to the school refectory.
Thus the subject dropped. I was left secretly and
sadly to wonder, in my own mind, whether that
strange thing was of this world, or of a realm be-
yond the grave ; or whether indeed it was only the
child of maladv, and I of that malady the prey.
VASHTI.
179
CHAPTER XXIV.
VASHTI.
To wonder sadly, did I say ? No: a new influence
began to act upon my life, and sadness, for a certain
space, was held at bay. Conceive a dell, deep-
hollowed in forest secresy ; it lies in dimness and
mist : its turf is dank, its herbage pale and humid.
A storm or an axe makes a wide gap amongst the
oak-trees ; the breeze sweeps in ; the sun looks
down ; the sad, cold dell, becomes a deep cup of
lustre ; high summer pours her blue glory and her
golden light out of that beauteous sky, which till
now the starved hollow never saw.
A new creed became mine — a belief in happiness.
It was three weeks since the adventure of the
garret, and I possessed in that case, box, drawer up
stairs, casketed with that first letter, four com-
panions like to it, traced by the same firm pen,
180 VILLETTE.
sealed with the same clear seal, full of the same
vital comfort. Vital comfort it seemed to me then :
I read them in after years ; they were kind letters
enough — pleasing letters, because composed by one
well-pleased ; in the two last there were three or
four closing lines half-gay, half-tender, " by feeling
touched, but not subdued." Time, dear reader, mel-
lowed them to a beverage of this mild quality ; but
when I first tasted their elixir, fresh from the fount
so honoured, it seemed juice of a divine vintage : a
draught which Hebe might fill, and the very gods
approve.
Does the reader, remembering what was said
some pages back, care to ask how I answered these
letters : whether under the dry, stinting check of
Reason, or according to the full, liberal impulse of
Feeling?
To speak truth, I compromised matters ; I served
two masters : I bowed down in the house of Rhn-
mon, and lifted the heart at another shrine. I
wrote to these letters two answers — one for my own
relief, the other for Graham's perusal.
To begin with : Feeling and I turned Reason out
of doors, drew against her bar and bolt, then we sat
down, spread our paper, dipped in the ink an eager
VASHTI. 181
pen, and, with deep enjoyment, poured, out our .sin-
cere heart. When we had done — when two sheets
were covered with the language of a strongly-ad-
herent affection, a rooted and active gratitude — (once,
for all, in this parenthesis, I disclaim, with the utmost
scorn, every sneaking suspicion of what are called
" warmer feelings :" women do not entertain these
" warmer feelings" where, from the commencement,
through the whole progress of an acquaintance, they
have never once been cheated of the conviction that
to do so would be to commit a mortal absurdity :
nobody ever launches into Love unless he has seen
or dreamed the rising of Hope's star over Love's
troubled waters) — when, then, I had given expression
to a closely-clinging and deeply-honouring attach-
ment— an attachment that wanted to attract to itself
and take into its own lot all that was painful in the
destiny of its object ; that would, if it could, have
absorbed and conducted away all storms and light-
nings from an existence viewed with a passion of
solicitude — then, just at that moment, the doors
of my heart would shake, bolt and bar would
yield, Reason would leap in, vigorous and re-
vengeful, snatch the full sheets, read, sneer,
erase, tear up, re-write, fold;, seal, direct, and
182 VILLETTE.
send a terse, curt missive of a page. She did
right.
I did not live on letters only : I was visited, I was
looked after ; once a week I was taken out to La
Terrasse ; always I was made much of. Dr. Bretton
failed not to tell me why he was so kind : " To keep
away the nun," he said; "he was determined to
dispute with her her prey. He had taken," he
declared, " a thorough dislike to her, chiefly on ac-
count of that white face- cloth, and those cold gray
eyes : the moment he heard of those odious parti-
culars," he affirmed, " consummate disgust had in-
cited him to oppose her ; he was determined to try
whether he or she was the cleverest, and he only
wished she would once more look in upon me when
he was present : " but that she never did. In short,
he regarded me scientifically in the light of a patient,
and at once exercised his professional skill, and gra-
tified his natural benevolence, by a course of cordial
and attentive treatment.
One evening, the first in December, I was walk-
ing by myself in the carre ; it was six o'clock ; the
elasse-doors were closed ; but within, the pupils,
rampant in the license of evening recreation, were
counterfeiting a miniature chaos. The carre was
VASHTI. 183
quite dark, except a red light shining under and
about the stove ; the wide glass- doors and the long-
windows were frosted over ; a crystal sparkle of
starlight, here and there spangling this blanched
winter veil, and breaking with scattered brilliants
the paleness of its embroidery, proved it a clear
night, though moonless. That I should dare to re-
main thus alone in darkness, showed that my nerves
were regaining a healthy tone : I thought of the
nun, but hardly feared her; though the staircase
was behind me, leading up, through blind, black
night, from landing to landing, to the haunted
grenier. Yet I own my heart quaked, my pulse
leaped, when I suddenly heard breathing and rust-
ling, and turning, saw in the deep shadow of the
steps a deeper shadow still — a shape that moved and
descended. It paused a while at the classe door,
and then it glided before me. Simultaneously came
a clangor of the distant door-bell. Life-like sounds
bring life-like feelings : this shape was too round
and low for my gaunt nun : it was only Madame
Beck on duty.
" Mademoiselle Lucy ! " cried Rosine, bursting
in, lamp in hand, from the corridor, " On est Ki
pour vous au salon."
184 VILLETTE.
Madame saw me, I saw Madame, Rosine saw us
both : there was no mutual recognition. I made
straight for the salon. There I found what I own
I anticipated I should find — Dr. Bretton ; but he
was in evening-dress.
" The carriage is at the door," said he ; " my
mother has sent it to take you to tlje theatre ; she
was going herself but an arrival has prevented her :
she immediately said, 'Take Lucy in my place.'
Will you go?"
" Just now ? I am not dressed," cried I, glancing
despairingly at my dark merino.
"You have half an hour to dress. I should have
given you notice, but I only determined on going*
since five o'clock, when I heard there was to be a
genuine regale in the presence of a great actress."
And he mentioned a name that thrilled me — a
name that, in those days, could thrill Europe. It
is hushed now : its once restless echoes are all still;
she who bore it went years ago to her rest : night
and oblivion long since closed above her ; but then
her day — a day of Sirius — stood at its full height,
light and fervour.
" I '11 go ; I will be ready in ten minutes," I
vowed. And away I flew, never once checked,
VASHTI. 185
reader, by the thought which perhaps at "this "mo-
ment checks you : namely that to go anywhere with
Graham and without Mrs. Bretton could be objec-
tionable. I could not have conceived, much less have
expressed, to Graham such thought — such scruple —
without risk of exciting a tyrannous self-contempt ;
of kindling an inward fire of shame so quenchless,
and so devouring, that I think it would soon have
licked up the very life in my veins. Besides, my
godmother, knowing her son, and knowing me,
would as soon have thought of chaperoning a sister
with a brother, as of keeping anxious guard over
our incomings and outgoings.
The present was no occasion for showy array ; my
dun-mist crape would suffice, and I sought the same
in the great oak-wardrobe in the dormitory, where
hung no less than forty dresses. But there had.
been changes and reforms, and some innovating
hand had pruned this same crowded wardrobe, and
carried divers garments to the grenier — my crape
amongst the rest. I must fetch it. I got the key,
and went aloft fearless, almost thoughtless. I un-
locked the door, I plunged in. The reader may
believe it or not, but when I thus suddenly entered,
that garret was not wholly dark as it should have
186 VILLETTE.
been : from one point there shone a solemn light,
like a star, but broader. So plainly it shone, that
it revealed the deep alcove with a portion of the
tarnished scarlet curtain drawn over it. Instantly,
silently, before my eyes, it vanished ; so did the
curtain and alcove : all that end of the garret
became black as night. I ventured no research ;
I had not time nor will ; snatching my dress, which
hung on the wall, happily near the door, I rushed
out, relocked the door with convulsed haste, and
darted downwards to the dormitory.
But I trembled too much to dress myself: im-
possible to arrange hair or fasten hooks-and-eyes
with such fingers, so I called Xtosine and bribed
her to help me. Rosine liked a bribe, so she did
her best, smoothed and plaited my hair as well as
a coiffeur would have done, placed the lace collar
mathematically straight, tied the neck-ribbon ac-
curately — in short, did her work like the neat-
handed Phillis she could be when she chose. Hav-
ing given me my handkerchief and gloves, she took
the candle and lighted me down stairs. After all,
I had forgotten my shawl ; she ran back to fetch
it ; and I stood with Dr. John in the vestibule*
waiting.
VASHTI. 187
" What is this, Lucy ? " said he, looking down
at me narrowly. " Here is the old excitement.
Ha ! tlie nun a^ain ? "
But I utterly denied the charge : I was vexed
to be suspected of a second illusion. He was
sceptical.
" She has been, as sure as I live," said he ; " her
figure crossing your eyes leaves on them a peculiar
gleam and expression not to be mistaken."
le She has not been," I persisted: for, indeed, I
could deny her apparition with truth.
" The old symptoms are there," he affirmed ; " a
particular pale, and what the Scotch call a ' raised'
look."
He was so obstinate, I thought it better to tell
him what I really had seen. Of course with him, it
was held to be another effect of the same cause :
it was all optical illusion — nervous malady, and so
on. Not one bit did I believe him ; but I dared
not contradict : doctors are so self-opinionated, so
immovable in their dry, materialist views.
Rosine brought the shawl, and I was bundled
into the carriage.
188 VILLETTE.
The theatre was full — crammed to its roof :
royal and noble were there ; palace and hotel had
emptied their inmates into those tiers so thronged
and so hushed. Deeply did I feel myself privi-
leged in having a place before that stage ; I longed
to see a being of whose powers I had heard reports
which made me conceive peculiar anticipations. I
wondered if she would justify her renown: with
strange curiosity, with feelings severe and austere,
yet of riveted interest, I waited. She was a study
of such nature as had not encountered my eyes
yet : a great and new planet she was : but in what
shape ? I waited her rising.
She rose at nine that December night : above
the horizon I saw her come. She could shine yet
with pale grandeur and steady might; but that star
verged already on its judgment-day. Seen near,
it was a chaos — hollow, half-consumed : an orb
perished or perishing — half lava, half glow.
I had heard this woman termed " plain," and I
expected bony harshness and grimness — something
large, angular, sallow. What I saw was the shadow
of a royal Vashti : a queen, fair as the day once,
turned pale now like twilight, and wasted like wax
in flame.
VASHTI. 189
For awhile — a long* while — I thought it was only
a woman, though an unique woman, who moved
in might and grace before this multitude. By-and-
by I recognized my mistake. Behold ! I found
upon her something neither of woman nor of man :
in each of her eyes sat a devil. These evil forces
bore her through the tragedy, kept up her feeble
strength — for she was but a frail creature ; and as
the action rose and the stir deepened, how wildly
they shook her with their passions of the pit !
They wrote hell on her straight, haughty brow.
They tuned her voice to the note of torment. They
writhed her regal face to a demoniac mask. Hate
and Murder and Madness incarnate, she stood.
It was a marvellous "sight : a mighty revelation.
It was a spectacle low, horrible, immoral.
Swordsmen thrust through, and dying in their
blood on the arena sand ; bulls goring horses dis-
embowelled, make a meeker vision for the public
— a milder condiment for a people's palate — than
Vashti torn by seven devils : devils which cried
sore and rent the tenement they haunted, but
still refused to be exorcised.
Suffering had struck that stage empress ; and she
stood before her audience neither yielding to, nor
190 VILLETTE.
enduring, nor in finite measure, resenting it : she
stood locked in struggle, rigid in resistance. She
stood, not dressed, but draped in pale antique folds,
long and regular like sculpture. A background
and entourage and flooring of deepest crimson
threw her out, white like alabaster — like silver :
rather be it said, like Death.
Where was the artist of the Cleopatra ? Let
him come and sit down and study this different
vision. Let him seek here the mighty brawn,
the muscle, the abounding blood, the fall-fed flesh
he worshipped : let all materialists draw nigh and
look on.
I have said that she does not resent her grief.
No ; the weakness of that word would make it a
lie. To her, what hurts becomes immediately em-
bodied : she looks on it as a thing that can be
attacked, worried down, torn in shreds. Scarcely
a substance herself, she grapples to conflict with
abstractions. Before calamity she is a tigress ; she
rends her woes, shivers them in convulsed abhor-
rence. Pain, for her, has no result in good ; tears
water no harvest of wisdom : on sickness, on death
itself, she looks with the eye of a rebel. Wicked,
perhaps, she is, but also she is strong ; and^her
VASHTI. 191
strength has conquered Beauty, has overcome
Grace, and bound both at her side, captives peer-
lessly fair, and docile as fair. Even in the uttermost
frenzy of energy is each maenad movement royally,
imperially, incedingly upborne. Her hair, flying-
loose in revel or war, is still an angel's hair, and
glorious under a halo. Fallen, insurgent, banished,
she remembers the heaven where she rebelled.
Heaven's light, following her exile, pierces its con-
fines, and discloses their forlorn remoteness.
Place now the Cleopatra, or any other slug,
before her as an obstacle, and see her cut through
the pulpy mass as the scimitar of Saladin clove the
down cushion. Let Paul Peter Rubens wake from
the dead, let him rise out of his cerements, and
bring into this presence all the army of his fat
women ; the magian power or prophet-virtue gift-
ing that slight rod of Moses, could, at one waft,
release and re-mingle a sea spell-parted, whelming
the heavy host with the down-rush of overthrown
sea-ramparts.
Vashti was not good, I was told ; and I have said
she did not look good : though a spirit, she was a
spirit out of Tophet. Well, if so much of unholy
force can arise from below, may not an equal
192 VILLETTE.
efflux of sacred essence descend one day from
above ?
What thought Dr. Graham of this being ?
For long intervals I forgot to look how he de-
meaned himself, or to question what he thought.
The strong magnetism of genius drew my heart
out of its wonted orbit ; the sunflower turned from
the south to a fierce light, not solar — a rushing,
red, cometary light — hot on vision and to sensation.
I had seen acting before, but never anything like
this : never anything which astonished Hope and
hushed Desire ; which outstripped Impulse and
paled Conception ; which, instead of merely irri-
tating imagination with the thought of what
might be done, at the same time fevering the
nerves because it was not done, disclosed power
like a deep, swollen, winter river, thundering in
cataract, and bearing the soul, like a leaf, on the
steep and steely sweep of its descent.
Miss Fanshawe, with her usual ripeness of judg-
ment, pronounced Dr. Bretton a serious, impas-
sioned man, too grave and too impressible. Not in
such light did I ever see him: no such faults could
I lay to his charge. His natural attitude was not
the meditative, nor his natural mood the senti-
VASHTI. 193
mental ; impressionable he was as dimpling water, but,
almost as water, uuimpressible : the breeze, the sun,
moved him — metal could not grave, nor fire brand.
Dr. John could think, and think well, but he was
rather a man of action than of thought ; he could
feel, and feel vividly in his way, but his heart had
no chord for enthusiasm : to bright, soft, sweet in-
fluences his eyes and lips gave bright, soft, sweet
welcome, beautiful to see as dyes of rose and silver,
pearl and purple, embuing summer clouds ; for
what belonged to storm, what was wild and intense,
dangerous, sudden, and flaming, he had no sym-
pathy, and held with it no communion. When I
took time and regained inclination to glance at him,
it amused and enlightened me to discover that he
was watching that sinister and sovereign Vashti,
not with wonder, nor worship, nor yet dismay,
but simply with intense curiosity. Her agony did
not pain him, her wild moan — worse than a shriek
— did not much move him ; her fury revolted him
somewhat, but not to the point of horror. Cool
young Briton ! The pale cliffs of his own England
do not look down on the tides of the channel more
calmly than he watched the Pythian inspiration of
that night.
VOL. II. O
194 VILLETTE.
Looking at his face, I longed to know his exact
opinions, and at last I put a question tending to
elicit thern. At the sound of my voice he awoke
as if out of a dream ; for he had been thinking,
and very intently thinking, his own thoughts, after
his own manner. " How did he like Vashti 1 " I
wished to know.
" Hin-m-m," was the first scarce articulate but
expressive answer ; and then such a strange smile
went wandering round his lips, a smile so critical,
so almost callous ! I suppose that for natures of
that order his sympathies ivere callous. In a few
terse phrases he told me his opinion of, and feeling
towards, the actress : he judged her as a woman,
not an artist : it was a branding judgment.
That night was already marked in my book of
life, not with white, but with a deep-red cross. But
I had not done with it yet ; and other memoranda
were destined to be set down in characters of tint
indelible.
Towards midnight, when the deepening tragedy
blackened to the death scene, and all held their
breath, and even Graham bit in his under lip, and
knit his brow, and sat still and struck — when the
whole theatre was hushed, when the vision of all
VASHTI. 195
eyes centred in one point, when all ears listened
towards one quarter — nothing being* seen but the
white form sunk on a seat, quivering in conflict
with her last, her worst-hated, her visibly-conquer-
ing foe — nothing heard but her throes, her gasp-
ings, breathing yet of mutiny, panting still defiance :
when, as it seemed, an inordinate will, convulsing
a perishing mortal frame, bent it to battle with
doom and death, fought every inch of ground, sold
dear every drop of blood, resisted to the latest
the rape of every faculty, would see, would hear,
would breathe, would live, up to, within, well nigh
leyond the moment when death says to all sense
and all being —
H Thus far and no farther ! "
Just then a stir, pregnant with omen, rustled
behind the scenes — feet ran, voices spoke. What
was it ? demanded the whole house. A flame, a
smell of smoke replied.
" Fire ! " rang through the gallery. rt Fire ! " was
repeated, re-echoed, yelled forth : and then, and
faster than pen can set it down, came panic, rushing,
crushing — a blind, selfish, cruel chaos.
And Dr. John ? Reader, I see him yet, with his
look of comely courage and cordial calm.
196 VILLETTE.
" Lucy will sit still, I know," said he, glancing
down at me with the same serene goodness, the
same repose of firmness that I have seen in him
when sitting at his side amid the secure peace of
his mother's hearth. Yes, thus adjured, I think I
would have sat still under a rocking crag : but,
indeed, to sit still in actual circumstances was my
instinct ; and at the price of my very life, I would
not have moved to give him trouble, thwart his
will, or make demands on his attention. We were
in the stalls, and for a few minutes there was a
most terrible, ruthless pressure about us.
" How terrified are the women ! " said he ; " but
if the men were not almost equally so, order might
be maintained. This is a sorry scene: I see fifty
selfish brutes at this moment, each of whom, if I
were near, I could conscientiously knock down.
I see some women braver than some men. There
is one yonder — Good God !"
While Graham was speaking, a young girl who
had been very quietly and steadily clinging to a
gentleman standing before us, was suddenly struck
from her protector's arms by a big, butcherly in-
truder, and hurled under the feet of the crowd.
Scarce two seconds lasted her disappearance. Gra-
VASHTI. 197
ham rushed forwards; he and the gentleman, a
powerful man though gray-haired, united their
strength to thrust back the throng ; her head and
long hair fell back over his shoulder : she seemed
unconscious.
" Trust her with me ; I am a medical man," said
Dr. John.
" If you have no lady with you, be it so," was the
answer. " Hold her, and I will force a passage :
we must get her to the air."
" I have a lady," said Graham, " but she will be
neither hindrance nor incumbrance."
He summoned me with his eye : we were sepa-
rated. Resolute, however, to rejoin him, I pene-
trated the living barrier, creeping under, where I
could not get between or over.
" Fasten on me, and don't leave go," he said ; and
I obeyed him.
, Our pioneer proved strong and adroit ; he opened
the dense mass like a wedge ; with patience and toil
he at last bored through the flesh-and-blood rock — ■
so solid, hot, and suffocating — and brought us to
the fresh, freezing night.
"You are an Englishman!" said he, turning
shortly on Dr. Bretton, when we got into the street.
198 VILLETTE.
" An Englishman. And I sj)eak to a country-
man?" was the reply.
" Right. Be good enough to stand here two
minutes, whilst I find my carriage."
" Papa, I am not hurt," said a girlish voice,
" am I with papa?"
"You are with a friend, and your father is close
at hand."
" Tell him I am not hurt, except just in my
shoulder. Oh, my shoulder! They trode just
here."
" Dislocation, perhaps ! " muttered the Doctor :
"let us hope there is no worse injury done. Lucy,
lend a hand one instant."
And I assisted while he made some arrangement
of drapery and position for the ease of his suffering
burden. She suppressed a moan, and lay in his
arms quietly and patiently.
" She is very light," said Graham, " like a child !"
and he asked in my ear, " Is she a child, Lucy ?
Did you notice her age ? "
" I am not a child — I am a person of seventeen,"
responded the patient demurely and with dignity.
Then, directly after :
" Tell papa to come ; I get anxious."
VASHTI. 199
The carriage drove up ; her father relieved Gra-
ham ; hut in the exchange from one hearer to
another she was hurt, and moaned again.
"My darling!" said the father tenderly; then
turning to Graham, " You said, sir, you are a
medical man ?"
" I am : Dr. Bretton, of La Terrasse."
" Good. Will you step into my carriage 1 '
" My own carriage is here : I will seek it, and
accompany you."
" Be pleased, then, to follow us." And he named
his address : " The Hotel Crecy, in the Rue Crecy."
We followed ; the carriage drove fast ; myself
and Graham were silent. This seemed like an ad-
venture.
Some little time being lost in seeking our own
equipage, we reached the hotel, perhaps, about ten
minutes after these strangers. It was an hotel in
the foreign sense : a collection of dwelling-houses,
not an inn — a vast, lofty pile, with a huge arch to
its street-door, leading through a vaulted covered
way, into a square all built round.
We alighted, passed up a wide, handsome public
staircase, and stopped at Numcro 2 on the second
landing ; the first floor comprising the abode of I
200 VILLETTE.
know not what " prince Russe," as Graham informed
me. On ringing the bell at a second great door, we
were admitted to a suite of very handsome apart-
ments. Announced by a servant in livery, we en-
tered a drawing-room whose hearth glowed with an
English fire, and whose walls gleamed with foreign
mirrors. Near the hearth appeared a little group ;
a slight form sunk in a deep arm-chair, one or two
women busy about it, the iron-gray gentleman
anxiously looking on.
" Where is Harriet 1 I wish Harriet would come
to me," said the girlish voice, faintly.
" Where is Mrs. Hurst ?" demanded the gentle-
man impatiently and somewhat sternly of the man-
servant who had admitted us.
" I am sorry to say she is gone out of town, sir ;
my young lady gave her leave till to-morrow."
"Yes — I did— I did. She is gone to see her
sister; I said she might go: I remember now," in-
terposed the young lady ; " but I am so sorry, for
Manon and Louison cannot understand a word I say,
and they hurt me without meaning to do so."
Dr. John and the gentleman now interchanged
greetings ; and while they passed a few minutes in
consultation, I approached the easy-chair, and see-
VASHTI.
201
ing what the faint and sinking- girl wished to have
done, I did it for her.
I was still occupied in the arrangement, when
Graham drew near ; he was no less skilled in sur-
gery than medicine, and, on examination, found that
no further advice than his own was necessary to the
treatment of the present case. He ordered her to
be carried to her chamber, and whispered to me : —
" Go with the women, Lucy ; they seem but dull ;
you can at least direct their movements, and thus
spare her some pain. She must be touched very
tenderly."
The chamber was a room shadowy with pale-blue
hangings, vaporous with curtainings and veilings of
muslin ; the bed seemed to me like snow-drift and
mist — spotless, soft, and gauzy. Making the women
stand apart, I undressed their mistress, without their
well-meaning but clumsy aid. I was not in a suf-
ficiently collected mood to note with separate distinct-
ness every detail of the attire I removed, but I
received a general impression of refinement, delicacy,
and perfect personal cultivation ; which, in a period
of after-thought, offered in my reflections a singular
contrast to notes retained of Miss Ginevra Fan-
shawe's appointments.
202 VILLETTE.
This girl was herself a small, delicate creature,
but made like a model. As I folded back her plen-
tiful yet line hair, so shining and soft, and so
exquisitely tended, I had under my observation a
young, pale, weary, but high-bred face. The brow
was smooth and clear ; the eyebrows were distinct,
but soft, and melting to a mere trace at the temples;
the eyes were a rich gift of nature — fine and full,
large, deep, seeming to hold dominion over the
slighter subordinate features — capable, probably, of
much significance at another hour and under other
circumstances than the present, but now languid and
suffering. Her skin was perfectly fair, the neck
and hands veined finely like the petals of a flower;
a thin glazing of the ice of pride, polished this deli-
cate exterior, and her lip wore a curl — I doubt not
inherent and unconscious, but which, if I had seen
it first with the accompaniments of health and state,
would have struck me as unwarranted, and proving
in the little lady a quite mistaken view of life and
her own consequence.
Her demeanour under the Doctor's hands at first
excited a smile : it was not puerile — rather, on the
whole, patient and firm — but yet, once or twice she
addressed him with suddenness and sharpness, say-
VASHTI. 203
ing that he hurt her, and must contrive to give her
less pain ; I saw her large eyes, too, settle on his
face like the solemn eyes of some pretty, wondering
child. I know not whether Graham felt this ex-
amination : if he did, he was cautious not to check or
discomfit it by any retaliatory look. I think he per-
formed his work with extreme care and gentleness,
sparing her what pain he could ; and she acknow-
ledged as much, when he had done, by the words : —
" Thank you, Doctor, and good night," very
gratefully pronounced : as she uttered them, how-
ever, it was with a repetition of the serious, direct
gaze, I thought, peculiar in its gravity and intent-
ness
The injuries, it seems, were not dangerous : an
assurance which her father received with a smile
that almost made one his friend — it was so glad and
gratified. He now expressed his obligations to
Graham with as much earnestness as was befitting
an Englishman addressing one who has served him,
but is yet a stranger ; he also begged him to call
the next day.
" Papa," said a voice from the veiled couch,
" thank the lady, too : is she there? "
I opened the curtain with a smile, and looked in
204 VILLETTE.
at her. She lay now at comparative ease ; she
looked pretty, though pale ; her face was delicately
designed, and if at first sight it appeared proud, I
believe custom might prove it to be soft.
" I thank the lady very sincerely," said her father :
" I fancy she has been very good to my child. I
think we scarcely dare tell Mrs. Hurst who has
been her substitute and done her work ; she will
feel at once ashamed and jealous.'*
And thus, in the most friendly spirit, parting
greetings were interchanged; and refreshment having
been hospitably offered, but by us, as it was late,
refused, we withdrew from the Hotel Crecy.
On our way back we repassed the theatre. All
was silence and darkness : the roaring, rushing
crowd all vanished and gone — the lamps, as well as
the incipient fire, extinct and forgotten. Next
morning's papers explained that it was but some
loose drapery on which a spark had fallen, and
which had blazed up and been quenched in a
moment.
M. DE BASSOMPIEERE. 205
CHAPTER XXV.
M. DE BASSOMPIEREE.
Those who live in retirement, whose lives have
fallen amid the seclusion of schools or of other
walled-in and guarded dwellings, are liable to be
suddenly and for a long while dropped out of the
memory of their friends, the denizens of a freer
world. Unaccountably, perhaps, and close upon
some space of unusually frequent intercourse — some
congeries of rather exciting little circumstances,
whose natural sequel would rather seem to be the
quickening than the suspension of communication —
there falls a stilly pause, a wordless silence, a long
blank of oblivion. Unbroken always is this blank ;
alike entire and unexplained. The letter, the mes-
sage once frequent, are cut off; the visit, formerly
periodical, ceases to occur ; the book, paper, or
206 VILLETTE.
other token that indicated remembrance, comes no
more.
Always there are excellent reasons for these
lapses, if the hermit but knew them. Though he is
stagnant in his cell, his connections without are whirl-
ing in the very vortex of life. That void interval
which passes for him so slowly that the very clocks
seem at a stand, and the wingless hours plod by
in the likeness of tired tramps prone to rest at
milestones — that same interval, perhaps, teems with
events, and pants with hurry for his friends.
The hermit — if he be a sensible hermit — will
swallow his own thoughts, and lock up his own
emotions during these weeks of inward winter. He
will know that Destiny designed him to imitate, on
occasion, the dormouse, and he will be conformable :
make a tidy ball of himself, creep into a hole of life's
wall, and submit decently to the drift which blows
in and soon blocks him up, preserving him in ice
for the season.
Let him say, " It is quite right : it ought to be
so, since so it is." And, perhaps, one day his snow-
sepulchre will open, spring's softness will return,
the sun and south-wind will reach him ; the budding
of hedges, and carolling of birds and singing of
M. DE BASSOMPIEREE. 207
liberated streams will call him to kindly resurrec-
tion. Perhaps this may be the case, perhaps not :
the frost may get into his heart and never thaw
more ; when spring comes, a crow or a pie may pick
out of the wall only his dormouse-bones. "Well,
even in that case, all will be right : it is to be sup-
posed he knew from the first he was mortal, and
must one day go the way of all flesh, " As well soon
as syne."
Following that eventful evening at the theatre,
came for me seven weeks as bare as seven sheets of
blank paper : no word was written on one of them ;
not a visit, not a token.
About the middle of that time I entertained fan-
cies that something had happened to my friends
at La Terrasse. The mid-blank is always a be-
clouded point for the solitary : his nerves ache with
the strain of long expectancy ; the doubts hitherto
repelled gather now to a mass and — strong in accu-
mulation— roll back upon him with a force which
savours of vindictiveness. Night, too, becomes an
unkindly time, and sleep and his nature cannot
agree : strange starts and struggles harass his
couch ; the sinister band of bad dreams, with horror
of calamity, and sick dread of entire desertion at
208 VILLETTE.
their head, join the league against him. Poor
wretch! He does his best to bear up, but he
is a poor, pallid, wasting wretch, despite that
best.
Towards the last of those long seven weeks I
admitted, what through the other six I had jealously
excluded — the conviction that these blanks were
inevitable : the result of circumstances, the fiat of
fate, a part of my life's lot, and — above all — a matter
about whose origin no question must ever be asked, for
whose painful sequence no murmur ever uttered. Of
course I did not blame myself for suffering : I thank
God I had a truer sense of justice than to Ml into
any imbecile extravagances of self-accusation ; and
as to blaming others for silence, in my reason I well
knew them blameless, and in my heart acknow-
ledged them so : but it was a rough and heavy road
to travel, and I longed for better days.
I tried different expedients to sustain and fill
existence : I commenced an elaborate piece of lace-
work, I studied German pretty hard, I undertook
a course of regular reading of the driest and thickest
books in the library ; in all my efforts I was as
orthodox as I knew how to be. Was there error
somewhere ? Very likely. I only know the result
M. DE BASSOMPIERRE. 209
was as if I had gnawed a file to satisfy hunger, or
drank brine to quench thirst.
My hour of torment was the post-hour. Unfor-
tunately I knew it too well, and tried as vainly as
assiduously to cheat myself of that knowledge;
dreading the rack of expectation, and the sick col-
lapse of disappointment which daily preceded and
followed upon that well-recognized ring.
I suppose animals kept in cages, and so scantily
fed as to be always upon the verge of famine,
await their food as I awaited a letter. Oh! — to
speak truth, and drop that tone of a false calm
which long to sustain, outwears nature's endurance.
— I underwent in those seven weeks bitter fears and
pains, strange inward trials, miserable defections of
hope, intolerable encroachments of despair. This
last came so near me sometimes that her breath
went right through me. I used to feel it, like a
baleful air or sigh, penetrate deep, and make motion
pause at my heart, or proceed only under unspeak-
able oppression. The letter — the well-beloved let-
ter— would not come ; and it was all of sweetness in
life I had to look for.
In the very extremity of want, I had recourse
again, and yet again, to the little packet in the case
YOL. II. p
210 VILLETTE.
— the five letters. How splendid that month seemed
whose skies had beheld the rising of these five
stars ! It was always at night I visited them, and
not daring to ask every evening for a candle in the
kitchen, I bought a wax-taper and matches to light
it, and at the study-hour stole up to the dormitory,
and feasted on my crust from the Barmecide's loaf.
It did not nourish me: I pined on it, and got as
thin as a shadow : otherwise I was not ill.
Heading there somewhat late one evening, and
feeling that the power to read was leaving me — for
the letters from incessant perusal were losing all
sap and significance: my gold was withering to
leaves before my eyes, and I was sorrowing over
the disillusion — suddenly a quick tripping foot ran
up the stairs. I knew Ginevra Fanshawe's step:
she had dined in town that afternoon ; she was now
returned, and would come here to replace her shawl,
&c, in the wardrobe.
Yes : in she came, dressed in bright silk, with
her shawl falling from her shoulders, and her curls,
half-uncurled in the damp of night, drooping care-
less and heavy upon her neck. I had hardly time
to recasket my treasures and lock them up when she
was at my side : her humour seemed none of the best.
M. DE BASSOMPIERRE. 211
" It has been a stupid evening : they are stupid
people/' she began.
" Who ? Mrs. Cholmondeley ? I thought you
always found her house charming."
ff I have not been to Mrs. Cholmondeley's.',
" Indeed ! Have you made new acquaintance ? "
(i My uncle de Bassompierre is come."
" Your uncle de Bassompierre ! Are you not
glad ? — I thought he was a favourite."
" You thought wrong : the man is odious ; I
hate him."
" Because he is a foreigner ? or for what other
reason of equal weight ? "
" He is not a foreigner. The man is English
enough, goodness knows ; and had an English name
till three or four years ago ; but his mother was
a foreigner, a de Bassompierre, and some of her
family are dead and have left him estates, a title,
and this name : he is quite a great man now."
et Do you hate him for that reason ? "
" Don't I- know what mama says about him ? He
is not my own uncle, but married mama's sister.
Mama detests him ; she savs he killed aunt Ginevra
with unkindness: he looks like a bear. Such a
dismal evening ! " she went on. "I'll go no more
212 VILLETTE.
to his big hotel. Fancy me walking into a room
alone, and a great man fifty years old coming for-
wards, and after a few minutes' conversation ac-
tually turning his back upon me, and then abruptly
going out of the room. Such odd ways ! I dare-
say his conscience smote him, for they all say at
home I am the picture of Aunt Ginevra. Mama
often declares the likeness is quite ridiculous."
" Were you the only visitor ? "
" The only visitor ? Yes, then there was missy,
my cousin : little spoiled, pampered thing."
" M. de Bassompierre has a daughter ? "
" Yes, yes : don't tease one with questions. Oh
dear ! I am so tired."
She yawned. Throwing herself without cere-
mony on my bed, she added, " It seems Made-
moiselle was nearly crushed to a jelly in a hubbub
at the theatre some weeks ago."
" Ah ! indeed. And they live at a large hotel in
the Rue Crecy ? "
w Justement. How do you know ? "
s< I have been there."
" Oh you have? Really! You go everywhere
in these days. I suppose Mother Bretton took
you? She and Esculapius have the entree of the
M. DE BASSOMPIERRE. 213
de Bassompierre apartments: it seems 'my son
John ' attended missy on the occasion of her acci-
dent— accident ? Bah ! All affectation ! I don't
think she was squeezed more than she richly de-
serves for her airs. And now there is quite an in-
timacy struck up : I heard something about ( Auld
lang syne/ and what not ? Oh, how stupid they all
were ! "
" All! You said you were the only visitor? "
" Did I ? You see one forgets to particularize
an old woman and her boy."
" Dr. and Mrs. Bretton were at M. de Bassom-
pierre's this evening ? "
u Ay, ay ! as large as life ; and missy played
the hostess. What a conceited doll it is ! n
Soured and listless, Miss Fanshawe was begin-
ning to disclose the causes of her prostrate condition.
There had been a retrenchment of incense, a diver-
sion or a total withholding of homage and atten-
tion : coquetry had failed of effect, vanity had
undergone mortification. She lay fuming in the
vapours.
"Is Miss de Bassompierre quite well now?': I
asked.
As well as you or I, no doubt ; but she is an
a
214 VILLETTE.
affected little thing, and gave herself invalid airs
to attract medical notice. And to see the old
dowager making her recline on a couch, and fmy
son John ' prohibiting excitement, etcetera — faugh !
the scene was quite sickening."
" It would not have been so if the object of
attention had been changed : if you had taken Miss
de Bassompierre's place."
" Indeed ! I hate ( my son John ! ' "
" c My son John ! ' — whom do you indicate by that
name? Dr. Bretton's mother never calls him so."
" Then she ought. A clownish, bearish John he
is."
" You violate the truth in saying so ; and as the
whole of my patience is now spun off the distaff, I
peremptorily desire you to rise from that bed, and
vacate this room."
(i Passionate thing ! Your face is the colour of a
coquelicot. I wonder what always makes you so
mighty testy a Fendroit du gros Jean ? e John
Anderson, my joe, John!' Oh! the distinguished
name ! "
Thrilling with exasperation, to which it would
have been sheer folly to have given vent — for there
was no contending with that unsubstantial feather,
M. DE BASSOMPIEEEE. 215
that mealy-winged moth — I extinguished my taper,
locked my bureau, and left her, since she would not
leave me. Small-beer as she was, she had turned
insufferably acid.
The morrow was Thursday and a half-holiday.
Breakfast was over; I had withdrawn to the first
classe. The dreaded hour, the post-hour, was near-
ing, and I sat waiting it, much as a ghost-seer might
wait his spectre. Less than ever was a letter
probable ; still, strive as I would, I could not
forget that it was possible. As the moments
lessened, a restlessness and fear almost beyond the
average assailed me. It was a day of winter
east wind, and I had now for some time entered
into that dreary fellowship with the winds and their
changes, so little known, so incomprehensible to the
healthy. The north and east owned a terrific in-
fluence, making all pain more poignant, all sorrow
sadder. The south could calm, the west sometimes
cheer : unless, indeed, they brought on their wings
the burden of thunder-clouds, under the weight and
warmth of which all energy died.
Bitter and dark as was this January day, I re-
member leaving the classe, and running down
without bonnet to the bottom of the long gar-
216 VILLETTE.
den, and then lingering amongst the stripped
shrubs ; in the forlorn hope that the postman's ring
might occur while I was out of hearing, and I might
thus be spared the thrill which some particular
nerve or nerves, almost gnawed through with the
unremitting tooth of a fixed idea, were becoming
wholly unfit to support. I lingered as long as I
dared without fear of attracting attention by my
absence. I muffled my head in my apron, and stop-
ped my ears in terror of the torturing clang, sure
to be followed by such blank silence, such barren
vacuum for me. At last I ventured to re-enter the
first- classe, where, as it was not yet nine o'clock,
no pupils had been admitted. The first thing seen
was a white object on my black desk, a white, flat
object. The post had, indeed, arrived ; by me
unheard. Rosine had visited my cell, and, like
some angel, had left behind her a bright token of
her presence. That shining thing on the desk was
indeed a letter, a real letter ; I saw so much at the
distance of three yards, and as I had but one cor-
respondent on earth, from that one it must come.
He remembered me yet. How deep a pidse of
gratitude sent new life through my heart.
Drawing near, bending and looking on the letter,
M. DE BASSOMPIERKE. 217
in trembling but almost certain hope of seeing a
known hand, it was my lot to find, on the con-
trary, an autograph for the moment deemed un-
known— a pale female scrawl, instead of a firm
masculine character. I then thought fate was too
hard for me, and I said, audibly, " This is cruel."
But I got over that pain also. Life is still life,
whatever its pangs : our eyes and ears and their
use remain with us, though the prospect of what
pleases be wholly withdrawn, and the sound of what
consoles be quite silenced.
I opened the billet : by this time I had recog-
nized its handwriting as perfectly familiar. It was
dated M La Terrasse," and it ran thus : —
" Dear Lucy, — It occurs to me to inquire what
you have been doing with yourself for the last
month or two ? Not that I suspect you would have
the least difficulty in giving an account of your
proceedings. I daresay you have been just as busy
and happy as ourselves at La Terrasse. As to
Graham, his professional connection extends daily :
he is so much sought after, so much engaged, that
I tell him he will grow quite conceited. Like a
right good mother, as I am, I do my best to keep
218 TILLETTE.
him clown : no flattery does he get from me, as you
know. And yet, Lucy, he is a fine fellow; his
mother's heart dances at the sis^ht of him. After
being hurried here and there the whole day, and
passing the ordeal of fifty sorts of tempers, and
combating a hundred caprices, and sometimes wit-
nessing cruel sufferings — perhaps, occasionally, as I
tell him, inflicting them — at night he still comes
home to me in such kindly, pleasant mood, that,
really, I seem to live in a sort of moral antipodes,
and on these January evenings my day rises when
other people's night sets in.
" Still he needs keeping in order, and correcting,
and repressing, and I do him that good service ;
but the boy is so elastic there is no such thing as
vexing him thoroughly. When I think I have at
last driven him to the sullens, he turns on me with
jokes for retaliation : but you know him and all
his iniquities, and I am but an elderly simpleton to
make hin the subject of this epistle.
"As for me, I have had my old Bretton agent
here on a visit, and have been plunged over head
and ears in business matters. I do so wish to
regain for Graham at least some part of what his
father left him. He laughs to scorn my anxiety
M. DE BAS80MPIERRE. 219
on this point, bidding me look and see how he
can provide for himself and me too, and asking
what the old lady can possibly want that she has
not ; hinting about sky-blue turbans ; accusing me
of an ambition to wear diamonds, keep livery ser-
vants, have an hotel, and lead the fashion amongst
the English clan in Villette.
" Talking of sky-blue turbans, I wished you had
been with us the other evening. He had come
in really tired ; and after I had given him his tea,
he threw himself into my chair with his customary
presumption. To my great delight, he dropped
asleep. (You know how he teazes me about being
drowsy ; I, who never, by any chance, close an
eye by daylight). While he slept, I thought he
looked very bonny, Lucy : fool as I am to be so
proud of him: but who can help it? Show me
his peer. Look where I will I see nothing like
him in Villette. Well, I took it into my head to
play him a trick: so I brought out the sky-blue
turban, and handling it and him with gingerly
precaution, I managed to invest his brows with
this grand adornment. I assure you it did not at
all misbecome him ; he looked quite Eastern,
except that he is so fair. Xobody, however, can
220 VILLETTE.
accuse him of having red hair now — it is genuine
chestnut — a dark, glossy chestnut; and when I
put my large Cashmere about him, there was as
fine a young bey, dey, or pacha improvised as you
would wish to see.
"It was good entertainment; but only half-
enjoyed, since I was alone : you should have been
there.
" In due time my lord awoke : the looking-glass
above the fireplace soon intimated to him his plight :
as you may imagine, I now live under threat and
dread of vengeance.
" But to come to the gist of my letter. I know
Thursday is a half-holiday in the Rue Fossette : be
ready, then, by five in the afternoon, at which
hour I will send the carriage to take you out to
La Terrasse. Be sure to come : you may meet
some old acquaintance.] Grood-by, my wise, dear,
grave little god-daughter. — Very truly, yours,
" Louisa Bretton."
Now, a letter like that sets one to rights! I
might still be sad after reading that letter, but I
was more composed ; not exactly cheered, perhaps,
but relieved. My friends, at least, were well and
M. DE EASSOMPIEEEE. 221
happy : no accident had occurred to Graham ; no
illness had seized his mother — calamities that had
so long been my dream and thought. Their
feelings for me too were — as they had been. Yet,
how strange it was to look on Mrs. Bretton's seven
weeks and contrast them with my seven weeks !
Also, how very wise it is in people placed in an
exceptional position to hold their tongues and not
rashly declare how such position galls them ! The
world can understand well enough the process of
perishing for want of food : perhaps few persons
can enter into or follow out that of going mad from
solitary confinement. They see the long-buried
prisoner disinterred, a maniac or an idiot! — how
his senses left him — how his nerves, first inflamed,
underwent nameless agony, and then sunk to palsy
— is a subject too intricate for examination, too
abstract for popular comprehension. Speak of it !
you might almost as well stand up in an European
market-place, and propound dark sayings in that
language and mood wherein Nebuchadnezzar, the
imperial hypochondriac, communed with his baffled
Chaldeans. And long, long may the minds to
whom such themes are no mystery — by whom their
bearings are sympathetically seized — be few in
222 VILLETTE.
number, and rare of rencounter. Long may it be
generally thought that physical privations alone
merit compassion, and that the rest is a figment.
When the world was younger and haler than now,
moral trials were a deeper mystery still : perhaps
in all the land of Israel there was but one Saul —
certainly but one David to soothe or comprehend
him.
The keen, still cold of the morning was suc-
ceeded, later in the day, by a sharp breathing from
Russian wastes : the cold zone sighed over the
temperate zone, and froze it fast. A heavy firma-
ment, dull, and thick with snow, sailed up from
the north, and settled over expectant Europe.
Towards afternoon began the descent. I feared no
carriage would come — the white tempest raged so
dense and wild. But trust my godmother! Once
having asked, she would have her guest. About
six o'clock I was lifted from the carriage over the
already blocked-up front steps of the chateau, and
put in at the door of La Terrasse.
Running through the vestible, and up-stairs to
the drawing-room, there I found Mrs. Bretton — a
summer-day in her own person. Had I been twice
M. DE BASSOMPIEMIE. 223
as cold as I was, her kind kiss and cordial clasp
would have warmed me. Inured now for so Ions; a
time to rooms with bare boards, black benches, desks,
and stoves, the blue saloon seemed to me gorgeous.
In its Christmas-like fire alone there was a clear and
crimson splendour which quite dazzled me.
When my godmother had held my hand for a
little while, and chatted with me, and scolded me
for having become thinner than when she last saw
me, she professed to discover that the snow -wind
had disordered my hair, and sent me up-stairs to
make it neat, and remove my shawl.
Repairing to my own little sea-green room, there
also I found a bright fire, and candles too were
lit: a tall waxhVht stood on each side the Great
looking-glass ; but between the candles, and before
the glass, appeared something dressing itself — an
airy, fairy thing — small, slight, white — a winter
spirit.
I declare, for one moment I thought of Graham
and his spectral illusions. With distrustful eye I
noted the details of this new vision. It wore
white, sprinkled slightly with drops of scarlet; its
girdle was red ; it had something in its hair leafy,
yet shining — a little wreath with an evergreen
224 VILLETTE.
gloss. Spectral or not, here truly was nothing
frightful, and I advanced.
Turning quick upon me, a large eye, under long
lashes, flashed over me, the intruder: the lashes
were as dark as long, and they softened with their
pencilling the orb they guarded.
" Ah ! you are come ! " she breathed out, in a
soft, quiet voice, and she smiled slowly, and gazed
intently.
I knew her now. Having only once seen that
sort of face, with that cast of fine and delicate
featuring, I could not but know her.
u Miss de Bassompierre," I pronounced.
u No," was the reply, " not Miss de Bassompierre
for your I did not inquire who then she might
be, but waited voluntary information.
" You are changed, but still you are yourself,"
she said, approaching nearer. " I remember you
well — your countenance, the colour of your hair,
the outline of your face. . . ."
I had moved to the fire, and she stood opposite,
and gazed into me ; and as she gazed, her face
became gradually more and more expressive of
thought and feeling, till at last a dimness quenched
her clear vision.
M. DE BASSOMPIERRE. 225
<( It makes me almost cry to look so far back,"
said she ; " but as to being sorry, or sentimental,
don't think it: on the contrary, I am quite pleased
and glad."
Interested, yet altogether at fault, I knew not
what to say. At last I stammered, "I think I
never met you till that night, some weeks ago,
when you were hurt . . . ? "
She smiled. "You have forgotten then that I
have sat on your knee, been lifted in your arms,
even shared your pillow? You no longer remem-
ber the night when I came crying, like a naughty
little child as I was, to your bedside, and you
took me in ? You have no memory for the comfort
and protection by which you soothed an acute
distress? Go back to Bretton. Remember Mr.
Home."
At last I saw it all. " And you are little
Polly?"
" I am Paulina Mary Home de Bassompierre."
How time can change ! Little Polly wore in her
pale, small features, her fairy symmetry, her
varying expression, a certain promise of interest
and grace; but Paulina Mary was become beau-
tiful— not with the beauty that strikes the eye
VOL. II. q
226 VILEETTE.
like a rose — orbed, ruddy, and replete ; not with
the plump, and pink, and flaxen attributes of her
blond cousin Ginevra ; but her seventeen years had
brought her a refined and tender charm which did
not lie in complexion, though hers was fair and
clear ; nor in outline, though her features were
sweet, and her limbs perfectly turned ; but, I think,
rather in a subdued glow from the soul outward.
This was not an opaque vase, of material however
costly, but a lamp chastely lucent, guarding from
extinction, yet not hiding from worship, a flame
vital and vestal. In speaking of her attractions,
I would not exaggerate language ; but, indeed,
they seemed to me very real and engaging. What
though all was on a small scale, it was the perfume
which gave this white violet distinction, and made
it superior to the broadest camelia — the fullest
dahlia that ever bloomed.
" Ah ! and vou remember the old time at
Bretton?"
(( Better," said she, " better, perhaps, than you.
I remember it with minute distinctness: not only
the time, but the days of the time, and the hours
of the days."
"You must have forgotten some things?"
M. DE BASSOMPIERRE. 227
" Very little, I imagine."
" You were then a little creature of quick
feelings : you must, long ere this, have outgrown
the impressions with which joy and grief, affection
and bereavement, stamped your mind ten years
ago?"
"You think I have forgotten whom I liked, and
in what degree I liked them when a child ? "
" The sharpness must be gone — the point, the
poignancy — the deep imprint must be softened away
and effaced?"
" I have a good memory for those days."
She looked as if she had. Her eyes were the
eyes of one who can remember; one whose child-
hood does not fade like a dream, nor whose youth
vanish like a sunbeam. She would not take life,
loosely and incoherently, in parts, and let one
season slip as she entered on another: she would
retain and add; often review from the commence-
ment, and so grow in harmony and consistency as
she grew in years. Still I could not quite admit
the conviction that all the pictures which now
crowded upon me were vivid and visible to her.
Her fond attachments, her sports and contests with
a well-loved playmate, the patient, true devotion
228 VILLETTE.
of her child's heart, her fears, her delicate reserves,
her little trials, the last piercing pain of separation,
..... I retraced these things, and shook my head
incredulous. She persisted. " The child of seven
years lives yet in the girl of seventeen," said
she.
ee You used to be excessively fond of Mrs.
Bretton," I remarked, intending to test her. She
set me right at once.
fe Not excessively fond," said she ; ei I liked her :
I respected her, as I should do now : she seems to
me very little altered."
" She is not much changed," I assented.
We were silent a few minutes. Glancing round
the room, she said —
" There are several things here that used to be
at Bretton. I remember that pincusliion and that
looking-glass."
Evidently she was not deceived in her estimate
of her own memory ; not, at least, so far.
"You think, then, you would have known Mrs.
Bretton?" I went on.
" I perfectly remembered her ; the turn of her
features, her olive complexion, and black hair, her
height, her walk, her voice."
M. DE BASSOMPIEREE. 229
" Dr. Bretton, of course," I pursued, " would be
out of the question : and, indeed, as I saw your
first interview with him, I am aware that he ap-
peared to you as a stranger."
" That first night I was puzzled," she answered.
" How did the recognition between him and your
father come about?"
" They exchanged cards. The names Graham
Bretton and Home de Bassompierre give rise to
questions and explanations. That was on the
second day; but before then I was beginning to
know something."
" How — know something ? "
"Why," she said, "how strange it is that most
people seem so slow to feel the truth — not to see,,
but feel ! When Dr. Bretton had visited me a few
times, and sat near and talked to me ; when I had
observed the look in his eyes, the expression about-
his mouth, the form of his chin, the carriage of his
head, and all that we do observe in persons who
approach us — how could I avoid being led by associa-
tion to think of Graham Bretton ? Graham was
slighter than he, and not grown so tall, and had a
smoother face, and longer and lighter hair, and
spoke — not so deeply — more like a girl ; but yet he
230 VILLETTE.
is Graham, just as / am little Polly, or you are Lucy
Snowe."
I thought the same, but I wondered to find my
thoughts hers : there are certain things in which we
so rarely meet with our double that it seems a miracle
when that chance befals.
" You and Graham were once playmates."
" And do you remember that ?" she questioned in
her turn.
" No doubt he will remember it also," said I.
" I have not asked him : few things would surprise
me so much as to find that he did. I suppose his
disposition is still gay and careless?"
" Was it so formerly ? Did it so strike you ? Do
you thus remember him?"
" I scarcely remember him in any other light.
Sometimes he was studious; sometimes he was
merry : but whether busy with his books or disposed
for play, it was chiefly the books or game he thought
of; not much heeding those with whom he read or
amused himself."
Yet to you he was partial."
Partial to me? Oh, no! he had other play-
mates— his school -fellows; I was of little conse-
quence to him, except on Sundays : yes, he was kind
a
a
M. BE BASSOMPIERRE. 231
on Sundays. I remember walking with him band in
hand to St. Mary's, and bis finding the places in my
prayer-book ; and how good and still he was on
Sunday evenings ! So mild for such a proud, lively
boy ; so patient with all my blunders in reading ;
and so wonderfully to be depended on, for he never
spent those evenings from home : I had a constant
fear that he would accept some invitation and for-
sake us ; but he never did, nor seemed ever to wish to
do it. Thus, of course, it can be no more. I sup-
pose Sunday will now be Dr. Bretton's dining-out
day ?"
" Children, come down !" here called Mrs. Bretton
from below. Paulina would still have lingered, but
I inclined to descend : we went down.
232 TILLETTE.
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE LITTLE COUNTESS.
Cheerful as my godmother naturally was, and
entertaining as, for our sakes, she made a point of
being, there was no true enjoyment that evening at
La Terrasse, till, through the wild howl of the
winter-night, were heard the signal sounds of arrival.
How often, while women and girls sit warm at
snug fire-sides, their hearts and imaginations are
doomed to divorce from the comfort surrounding
their persons, forced out by night to wander through
dark ways, to dare stress of weather, to contend with
the snow-blast, to wait at lonely gates and stiles in
wildest storms, watching and listening to see and
hear the father, the son, the husband coming
home.
Father and son came at last to the chateau : for
the Count de Bassompierre that night accompanied
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 233
Dr. Bretton. I know not which of our trio heard
the horses first; the asperity, the violence of the
weather warranted our running; down into the hall
to meet and greet the two riders as they came in ;
but they warned us to keep our distance : both were
white — two mountains of snow; and indeed Mrs.
Bretton, seeing their condition, ordered them in-
stantly to the kitchen; prohibiting them, at their
peril, from setting foot on her carpeted staircase till
they had severally put off that mask of Old Christ-
mas they now affected. Into the kitchen, however,
we could not help following them : it was a large
old Dutch kitchen, picturesque and pleasant. The
little white Countess danced in a circle about her
equally white sire, clapping her hands and cry-
ing,—
" Papa, papa, you look like an enormous Polar
bear."
The bear shook himself, and the little sprite fled far
from the frozen shower. Back she came, however,
laughing, and eager to aid in removing; the arctic
disguise. The Count, at last issuing from his dread-
nought, threatened to overwhelm her with it as with
an avalanche.
" Come, then," said she, bending to invite the fall,
234 VILLETTE.
and when it was playfully advanced above her head,
bounding out of reach like some little chamois.
Her movements had the supple softness, the velvet
grace of a kitten; her laugh was clearer than the
ring of silver and crystal : as she took her sire's cold
hands and rubbed them, and stood on tiptoe to reach
his lips for a kiss^ there seemed to shine round her a
halo of loving delight. The grave and reverend
signior looked down on her as men do look on what
is the apple of their eye.
" Mrs. Bretton," said he ; " what am I to do
with this daughter or daughterling of mine ? She
neither grows in wisdom nor in stature. Don't
you find her pretty nearly as much the child as
she was ten years ago?"
" She cannot be more the child than this great
boy of mine," said Mrs. Bretton, who was in con-
flict with her son about some change of dress she
deemed advisable, and which he resisted. He stood
leaning against the Dutch dresser, laughing and
keeping her at arms' length.
" Come, mama/' said he, " by way of compromise,
and to secure for us inward as well as outward
warmth, let us have a Christmas wassail-cup, and
toast Old England here, on the hearth."
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 235
So, while the Count stood by the fire, and Paulina
Mary still danced to and fro — happy in the liberty
of the wide hall-like kitchen — Mrs. Bretton herself
instructed Martha to spice and heat the wassail-
bowl, and, pouring the draught into a Bretton
flagon, it was served round, reaming hot, by means
of a small silver vessel, which I recognised as Gra-
ham's christening-cup.
" Here's to Auld Lang Syne ! " said the Count ;
holding the glancing cup on high. Then, looking
at Mrs. Bretton : —
" We twa ha' paidlet i' the burn
Fra morning- sun till dine,
But seas between us braid ha' roared
Sin' auld lang syne.
" And surely ye '11 be your pint-stoup,
As surely I '11 be mine ;
And we '11 taste a cup o' kindness yet
For auld lang syne."
" Scotch! Scotch!" cried Paulina; " papa is
talking Scotch: and Scotch he is, partly. We
are Home and De Bassompierre, Caledonian and
Gallic."
" And is that a Scotch reel you are dancing,
236 VILLETTE.
you Highland fairy?" asked her father. "Mrs.
Bretton, there will be a green ring growing up in
the middle of your kitchen shortly. I would not
answer for her being quite cannie : she is a strange
little mortal."
" Tell Lucy to dance with me, papa : there is
Lucy Snowe."
Mr. Home (there was still quite as much about
him of plain Mr. Home as of proud Count de
Bassompierre) held his hand out to me, saying
kindly, " he remembered me well ; and, even had
his own memory been less trustworthy, my name
was so often on his daughter's lips, and he had
listened to so many long tales about me, I should
seem like an old acquaintance."
Every one now had tasted the wassail-cup except
Paulina, whose pas de fee, ou de fantaisie, nobody
thought of interrupting to offer so profanatory a
draught; but she was not to be overlooked, nor
baulked of her mortal privileges.
" Let me taste," said she to Graham, as he was
putting the cup on the shelf of the dresser out of her
reach.
Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home were now engaged
in conversation. Dr. John had not been unob-
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 237
servant of the fairy's dance; lie had watched it,
and he had liked it. To say nothing of the softness
and beauty of the movements, eminently grateful
to his grace-loving eye, that ease in his mothers'
house charmed him, for it set him at ease : again
she seemed a child for him — again, almost his
playmate. I wondered how he would speak to
her ; I had not yet seen him address her ; his
first words proved that the old days of " little
Polly" had been recalled to his mind by this
evening's child-like light-heartedness.
" Your ladyship wishes for the tankard ? "
" I think I said so. I think I intimated as
much."
" Couldn't consent to a step of the kind on any
account. Sorry for it, but couldn't do it."
" Why ? I am quite well now : it can't break
my collar-bone again, or dislocate my shoulder. Is
it wine ? "
" No ; nor dew."
" I don't want dew; I don't like dew: but what
is it?"
"Ale — strong ale — old October; brewed, per-
haps, when I was born."
(i It must be curious : is it good?"
238 TILLETTE.
" Excessively good."
And he took it down, administered to himself
a second dose of this mighty elixir, expressed in
his mischievous eyes extreme contentment with the
same, and solemnly replaced the cup on the shelf.
" I should like a little," said Paulina, looking up ;
(i I never had any e old October :' is it sweet ?"
" Perilouslv sweet," said Graham.
She continued to look up exactly with the coun-
tenance of a child that longs for some prohibited
dainty. At last the Doctor relented, took it down,
and indulged himself in the gratification of letting
her taste from his hand ; his eyes, always expressive
in the revelation of pleasurable feelings, luminously
and smilingly avowed that it was a gratification ;
and he prolonged it by so regulating the position
of the cup that only a drop at a time could reach
the rosy, sipping lips by which its brim was
courted.
" A little more — a little more," said she, petu-
lantly touching his hand with her forefinger, to
make him incline the cup more generously and
yieldingly. " It smells of spice and sugar, but I
can't taste it ; your wrist is so stiff, and you are so
stingy."
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 239
He indulged her, whispering, however, with
gravity: "Don't tell my mother or Lucy; they
wouldn't approve."
" Nor do I," said she, passing into another tone
and manner as soon as she had fairly assayed the
beverage, just as if it had acted upon her like
some disenchanting draught, undoing the work of a
wizard : * I find it anything but sweet ; it is bitter
and hot, and takes away my breath. Your old
October was only desirable while forbidden. Thank
you, no more."
And, with a slight bend — careless, but as graceful
as her dance — she glided from him and rejoined
her father.
I think she had spoken truth : the child of seven
was in the girl of seventeen.
Graham looked after her a little baffled, a little
puzzled ; his eye was on her a good deal during
the rest of the evening, but she did not seem to
notice him.
As we ascended to the drawing-room for tea,
she took her father's arm : her natural place seemed
to be at his side ; her eyes and her ears were
dedicated to him. He and Mrs. Bretton were
the chief talkers of our little party, and Paulina
240 VILLETTE.
was their best listener, attending closely to all
that was said, prompting the repetition of this or
that trait or adventure.
" And where were you at such a time, papa?
And what did you say then ? And tell Mrs. Bretton
what happened on that occasion." Thus she drew
him out.
She did not again yield to any effervescence of
glee; the infantine sparkle was exhaled for the
night : she was soft, thoughtful, and docile. It
was pretty to see her bid good-night; her manner
to Graham was touched with dignity: in her very
slight smile and quiet bow spoke the Countess, and
Graham could not but look grave, and bend respon-
sive. I saw he hardly knew how to blend together
in his ideas the dancing fairy and delicate dame.
Next day, when we were all assembled round
the breakfast table, shivering and fresh from the
morning's chill ablutions, Mrs. Bretton pronounced
a decree that nobody, who was not forced by dire
necessity, should quit her house that day.
Indeed, egress seemed next to impossible; the
drift darkened the lower panes of the casement,
and, on looking out, one saw the sky and air
vexed and dim, the wind and snow in angry con-
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 241
flict. There was no fall now, but what had already
descended was torn up from the earth, whirled
round by brief shrieking gusts, and cast into a
hundred fantastic forms.
The Countess seconded Mrs. Bretton.
" Papa shall not go out," said she, <e placing a
seat for herself beside her father's arm-chair. " I
will look after him. You won't go into town, will
you, papa?"
Ci Aye, and No," was the answer. " If you and
Mrs. Bretton are very good to me, Polly — kind,
you know, and attentive ; if you pet me in a very
nice manner, and make much of me, I may possibly
be induced to wait an hour after breakfast and see
whether this razor-edged wind settles. But, you
see, you give me no breakfast ; you offer me
nothing: you let me starve."
" Quick ! please, Mrs. Bretton, and pour out the
coffee," entreated Paulina, " whilst I take care of
the Count de Bassompierre in other respects : since
he grew into a Count, he has needed so much
attention."
She separated and prepared a roll.
" There, papa, are your i pistolets' charged?" said
she. " And there is some marmalade, just the same
VOL. II. R
242 VILLETTE.
sort of marmalade we used to have at Bretton, and
which you said was as good as if it had been con-
served in Scotland "
" And which your little ladyship used to beg
for my boy — do you remember that?" interposed
Mrs. Bretton. " Have you forgotten how you
would come to my elbow and touch my sleeve with
the whisper, e please ma'am, something good for
Graham — a little marmalade, or honey, or jam ? '
" No, mama," broke in Dr. John, laughing, yet
reddening ; " it surely was not so : I could not
have cared for these things."
" Did he or did he not, Paulina ? "
" He liked them," asserted Paulina.
" Never blush for it, John," said Mr. Home,
encouragingly. " I like them myself yet, and
always did. And Polly showed her sense in cater-
ing for a friend's material comforts : it was I who
put her into the way of such good manners — nor
do I let her forget them. Polly, offer me a small
slice of that tongue."
" There, papa : but remember you are only waited
upon with this assiduity, on condition of being per-
suadable, and reconciling yourself to La Terrasse
for the day."
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 243
" Mrs. Bretton," said the Count, " I want to
get rid of my daughter, to send her to school. Do
you know of any good school ? "
" There is Lucy's place — Madame Beck's."
" Miss Snowe is in a school ? "
" I am a teacher," I said, and was rather glad
of the opportunity of saying this. For a little
while I had been feeling as if placed in a false
position. Mrs. Bretton and son knew my circum-
stances ; but the Count and his daughter did not.
They might choose to vary by some shades their
hitherto cordial manner towards me, when aware
of my grade in society. I spoke then readily : but
a swarm of thoughts, I had not anticipated nor
invoked, rose dim at the words, making me sigh
involuntarily. Mr. Home did not lift his eyes from
his breakfast-plate for about two minutes, nor did
he speak; perhaps he had not caught the words —
perhaps he thought that on a confession of that
nature, politeness would interdict comment : the
Scotch are proverbially proud ; and homely as was
Mr. Home in look, simple in habits and tastes, I
have all along intimated that he was not without
his share of the national quality. Was his a p?eudo
pride ? was it real dignity ? I leave the question
244 VILLETTE.
undecided in its wide sense. Where it concerned
me individually I can only answer : then, and
always, he showed himself a true-hearted gentle-
man.
By nature he was a feeler and a thinker; over
his emotions and his reflections spread a mellowing
of melancholy; more than a mellowing: in trouble
and bereavement it became a cloud. He did not
know much about Lucy Snowe ; what he knew, he
did not very accurately comprehend : indeed his
misconceptions of my character often made me
smile ; but he saw my walk in life lay rather on
the shady side of the hill ; he gave me credit for
doing my endeavour to keep the course honestly
straight ; he would have helped me if he could :
having no opportunity of helping, he still wished
me well. When he did look at me, his eye was
kind ; when he did speak, his voice was benevolent.
" Yours," said he, " is an arduous calling. I
wish you health and strength to win in it — success.
His fair little daughter did not take, the in-
formation quite so composedly: she fixed on me a
pair of eyes wide with wonder — almost with dis-
may.
Are you a teacher?" cried she. Then, having
a
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 245
paused on the unpalatable idea, "Well, I never
knew what you were, nor ever thought of asking:
for me, you were always Lucy Snowe."
"And what am I now?" I could not forbear
inquiring.
" Yourself, of course. But do you really teach
here, in YiUette?"
" I really do."
"And do you like it?"
" Not always."
" And why do you go on with it?"
Her father looked at, and, I feared, was going
to check her ; but he only said, 'f Proceed, Polly,
proceed with that catechism — prove yourself the
little wiseacre you are. If Miss Snowe were to
blush and look confused, I should have to bid you
hold your tongue; and you and I would sit out
the present meal in some disgrace; but she only
smiles, so push her hard, multiply the cross-ques-
tions. Well, Miss Snowe, why do you go on with
it?"
" Chiefly, I fear, for the sake of the money I
get."
" Not then from motives of pure philanthropy ?
Polly and I were clinging to that hypothesis, as
it
a
246 VILLETTE.
the most lenient way of accounting for your eccen-
tricity."
" No — no, sir. Rather for the roof of shelter 1
am thus enabled to keep over my head ; and for
the comfort of mind it gives me to think that while
I can work for myself, I am spared the pain of
being a burden to anybody."
Papa, say what you will, I pity Lucy."
Take up that pit}r, Miss de Bassompierre :
take it up in both hands, as you might a little callow
gosling squattering out of bounds without leave ;
put it back in the warm nest of a heart whence
at issued, and receive in your ear this whisper. If
my Polly ever came to know by experience the
uncertain nature of this world's goods, I should like
her to act as Lucy acts : to work for herself, that
she might burden neither kith nor kin."
" Yes, papa," said she, pensively and tractably.
ci But poor Lucy ! I thought she was a rich lady,
and had rich friends."
,e You thought like a little simpleton : / never
thought so. When I had time to consider Lucy's
manner and aspect, which was not often, I saw she
was one who had to guard and not be guarded ;
to act and not be served : and this lot has, I imagine,
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 247
helped her to an experience for which, if she live
long enough to realize its full benefit, she may yet
bless Providence. But this school," he pursued
changing his tone from grave to gay : " Would
Madame Beck admit my Polly, do you think, Miss
Lucy?"
I said, there needed but to try madame ; it would
soon be seen : she was fond of English pupils. " If
you, sir," I added, i( will but take Miss de Bassom-
pierre in your carriage this very afternoon, I think
I can answer for it that Rosine, the portress, will
not be very slow in answering your ring ; and
madame, I am sure, will put on her best pair of
gloves to come into the salon to receive you."
" In that case," responded Mr. Home, " I see
no sort of necessity there is for delay. Mrs.
Hurst can send, what she calls, her young lady's
' things ' after her ; Polly can settle down to her
horn-book before night ; and you, Miss Lucy, I
trust, will not disdain to cast an occasional eye upon
her, and let me know, from time to time, how she
gets on. I hope you approve of the arrangement,
Countess de Bassompierre ?"
The Countess hemmed and hesitated. " I
thought," said she, " I thought I had finished my
education "
248 YILLETTE.
44 That only proves how much we may be mis-
taken in our thoughts : I hold a far different
opinion, as most of those will who have been
auditors of your profound knowledge of life this
morning. Ah, my little girl, thou hast much to
learn; and papa ought to have taught thee more
than he has done! Come, there is nothing for it
but to try Madame Beck ; and the weather seems
settling, and I have finished my breakfast "
"But, papa!"
"Well?"
" I see an obstacle."
" I don't at all."
" It is enormous, papa, it can never be got over ;
it is as large as you in your great coat, and the
snowdrift on the top."
And, like that snowdrift, capable of melting ? "
No ! it is of too — too solid flesh : it is just your
own self. Miss Lucy, warn Madame Beck not to
listen to any overtures about taking me, because, in
the end, it would turn out that she would have to
take papa too : as he is so teasing, I will just tell
tales about him. Mrs. Bretton and all of you
listen : About five years ago, when I was twelve
years old, he took it into his head that he was
a
((
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 249
spoiling me; that I was growing unfitted for the
world, and I don't know what, and nothing would
serve or satisfy him, but I must go to school. I
cried, and so on; but M. de Bassompierre proved
hard-hearted, quite firm and flinty, and to school I
went. What was the result ? In the most admira-
ble manner, papa came to school likewise : every
other day he called to see me. Madame Aigredoux
grumbled, but it was of no use ; and so, at last,
papa and I were both, in a manner, expelled. Lucy
can just tell Madame Beck this little trait: it is
only fair to let her know what she has to expect."
Mrs. Bretton asked Mr. Home what he had to
say in answer to this statement. As he made no
defence, judgment was given against him, and
Paulina triumphed.
But she had other moods besides the arch and
naive. After breakfast, when the two elders with-
drew— I suppose to talk over certain of Mrs. Bret-
ton's business matters — and the Countess, Dr.
Bretton, and I were, for a short time, alone to-
gether— all the child left her ; with us, more nearly
her companions in age, she rose at once to the
little lady : her very face seemed to alter ; that play
of feature, and candour of look, which, when she
250 VILLETTE.
spoke to her father, made it quite dimpled and
round, yielded to an aspect more thoughtful, and
lines distincter and less mobile.
No doubt, Graham noted the change as well as
I. He stood for some minutes near the window,
looking out at the snow; presently he approached
the hearth, and entered into conversation, but not
quite with his usual ease : fit topics did not seem
to rise to his lips ; he chose them fastidiously, hesi-
tatingly, and consequently infelicitously : he spoke
vaguely of Yillette — its inhabitants, its notable
sights and buildings. He was answered by Miss
de Bassompierre in quite womanly sort; with in-
telligence, with a manner not indeed wholly dis-
individualized : a tone, a glance, a gesture, here and
there, rather animated and quick than measured
and stately, still recalled little Polly ; but yet there
was so fine and even a polish, so calm and courteous
a grace, gilding and sustaining these peculiarities,
that a less sensitive man than Graham would not
have ventured to seize upon them as vantage points,
leading to franker intimacy.
Yet while Dr. Bretton continued subdued, and,
for him, sedate, he was still observant. Not one
of those pretty impulses and natural breaks escaped
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 251
him. He did not miss one characteristic movement,
one hesitation in language, or one lisp in utterance.
At times, in speaking fast, she still lisped: but
coloured whenever such lapse occurred, and in a
painstaking, conscientious manner, quite as amusing
as the slight error, repeated the word more ^dis-
tinctly.
Whenever she did this, Dr. Bretton smiled.
Gradually, as they conversed, the restraint on each
side slackened : might the conference have but been
prolonged, I believe it would soon have become
genial : already to Paulina's lip and cheek returned
the wreathing, dimpling smile ; she lisped once, and
forgot to correct herself. And Dr. John, I know
not how he changed, but change he did. He did not
grow gayer — no raillery, no levity sparkled across
his aspect — but his position seemed to become one
of more pleasure to himself, and he spoke his aug-
mented comfort in readier language, in tones more
suave. Ten years ago, this pair had always found
abundance to say to each other; the intervening
decade had not narrowed the experience or im-
poverished the intelligence of either: besides, there
are certain natures of which the mutual influence
is such, that the more they say, the more they have
252 VILLETTE.
to say. For these, out of association grows adhesion,
and out of adhesion, amalgamation.
Graham, however, must go : his was a profession,
whose claims are neither to be ignored, nor deferred.
He left the room; but before he could leave the
house there was a return. I am sure he came
back — not for the paper, or card in his desk,
which formed his ostensible errand — but to assure
himself, by one more glance, that Paulina's aspect
was really such as memory was bearing away : that
he had not been viewing her somehow by a partial,
artificial light, and making a fond mistake. No !
he found the impression true — rather, indeed, he
gained, than lost, by this return : he took away
with him a parting look — shy, but very soft — as
beautiful, as innocent, as any little fawn could lift
out of its cover of fern, or any lamb from its
meadow-bed.
Being left alone, Paulina and I kept silence for
some time ; we both took out some work, and plied
a mute and diligent task. The white-wood work-
box of old days, was now replaced by one inlaid
with precious mosaic, and furnished with implements
of gold; the tiny and trembling fingers that could
scarce guide the needle, though tiny still, were now
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 253
swift and skilful: but there was the same busy-
knitting of the brow, the same little dainty manner-
isms, the same quick turns and movements — now
to replace a stray tress; and anon to shake from
the silken skirt some imaginary atom of dust — some
clinging fibre of thread.
That morning I was disposed for silence : the
austere fury of the winter-day, had on me an awing,
hushing influence. That passion of January, so
white and so bloodless, was not yet spent : the
storm had raved itself hoarse, but seemed no nearer
exhaustion. Had Ginevra Fanshawe been my com-
panion in that morning-room, she would not have
suffered me to muse and listened undisturbed. The
presence just gone from us would have been her
theme ; and how she would have runaj the changes
on one topic ! how she would have pursued and
pestered me with questions and surmises — worried
and oppressed me with comments and confidences
I did not want, and longed to avoid.
Paulina Mary cast once or twice towards me a
quiet, but penetrating glance of her dark, full eye ;
her lips half opened, as if to the impulse of coming
utterance : but she saw and delicately respected my
inclination for silence.
254 VILLETTE.
" This will not hold long," I thought to myself
for I was not accustomed to find in women or p'irls
any power of self-control, or strength of self-denial.
As far as I knew them, the chance of a gossip about
their usually trivial secrets, their often very washy
and paltry feelings, was a treat not to be readily
foregone.
The little Countess promised an exception : she
sewed, till she was tired of sewing, and then she
took a book.
As chance would have it, she had sought it in
Dr. Bretton's own compartment of the book-case ;
and it proved to be an old Bretton book — some
illustrated work of natural history. Often had I
seen her standing at Graham's side, resting that
volume on his knee, and reading to his tuition ; and,
when the lesson was over, begging, as a treat, that
he would tell her all about the pictures. I watched
her keenly: here was a true test of that memory
she had boasted : would her recollections now be
faithful ?
Faithful? It could not be doubted. As she
turned the leaves, over her face passed gleam
after gleam of expression, the least intelligent of
which was a fall greeting to the Past. And then
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 255
she turned to the title-page, and looked at the
name written in the schoolboy hand. She looked
at it long ; nor was she satisfied with merely look-
ing : she gently passed over the characters the tips
of her fingers, accompanying the action with an
unconscious but tender smile, which converted the
touch into a caress. Paulina loved the Past; but
the peculiarity of this little scene was, that she said
nothing : she could feel, without pouring out her
feelings in a flux of words.
She now occupied herself at the bookcase for
nearly an hour ; taking down volume after volume,
and renewing her acquaintance with each. This,
done, she seated herself on a low stool, rested her
cheek on her hand, and thought, and still was
mute.
The sound of the front door opened below, a
rush of cold wind, and her father's voice speaking
to Mrs. Bretton in the hall, startled her at last.
She sprang up : she was down-stairs in one second,
(S Papa ! papa ! you are not going out ?"
" My pet ; I must go into town."
" But it is too — too cold, papa."
And then I heard M. de Bassompierre showing
to her how he was well provided against the
256 VILLETTE.
weather ; and how he was going to have the car-
riage, and to be quite snugly sheltered; and, in
short, proving that she need not fear for hiscomfort.
"But you will promise to come back here this
evening, before it is quite dark ; — you and Dr.
Bretton, both, in the carriage ? It is not fit to
ride."
"Well, if I see the Doctor, I will tell him a
lady has laid on him her commands to take care
of his precious health, and come home early under
my escort."
"Yes, you must say a lady; and he will think
it is his mother, and be obedient. And, papa,
mind to come soon, for T shall watch and listen."
The door closed, and the carriage rolled softly
through the snow ; and back returned the Countess,
pensive and anxious.
She did listen, and watch, when evening closed;
but it was in stillest sort : walking the drawing-
room with quite noiseless step. She checked at
intervals her velvet march ; inclined her ear, and
consulted the night sounds : I should rather say,
the night silence; for now, at last, the wind was
fallen. The sky, relieved of its avalanche, lay
naked and pale : through the barren boughs of
THE LITTLE COUNTESS. 257
the avenue we could see it well, and note also the
polar splendour of the new-year moon — an orb,
white as a world of ice. Nor was it late when
we saw also the return of the carriage.
Paulina had no dance of welcome for this eveniug.
It was with a sort of gravity that she took immediate
possession of her father, as he entered the room;
but she at once made him her entire property, led
him to the seat of her choice, and, while softly
showering round him honeyed words of commenda-
tion for being so good and coming home so soon,
you would have thought it was entirely by the
power of her little hands he was put into his chair,
and settled and arranged ; for] the strong man
seemed to take pleasure in wholly yielding himself
to this dominion — potent only by love.
Graham did not appear till some minutes after
the Count. Paulina half turned when his step was
heard : they spoke, but only a word or two ; their
fingers met a moment, but obviously with slight
contact. Paulina remained beside her father; Gra-
ham threw himself into a seat on the other side of
the room.
It was well that Mrs. Bretton and Mr. Home had
a great deal to say to each other — almost an inex-
VOL. II. S
258 VILLETTE.
haustible fund of discourse in old recollections ;
otherwise, I think, our party would have been but
a still one that evening.
After tea, Paulina's quick needle and pretty
golden thimble were busily plied by the lamp-light,
but her tongue rested, and her eyes seemed reluc-
tant to raise often their lids so smooth and so full-
fringed. Graham too must have been tired with
his day's work : he listened dutifully to his elders
and betters, said very little himself, and followed
with his eye the gilded glance of Paulina's thimble,
as if it had been some bright moth on the wing, or
the golden head of some darting little yellow
serpent.
A BURIAL. 259
CHAPTEE XXVII.
A BURIAL.
From this date my life did not want variety; 1
went out a good deal, with the entire consent of
Madame Beck, who perfectly approved the grade of
my acquaintance. That worthy directress had
never from the first treated me otherwise than
with respect ; and when she found that I was liable
to frequent invitations from a chateau and a great
hotel, respect improved into distinction.
Not that she was fulsome about it: madame, in
all things worldly, was in nothing weak ; there was
measure and sense in her hottest pursuit of self-in-
terest, calm and considerateness in her closest clutch
of gain; without, then, laying herself open to my
contempt as a time-server and a toadie, she marked
with tact that she was pleased people connected with
her establishment should frequent such associates as
260 VILLETTE.
must cultivate and elevate, rather than those who
might deteriorate and depress. She never praised
either me or my friends ; only once when she was
sitting in the sun in the garden, a cup of coffee at
her elbow and the Gazette in her hand, looking
very comfortable, and I came up and asked leave of
absence for the evening, she delivered herself in
this gracious sort : —
" Oui, oui, ma bonne amie : je vous donne la per-
mission de coeur et de gre. Votre travail dans ma
maison a toujours ete admirable, rempli de zele et
de discretion : vous avez bien le droit de vous amuser.
Sortez done tant que vous voudrez. Quant a votre
choix de connaissances, j'en suis contente ; e'est sage,
digne, louable."
She closed her lips and resumed the Gazette.
The reader will not too gravely regard the little
circumstance that about this time the triply-enclosed
packet of five letters temporarily disappeared from
my bureau. Blank dismay was naturally my first
sensation on making the discovery ; but in a moment
I took heart of grace.
"Patience!" whispered I to myself. "Let me
say nothing, but wait peaceably ; they will come
buck again."
A BURIAL. 261
And they did come back : they had only been on
a short visit to madame's chamber; having passed
their examination, they came back duly and truly : I
found them all right the next day.
I wonder what she thought of my correspondence.
What estimate did she form of Dr. John Bretton's
epistolary powers? In what light did the often
very pithy thoughts, the generally sound, and some-
times original opinions, set, without pretension, in an
easily-flowing, spirited style, appear to her ? How
did she like that genial, half-humorous vein, which
to me gave such delight ? What did she think of the
few kind words scattered here and there — not thickly,
as the diamonds were scattered in the valley of
Sindbad, but sparely, as those gems lie in unfabled
beds ? Oh, Madame Beck ! how seemed these things
to you ?
I think in Madame Beck's eyes the five letters
found a certain favour. One day after she had
borrowed them of me (in speaking of so suave a little
woman, one ought to use suave terms), I caught her
examining me with a steady contemplative gaze, a
little puzzled, but not at all malevolent. It was
during that brief space between lessons, when the
pupils turned out into the court for a quarter of an
262 VILLETTE.
hour's recreation; she and I remained in the first
class alone : when I met her eye, her thoughts forced
themselves partially through her lips.
" II y a," said she, u quelquechose de bien remar-
quable dans le caractere Anglais."
"How, Madame?"
She gave a little laugh, repeating the word " how"
in English.
" Je ne saurais vous dire ' how ;' mais, enfin,
les Anglais ont des idees a eux, en amitie, en
amour, en tout. Mais au moins il n'est pas besoin
de les surveiller," she added, getting up and
trotting away like the compact little pony she
was.
" Then I hope," murmured I to myself, " you will
graciously let alone my letters for the future."
Alas ! something came rushing into my eyes,
dimming utterly their vision, blotting from sight the
schoolroom, the garden, the bright winter sun, as I
remembered that never more would letters, such as
she had read, come to me. I had seen the last of
them. That goodly river on whose banks I had
sojourned, of whose waves a few reviving drops had
trickled to my lips, was bending to another course :
it was leaving my little hut and field forlorn and sand-
A BURIAL. 263
dry, pouring its wealth of waters far away. The change
was right, just, natural; not a word could be said:
but I loved my Rhine, my Nile ; I had almost wor-
shipped my Ganges, and I grieved that the grand
tide should roll estranged, should vanish like a false
mirage. Though stoical, I was not quite a stoic;
drops streamed fast on my hands, on my desk : I
wept one sultry shower, heavy and brief.
But soon I said to myself, " the Hope I am be-
moaning suffered and made me suffer much : it did
not die till it was full time : following an agony so
lingering, death ought to be welcome."
Welcome I endeavoured to make it. Indeed, long
pain had made patience a habit. In the end I closed
the eyes of my dead, covered its face, and composed
its limbs with great calm.
f- The letters, however, must be put away, out of
sight : people who have undergone bereavement
always jealously gather together and lock away
mementos : it is not supportable to be stabbed to the
heart each moment by sharp revival of regret.
One vacant holiday afternoon (the Thursday)
going to my treasure, with intent to consider its
final disposal, I perceived — and this time with a
strong impulse of displeasure—- that it had been again
264 YILLETTE.
tampered with : the packet was there, indeed, but
the ribbon which secured it had been untied and
retied ; and by other symptoms I knew that my
drawer had been visited.
This was a little too much. Madame Beck her-
self was the soul of discretion, besides having as
strong a brain and sound a judgment as ever fur-
nished a human head ; that she should know the
contents of my casket, was not pleasant, but might
be borne. Little Jesuit inquisitress, as she was, she
could see things in a true light, and understand them
in an unperverted sense ; but the idea that she had
ventured to communicate information, thus gained,
to others ; that she had, perhaps, amused herself
with a companion over documents, in my eyes most
sacred, shocked me cruelly. Yet, that such was the
case I now saw reason to fear : I even guessed her
confidant. Her kinsman, M. Paul Emanuel, had
spent yesterday evening with her : she was much in
the habit of consulting him, and of discussing with
him matters she broached to no one else. This very
morning, in class, that gentleman had favoured me
with a glance, which he seemed to have borrowed
from Vashti, the actress ; I had not at the moment
comprehended that blue, yet lurid, flash out of his
A BURIAL. 265
angry eye, but I read its meaning now. He, I be-
lieved, was not apt to regard what concerned me
from a fair point of view, nor to judge me with
tolerance and candour: I had always found him
severe and suspicious: the thought that these
letters, mere friendly letters as they were, had fallen
once, and might fall again, into his hands, jarred my
very soul.
What should I do to prevent this ? In what
corner of this strange house was it possible to find
security or secresy ? Where could a key be a safe-
guard, or a padlock a barrier ?
In the grenier ? No, I did not like the grenier.
Besides, most of the boxes and drawers there were
mouldering, and did not lock. Rats, too, gnawed
their way through the decayed wood; and mice
made nests amongst the litter of their contents : my
dear letters (most dear still, though Ichabod was
written on their covers) might be consumed by ver-
min ; certainly the writing would soon become
obliterated by damp. No ; the grenier would not
do— but where then?
While pondering this problem, I sat in the dor-
mitory window-seat. It was a fine frosty afternoon ;
the winter sun, already setting, gleamed pale on the
266 VILLETTE.
tops of the garden-shrubs in the " allee defendue."
One great old pear-tree — the nun's pear-tree — stood
up a tall dryad skeleton, gray, gaunt, and stripped.
A thought struck me — one of those queer fantastic
thoughts that will sometimes strike solitary people.
I put on my bonnet, cloak and furs, and went out
into the city.
Bending my steps to the old historical quarter of
the town, whose hoar and overshadowed precincts I
always sought by instinct in melancholy moods,
I wandered on from street to street, till, having
crossed a half-deserted (S place" or square, I found
myself before a sort of broker's shop ; an ancient
place, full of ancient things.
What I wanted was a metal box which might be
soldered, or a thick glass jar or bottle which might be
stoppered and sealed hermetically. Amongst mis-
cellaneous heaps, I found and purchased the latter
article.
I then made a little roll of my letters, wrapped
them in oiled silk, bound them with twine, and,
having put them in the bottle, got the old Jew
broker to stopper, seal, and make it air-tight. While
obeying my directions, he glanced at me now and
then, suspiciously, from under his frost-white eye-
A BURIAL. 267
lashes. I believe he thought there was some evil
deed on hand. In all this I had a dreary something
— not pleasure — but a sad, lonely satisfaction. The
impulse under which I acted, the mood controlling
me, were similar to the impulse and the mood which
had induced me to visit the confessional. With quick
walking I regained the pensionnat just at dark, and
in time for dinner.
At seven o'clock the moon rose. At half-past
seven, when the pupils and teachers were at study,
and Madame Beck was with her mother and chil-
dren in the salle a manger, when the half-boarders
were all gone home, and Rosine had left the vesti-
bule, and all was still — I shawled myself, and,
taking the sealed jar, stole out through the first-
classe door, into the berceau and thence into the
" allee defendue."
Methusaleh, the pear-tree, stood at the further end
of this walk, near my seat : he rose up, dim and gray,
above the lower shrubs round him. Now Methu-
saleh, though so very old, was of sound timber still ;
only there was a hole, or rather a deep hollow, near
his root. I knew there was such a hollow, hidden
partly by ivy and creepers growing thick round ; and
there I meditated hiding my treasure. But I was
268 VILLETTE.
not only going to hide a treasure — I meant also to
bury a grief. That grief over which I had lately been
weeping, as I wrapped it in its winding-sheet, must
be interred.
"Well, I cleared away the ivy, and found the
hole; it was large enough to receive the jar, and
I thrust it deep in. In a tool-shed at the bottom
of the garden, lay the relics of building-materials,
left by masons lately employed to repair a part of
the premises. I fetched thence a slate and some
mortar, put the slate on the hollow, secured it with
cement, covered the whole with black mould, and,
finally, replaced the ivy. This done, I rested,
leaning against the tree ; lingering, like any other
mourner, beside a newly-sodded grave.
The air of the night was very still, but dim
with a peculiar mist, which changed the moonlight
into a luminous haze. In this air, or this mist,
there was some quality — electrical, perhaps — which
acted in strange sort upon me. I felt then as I
had felt a year ago in England — on a night when
the aurora borealis was streaming and sweeping
round heaven, when, belated in lonely fields, I
had paused to watch that mustering of an army
with banners — that quivering of serried lances —
A BURIAL. 269
that swift ascent of messengers from below the
north star to the dark, high keystone of heaven's
arch. I felt, not happy, far otherwise, but strong
with reinforced strength.
If life be a war, it seemed my destiny to conduct
it single-handed. I pondered now how to break
up my winter- quarters — to leave an encampment
w^here food and forage failed. Perhaps, to effect
this change, another pitched battle must be fought
with fortune ; if so, I had a mind to the encounter :
too poor to lose, God might destine me to gain.
But what road was open ? — what plan available ?
On this question I was still pausing, when the
moon, so dim hitherto, seemed to shine out some-
what brighter : a ray gleamed even white before
me, and a shadow became distinct and marked. I
looked more narrowly, to make out the cause of this
well-defined contrast appearing a little suddenly
in the obscure alley : whiter and blacker it grew
on my eye : it took shape with instantaneous trans-
formation. I stood about three yards from a tall,
sable-robed, snowy-veiled woman.
Five minutes passed. I neither fled nor shrieked.
She was there still. I spoke.
"Who are you? and why do you come to me?"
270 VILLETTE.
She stood mute. She had no face — no features :
all below her brow was masked with a white cloth ;
but she had eyes, and they viewed me.
I felt, if not brave, yet a little desperate ; and
desperation will often suffice to fill the post and do
the work of courage. I advanced one step. I
stretched out my hand, for I meant to touch her.
She seemed to recede. I drew nearer : her recession,
still silent, became swift. A mass of shrubs,
full-leaved evergreens laurel and dense yew, in-
tervened between me and what I followed. Having
passed that obstacle, I looked and saw nothing. I
waited. I said, — " If you have any errand to me,
come back and deliver it." Nothing spoke or re-
appeared.
This time there was no Dr. John to whom to
have recourse : there was no one to whom I dared
whisper the words, " I have again seen the nun."
Paulina Mary sought my frequent presence in
the Rue Crecy. In the old Bretton days, though
she had never professed herself fond of me, my
society had soon become to her a sort of unconscious
necessary. I used to notice that if I withdrew to
A BURIAL. 271
my room, she would speedily come trotting after
me, and opening the door and peeping in, say, with
her little peremptory accent, —
" Come down. Why do you sit here by your-
self? You must come into the parlour."
In the same spirit she urged me now —
" Leave the Rue Fossette," she said, " and come
and live with us. Papa would give you far more
than Madame Beck gives you."
Mr. Home himself offered me a handsome sum —
thrice my present salary — if I would accept the
office of companion to his daughter. I declined. I
think I should have declined had I been poorer
than I was, and with scantier fund of resource, more
stinted narrowness of future prospect. I had not
that vocation. I could teach ; I could give lessons ;
but to be either a private governess or a com-
panion was unnatural to me. Rather than fill the
former post in any great house, I would delibe-
rately have taken a housemaid's place, bought a
strong pair of gloves, swept bedrooms and stair-
cases, and cleaned stoves and locks, in peace and
independence. Rather than be a companion, I
would have made shirts, and starved.
I was no bright ladvs shadow — not Miss de
272 VILLETTE.
Bassompierre's. Overcast enough it was my nature
often to be ; of a subdued habit I was : but the
dimness and depression must both be voluntary —
such as kept me docile at my desk, in the midst of
my now well-accustomed pupils in Madame Beck's
first classe ; or alone, at my own bedside, in her
dormitory, or in the alley and seat which were
called mine, in her garden : my qualifications were
not convertible, not adaptable ; they could not
be made the foil of any gem, the adjunct of any
beauty, the appendage of any greatness in Chris-
tendom. Madame Beck and I, without assimilating,
understood each other well. I was not her com-
panion, nor her children's governess ; she left me
free: she tied me to nothing — not to herself — not
even to her interests : once, when she had for a
fortnight been called from home by a near relation's
illness, and on her return, all anxious and full of
care about her establishment, lest something in her
absence should have gone wrong — finding that
matters had proceeded much as usual, and that
there was no evidence of glaring neglect — she made
each of the teachers a present, in acknowledgement
of steadiness. To my bedside she came at twelve
o'clock at night, and told me she had no present
A BURIAL. 273
for me. "I must make fidelity advantageous to
the St. Pierre," said she ; " if I attempt to make
it advantageous to you, there will arise misunder-
standing between us — perhaps separation. One
thing, however, I can do to please you — leave you
alone with your liberty : c'est ce que je ferai."
She kept her word. Every slight shackle she
had ever laid on me, she, from that time, with quiet
hand removed. Thus I had pleasure in voluntarily
respecting her rules ; gratification in devoting
double time, in taking double pains with the pupils
she committed to my charge.
As to Mary de Bassompierre, I visited her with
pleasure, though I would not live with her. My
visits soon taught me that it was unlikely even my
occasional and voluntary society would long be
indispensable to her. M. de Bassompierre, for his
part, seemed impervious to this conjecture, blind
to this possibility ; unconscious as any child to the
signs, the likelihoods, the fitful beginnings of what,
when it drew to an end, he might not approve.
Whether or not, he would cordially approve, I
used to speculate. Difficult to say. He was much
taken up with scientific interests ; keen, intent, and
somewhat oppugnant in what concerned his fa-
YOL. II. T
274 VILLETTE.
vourite pursuits, but unsuspicious and trustful in
the ordinary affairs of life. From all I could gather,
he seemed to regard his " daughterling" as still but
a child, and probably had not yet admitted the
notion that others might look on her in a different
light : he would speak of what should be done when
" Polly" was a woman, when she should be grown
up ; and " Polly," standing beside his chair, would
sometimes smile and take his honoured head be-
tween her little hands, and kiss his iron-gray locks ;
and, at other times, she would pout and toss her
curls : but she never said, " Papa, I am grown up."
She had different moods for different people.
With her father she really was still a child, or
child-like, affectionate, merry, and playful. With
me she was serious, and as womanly as thought
and feeling could make her. With Mrs. Bretton
she was docile and reliant, but not expansive. With
Graham she was shy, at present very shy; at
moments she tried to be cold; on occasion she en-
deavoured to shun him. His step made her start ;
his entrance hushed her ; when he spoke, her
answers failed of fluency ; when he took leave, she
remained self-vexed and disconcerted. Even her
father noticed this demeanour in her.
A BURIAL. 275
" My little Polly," lie said once, " you live too
retired a life; if you grow to be a woman with
these shy manners, you will hardly be fitted for
society. You really make quite a stranger of Dr.
Eretton: how is this? Don't you remember that,
as a little girl, you used to be rather partial to
him."
" Rather, papa," echoed she, with her slightly dry,
yet gentle and simple tone.
" And you don't like him now? What has he
done?"
" Nothing. Y-e-s, I like him a little; but we
are grown strange to each other."
" Then rub it off, Polly : rub the rust and the
strangeness off. Talk away when he is here, and
have no fear of him ! "
" He does not talk much. Is he afraid of me, do
you think, papa?"
" Oh, to be sure ! AVhat man would not be afraid
of such a little silent lady ? "
" Then tell him some day not to mind my being
silent. Say that it is my way, and that I have no
unfriendly intention."
" Your way, you little chatter-box? So far
from being your way, it is only your whim ! "
276 VILLETTE.
" Well, I'll improve, papa."
And very pretty was the grace with which, the
next day, she tried to keep her word. I saw her
make the effort to converse affably with Dr. John
on general topics. The attention called jnto her
guest's face a pleasurable glow; he met her with
caution, and replied to her in his softest tones, as
if there was a kind of gossamer happiness hanging
in the air which he feared to disturb by drawing
too deep a breath. Certainly, in her timid yet
earnest advance to friendship, it could not be
denied that there was a most exquisite and fairy
charm.
When the Doctor was gone, she approached her
father's chair.
" Did I keep my word, papa ? Did I behave
better?"
" My Polly behaved like a queen. I shall be-
come quite proud of her if this improvement con-
tinues. By and by we shall see her receiving my
guests with quite a calm, grand manner. Miss
Lucy and I will have to look about us, and polish
up all our best airs and graces lest we should be
thrown into the sl:ade. Still, Polly, there is a
little flutter, a little tendency to stammer now
A BURIAL. 277
and then, and even to lisp as you lisped when you
were six years old."
" No, papa," interrupted she, indignantly, " that
can't be true."
" I appeal to Miss Lucy. Did she not, in answer-
ing Dr. Bretton's question as to whether she had
ever seen the palace of the Prince of Bois l'Etang,
say 'yeth,' she had been there ( theveral' times."
" Papa, you are satirical, you are mechant ! I
can pronounce all the letters of the alphabet as
clearly as you can. But tell me this : you are very
particular in making me be civil to Dr. Bretton, do
you like him yourself?"
"To be sure : for old acquaintance sake I like
him : then he is a very good son to his mother ; be-
sides beino; a kind-hearted fellow and clever in his
profession : yes, the callant is well enough."
" Callant ! Ah, Scotchman ! Papa, is it the
Edinburgh or the Aberdeen accent you have 1 "
" Both, my pet, both ; and doubtless the Glaswe-
gian into the bargain : it is that which enables me
to speak French so well: a gude Scots tongue
always succeeds well at the French."
"The French! Scotch again: incorrigible, papa!
You, too, need schooling."
278 VILLETTE.
" Well, Polly, you must persuade Miss Snowe to
undertake both you and me ; to make you steady
and womanly, and me refined and classical."
The light in which M. de Bassompierre evidently
regarded " Miss Snowe/' used to occasion me much
inward edification. What contradictory attributes of
character we sometimes find ascribed to us, according
to the eye with which we are viewed ! Madame Beck
esteemed me learned and blue ; Miss Fanshawe,
caustic, ironic, and cynical ; Mr. Home, a model
teacher, the essence of the sedate and discreet :
somewhat conventional perhaps, too strict, limited
and scrupulous, but still the pink and pattern of
governess-correctness ; whilst another person, Pro-
fessor Paul Emanuel, to wit, never lost an oppor-
tunity of intimating his opinion that mine was
rather a fiery and rash nature — adventurous, indocile,
and audacious. I smiled at them all. If any one
knew me it was little Paulina Mary.
As I would not be Paulina's nominal and paid
companion, genial and harmonious as I began to find
her intercourse, she persuaded me to join her in
some study, as a regular and settled means of sus-
taining communication : she proposed the German
language, which, like myself, she found difficult of
A BURIAL. 279
mastery. We agreed to take our lessons in the Hue
Crecy of the same mistress ; this arrangement threw
us together for some hours of every week. M. de
Bassompierre seemed quite pleased : it perfectly met
his approbation that Madame Minerva Gravity
should associate a portion of her leisure with that
of his fair and dear child.
That other self-elected judge of mine, the pro-
fessor in the Rue Fossette, discovering by some
surreptitious, spying means, that I was no longer
so stationary as hitherto, but went out regularly at
certain hours of certain days, took it upon himself
to place me under surveillance. People said M.
Emanuel had been brought up amongst Jesuits. I
should more readily have accredited this report had
his manoeuvres been better masked. As it was I
doubted it. Never was a more undisguised schemer,
a franker, looser intriguer. He would analyze his
own machinations : elaborately contrive plots, and
forthwith indulge in explanatory boasts of their
skill, I know not whether I was more amused or
provoked, by his stepping up to me one morning and
whispering solemnly that he " had his eye on me :
he at least would discharge the duty of a friend and
not leave me entirely to my own devices. My pro-
280 VILLETTE.
ceedings seemed at present very unsettled : he did
not know what to make of them : he thought his
cousin Beck very much to blame in suffering this
sort of fluttering inconsistency in a teacher attached
to her house. What had a person devoted to a
serious calling, that of education, to do with Counts
and Countesses, hotels and chateaux ? To him, I
seemed altogether i en l'air.* On his faith, he be-
lieved I went out six days in the seven."
I said, " Monsieur exaggerated. I certainly had
enjoyed the advantage of a little change lately, but
not before it had become necessary ; and the privilege
was by no means exercised in excess."
" Necessary ! How was it necessary ? I was
well enough, he supposed ? Change necessary ! He
would recommend me to look at the Catholic ( reli-
gieuses,' and study their lives. They asked no change."
I am no judge of what expression crossed my face
when he thus spoke, but it was one which provoked
him : he accused me of being reckless, worldly, and
epicurean; ambitious of greatness and feverishly
athirst for the pomps and vanities of life. It seems I
had no " devouement," no " recueillement" in my
character ; no spirit of grace, faith, sacrifice, or self-
abasement. Feeling the inutility of answering these
A BURIAL. 281
charges, I mutely continued the correction of a pile
of English exercises.
" He could see in me nothing Christian : like
many other Protestants, I revelled in the pride and
self-will of paganism."
I slightly turned from him, nestling still closer
under the wing of silence.
A vague sound grumbled between his teeth; it
could not surely be a "juron:" he was too religious
for that ; but I am certain I heard the word sacre.
Grievous to relate, the same word was repeated,
with the unequivocal addition of mille something,
when I passed him about two hours afterwards
in the corridor, prepared to go and take my German
lesson in the Rue Crecy. Never was a better
little man, in some points, than M. Paul : never,
in others, a more waspish little despot.
Our German mistress, Fraulein Anna Braun, was
a worthy, hearty woman, of about forty-five; she
ought, perhaps, to have lived in the days of Queen
Elizabeth, as she habitually consumed, for her first
and second breakfasts, beer and beef: also, her
direct and downright Deutsch nature seemed to
282 VILLETTE.
suffer a sensation of cruel restraint from what she
called our English reserve; though we thought
we were very cordial with her : but we did not slap
her on the shoulder, and if we consented to kiss
her cheek, it was done quietly, and without any
explosive smack. These omissions oppressed and
depressed her considerably; still, on the whole, we
got on very well. Accustomed to instruct foreign
girls, who hardly ever will think and study for
themselves — who have no idea of grappling with a
difficulty, and overcoming it by dint of reflection
or application — our progress, which, in truth, was
very leisurely, seemed to astound her. In her eyes,
we were a pair of glacial prodigies, cold, proud,
and preternatural.
The young Countess was a little proud, a little
fastidious : and perhaps, with her native delicacy and
beauty, she had a right to these feelings ; but I think
it was a total mistake to ascribe them to me. I
never evaded the morning salute, which Paulina
would slip when she could; nor was a certain little
manner of still disdain a weapon known in my
armoury of defence ; whereas, Paulina always kept
it clear, fine and bright, and any rough German
sally called forth at once its steely glisten.
A BURIAL. 283
Honest Anna Braun, in some measure, felt this
difference; and while she half- feared, half- wor-
shipped Paulina, as a sort of dainty nymph — an
Undine — she took refuge with me, as a being all
mortal, and of easier mood.
A book we liked well to read and translate was
Schiller's Ballads; Paulina soon learned to read
them beautifully : the Fraiilein would listen to her
with a broad smile of pleasure, and say her voice
sounded like music. She translated them too with
a facile flow of language, and in a strain of kindred
and poetic fervour : her cheek would flush, her lips
tremblingly smile, her beauteous eyes kindle or
melt as she went on. She learnt the best by heart,
and would often recite them when we were alone
together. One she liked well was " Des Madchens
Klage:" that is, she liked well to repeat the words,
she found plaintive melody in the sound ; the sense
she would criticise. She murmured, as we sat over
the fire one evening : —
" Du Heilige, rufe dein kind zuruck,
Ich habe genossen das irdische Gluck,
Ich habe gelebt und geliebet ! "
" Lived and loved ! " said she, i{ is that the
284 VILLETTE.
summit of earthly happiness, the end of life — to
love ? I don't think it is. It may be the extreme
of mortal misery, it may be sheer waste of time,
and fruitless torture of feeling. If Schiller had said
to be loved — he might have come nearer the truth.
Is not that another thing, Lucy, to be loved ?
" I suppose it may be : but why consider the sub-
ject ? What is love to you ? What do you know
about it ? "
She crimsoned, half in irritation, half in shame.
" Now, Lucy," she said, " I won't take that from
you. It may be well for papa to look on me as a
baby : I rather prefer that he should thus view me ;
but you know and shall learn to acknowledge that
I am verging on my nineteenth year."
" No matter if it were your twenty-ninth ; we
will anticipate no feelings by discussion and con-
versation : we will not talk about love."
" Indeed, indeed ! " said she — all in hurry and
heat — " you may think to check and hold me in, as
much as you please ; but I have talked about it, and
heard about it too ; and a great deal and lately, and
disagreeably and detrimentally : and in a way you
wouldn't approve."
And the vexed, triumphant, pretty, naughty
A BURIAL. 285
being laughed. I could not discern what she meant,
and I would not ask her : I was nonplussed. See-
ing, however, the utmost innocence in her coun-
tenance— combined with some transient perverse-
ness and petulance — I said at last, —
ee Who talks to you disagreeably and detri-
mentally on such matters? Who that has near
access to you would dare to do it ? "
" Lucy," replied she more softly, " it is a person
who makes me miserable sometimes ; and I wish she
would keep away — I don't want her."
" But who, Paulina, can it be ? You puzzle me
much."
" It is — it is my cousin Ginevra. Every time
she has leave to visit Mrs. Cholmondeley she calls
here, and whenever she finds me alone she begins
to talk about her admirers. Love, indeed ! You
should hear all she has to say about love."
" Oh, I have heard it," said I, quite coolly ; " and
on the whole, perhaps, it is as well you should have
heard it too : it is not be regretted, it is all right.
Yet surely, Ginevra's mind cannot influence yours.
You can look over both her head and her heart."
" She does influence me very much. She has the
art of disturbing my happiness and unsettling my
286 VILLETTE.
opinions. She hurts me through the feelings and
people dearest to me."
" What does she say, Paulina ? Give me some
idea. There may be counteraction of the damage
done."
" The people I have longest and most esteemed
are degraded by her. She does not spare Mrs.
Bretton — she does not spare .... Graham."
" No, I dare say : and how does she mix up these
with her sentiment and her .... love ? She does
mix them, I suppose ? "
" Lucy, she is insolent ; and I believe, false. You
know Dr. Bretton. We both know him. He
may be careless and proud ; but when was he ever
mean or slavish ? Day after day she shows him to
me kneeling at her feet, pursuing her like her
shadow. She — repulsing him with insult, and he
imploring her with infatuation. Lucy, is it true?
Is any of it true ? "
" It may be true that he once thought her hand-
some: does she give him out as still her suitor?"
" She says she might marry him any day: he
only waits her consent."
" It is these tales which have caused that reserve
in your maimer towards Graham which your father
noticed."
A BURIAL. 287
" They have certainly made me all doubtful about
his character. As Ginevra speaks, they do not
carry with them the sound of unmixed truth: I
believe she exaggerates — perhaps invents — but I
want to know how far."
<e Suppose we bring Miss Fanshawe to some proof.
Give her an opportunity of displaying the power she
boasts."
" I could do that to-morrow. Papa has asked
some gentlemen to dinner, all savants. Graham
who, papa is beginning to discover, is a savant,
too — skilled, they say, in more than one branch
of science — is among the number. Now I should
be miserable to sit at table unsupported, amidst such
a party. I could not talk to Messieurs A and
Z , the Parisian academicians : all my new credit
for manner would be put in peril. You and Mrs.
Bretton must come for my sake; Ginevra, at a
word, will join you."
" Yes ; then I will carry a message of invitation,
and she shall have the chance of justifying her cha-
racter for veracity."
288 VILLETTE.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE HOTEL CRECY.
The morrow turned out a more lively and busy-
day than we — or than I, at least — had anticipated.
It seems it was the birthday of one of the young
princes of Labassecour — the eldest, I think, the
Due de Dindonneaux — and a general holiday was
given in his honour at the schools, and especially
at the principal " Athene e," or college. The youth
of that institution had also concocted, and were to
present a loyal address; for which purpose they
were to be assembled in the public building where
the yearly examinations were conducted, and the
prizes distributed. After the ceremony of pre-
sentation, an oration, or " discours" was to follow
from one of the professors.
Several of M. de Bassompierre's friends — the
savants — bein^ more or less connected with the
THE HOTEL CKECY. 289
Athenee, they were expected to attend on this oc-
casion; together with the worshipful municipality
of Villette, M. le Chevalier Staas, the burgo-
master, and the parents and kinsfolk of the
Athenians in general. M. de Bassompierre was
engaged by his friends to accompany them; his
fair daughter would, of course, be of the party,
and she wrote a little note to Ginevra and my-
self, bidding us come early that we might join
her.
As Miss Fanshawe and I were dressing in the
dormitory of the Rue Fossette, she (Miss F.) sud-
denly burst into a laugh.
" What now ? " I asked ; for she had suspended
the operation of arranging her attire, and was gazing
at me.
" It seems so odd," she replied, with her usual
half-honest, half-insolent unreserve, " that you and
I should now be so much on a level, visiting in
the same sphere ; having the same connections."
" Why yes," said I ; " I had not much respect
for the connections you chiefly frequented awhile
ago : Mrs. Cholmondeley and Co. would never have
suited me at all."
"Who are you, Miss Snowe?" she inquired, in
VOL. II. u
290 VILLETTE.
a tone of such undisguised and unsophisticated cu-
riosity, as made me laugh in my turn.
(i You used to call yourself a nursery-governess ;
when you first came here you really had the care
of the children in this house ; I have seen you
carry little Georgette in your arms, like a bonne —
few governesses would have condescended so far —
and now Madame Beck treats you with more
courtesy than she treats the Parisienne, St. Pierre ;
and that proud chit, my cousin, makes you her
bosom friend ! "
" Wonderful !" I agreed, much amused at her
mystification. " Who am I indeed? Perhaps a
personage in disguise. Pity I don't look the
character."
" I wonder you are not more flattered by all this,"
she went on : " you take it with strange composure.
If you really are the nobody I once thought you,
you must be a cool hand."
" The nobody you once thought me ! " I repeated,
and my face grew a little hot ; but I would not be
angry : of what importance was a school-girl's crude
use of the terms nobody and somebody? I con-
fined myself, therefore, to the remark that I had
merely met with civility ; and asked " what she saw
THE HOTEL CEECY. 291
in civility to throw the recipient into a fever of
confusion ? "
" One can't help wondering at some things," she
persisted.
" Wondering at marvels of your own manufacture.
Are you ready at last ? "
" Yes ; let me take your arm."
" I would rather not : we will walk side by
side."
When she took my arm, she always leaned upon
me her whole weight; and, as I was not a gentle-
man, or her lover, I did not like it.
" There, again !" she cried. " I thought, by offer-
ing to take your arm, to intimate approbation of
your dress and general appearance : I meant it as
a compliment."
" You did ? You meant, in short, to express
that you are not ashamed to be seen in the street
with me? That if Mrs. Cholmondeley should be
fondling her lap-dog at some window, or Colonel
de Hamal picking his teeth in a balcony, and should
catch a glimpse of us, you would not quite blush for
your companion ? "
" Yes," said she, with that directness which was
her best point — which gave an honest plainness to
292 VILLETTE.
her very fibs when she told them — which was, in
short, the salt, the sole preservative ingredient of a
character otherwise not formed to keep.
I delegated the trouble of commenting on this
S( yes" to my countenance ; or rather, my under- lip
voluntarily anticipated my tongue : of course, reve-
rence and solemnity were not the feelings expressed
in the look I gave her.
" Scornful, sneering creature!" she went on, as
we crossed a great square, and entered the quiet,
pleasant park, our nearest way to the Rue Crecy.
" Nobody in this world was ever such a Turk to
me as you are ! "
" You bring it on yourself : let me alone : have
the sense to be quiet : I will let you alone."
" As if one could let you alone, when you are so
peculiar and so mysterious !"
" The mystery and peculiarity being entirely the
conception of your own brain — maggots — neither
more nor less, be so good as to keep them out of
my sight."
" But are you anybody?" persevered she, pushing
her hand, in spite of me, under my arm ; and that
arm pressed itself with inhospitable closeness against
my side, by way of keeping out the intruder.
THE HOTEL CRECY. 293
" Yes," I said, " I am a rising character : once
an old lady's companion, then a nursery-governess,
now a school-teacher/'
" Do — do tell me who you are ? 1 11 not repeat
it," she urged, adhering with ludicrous tenacity to
the wise notion of an incognito she had got hold
of; and she squeezed the arm of which she had
now obtained full possession, and coaxed and con-
jured till I was obliged to pause in the park to
laugh. Throughout our walk she rang the most
fanciful changes on this theme; proving, by her ob-
stinate credulity, or incredulity, her incapacity to
conceive how any person not bolstered up by birth
or wealth, not supported by some consciousness of
name or connection, could maintain an attitude of
reasonable integrity. As for me, it quite sufficed
to my mental tranquillity that I was known where
it imported that known I should be; the rest sat
on me easily : pedigree, social position, and recondite
intellectual acquisition, occupied about the same
space and place in my interests and thoughts ; they
were my third class lodgers — to whom could be as-
signed only the small sitting-room and the little back
bed-room : even if the dining and drawing-rooms
6tood empty, I never confessed it to them, as think-
294 VILLETTE.
ing minor accommodations better suited to their
circumstances. The world, I soon learned, held a
different estimate: and I make no doubt, the world
is very right in its view, yet believe also that I am
not quite wrong in mine.
There are people whom a lowered position de-
grades morally, to whom loss of connection costs
loss of self-respect : are not these justified in placing
the highest value on that station and association
which is their safeguard from debasement ? If a
man feels that he would become contemptible in his
own eyes were it generally known that his ancestry
were simple and not gentle, poor and not rich,
workers and not capitalists, would it be right
severely to blame him for keeping these fatal facts
out of sight — for starting, trembling, quailing at the
chance wThich threatens exposure ? The longer we
live, the more our experience widens ; the less prone
are we to judge our neighbour's conduct, to question
the world's wisdom : wherever an accumulation of
small defences is found, whether surrounding the
prude's virtue or the man of the world's respec-
tability, there, be sure, it is needed.
We reached the Hotel Crecy ; Paulina was ready;
Mrs. Bretton was with her; and, under her escort
THE HOTEL CRECY. 295
and that of M. de Bassompierre, we were soon con-
ducted to the place of assembly, and seated in good
seats, at a convenient distance from the Tribune.
The youth of the Athenee were marshalled before
us, the municipality and their bourgmestre were in
places of honour, the young princes, with their
tutors, occupied a conspicuous position, and the body
of the building was crowded with the aristocracy and
first burghers of the town.
Concerning the identity of the professor by whom
the " discours" was to be delivered, I had as yet
entertained neither care nor question. Some vague
expectation I had that a savant would stand up and
deliver a formal speech, half dogmatism to the
Athenians, half-flattery to the princes.
The Tribune was yet empty when we entered, but
in ten minutes after it was filled; suddenly, in a
second of time, a head, chest and arms, grew above
the crimson desk. This head I knew : its colour,
shape, port, expression, were familiar both to me and
Miss Fanshawe ; the blackness and closeness of
cranium, the amplitude and paleness of brow, the
blueness and fire of glance, were details so domesti-
cated in the memory, and so knit with many a
whimsical association, as almost by this their sud-
266 VILLETTE.
den apparition, to tickle fancy to a laugh. Indeed,
I confess, for my part, I did laugh till I was warm ;
but then I bent my head, and made my handker-
chief and a lowered veil the sole confidants of my
mirth.
I think I was glad to see M. Paul ; I think it was
rather pleasant than otherwise, to behold him set up
there, fierce and frank, dark and candid, testy and
fearless, as when regnant on his estrade in class.
His presence was such a surprise : I had not once
thought of expecting him, though I knew he filled
the chair of Belles Lettres in the college. With
him in that Tribune, I felt sure that neither for-
malism nor flattery would be our doom ; but for what
was vouchsafed us, for what was poured suddenly,
rapidly, continuously, on our heads — I own I was
not prepared.
He spoke to the princes, the nobles, the magis-
trates and the burghers, with just the same ease,
with almost the same pointed, choleric earnestness,
with which he was wont to harangue the three
divisions of the Rue Fossette. The collegians he
addressed, not as school-boys, but as future citizens
and embryo patriots. The times which have since
come on Europe had not been foretold yet, and M.
THE HOTEL CEECY, 297
Emanuel's spirit seemed new to me. Who would
have thought the flat and fat soil of Labassecour
could yield political convictions and national feelings,
such as were now strongly expressed ? Of the
bearing of his opinions I need here give no special
indication ; yet it may be permitted me to say that I
believed the little man not more earnest than iwht
in what he said : with all his fire he was severe and
sensible; he trampled Utopian theories under his
heel; he rejected wild dreams with scorn; — but,
when he looked in the face of tyranny — oh, then
there opened a light in his eye worth seeing ; and
when he spoke of injustice, his voice gave no uncer-
tain sound, but reminded me rather of the band-
trumpet, ringing at twilight from the park.
I do not think his audience were generally suscep-
tible of sharing his flame in its purity ; but some of
the college youth caught fire as he eloquently told
them what should be their path and endeavour in
their country's and in Europe's future. They gave
him a long, loud, ringing cheer, as he concluded :
with all his fierceness, he was their favourite pro-
fessor.
As our party left the Hall, he stood at the
entrance ; he saw and knew me, and lifted his hat ;
298 VILLETTE.
•
he offered his hand in passing, and uttered the
words " Que 'en dites vous ? " — question eminently
characteristic, and reminding me, even in this his
moment of triumph, of that inquisitive restlessness,
that absence of what I considered desirable self-
control, which were amongst his faults. He should
not have cared just then to ask what I thought, or
what anybody thought ; but he did care, and he was
too natural to conceal, too impulsive to repress his
wish. Well ! if I blamed his over - eagerness, I
liked his naivete, I would have praised him : I had
plenty of praise in my heart; but, alas! no words
on my lips. Who has words at the right moment ?
I stammered some lame expressions ; but was truly
glad when other people, coming up with profuse
congratulations, covered my deficiency by their
redundancy.
A gentleman introduced him to M. de Bassom-
pierre; and the Count, who had likewise been highly
gratified, asked him to join his friends (for the most
part M. Emanuel's likewise), and to dine with them
at the Hotel Crecy. He declined dinner, for he
was a man always somewhat shy in meeting the
advances of the wealthy : there was a strength of
sturdy independence in the stringing of his sinews —
THE HOTEL CRECY. 299
not obtrusive, but pleasant enough to discover as
one advanced in knowledge of his character; he
promised, however, to step in with his friend,
M. A , a French Academician, in the course of
the evening.
At dinner that day, Ginevra and Paulina each
looked, in her own way, very beautiful ; the former,
perhaps, boasted the advantage in material charms,
but the latter shone pre-eminent for attractions more
subtle and spiritual : for light and eloquence of eye,
for grace of mien, for winning variety of expression.
Ginevra 's dress of deep crimson relieved well her
light curls, and harmonized with her rose-like bloom.
Paulina's attire — in fashion close, though faultlessly
neat, but in texture clear and white — made the
eye grateful for the delicate life of her complexion,
for the soft animation of her countenance, for the
tender depth of her eyes, for the brown shadow
and bounteous flow of her hair — darker than that
of her Saxon cousin, as were also her eyebrows, her
eye-lashes, her full irids, and large mobile pupils.
Nature having traced all these details slightly, and
with a careless hand, in Miss Fanshawe's case;
and in Miss de Bassompierre's, wrought them to
a high and delicate finish.
300 VILLETTE.
Paulina was awed by the savants, but not quite
to mutism : she conversed modestly, diffidently ; not
without effort, but with so true a sweetness, so fine
and penetrating a sense, that her father more than
once suspended his own discourse to listen, and fixed
on her an eye of proud delight. It was a polite
Frenchman, M. Z , a very learned, but quite
a courtly man, who had drawn her into discourse.
I was charmed with her French ; it was faultless —
the structure correct, the idioms true, the accent
pure ; Ginevra, who had lived half her life on the
Continent, could do nothing like it : not that words
ever failed Miss Fanshawe, but real accuracy and
purity she neither possessed, nor in any number of
years would acquire. Here, too, M. de Bassom-
pierre was gratified ; for, on the point of language,
he was critical.
Another listener and observer there was ; one
who, detained by some exigency of his profession,
had come in late to dinner. Both ladies were
quietly scanned by Dr. Bretton, at the moment of
taking his seat at the table ; and that guarded survey
was more than once renewed. His arrival roused
Miss Fanshawe, who had hitherto appeared listless :
she now became smiling and complacent, talked —
THE HOTEL CRECY. 301
though what she said was rarely to the purpose —
or rather, was of a purpose somewhat mortifyingly
below the standard of the occasion. Her light,
disconnected prattle might have gratified Graham
once ; perhaps it pleased him still : perhaps it was
only fancy which suggested the thought that, while
his eye was filled and his ear fed, his taste, his
keen zest, his lively intelligence, were not equally
consulted and regaled. It is certain that, restless
and exacting as seemed the demand on his attention,
he yielded courteously all that was required : his
manner showed neither pique nor coolness : Ginevra
was his neighbour, and to her, during dinner, he
almost exclusively confined his notice. She ap-
peared satisfied, and passed to the drawing-room
in very good spirits.
Yet, no sooner had we reached that place of
refuge, than she again became flat and listless :
throwing herself on a couch, she denounced both
the "discours" and the dinner as stupid affairs, and
inquired of her cousin how she could hear such a
set of prosaic "gros-bonnets" as her father gathered
about him. The moment the gentlemen were heard
to move, her railings ceased : she started up, flew to
the piano, and dashed at it with spirit. Dr. Bretton
302 VILLETTE.
entering, one of the first, took up his station beside
her. I thought he would not long maintain that
post : there was a position near the hearth to which
I expected to see him attracted : this position he
only scanned with his eye ; while he looked, others
drew in. The grace and mind of Paulina charmed
these thoughtful Frenchmen : the fineness of her
beauty, the soft courtesy of her manner, her imma-
ture, but real and inbred tact, pleased their national
taste ; they clustered about her, not indeed to talk
science, which would have rendered her dumb, but
to touch on many subjects in letters, in arts, in
actual life, on which it soon appeared that she had
both read and reflected. I listened. I am sure
that though Graham stood aloof, he listened too :
his hearing as well as his vision was very fine,
quick, discriminating. I knew he gathered the con-
versation ; I felt that the mode in which it was
sustained suited him exquisitely — pleased him
almost to pain.
In Paulina there was more force, both of feeliner
and character, than most people thought — than
Graham himself imagined — than she would ever
show to those who did not wish to see it. To speak
truth, reader, there is no excellent beauty, no
THE HOTEL CRECY. 303
accomplished grace, no reliable refinement, without
strength as excellent, as complete, as trustworthy.
As well might you look for good fruit and blossom
on a rootless and sapless tree, as for charms that
will endure in a feeble and relaxed nature. For a
little while, the blooming semblance of beauty may
flourish round weakness ; but it cannot bear a blast :
it soon fades, even in serenest sunshine. Graham
would have started had any suggestive spirit whis-
pered of the sinew and the stamina sustaining that
delicate nature; but I, who had known her as a
child, knew, or guessed, by what a good and strong
root her graces held to the firm soil of reality.
While Dr. Bretton listened, and waited an open-
ing in the magic circle, his glance, restlessly
sweeping the room at intervals, lighted by chance
on me ; where I sat in a quiet nook not far from
my godmother and M. de Bassompierre, who, as
usual, were engaged in what Mr. Home called "a
two-handed crack:" what the Count would have
interpreted as a tete-a-tete. Graham smiled recog-
nition, crossed the room, asked me how I was, told
me I looked pale. I also had my own smile at my
own thought : it was now about three months since
Dr. John had spoken to me — a lapse of which he
304 VILLETTE.
was not even conscious. He sat down, and became
silent. His wish was rather to look than converse.
Ginevra and Paulina were now opposite to him : he
could gaze his fill : he surveyed both forms — studied
both faces.
Several new guests, ladies as well as gentlemen,
had entered the room since dinner, dropping in for
the evening conversation ; and amongst the gentle-
men, I may incidentally observe, I had already
noticed by glimpses, a severe, dark professoral out-
line, hovering aloof in an inner saloon, seen only in
vista. M. Emanuel knew many of the gentlemen
present, but I think was a stranger to most of the
ladies, excepting myself; in looking towards the
hearth, he could not but see me, and naturally made
a movement to approach; seeing, however, Dr.
Bretton also, he changed his mind and held back.
If that had been all, there would have been no cause
for quarrel ; but not satisfied with holding back, he
puckered up his eye -brows, protruded his lip, and
looked so ugly that I averted my eyes from the dis-
pleasing spectacle. M. Joseph Emanuel had arrived,
as well as his austere brother, and at this very
moment was relieving Ginevra at the piano. What
a master-touch succeeded her school-girl jingle ! In
THE HOTEL CRECY. 306
what grand, grateful tones the instrument acknow-
ledged the hand of the true artist !
" Lucy," began Dr. Bretton, breaking silence and
smiling, as Ginevra glided before him, casting a
glance as she passed by, " Miss Fanshawe is certainly
a fine girl."
Of course I assented.
" Is there," he pursued, " another in the room as
lovely ? "
" I think there is not another as handsome."
" I agree with you, Lucy : you and I do often
agree in opinion, in taste, I think ; or at least in
judgment."
"Do we?" I said, somewhat doubtfully.
" I believe if you had been a boy, Lucy, instead
of a girl — my mother's god-son instead of her god-
daughter— we should have been good friends : our
opinions would have melted into each other."
He had assumed a bantering air : a light, half-
caressing half-ironic, shone aslant in his eye. Ah,
Graham ! I have given more than one solitary
moment to thoughts and calculations of your estimate
of Lucy Snowe : was it always kind or just? Had
Lucy been intrinsically the same, but possessing the
additional advantages of wealth and station, would
VOL. II. X
306 VILLETTE.
your manner to her, your value for her have been
quite what they actually were ? And yet by
these questions I would not seriously infer blame.
No ; you might sadden and trouble me sometimes ;
but then mine was a soon - depressed, an easily-
deranged temperament — it fell if a cloud crossed
the sun. Perhaps before the eye of severe equity,
I should stand more at fault than you.
Trying then to keep down the unreasonable pain
which thrilled my heart, on thus being made to feel
that while Graham could devote to others the most
grave and earnest, the manliest interest, he had no
more than light raillery for Lucy, the friend of lang
syne, I inquired calmly, —
ce On what points are we so closely in accord-
ance ? "
" We each have an observant faculty. You,
perhaps, don't give me credit for the possession ; yet
I have it."
'• But you were speaking of tastes : we may see
the same objects, yet estimate them differently ? "
Ci Let us bring it to the test. Of course, you
cannot but render homage to the merits of Miss
Fanshawe : now, what do you think of others in the
room ? — my mother, for instance ; or the lions,
THE HOTEL CRECY. 307
yonder, Messieurs A and Z ; or, let us
say, that pale little lady, Miss de Bassompierre?"
" You know what I think of your mother. I have
not thought of Messieurs A and Z ."
" And the other?"
a
I think she is, as you say* a pale little lady —
pale, certainly, just now, when she is fatigued with
over-excitement."
" You don't remember her as a child ? "
" I wonder, sometimes, whether you do?"
" I had forgotten her ; but it is noticeable, that cir-
cumstances, persons, even words and looks, that had
slipped your memory, may, under certain conditions,
certain aspects of your own or another's mind, revive."
" That is possible enough."
" Yet," he continued, " the revival is imperfect —
needs confirmation, partakes so much of the dim
character of a dream, or of the airy one of a fancy,
that the testimony of a witness becomes necessary
for corroboration. Were you not a guest at Bretton
ten years ago, when Mr. Home brought his little
girl, whom we then called ( little Polly,' to stay with
mama?"
" I was there the night she came, and also the
morning she went away."
308 VILLETTE.
" Rather a peculiar child ; was she not ? I
wonder how I treated her. Was I fond of children
in those days ? Was there anything gracious or
kindly about me — great, reckless, school-boy as I
was ? But you don't recollect me, of course ?"
" You have seen your own picture at La Terrasse.
It is like you personally. In manner, you were
almost the same yesterday as to~day."
" But, Lucy, how is that? Such an oracle really
whets my curiosity. What am I to-day ? What was
I the yesterday of ten years back ?"
" Gracious to whatever pleased you — unkindly or
cruel to nothing."
" There you are wrong ; I think I was almost a
brute to you, for instance."
" A brute ! No, Graham : I should never have
patiently endured brutality."
(e This, however, I do remember : quiet Lucy
Snowe tasted nothing of my grace."
" As little of your cruelty."
" Why, had I been Nero himself, I could not
have tormented a being inoffensive as a shadow."
" I smiled ; but I also hushed a groan. Oh ! — I
wished he would just let me alone — cease allusion
to me. These epithets — these attributes I put from
THE HOTEL CRECY. 309
me. His " quiet Lucy Snowe," his " inoffensive
shadow," I gave him back ; not with scorn, but with
extreme weariness : theirs was the coldness and the
pressure of lead ; let him whelm me with no such
weight. Happily, he was soon on another theme.
" On what terms were ' little Polly ' and I ?
Unless my recollections deceive me, we were not
foes "
" You speak very vaguely. Do you think little
Polly's memory not more definite ? "
" Oh! we don't talk of ' little Polly' note. Pray
say, Miss de Bassompierre ; and, of course, such a
stately personage remembers nothing of Bretton.
Look at her large eyes, Lucy ; can they read a word
in the page of memory ? Are they the same which
I used to direct to a horn-book? She does not
know that I partly taught her to read."
** In the Bible on Sunday nights ?"
" She has a calm, delicate, rather fine profile
now: once what a little restless, anxious coun-
tenance was hers ! What a thing is a child's pre-
ference— what a bubble! Would you believe it?
that lady was fond of me ! "
" I think she was in some measure fond of you,"
said I, moderately.
310 YILLETTE.
" You don't remember then ? / had forgotten ;
but I remember now. She liked me the best of
whatever there was at Bretton."
" You thought so."
" I quite well recall it. I wish I could tell her
all I recall; or rather, I wish some one, you for
instance, would go behind and whisper it all in her
ear, and I could have the delight — here, as I sit — of
watching her look under the intelligence. Could
you manage that, think you, Lucy, and make me
ever grateful ? "
" Could I manage to make you ever grateful?"
said L u No, / could not." And I felt my fingers
work and my hands interlock : I felt, too, an inward
courage, warm and resistant. In this matter I was
not disposed to gratify Dr. John : not at all. With
now welcome force, I realized his entire misappre-
hension of my character and nature. He wanted
always to give me a role not mine. Nature and
I opposed him. He did not at all guess what I
felt : he did not read my eyes, or face, or gestures ;
though, I doubt not, all spoke. Leaning towards
me coaxingly, he said, softly, "Do content me,
Lucy."
And I would have contented, or, at least, I would
THE HOTEL CEECY. 311
clearly have enlightened him, and taught him well
never again to expect of me the part of officious
soubrette in a love drama ; when, following his soft,
eager murmur, meeting almost his pleading, mellow
— " Do content me, Lucy!" — a sharp hiss pierced
my ear on the other side.
"Petite chatte, doucerette, coquette!" sibillated
the sudden boa-constrictor ; " vous avez l'air bien
triste, soumise, reveuse, mais vous ne l'etes pas ; c'est
moi qui vous le dis : Sauvage ! la flamme a Tame,
l'eclair aux yeux ! "
(e Oui; j'ai la flamme a Tame, et je dois l'avoir!"
retorted I, turning in just wrath ; but Professor
Emanuel had hissed his insult and was gone.
CD
The worst of the matter was, that Dr. Bretton,
whose ears, as I have said, were quick and fine,
caught every word of this apostrophe; he put his
handkerchief to his face and laughed till he shook.
" Well done, Lucy," cried he ; " capital ! petite
chatte, petite coquette ! Oh, I must tell my mother !
Is it true, Lucy, or half-true ? I believe it is : you
redden to the colour of Miss Fanshawe's gown.
And really, by my word, now I examine him, that
is the same little man who was so savage with you
at the concert: the very same, and in his soul he
312 VILLETTE.
is frantic at this moment because he sees me laugh-
ing. Oh ! I must tease him."
And Graham, yielding to his bent for mischief,
laughed, jested, and whispered on till I could bear
no more, and my eyes filled.
Suddenly he was sobered: a vacant space ap-
peared near Miss de Bassompierre ; the circle sur-
rounding her seemed about to dissolve. This move-
ment was instantly caught by Graham's eye — ever-
vigilant, even while laughing ; he rose, took his
courage in both hands, crossed the room, and made
the advantage his own. Dr. John, throughout his
whole life, was a man of luck — a man of success.
And why? Because he had the eye to see his
opportunity, the heart to prompt to well-timed
action, the nerve to consummate a perfect work.
And no tyrant-passion dragged him back; no en-
thusiasms, no foibles encumbered his way. How
well he looked at this very moment ! When Paulina
looked up as he reached her side, her glance mingled
at once with an encountering glance, animated, yet
modest ; his colour, as he spoke to her, became half
a blush, half a glow. He stood in her presence
brave and bashful: subdued and unobtrusive, yet
decided in his purpose and devoted in his ardour.
THE HOTEL CRECY. 313
I gathered all this by one view. I did not prolong
my observation — time failed me, had inclination
served : the night wore late ; Ginevra and I ought
already to have been in the Rue Fossette. I rose,
aod bade good- night to my godmother and M. de
Bassompierre.
I know not whether Professor Emanuel had no-
ticed my reluctant acceptance of Dr. Bretton's
badinage, or whether he perceived that I was pained,
and that, on the whole, the evening had not been
one flow of exultant enjoyment for the volatile,
pleasure-loving, Mademoiselle Lucie ; but, as I was
leaving the room, he stepped up and inquired
whether I had any one to attend me to the Rue
Fossette. The professor now spoke politely, and
even deferentially, and he looked apologetic and
repentant; but I could not recognise his civility
at a word, nor meet his contrition with crude,
premature oblivion. Never hitherto had I felt
seriously disposed to resent his brusqueries, or freeze
before his fierceness; what he had said to-night,
however, I considered unwarranted : my extreme
disapprobation of the proceeding must be marked,
however slightly. I merely said: —
" I am provided with attendance."
314 VILLETTE.
Which was true, as Ginevra and I were to be
sent home in the carriage ; and I passed him with
the sliding obeisance with which he was wont to be
saluted in classe by pupils crossing his estrade.
Having sought my shawl I returned to the vesti-
bule. M. Emanuel stood there as if waiting. He
observed that the night was fine.
" Is it ? " I said, with a tone and manner
whose consummate chariness and frostiness I could
not but applaud. It was so seldom I could pro-
perly act out my own resolution to be reserved
and cool where I had been grieved or hurt, that
I felt almost proud of this one successful effort.
That K Is it ? " sounded just like the manner of
other people. I had heard hundreds of such little
minced, docked, dry phrases, from the pursed-up
coral lips of a score of self-possessed, self-sufficing
misses and mesdemoiselles. That M. Paul would
Bot stand any prolonged experience of this sort of
dialogue I knew ; but he certainly merited a sam-
ple of the curt and arid. I believe he thought so
himself, for he took the dose quietly. He looked
at my shawl and objected to its lightness. I
decidedly told him it was as heavy as I wished.
Keceding aloof, and standing apart, I leaned on
THE HOTEL CKECY. 315
the banister of the stairs, folded my shawl about
me, and fixed my eyes on a dreary religious paint-
ing darkening the wall.
Ginevra was long in coming : tedious seemed her
loitering. M. Paul was still there, my ear expected
from his lips an angry tone. He came nearer.
" Now for another hiss ! " thought I : had not the
action been too uncivil I could have stopped my
ears with my fingers in terror of the thrill. Nothing
happens as we expect : listen for a coo or a mur-
mur ; it is then you will hear a cry of prey or pain.
Await a piercing shriek, an angry threat, and wel-
come an amicable greeting, a low kind whisper.
M. Paul spoke gently : —
" Friends," said he, " do not quarrel for a word.
Tell me, was it I or ce grand fat d' Anglais " (so he
profanely denominated Dr. Bretton), " who made
your eyes so humid, and your cheeks so hot as they
are even now ? "
" I am not conscious of you, monsieur, or of any
other having excited such emotion as you indicate,"
was my answer ; and in giving it, I again surpassed
my usual self, and achieved a neat, frosty false-
hood.
" But what did I say ? " he pursued, " tell me :
316 VILLETTE.
I was angry : I have forgotten my words ; what
were they."
"Such as it is best to forget !" said I, still quite
calm and chill.
" Then it was my words which wounded you ?
Consider them unsaid : permit my retractation ;
accord my pardon."
" I am not angry, monsieur."
" Then you are worse than angry — grieved. For-
give me, Miss Lucy."
" M. Emanuel, I do forgive you."
" Let me hear you say, in the voice natural to
you, and not in that alien tone, ' Mon ami, je vous
pardonne.' "
He made me smile. Who could help smiling at
his wistfulness, his simplicity, his earnestness?
"Bon!" he cried ; "Voila que le jour va poindre !
Dites done, mon ami."
" Monsieur Paul, je vous pardonne."
" I will have no monsieur : speak the other word,
or I shall not believe you sincere : another effort —
mon ami, or else in English, — my friend !"
Now, " my friend " had rather another sound and
significancy than " mon ami ," it did not breathe the
same sense of domestic and intimate affection :
THE HOTEL CRECY. 317
" mon ami" I could not say to M. Paul; "my
friend," I could, and did say without difficulty.
This distinction existed not for him, however, and
he was quite satisfied with the English phrase. He
smiled. You should have seen him smile, reader;
and you should have marked the difference between
his countenance now, and that he wore half an hour
ago, I cannot affirm that I had ever witnessed the
smile of pleasure, or content, or kindness round
M. Paul's lips, or in his eyes before. The ironic,
the sarcastic, the disdainful, the passionately exul-
tant, I had hundreds of times seen him express by
what he called a smile, but any illuminated sign of
milder or warmer feeling struck me as wholly new
in his visage. It changed it as from a mask to
a face : the deep lines left his features ; the very
complexion seemed clearer and fresher ; that swart,
sallow, southern darkness which spoke his Spanish
blood, became displaced by a lighter hue. I know
not that I have ever seen in any other human face
an equal metamorphosis from a similar cause. He
now took me to the carriage ; at the same moment
M. de Basso mpierre came out with his niece.
In a pretty humour was Mistress Fanshawe ; she
had found the evening a grand failure : completely
318 VILLETTE.
upset as to temper, she gave way to the most un-
controlled moroseness as soon as we were seated,
and the carriage-door closed. Her invectives against
Dr. Bretton had something venomous in them.
Having found herself impotent either to charm or
sting him, hatred was her only resource ; and this
hatred she expressed in terms so unmeasured and
proportion so monstrous, that, after listening for
a while with assumed stoicism, my outraged sense
of justice at last and suddenly caught fire. An
explosion ensued : for I could be passionate, too ;
especially with my present fair but faulty associate,
who never failed to stir the worst dregs of me. It
was well that the carriage-wheels made a tremendous
rattle over the flinty Choseville pavement, for I can
assure the reader there was neither dead silence nor
calm discussion within the vehicle. Half in earnest,
half in seeming, I made it my business to storm
down Ginevra. She had set out rampant from the
Rue Crecy ; it was necessary to tame her before we
reached the Rue Fossette : to this end it was indis-
pensable to show up her sterling value and high
deserts ; and this must be done in language of
which the fidelity and homeliness might challenge
comparison with the compliments of a John Knox
THE HOTEL CRECY. 319
to a Mary Stuart. This was the right discipline for
Ginevra ; it suited her. I am quite sure she went to
bed that night all the better and more settled in
mind and mood, and slept all the more sweetly for
having undergone a sound moral drubbing.
END OF VOL. II.
London :
Printed by Stewart and Mueray,
Old Bailey.
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