THE PUBLISHERS OF
LlB1(tA < Rjr WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND
FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST
OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED
VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER
THE FOLLOWING TWELVE HEADINGS:
TRAVEL ^ SCIENCE ^ FICTION
THEOLOGY'& PHILOSOPHY
HISTORY 7? CLASSICAL
FOR YOUNG PEOPLE
ESSAYS ^ ORATORY
POETRY & DRAMA
BIOGRAPHY
ROMANCE
IN TWO STYLES OF BINDING, CLOTH,
FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP, AND
LEATHER, ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP.
LONDON : J. M. DENT & CO.
NBW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
EEBsasssrmE
VILLETTE^
CHARLOTTE
BRON
: LONDONrPUBUSHED
|byJ-M-DENT- -CO,
[AND IN NEW YORK I
BY E-RDUTTON tf CO
INTRODUCTION
Villette has an interest of its own apart from its place
in literature. It is the great battle-ground of Charlotte
Bronte's biographers, of those who have accused her
of plagiarising, more or less grossly, from her own
experience, and those who are bent on defending her
from this charge.
There is, of course, no reason why she should not have
plagiarised from her own experience or anybody else's.
The question is : Did she ? It seems to me that there
is not one scrap of evidence to prove that she did. None
not even a fifth-hand rumour to support the pre-
posterous legends that have gathered round her name
on the strength of this one book.
It may at once be conceded that Villette is unmistak-
ably the novel of reality. It is the one Bronte book
that has most rewarded the lover of identifications.
There is hardly a character in it whose prototype has
not been discovered by the Bronte specialist. Dr.
Bretton is Mr. George Smith, Mrs. Bretton is Mr.
George Smith's mother, Madame Beck is Madame
Heger, and M. Paul Emanuel is M. Heger. More than
any of the Bronte novels it bears the mark, not only of
experience, but of intense personal experience. There-
fore, out of the materials found in Villette the specialist
has built up the Romance of Charlotte Bronte, in other
words, that actual love-story which is supposed to be
the base and root of all novels written by women.
Tout talent de femme est un bonheur manque.
Emily Bronte escaped this imputation because
vii
viii VILLETTE
her genius was admittedly " of imagination all
compact," while in Charlotte that power was coupled
with a spirit of observation almost cruelly exact. In
her first novel, The Professor, the lower talent is pre-
dominant. In Jane Eyre imagination riots almost to
the dethronement of the lesser power. In Shirley
there is a sharp struggle for ascendency between the
two, causing Titanic upheavals and subsidences. The
book shows a larger vision of reality and a slenderer
grasp of it. But in all the great scenes, the great
passages, of Villette, imagination and actuality are
fused in one supreme act of creation. The author's
genius is no longer alien but at home in the world. She
knows now what is essential to her art, and she is her
own best critic. There is one comparative failure in
the book, the portrait of Dr. Bretton. She puts her
finger on the cause of failure. In a letter to Mr. George
Smith (the prototype!) she says: "The fault lies in
its wanting the germ of the real."
" The germ of the real." There is the open secret
of all great art. To the artist, at any rate to the
dramatist and novelist, whose supreme work is to
develop the persons of his drama, to exhibit them in
movement and in growth, all that is necessary is the
germ the undeveloped thing. What is more, it is the
germ that alone is of use to him. Genius is sterile to
the thing developed the complete reality, grown and
finished in alien soil. Genius imperatively demands
its own, the exercise of its natural function to shape,
to nourish, and bring forth. It acts more swiftly on a
hint than on the most elaborate demonstration from
without.
The germ, of course, must be there. Dr. Bretton is
a failure because no germ, we are told, went to his
making. But if M. Paul Emanuel had been drawn,
line for line, from M. Heger, of the Pensionnat de
INTRODUCTION ix
Desmoiselles, he would never have come before us, as
he does, with vivid, startling, indomitable life.
Nor was he so drawn, for the simple reason that
Charlotte Bronte, during the longer period of her stay
at Brussels, saw very little of M. Heger or of Madame
Heger either. In her letters home she says: " I never
exchange a word with any other man than Monsieur
Heger " [this to repudiate a charge of intended matri-
mony], " and seldom indeed with him." Again:
" Brussels is indeed desolate to me. Since the Dixons
left I have had no friend." She suffered, not only
from solitude, but from an incurable home-sickness.
" Everybody is abundantly civil, but home-sickness
comes creeping over me. I cannot shake it off." In
view of the "romance " I would suggest that we may be
miserable in the house inhabited by the beloved object,
but we are not home-sick. And it was only by an effort
of will that Charlotte Bronte forced herself to master
not her passion for M. Heger, but the German
language. It was the German language, still longed for
and still unpossessed, that prisoned her in the Pensionnat
of the Rue d'Isabelle.
M. Heger was not the sole object of interest there,
neither did Charlotte Bronte use him to better purpose
than she did his wife if indeed Madame Heger be the
original of Madame Beck, which I am inclined to doubt.
The authentic records of that lady do not suggest a
moral being in the least resembling Madame Beck.
And if M. Heger had possessed the tenth part of
M. Paul Emanuel's personality, his insistence, his irre-
pressible vivacity and charm, I doubt if Charlotte
would have described herself as sitting solitary and
miserable, bored (for bored we see her) to extinction in
that Pensionnat de Desmoiselles.
And yet, because of M. Heger, Mr. Clement Shorter
tells us that " the sojourn in Brussels made Miss Bronte
x VILLETTE
an author." He might just as well have said that
sojourn at E/ton made Shelley a poet. It would, of
course, be absurd to say that " Miss Bronte " owed
nothing to Brussels and M. Heger, or that the conquest
of two languages did not help her to mastery of her own.
Probably they did. What is more important, at Brussels
she met for the first time with outside encouragement
and stimulus. And Brussels was her first great change
of scene, a change thrilling and illuminating. It stirred
her genius as it had never been stirred before, if it did
not bring it to the full knowledge of itself. But it had
no more to do with its development than had the
Chapter Coffee House or the dome of St. Paul's.
I do not want to criticise Mr. Clement Shorter. He
has earned his right to cherish this theory by the admir-
able manner in which he has disposed of the Heger
" romance." It is a well-conceived and simple theory,
but it does not and it cannot bear the weight he has
put on it. It does not and it cannot account for the
tremendous fact of Charlotte Bronte's genius, nor for
its quality, nor for the abrupt turn that it took in Jane
Eyre. Heaven only knows what turn it would have
taken had Charlotte Bronte never learnt two languages,
nor written " devoirs " under M. Heger's eye. Its true
character certainly does not appear in The Professor,
which was the first-fruits of the " sojourn in Brussels."
Compare that book with Jane Eyre. Sober, deliberate,
depressed, half cynically observant, and obedient to
the fact, inspired by the very genius of prudence and
common sense, the tale moves, passionless as a " devoir,"
to its respectable conclusion. It has a crude finality and
distinction, a charm, for all its occasional precocity, as
candid and clear as innocence itself, a miniature talent
that attains perfection in the fine portrait of Frances
Henri. Charlotte Bronte thought better of The Professor
than did her publishers. But between this book, and
INTRODUCTION xi
Villette, between this book (this tame book that Brussels
brought out of her) and Jane Eyre, is a distance that no
biographer has yet bridged, a difference that no specialist
has yet accounted for.
It is not a mere difference in style and technique, in
mastery of material. In some respects The Professor
is a better constructed book than any that succeeded it.
The story moves more evenly, more straightforwardly,
than either Villette or Jane Eyre. The style, if not
perfect, is adequate, assured. Many . of Charlotte
Bronte's later faults, the exaggeration, the violence, the
abuse of metaphor, are absent from it. There is insight
in it and analytic power, things that Brussels could
nourish and stimulate if it could not give, qualities shared
in abundance by lesser novelists. But of the master
quality of passion, that quickening flow, that continuous
and sustaining breath, that makes Jane Eyre and Villette
unique in literature, there is not a sign.
The Professor is the novel of calm, half-conscious,
wholly conscientious talent. Jane Eyre is the novel
of illumination, of genius excited, unfettered, and
glorying in its power. Villette is the novel of that
power made perfect. The problem for the critic and
biographer is: What made the difference? From what
quarter did liberation and illumination come? We
have nothing to guide us but the letters, the psycho-
logical evidence of the novels, and the argument from
their dates. Those of Jane Eyre and Villette come too
late to establish M. Heger as the influence; and there
is no testimony to that effect in any of Charlotte Bronte's
letters. She is eloquent as to his kindness, but of his
influence there is not a word.
The researchers who crossed the Channel to find the
clue, missed, it seems to me, what lay under their eyes.
In 1848, in the quiet parsonage at Haworth, the three
sisters were all writing novels, and while Anne Bronte
xii VILLETTE
produced Agnes Grey and Charlotte The Professor,
Emily brought forth Wuthering Heights. Wuthering
Heights is to Agnes Grey as the flames of sunrise and
sunset to a parlour fire. It made the lambent lucidity
of The Professor pale. And it is my belief that with
the reading of Wuthering Heights there came Charlotte
Bronte's moment of illumination. Her fire was kindled
at her sister's, the only flame to which it would have
owned itself akin. It is doubtful whether she acknow-
ledged in Emily a genius greater than her own; her
criticism of Wuthering Heights does not prove this, but
certainly she recognised it as a thing apart and alone.
She saw that Emily had cast off all convention, all
tradition; she had dared to be herself, to let herself
go. What Emily had done she too might do.
So she, too, let herself go, and she wrote Jane Eyre.
The sources of her inspiration sprang, like Emily's,
from within; but she had always been timid and dis-
trustful of herself, and it took the audacity of Emily
to point out the way. It was from Wuthering Heights,
then, that her deliverance came.
I am aware that there is no direct proof of this. But,
theory for theory, it seems to me more probable than any
other. I am not suggesting that Emily was responsible
for one word that her sister wrote. I do not believe
this, any more than I believe that Charlotte Bronte
wrote Wuthering Heights.' 1 But if there was an influence,
sustaining her, inspiring her, and revealing her to
herself, it was Emily, and I do not see how it could well
be otherwise. With the Brontes, the tie of sisterhood,
the devotion, the passion of sisterhood, was supreme.
Between Charlotte and Emily the tie was closest. We
know how when Emily was absent Charlotte languished ;
'This is the latest legend, of which Mr. Malham Dembleby, of
Yorkshire, is the ingenious author. How the Brontes would have
delighted in Mr. Malham Dembleby!
INTRODUCTION xiii
how when Emily died her genius suffered its darkest
eclipse. Compared with Emily, other people the
Hegers, the Smiths, Mr. Williams, and the rest were
inconceivably unimportant. This fact, poignant, self-
evident, inevitable, is the one that the Bronte specialists
have missed. Some of our critics have even denied
that there was any spiritual sisterhood. It is to the
great honour of Mrs. Humphrey Ward that she has
recognised in Charlotte Bronte an imagination of the
highest order. Not a word can be added to or taken
away from her fine appreciation prefixed to Mr. Shorter's
edition of the works.
We know how that imagination worked, for Charlotte
Bronte has described the process to Mrs. Gaskell. One
of the most powerful and vivid scenes in Villette is that
in which Lucy Snowe, drugged with opium to delirium,
gets up and wanders through the city on the night of
the festival. " I asked her," writes Mrs. Gaskell,
" whether she had ever taken opium, as the description
given of its effects in Villette was so exactly like what
I had experienced vivid and exaggerated presence
of objects, of which the outlines were indistinct, or lost
in golden mist, etc. She replied that she had never,
to her knowledge, taken a grain of it in any shape, but
that she had followed the process she always adopted
when she had to describe anything that had not fallen
within her own experience; she had thought intently
on it for many and many a night before falling to sleep
wondering what it was like or how it would be
till at length, sometimes after her story had been
arrested at this one point for weeks, she wakened up
in the morning with all clear before her, as if she had
in reality gone through the experience and then could
describe it, word for word, as it had happened." There
is the same power of brilliant, piercing imagination in
all the great scenes of the book, in the chapters which
xiv VILLETTE
tell of Lucy's arrival in the capital, of her agony of
loneliness when she is left by herself in the great deserted
house, and in the confession scene and all that goes
before it. And for a humbler reality, take the inimit-
able scene where M. Paul drags Lucy to the garret,
the scene in which she breaks M. Paul's spectacles, and
all that delicious chapter headed " Monsieur's Fete."
It is impossible to review Villette without reference
to The Professor. Much of the local scenery and one
character (Mdlle. Reuter) of the earlier book reappear
in it. But Villette is not The Professor re-written. The
Professor is a sort of nursery ground for all Charlotte
Bronte's later novels. Crimsworth is her first attempt
at Louis Moore in Shirley, Frances Henri is a first cousin
of Jane Eyre, Yorke Hunsden splits up into Mr. Yorke
and Rochester. But there is no M. Paul in The Pro-
fessor. He is the unique glory of Villette, from his first
invasion of the scene, in paletot and bonnet grec, to
his final disappearance in the storm. If Mdlle. Reuter
is a younger, slightly more perfidious Madame Beck,
Frances, in spite of her cousinship, is a person complete
in herself. In The Professor we see the beginnings of
Charlotte Bronte's marvellous power of word-painting.
" It was through streaming and starless darkness that
my eye caught the first gleam of the lights of Brussels."
Some of the scenes, Crimsworth's search for Frances
Henri, his finding of her in the cemetery, the description
of her innocent menage, are admirable in their soberer
manner. Frances is drawn, in some ways, with a more
delicate touch than Lucy Snowe.
For the character and role of Lucy betray a shifting
of the author's intention. We do not know what this
intention was, but one thing is clear that, from the
beginning of Villette, Polly is the character predestined
to high suffering. The marvellous chapters which tell
of Polly's childhood are manifestly the prologue to a
INTRODUCTION xv
tragedy of which she is the unique heroine. Lucy is
merely a disagreeable subsidiary character. But with
chapter four Polly disappears, and Lucy takes her
place and thereafter dominates the book. When Polly
comes in again she is merely the happy foil to Lucy,
the grand type of obscure but impassioned suffering.
Lucy has developed into what we expected Polly to
become the sensitive, intense, passionate creature,
foredoomed to tragedy. Charlotte Bronte has put it
on record that she disliked Lucy Snowe. Now, why,
if she disliked her, did she take her out of her humble
place, exalt her to the position of heroine, and follow
her career with such passionate interest? Why did
she abandon what must have been, artistically, a
cherished plan ? Because reality was too strong for
her. She abandoned her place when the accidents of
the undeveloped story brought Lucy to the Pensionnat.
Then reality seized her. From that point the tale goes
securely, triumphantly, inevitably to its close.
However much she may have done violence to her
original conception, there is no faltering in her hand.
In Villette her minor characters for the first time attain
roundness and fulness and finish Polly, Mrs. Bretton,
Dr. Bretton (it is consistency not completeness that he
lacks); even the sketch of the little De Hamal has a
certain firmness and solidity. But Ginevra Fanshawe
well the portrait of Ginevra has been praised as a
masterpiece. And in many ways it is a masterpiece,
achieved triumphantly, in spite of a simply abominable
method, a method tainted by a certain artistic vulgarity.
At her best Charlotte Bronte never attained to a
detached and impersonal view of any person or thing,
but, really, Ginevra is handled with a violence, a personal
ferocity, which is destructive to the ilh ston of reality.
The artistic immorality of the procedure is the more
shocking by contrast with the inimitable restraint and
xvi VILLETTE
delicacy, the deadly suave precision of the touch that
has immortalised Madame Beck. And it is no excuse
to say that the figure of Ginevra is Lucy Snowe's work
and not Charlotte Bronte's. It must be judged by its
place in the picture, and it cannot stand beside Madame
Beck, M. Paul Emanuel, and Polly.
As for the portrait of Lucy, it, too, is a masterpiece,
the most perfect, the most finished, the most psycho-
logically unerring, that Charlotte Bronte ever achieved.
And yet she has sinned, and sinned doubly here. Not
only did she allow Lucy to usurp the supreme place
obviously intended for Polly, but she has changed her
own attitude to her in accordance with the altered role.
In the earlier chapters Lucy is drawn with a grudging
interest, a cold aversion, which communicates itself
to the reader. But no sooner does she arrive at the
Pensionnat, the scene of Charlotte Bronte's own misery,
than she is marked for her tragic part, dowered with
the fatal gift of passion and developed with an extreme
and poignant sympathy.
That sympathy was at once Charlotte Bronte's
weakness and her strength. The book is flung, as it
were, from Lucy's beating heart; it is one profound,
protracted cry of the agony of longing and frustration.
This was a new voice in literature. Villette was the
unsealing of the sacred secret springs, the revelation
of all that proud, decorous, mid-Victorian reticence
most sedulously sought to hide. There is less overt,
audacious passion in Villette than in Jane Eyre, but
there is a surer, a subtler, a more intimate psychology,
a steadier hold of the uncompromising reality.
How was it that Lucy's creator disliked, almost to
vindictiveness, this helpless, appealing child of her
imagination ? The point is psychologically interesting.
Even so do mothers after the flesh abhor their own
failings reincarnate and exaggerated in their offspring.
INTRODUCTION xvii
This brings us again to the secret, " the germ of the
real." It is the ground on which our specialists have
based their diagnosis of Charlotte Bronte's " case."
Lucy Snowe was by her own confession in love with
Dr. Bretton, Lucy Snowe was Charlotte' Bronte, there-
fore Charlotte Bronte was in love with M. Heger. (We
shall be told next that Mrs. Humphrey Ward herself
endured the ignominious agonies of Eleanor, for at
this rate none of us are safe.) Fortunately for us,
Charlotte Bronte was not, at that period, in love with
any one, or we should never have had Lucy Snowe.
At that period indeed at all periods, even in the time
of her husband's courtship Charlotte Bronte was quite
singularly not in love. All her heroic strength, her
defiant virtue, was against it. Her admirable common
sense, and her still more admirable sense of humour,
alike revolted from poor Lucy's orgies of misdirected
sentiment. Yet when she wrote Villette she was aware
that " the germ of the real," from which Lucy grew,
was transplanted from her own heart ruthlessly trans-
planted that it might become the glory of Villette.
Such an innocent, natural germ, but not a. germ that,
even for artistic purposes, she cultivated in herself.
Mr. Clement Shorter, while he rightly denies that it
ever grew into the proportions of a passion, tells us
that Charlotte Bronte did so cultivate it, morbidly,
artificially, for the purposes of her art. There is not a
shadow of foundation for this view. All the evidence
is against it. Charlotte Bronte knew the feminine
heart. She knew her century. She knew that " sensi-
bility " was the vice of the half-educated women of its
upper classes, and she fought the first symptoms of it
in herself with as stern and high a courage as Emily
brought to the defiance of her physical malady. This,
I believe, once for all, to be the truth about Charlotte
Bronte.
xviii VILLETTE
Why on earth should she have cultivated the thing ?
She had no need of it. Her imagination was like a
child's, lonely and independent, impatient of the
obtrusive and protracted instruction of the actual.
From a mere Hint, a gleam of M. Heger's eye, from his
sardonic (if he really was sardonic) smile, it could create
the whole outer and inner man of M. Paul, while a
qualm of home-sickness, a pang of longing, was enough
to furnish forth the whole phantasmagoria of Lucy's
love-agony.
It may be said against her that she repeated herself
in all her books. And yet with each repetition she
became more complex and, unconsciously, more modern;
she advanced nearer and nearer to the searching analytic
light. Villette was published in 1852. At that date
George Meredith was unknown to the mass of his con-
temporaries. It is a far cry from Villette to The Ordeal
of Richard Feverel, and still more far from the insight
of Charlotte Bronte to that of Mr. Henry James. Her
emotion, her overmastering sense of the coloured and
the concrete, her very prejudices, saved her from
excesses of psychological analysis. But in Villette she
was the first to give to that method the place it holds
in the English novel of to-day.
MAY SINCLAIR.
The following is a list of the works of,
j Charlotte Bronte 1816-1855
, EmUy Jane Bronte 1818-1848
' Anne Bronte 1820-1849
" Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell," 1846. Emily Bronte's
poems were published with introduction by A. Symons, 1906.
PROSE WORKS OF CHARLOTTE BRONTE' (Currer Bell)- Jane
Eyre, an Autobiography, 1847; Shirley, a Tale, 1849; Villette
1853; The Professor, a Tale, 1857; Emma, a fragment, pre-
ceded by short preface by W. M. Thackeray, CornhiU Magazine
BIBLIOGRAPHY xix
April 1860; Unpublished Letters, Hours at Home, vol. ii., 1870;
and Macmittaris Magazine, vol. Ixiv ; Letters also given in vol. ii.
PROSE WORK BY EMILY BRONT^ (Ellis Bell): Wuthering
Heights, 1847.
A revised edition of this novel and of Agnes Grey, with
selections from the poems by the two sisters, was published in 1859,
with biographical notices of the authors and preface by C. Bronte
(Currer Bell).
PROSE WORKS BY ANNE BRONTE" (Acton Bell): Agnes Grey,
1847; The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, 1848.
COLLECTED WORKS: In 7 vols., with Mrs. Gaskell's Life of
Charlotte Brontg, illustrated, 1872, etc.; Life and Works of
Charlotte BrontS and her Sisters, with introductions by Mrs.
Humphrey Ward and C. K. Shorter, 1 1899, etc.; in 12 vols.,
Thornton Edition, 1901; in 12 vols., Temple Edition, illustrated,
1901; in 6 vols., with introduction to 6th vol. by Theodore Watts
Dunton (World's Classics), 1901, etc.
LIVES: Charlotte Brontfi, by Mrs. Gaskell, 1857; with expunged
passages, 1857; 3rd ed., revised and corrected, 1857; Charlotte
Bronte: a Monograph, by T. Wemyss Reid, 1877; Life of Charlotte
Brontg, by A. Birrell, 1887; Life of Emily Brontg, by A. M. F.
Robinson (Eminent Women Series), 1883; Charlotte Bronte and
her Circle, by C. K. Shorter, 1896; The Sisters Bronte, by Mrs.
Oliphant (Women Novelists of Queen Victoria's reign), 1897;
Charlotte Bronte and her Sisters, by C. K. Shorter, 1905.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BRETTON . . . . . . i
II. PAULINA . . . . . . . 10
III. THE PLAYMATES ... . . . 18
IV. Miss MARCHMONT ...... 38
V. TURNING A NEW .LEAF ..... 48
VI. LONDON . . . . . . .54
VII. VILLETTE . . . . . . .68
VIII. MADAME BECK ..... . . . 80
IX. ISIDORE. ....... 98
X. DR. JOHN ....... 112
XI. THE PORTRESSE'S CABINET .... 120
XII. THE CASKET 128
XIII. A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON .... 141
XIV. THE FETE 154
XV. THE LONG VACATION 190
XVI. AULD LANG SYNE ...... 205
XVII. LA TERRASSE ...... 223
XVIII. WE QUARREL 234
XIX. THE CLEOPATRA ...... 243
XX. THE CONCERT ...... 258
XXI. REACTION ....... 284
XXII. THE LETTER 306
XXIII. VASHTI 319
XXIV. M. DE BASSOMPIERRE ..... 336
XXV. THE LITTLE COUNTESS ..... 353
XXVI. A BURIAL 370
XXVII. THE HOTEL CRECY 388
XXVIII. THE WATCHGUARD 409
xxi
xxii CONTENTS
CHAPTER
XXIX. MONSIEUR'S FETE .
XXX. M. PAUL . .
XXXI. THE DRYAD .
XXXII. THE FIRST LETTER
XXXIII. M. PAUL KEEPS HIS PROMISE
XXXIV. MALEVOLA .
XXXV. FRATERNITY .
XXXVI. THE APPLE OF DISCORD .
XXXVII. SUNSHINE . . .
XXXVIII. CLOUD
XXXIX. OLD AND NEW ACQUAINTANCE
XL. THE HAPPY PAIR .
XLI. FAUBOURG CLOTILDK
XLII. FINIS
APPENDIX
V I L L E T T E.
Chapter u
BRETTON.
MY godmother lived in a handsome house in the
clean and ancient town of Bretton. Her hus-
band's family had been residents there for
generations, and bore, indeed, the name of their birth-
place Bretton of Bretton : whether by coincidence,
or because some remote ancestor had been a personage
of sufficient importance to leave his name to his
neighbourhood, I know not.
When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a
year, and well I liked the visit. The house and its
inmates specially suited me. The large peaceful rooms,
the well-arranged furniture, the clear wide windows,
the balcony outside, looking down on a fine antique
street, where Sundays and holidays seemed always to
abide so quiet was its atmosphere, so clean its pave-
ment these things pleased me well.
One child in a household of grown people is usually
made very much of, and in a quiet way I was a good deal
taken notice of by Mrs Bretton, who had been left a
widow, with one son, before I knew her ; her husband,
a physician, having died while she was yet a young and
handsome woman.
3 VILLETTE
She was not young, as I remember her, but she was
still handsome, tall, well-made, and though dark for an
Englishwoman, yet wearing always the clearness of
health in her brunette cheek, and its vivacity in a pair of
fine, cheerful black eyes People esteemed it a grievous
pity that she had not conferred her complexion on her
son, whose eyes were blue though, even in boyhood,
very piercing and the colour of his long hair such as
friends did not venture to specify, except as the sun
shone on it, when they called it golden. He inherited
the lines of his mother's features, however ; also her
good teeth, her stature (or the promise of her stature,
for he was not yet full-grown), and, what was better,
her health without flaw, and her spirits of that tone and
equality which are better than a fortune to the possessor.
In the autumn of the year I was staying at
Bretton ; my godmother having come in person to
claim me of the kinsfolk with whom was at that time
fixed my permanent residence. I believe she then
plainly saw events coming, whose very shadow I scarce
guessed ; yet of which the faint suspicion sufficed to
impart unsettled sadness, and made me glad to change
scene and society.
Time always flowed smoothly for me at my god-
mother's side; not with tumultuous swiftness, but
blandly, like the gliding of a full river through a plain.
My visits to her resembled the sojourn of Christian and
Hopeful beside a certain pleasant stream, with " green
trees on each bank, and meadows beautified with lilies
all the year round." The charm of variety there was
not, nor the excitement of incident ; but I liked peace
so well, and sought stimulus so little, that when the
latter came I almost felt it a disturbance, and wished
rather it had still held aloof.
One day a letter was received of which the contents
evidently caused Mrs Bretton surprise and some concern.
BRETTON 3
I thought at first it was from home, and trembled, ex-
pecting I know not what disastrous communication : to
me, however, no reference was made, and the cloud
seemed to pass.
The next day, on my return from a long walk, I
found, as I entered my bedroom, an unexpected change
In addition to my own French bed in its shady recess,
appeared in a corner a small crib, draped with white ;
and in addition to my mahogany chest of drawers, I saw
a tiny rosewood chest. I stood still, gazed, and
considered.
" Of what are these things the signs and tokens ? " I
asked. The answer was obvious. " A second guest is
coming : Mrs Bretton expects other visitors."
On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A
little girl, I was told, would shortly be my companion :
the daughter of a friend and distant relation of the late
Dr Bretton's. This little girl, it was added, had
recently lost her mother ; though, indeed, Mrs Bretton
ere long subjoined, the loss was not so great as might
at first appear. Mrs Home (Home it seems was the
name) had been a very pretty, but a giddy, careless
woman, who had neglected her child, and disappointed
and disheartened her husband. So far from congenial
had the union proved, that separation at last ensued
separation by mutual consent, not after any legal pro-
cess. Soon after this event, the lady having over-
exerted herself at a ball, caught cold, took a fever, and
died after a very brief illness. Her husband, naturally
a man of very sensitive feelings, and shocked inex-
pressibly by too sudden communication of the news,
could hardly, it seems, now be persuaded but that some
over-seventy on his part some deficiency in patience
and indulgence had contributed to hasten her end.
He had brooded over this idea till his spirits were
seriously affected ; the medical men insisted on travel-
4 VILLETTE
ling being tried as a remedy, and meanwhile Mrs
Bretton had offered to take charge of his little girl.
"And I hope," added my godmother in conclusion,
" the child will not be like her mamma ; as silly and
frivolous a little flirt as ever sensible man was weak
enough to marry. For," said she, " Mr Home it a
sensible man in his way, though not very practical : he
is fond of science, and lives half his life in a laboratory
trying experiments a thing his butterfly wife could
neither comprehend nor endure ; and indeed," con-
fessed my godmother, ** I should not have liked it
myself."
In answer to a question of mine, she further in-
formed me that her late husband used to say, Mr
Home had derived this scientific turn from a maternal
uncle, a French savant: for he came, it seems, of
mixed French and Scottish origin, and had connections
now living in France, of whom more than one wrote
de before his name, and called himself noble.
That same evening at nine o'clock, a servant was
despatched to meet the coach by which our little
visitor was expected. Mrs Bretton and I sat alone in
the drawing-room waiting her coming ; John Graham
Bretton being absent on a visit to one of his school-
fellows who lived in the country. My godmother
read the evening paper while she waited ; I sewed. It
was a wet night; the rain lashed the panes, and the
wind sounded angry and restless.
" Poor child ! " said Mrs Bretton from time to time.
" What weather for her journey ! I wish she were
safe here."
A little before ten the door-bell announced Warren's
return. No sooner was the door opened than I ran
down into the hall ; there lay a trunk and some band-
boxes, beside them stood a person like a nurse girl, and
at the foot of the staircase was Warren with a shawled
bundle in his arms.
BRETTON 5
Is that the child ? " I asked.
Yes, Miss."
I would have opened the shawl, and tried to get a
peep at the face, but it was hastily turned from me to
Warren's shoulder.
" Put me down, please," said a small voice when
Warren opened the drawing-room door, " and take off
this shawl," continued the speaker, extracting with its
minute hand the pin, and with a sort of fastidious haste
doffing the clumsy wrapping. The creature which now
appeared made a deft attempt to fold the shawl ; but
the drapery was much too heavy and large to be sus-
stained or wielded by those hands and arms. " Give
it to Harriet, please," was then the direction, "and
she can put it away." This said, it turned and fixed
its eyes on Mrs Bretton.
" Come here, little dear," said that lady. " Come
and let me see if you are cold and damp : come and
let me warm you at the fire."
The child advanced promptly. Relieved of her
wrapping, she appeared exceedingly tiny ; but was a
neat, completely-fashioned little figure, light, slight,
and straight. Seated on my godmother's ample lap,
she looked a mere doll ; her neck, delicate as wax,
her head of silky curls, increased, I thought, the
resemblance.
Mrs Bretton talked in little fond phrases as she
chafed the child's hands, arms, and feet ; first she was
considered with a wistful gaze, but soon a smile an-
swered her. Mrs Bretton was not generally a caressing
woman : even with her deeply-cherished son, her
manner was rarely sentimental, often the reverse ; but
when the small stranger smiled at her, she kissed it,
asking "What is my little one's name ?"
" Missy."
M But besides Missy ? "
6 VILLETTE
"Polly, papa calls her."
" Will Polly be content to live with me ? "
" Not always ; but till papa comes home. Papa is
gone away." She shook her head expressively.
" He will return to Polly, or send for her."
" Will he, ma'am ? Do you know he will ? "
I think so."
" But Harriet thinks not : at least not for a long
while. He is ill."
Her eyes filled. She drew her hand from Mrs
Bretton's, and made a movement to leave her lap ; it
was at first resisted, but she said " Please, 1 wish to
go : I can sit on a stool."
She was allowed to slip down from the knee, and
taking a footstool, she carried it to a corner where the
shade was deep, and there seated herself. Mrs Bretton,
though a commanding, and in grave matters even a
peremptory woman, was often passive in trifles : she
allowed the child her way. She said to me, " Take
no notice at present." But I did take notice : I
watched Polly rest her small elbow on her small knee,
her head on her hand ; I observed her draw a square-
inch or two of pocket-handkerchief from the doll-
pocket of her doll-skirt, and then I heard her weep.
Other children in grief or pain cry aloud, without
shame or restraint ; but this being wept : the tiniest
occasional sniff testified to her emotion. Mrs Bretton
did not hear it : which was quite as well. Ere long, a
voice, issuing from the corner, demanded " May the
bell be rung for Harriet ? "
I rang ; the nurse was summoned and came.
" Harriet, I must be put to bed," said her little
mistress. " You must ask where my bed is."
Harriet signified that she had already made that
inquiry.
' Ask if you sleep with me, Harriet."
BRETTON 7
" No, Missy," said the nurse : " you are to share this
young lady's room," designating me.
Missy did not leave her seat, but I saw her eyes seek
me. After some minutes' silent scrutiny, she emerged
from her corner.
" I wish you, ma'am, good-night," said she to Mrs
Bretton ; but she passed me mute.
Good-night, Polly," I said.
" No need to say good-night, since we sleep in the
same chamber," was the reply with which she vanished
from the drawing-room. We heard Harriet propose to
carry her upstairs. '* No need," was again her answer
" No need, no need : " and her small step toiled
wearily up the staircase.
On going to bed an hour afterwards, I found her still
wide awake. She had arranged her pillows so as to
support her little person in a sitting posture : her hands,
placed one within the other, rested quietly on the sheet,
with an old-fashioned calm most unchildlike. I ab-
stained from speaking to her for some time, but just
before extinguishing the light, I recommended her to
lie down.
" By-and-by," was the answer.
" But you will take cold, Missy."
She took some tiny article of raiment from the chair
at her crib side, and with it covered her shoulders. I
suffered her to do as she pleased. Listening a while in
the darkness, I was aware that she still wept, wept
under restraint, quietly and cautiously.
On awaking with daylight, a trickling of water caught
my ear. Behold ! there she was risen and mounted on
a stool near the washstand, with pains and difficulty in-
clining the ewer (which she could not lift) so as to pour
its contents into the basin. It was curious to watch her
as she washed and dressed, so small, busy, and noiseless.
Evidently she was little accustomed to perform her own
8 VILLETTE
toilet ; and the buttons, strings, hooks and eyes, offered
difficulties which she encountered with a perseverance
good to witness. She folded her night-dress, she
smoothed the drapery of her couch quite neatly ; with-
drawing into a corner, where the sweep of the white
curtain concealed her, she became still. I half rose,
and advanced my head to see how she was occupied.
On her knees, with her forehead bent on her hands, I
perceived that she was praying.
Her nurse tapped at the door. She started
up.
" I am dressed, Harriet," said she : * I have dressed
myself, but I do not feel neat. Make me neat ! "
" Why did you dress yourself, Missy ? "
" Hush ! speak low, Harriet, for fear of waking the
girl" (meaning me, who now lay with my eyes shut).
" I dressed myself to learn, against the time you leave
me."
" Do you want me to go ? "
" When you are cross, I have many a time wanted
you to go, but not now. Tie my sash straight ; make
my hair smooth, please."
" Your sash is straight enough. What a particular
little body you are ! "
" It must be tied again Please to tie it."
" There, then. When I am gone you must get that
young lady to dress you."
"On no account."
"Why? She is a very nice young lady. I hope
you mean to behave prettily to her, Missy, and not
show your airs."
" She shall dress me on no account."
Comical little thing ! "
" You are not passing the comb straight through my
hair, Harriet ; the line will be crooked."
" Ay, you are ill to please. Does that suit ? "
BRETTON 9
" Pretty vrell. Where should I go now that I am
dressed ? "
" I will take you into the breakfast-room."
" Come then."
They proceeded to the door. She stopped.
" Oh ! Harriet, I wish this was papa's house ! I
don't know these people."
" Be a good child, Missy."
** I am good, but I ache here ; " putting her hand to
her heart, and moaning while she reiterated " Papa !
papa ! "
I roused myself and started up, to check this scene
while it was yet within bounds.
" Say good morning to the young lady," dictated
Harriet.
She said "good morning," and then followed her
nurse from the room. Harriet temporarily left that
same day, to go to her own friends, who lived in the
neighbourhood.
On descending, I found Paulina (the child called
herself Polly, but her full name was Paulina Mary)
seated at the breakfast- table, by Mrs Bretton's side ; a
mug of milk stood before her, a morsel of bread filled
her hand, which lay passive on the table-cloth : she
was not eating.
" How we shall conciliate this little creature," said
Mrs Bretton to me, " I don't know : she tastes nothing,
and, by her looks, she has not slept."
I expressed my confidence in the effects of time and
kindness.
" If she were to take a fancy to anybody in the
house, she would soon settle; but not till then," re-
plied Mrs Bretton.
A2
ro VILLETTE
Chapter if*
PAULINA.
SOME days elapsed, and it appeared she was not
likely to take much of a fancy to anybody in the
house. She was not exactly naughty or wilful :
she was far from disobedient ; but an object less con-
ducive to comfort to tranquillity even than she pre-
sented, it was scarcely possible to have before one's
eyes. She moped : no grown person could have per-
formed that uncheering business better : no furrowed
face of adult exile, longing for Europe at Europe's
antipodes, ever bore more legibly the signs of home
sickness than did her infant visage. She seemed grow-
ing old and unearthly. I, Lucy Snowe; plead guiltless
of that curse, an overheated and discursive imagination ;
but whenever, opening a room-door, I found her seated
in a corner alone, her head in her pigmy hand, that
room seemed to me not inhabited, but haunted.
And again, when of moonlight nights, on waking, I
beheld her figure, white and conspicuous in its night-
dress, kneeling upright in bed, and praying like some
Catholic or Methodist enthusiast some precocious
fanatic or untimely saint I scarcely know what thoughts
I had ; but they ran risk of being hardly more rational
and healthy than that child's mind must have been.
I seldom caught a word of her prayers, for they were
whispered low : sometimes, indeed, they were not
whispered at all, but put up unuttered ; such rare
sentences as reached my ear still bore the burden,
" Papa ; my dear papa ! " This, I perceived was a
one-idead nature ; betraying that monomaniac tendency
I have ever thought the most unfortunate with which
man or woman can be cursed.
What might have been the end of this fretting, had
PAULINA ii
it continued unchecked, can only be conjectured it
received, however, a sudden turn.
One afternoon, Mrs Bretton, coaxing her from her
usual station in a corner, had lifted her into the window-
seat, and, by way of occupying her attention, told her to
watch the passengers and count how many ladies should
go down the street in a given time. She had sat list-
lessly, hardly looking, and not counting, when my eye
being fixed on hers I witnessed in its irid and pupil a
startling transfiguration. These sudden, dangerous
natures sensitive as they are called offer many a
curious spectacle to those whom a cooler temperament
has secured from participation in their angular vagaries.
The fixed and heavy gaze swam, trembled, then
glittered in fire ; the small, overcast brow cleared ; the
trivial and dejected features lit up ; the sad countenance
vanished, and in its place appeared a sudden eagerness,
an intense expectancy.
" It if ! " were her words.
Like a bird or a shaft, or any other swift thing, she
was gone from the room. How she got the house-door
open I cannot tell ; probably it might be ajar ; perhaps
Warren was in the way and obeyed her behest, which
would be impetuous enough. I watching calmly from
the window saw her, in her black frock and tiny braided
apron (to pinafores she had an antipathy), dart half the
length of the street ; and, as I was on the point of turning,
and quietly announcing to Mrs Bretton that the child
was run out mad, and ought instantly to be pursued, I
saw her caught up, and wrapt at once from my cool
observation, and from the wondering stare of the passen-
gers. A gentleman had done this good turn, and now,
covering her with his cloak, advanced to restore her to
the house whence he had seen her issue.
I concluded he would leave her in a servant's charge
and withdraw ; but he entered : having tarried a little
while below, he came upstairs.
iz VILLETTE
His reception immediately explained that he was
known to Mrs Bretton. She recognised him ; she
greeted him, and yet she was fluttered, surprised, taken
unawares. Her look and manner were even expostu-
latory ; and in reply to these, rather than her words, he
said " I could not help it, madam : I found it im-
possible to leave the country without seeing with my
own eyes how she settled."
" But you will unsettle her."
" I hope not. And how is papa's little Polly ? "
This question he addressed to Paulina, as he sat
down and placed her gently on the ground before him.
** How is Polly's papa ? " was the reply, as she
leaned on his knee, and gazed up into his face.
It was not a noisy, not a wordy scene : for that I
was thankful ; but it was a scene of feeling too brimful,
and which, because the cup did not foam up high or
furiously overflow, only oppressed one the more. On
all occasions of vehement, unrestrained expansion, a
sense of disdain or ridicule comes to the weary specta-
tor's relief; whereas I have ever felt most burdensome
that sort of sensibility which bends of its own will, a
giant slave under the sway of good sense
Mr Home was a stern-featured perhaps I should
rather say, a hard-featured man : his forehead was
knotty, and his cheek-bones were marked and prominent.
The character of his face was quite Scotch ; but there
was feeling in his eye, and emotion in his now agitated
countenance. His northern accent in speaking har-
monised with his physiognomy. He was at once proud-
looking and homely-looking.
He laid his hand on the child's uplifted head. She
said" Kiss Polly."
He kissed her. I wished she would utter some
hysterical cry, so that I might get relief and be at ease.
She made wonderfully little noise : she seemed to have
PAULINA 13
got what she wanted all she wanted, and to be in a
trance of content. Neither in mien nor in features was
this creature like her sire, and yet she was of his
strain : her mind had been filled from his, as the cup
from the flagon.
Indisputably, Mr Home owned manly self-control,
however he might secretly feel on some matters.
" Polly," he said, looking down on his little girl,
" go into the hall ; you will see papa's great-coat lying
on a chair ; put your hand into the pockets, you will
find a pocket-handkerchief there ; bring it to me."
She obeyed ; went and returned deftly and nimbly.
He was talking to Mrs Bretton when she came back,
and she waited with the handkerchief in her hand. It
was a picture, in its way, to see her, with her tiny
stature, and trim, neat shape, standing at his knee.
Seeing that he continued to talk, apparently unconscious
of her return, she took his hand, opened the unresisting
6ngers, insinuated into them the handkerchief, and
closed them upon it one by one. He still seemed not
to see or to feel her ; but by-and-by, he lifted her to
his knee ; she nestled against him, and though neither
looked at nor spoke to the other for an hour following,
I suppose both were satisfied.
During tea, the minute thing's movements and be-
haviour gave, as usual, full occupation to the eye.
First she directed Warren, as he placed the chairs.
" Put papa's chair here, and mine near it, between
papa and Mrs Bretton : / must hand his tea."
She took her own seat, and beckoned with her hand
to her father.
" Be near me, as if we were at home, papa."
And again, as she intercepted his cup in passing, and
would stir the sugar and put in the cream herself, " I
always did it for you at home, papa : nobody could do
it as well, not even your own self."
I4 VILLETTE
Throughout the meal she continued her attentions :
rather absurd they were. The sugar-tongs were too
wide for one of her hands, and she had to use both in
wielding them ; the weight of the silver oream-ewer,
the bread-and-butter plates, the very cup and saucer,
tasked her insufficient strength and dexterity ; but she
would lift this, hand that, and luckily contrived through
it all to break nothing. Candidly speaking, I thought
her a little busy-body ; but her father, blind like other
parents, seemed perfectly content to let her wait on
him, and even wonderfully soothed by her offices.
" She is my comfort ! " he could not help saying to
Mrs Bretton. That lady had her own " comfort " and
nonpareil on a much larger scale, and, for the moment,
absent ; so she sympathised with his foible.
This second " comfort " came on the stage in the
course of the evening. I knew this day had been fixed
for his return, and was aware that Mrs Bretton had
been expecting him through all its hours. We were
seated round the fire, after tea, when Graham joined
our circle : I should rather say, broke it up for, of
course, his arrival made a bustle ; and then, as Mr
Graham was fasting, there was refreshment to be pro-
vided. He and Mr Home met as old acquaintance ;
of the little girl he took no notice for a time.
His meal over, and numerous questions from his
mother answered, he turned from the table to the
hearth. Opposite where he had placed himself was
seated Mr Home, and at his elbow, the child. When
I say child I use an inappropriate and undescriptive term
a term suggesting any picture rather than that of the
demure little person in a mourning frock and white
chemisette, that might just have fitted a good-sized doll
perched now on a high chair beside a stand, whereon
was her toy work-box of white varnished wood, and
holding in her hands a shred of a handkerchief which
PAULINA 15
she was professing to hem, and at which she bored per-
severingly with a needle, that in her fingers seemed
almost a skewer, pricking herself ever and anon, mark-
ing the cambric with a track of minute red dots ;
occasionally starting when the perverse weapon swerv-
ing from her control inflicted a deeper stab than usual ;
but still silent, diligent, absorbed, womanly.
Graham was at that time a handsome, faithless-look-
ing youth of sixteen. I say faithless-looking, not be-
cause he was really of a very perfidious disposition, but
because the epithet strikes me as proper to describe the
fair, Celtic (not Saxon) character of his good looks ;
his waved light auburn hair, his supple symmetry, his
smile frequent, and destitute neither of fascination nor
of subtlety (in no bad sense). A spoiled, whimsical
boy he was in those days.
" Mother," he said, after eyeing the little figure
before him in silence for some time, and when the
temporary absence of Mr Home from the room relieved
him from the half-laughing bashfulness, which was all
he knew of timidity " Mother, I see a young lady
in the present society to whom I have not been
introduced."
" Mr Home's little girl, I suppose you mean," said
his mother.
" Indeed, ma'am," replied her son, " I consider your
expression of the least ceremonious : Miss Home /
should certainly have said, in venturing to speak of the
gentlewoman to whom I allude."
" Now, Graham, 1 will not have that child teased.
Don't flatter yourself that I shall suffer you to make
her your butt."
" Miss Home," pursued Graham, undeterred by his
mother's remonstrance, " might I have the honour to
introduce myself, since no one else seems willing to
render you and me that service? Your slave, John
Graham Bretton."
l6 VILLETTE
She looked at him ; he rose and bowed quite gravely.
She deliberately put down thimble, scissors, work ;
descended with precaution from her perch, and curtsey-
ing with unspeakable seriousness, said, " How do you
do?"
** I have the honour to be in fair health, only in
some measure fatigued with a hurried journey. I hope,
ma'am, I see you well."
" Tor-rer-ably well," was the ambitious reply of the
little woman ; and she now essayed to regain her
former elevation, but finding this could not be done
without some climbing and straining a sacrifice of
decorum not to be thought of and being utterly dis-
dainful of aid in the presence of a strange young gentle-
man, she relinquished the high chair for a low stool :
towards that low stool Graham drew in his chair.
" I hope, ma'am, the present residence, my mother's
house, appears to you a convenient place of
abode ? "
" Not par-tic-er-er-ly ; I want to go home."
" A natural and laudable desire, ma'am ; but one
which, notwithstanding, I shall do my best to oppose.
I reckon on being able to get out of you a little of that
precious commodity called amusement, which mamma
and Mistress Snowe there fail to yield me."
" I shall have to go with papa soon : I shall not stay
long at your mother's."
" Yes, yes ; you will stay with me, I am sure. I
have a pony on which you shall ride, and no end of
books with pictures to show you."
" Are*you going to live here now? "
" I am. Does that please you ? Do you like me i "
No."
Why ? "
" I think you queer."
"My face, ma'am?"
PAULINA 17
" Your face and all about you. You have long red
hair."
* Auburn hair, if you please : mamma calls it auburn,
or golden, and so do all her friends. But even with
my * long red hair,' " (and he waved his mane with a
sort of triumph tawny he himself well knew that it
was, and he was proud of the leonine hue) " I cannot
possibly be queerer than is your ladyship."
" You call me queer ? "
Certainly."
(After a pause) " I think I shall go to bed."
" A little thing like you ought to have been in bed
many hours since ; but you probably sat up in the
expectation of seeing me ? "
" No, indeed."
" You certainly wished to enjoy the pleasure of my
society. You knew I was coming home, and would
wait to have a look at me."
" I sat up for papa, and not for you."
" Very good, Miss Home. I am going to' be a
favourite : preferred before papa soon, I dare say."
She wished Mrs Bretton and myself good-night ; she
seemed hesitating whether Graham's deserts entitled
him to the same attention, when he caught her up with
o'ne hand, and with that one hand held her poised aloft
above his head. She saw herself thus lifted up on
high, in the glass over the fireplace. The suddenness,
the freedom, the disrespect of the action were too much.
" For shame, Mr Graham ! " was her indignant
cry, " put me down ! " and when again on her feet,
" I wonder what you would think of me if I were to
treat you in that way, lifting you with my hand "
(raising that mighty member) " as Warren lifts the
little cat."
So saying, she departed.
r8 VILLETTE
Chapter iij*
THE PLAYMATES.
MR HOME stayed two days. During his visit
he could not be prevailed on to go out : he sat
all day long by the fireside, sometimes silent,,
sometimes receiving and answering Mrs Bretton's chat,
which was just of the proper sort for a man in his
morbid mood not over- sympathetic, yet not too un-
congenial, sensible ; and even with a touch of the
motherly she was sufficiently his senior to be permitted
this touch.
As to Paulina, the child was at once happy and mute,
busy and watchful. Her father frequently lifted her to
his knee ; she would sit there till she felt or fancied he
grew restless ; then it was " Papa, put me down ; I
shall tire you with my weight."
And the mighty burden slid to the rug, and establish-
ing itself on carpet or stool just at " papa's " feet, the
white work-box and the scarlet-speckled handkerchief
came into play. This handkerchief, it seems, was in-
tended as a keepsake for " papa," and must be finished
before his departure ; consequently the demand on the
sempstress's industry (she accomplished about a score of
stitches in half-an-hour) was stringent.
The evening, by restoring Graham to the maternal
roof (his days were passed at school), brought us an
accession of animation a quality not diminished by the
nature of the scenes pretty sure to be enacted between
him and Miss Paulina.
A distant and haughty demeanour had been the
result of the indignity put upon her the first evening of
his arrival : her usual answer, when he addressed her,
was " I can't attend to you ; I have other things to
think about." Being implored to state -what things :
" Business."
THE PLAYMATES 19
Graham would endeavour to seduce her attention by
opening his desk and displaying its multifarious contents :
seals, bright sticks of wax, pen-knives, with a mis-
cellany of engravings some of them gaily coloured
which he had amassed from time to time. Nor was
this powerful temptation wholly unavailing : her eyes,
furtively raised from her work, cast many a peep
towards the writing-table, rich in scattered pictures.
An etching of a child playing with a Blenheim spaniel
happened to flutter to the floor.
" Pretty little dog ! " said she, delighted.
Graham prudently took no notice. Ere long, steal-
ing from her corner, she approached to examine the
treasure more closely. The dog's great eyes and long
ears, and the child's hat and feathers, were irresistible.
'* Nice picture ! " was her favourable criticism.
" Well you may have it," said Graham.
She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess waa
strong, but to accept would be a compromise of dignity.
No. She put it down and turned away.
" You won't have it, then, Polly ? "
** I would rather not, thank you."
" Shall I tell you what I will do with the picture if
you refuse it ? "
She half turned to listen.
" Cut it into strips for lighting the taper."
No ! "
But I shall."
" Please don't."
Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading
tone ; he took the scissors from his mother's work-
basket.
" Here goes ! " said he making a menacing flourish.
" Right through Fido's head, and splitting little Harry'&
nose."
"No! No! NO!"
20 VILLETTE
" Then come to me. Come quickly, or it is done."
She hesitated, lingered, but complied.
" Now, will you have it ? " he asked, as she stood
before him.
Please."
' But I shall want payment."
How much ? "
A kiss."
' Give the picture first into my hand."
Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her
turn. Graham gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted
to her father, and took refuge on his knee. Graham
rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her face
in Mr Home's waistcoat.
" Papa papa send him away ! "
** I'll not be sent away," said Graham.
With face still averted, she held out her hand to keep
him off.
" Then, I shall kiss the hand," said he ; but that
moment it became a miniature fist, and dealt him pay-
ment in a small coin that was not kisses.
Graham not failing in his way to be as wily as his
little playmate retreated apparently quite discomfited ;
he flung himself on a sofa, and resting his head against
the cushion, lay like one in pain. Polly, finding him
silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face
were covered with his hands. She turned on her
father's knee, and gazed at her foe anxiously and long.
Graham groaned.
" Papa, what is the matter ? " she whispered.
" You had better ask him, Polly."
" Is he hurt ? " (groan second.)
" He makes a noise as if he were," said Mr Home.
" Mother," suggested Graham feebly, " I think
you had better send for the doctor. Oh my eye ! "
(renewed silence, broken only by sighs from Graham.)
THE PLAYMATES 21
" If I were to become blind " suggested this last.
His chastiser could not bear the suggestion. She
was beside him directly.
" Let me see your eye : I did not mean to touch it,
only your mouth ; and I did not think I hit so very
hard."
Silence answered her. ' Her features worked, " I
am sorry ; I am sorry ! "
Then succeeded emotion, faltering, weeping.
" Have done trying that child, Graham," said Mrs
Bretton.
** It is all nonsense, my pet," cried Mr Home.
And Graham once more snatched her aloft, and she
again punished him ; and while she pulled his lion's
locks, termed him "The naughtiest, rudest, worst,
untruest person that ever was."
On the morning of Mr Home's departure, he and
his daughter had some conversation in a window-recess
by themselves ; I heard part of it.
" Couldn't I pack my box and go with you, papa ? "
she whispered earnestly.
He shook his head.
" Should I be a trouble to you ? "
Yes, Polly."
" Because I am little ? "
" Because you are little and tender. It is only great,
strong people that should travel. But don't look sad,
my little girl ; it breaks my heart. Papa will soon
come back to his Polly."
" Indeed, indeed, I am not sad, scarcely at all."
" Polly would be sorry to give papa pain ; would she
not?"
" Sorrier than sorry."
" Then Polly must be cheerful : not cry at parting ;
not fret afterwards. She must look forward to meeting
22
VILLETTE
again, and try to be happy meanwhile. Can she do
this?"
" She will try."
" I see she will. Farewell, then. It is time to
go."
" Now ? just now ? "
"Just now."
She held up quivering lips. Her father sobbed, but
she, I remarked, did not. Having put her down, he
shook hands with the rest present, and departed.
When the street-door closed, she dropped on her
knees at a chair with a cry " Papa ! "
It was low and long ; a sort of " Why hast thou
forsaken me ? " During an ensuing space of some
minutes, I perceived she endured agony. She went
through, in that brief interval of her infant life, emotions
such as some never feel ; it was in her constitution :
she would have more of such instants if she lived.
Nobody spoke. Mrs Bretton, being a mother, shed a
tear or two. Graham, who was writing, lifted up his
eyes and gazed at her. I, Lucy Snowe, was calm.
The little creature, thus left unharassed, did for her-
self what none other could do contended with an
intolerable feeling ; and, ere long, in some degree,
repressed it. That day she would accept solace from
none ; nor the next day : she grew more passive after-
wards.
On the third evening, as she sat on the floor, worn
and quiet, Graham, coming in, took her up gently,
without a word. She did not resist : she rather nestled
in his arms, as if weary. When he sat down, she laid
her head against him ; in a few minutes she slept ; he
carried her upstairs to bed. I was not surprised that,
the next morning, the first thing she demanded was
" Where is Mr Graham ? "
It happened that Graham was not coming to the
THE PLAYMATES 23
breakfast-table ; he had some exercises to write for that
morning's class, and had requested his mother to send a
cup of tea into the study. Polly volunteered to carry
it : she must be busy about something, look after some-
body. The cup was entrusted to her ; for, if restless,
she was also careful. As the study was opposite the
breakfast-room, the doors facing across the passage, my
eye followed her.
" What are you doing ? " she asked, pausing on the
threshold.
" Writing," said Graham.
" Why don't you come to take breakfast with your
mamma ?"
" Too busy."
" Do you want any breakfast ? "
" Of course."
"There, then."
And she deposited the cup on the carpet, like a jailer
putting a prisoner's pitcher of water through his cell-
door, and retreated. Presently she returned.
*' What will you have besides tea what to eat ? "
" Anything good. Bring me something particularly
nice ; that's a kind little woman." ,
She came back to Mrs Bretton.
" Please, ma'am, send your boy something good."
" You shall choose for him, Polly ; what shall my
boy have ? "
She selected a portion of whatever was best on the
table, and, ere long, came back with a whispered request
for some marmalade, which was not there. Having got
it, however (for Mrs Bretton refused the pair nothing),
Graham was shortly after heard lauding her to the
skies ; promising that, when he had a house of his own,
she should be his housekeeper, and perhaps if she
showed any culinary genius his cook ; and, as she did
oot return, and I went to look after her, I found
24 VILLETTE
Graham and her breakfasting ttfe-a-t&f she standing
at his elbow, and sharing his fare : excepting the mar-
malade, which she delicately refused to touch, lest, I
suppose, it should appear that she had procured it as
much on her own account as his. She constantly
evinced these nice perceptions and delicate instincts.
The league of acquaintanceship thus struck up was
not hastily dissolved ; on the contrary, it appeared that
time and circumstances served rather to cement than
loosen it. Ill-assimilated as the two were in age, sex,
pursuits, &c., they somehow found a great deal to say to
each other. As to Paulina, I observed that her little
character never properly came out, except with young
Bretton. As she got settled, and accustomed to the
house, she proved tractable enough with Mrs Brettoo ;
but she would sit on a stool at that lady's feet all day
long, learning her task, or sewing, or drawing figures
with a pencil on a slate, and never kindling once to
originality, or showing a single gleam of the peculiarities
of her nature. I ceased to watch her under such cir-
cumstances : she was not interesting. But the moment
Graham's knock sounded of an evening, a change
occurred ; she was instantly at the head of the stair-
case. Usually her welcome was a reprimand or a
threat.
" You have not wiped your shoes properly on the
mat. I shall tell your mamma."
" Little busybody ! Are you there ? "
" Yes and you can't reach me : I am higher up
than you " (peeping between the rails of the banisters ;
she could not look over them).
" Polly ! "
" My dear boy ! " (such was one of her terms for
him, adopted in imitation of his mother).
"I am fit to faint with fatigue," declared Graham,
leaning against the passage-wall in seeming exhaustion.
THE PLAYMATES 25
*' Dr Digby " (the head-master) " has quite knocked
me up with overwork. Just come down and help me
to carry up my books."
" Ah ! you're cunning ! "
" Not at all, Polly it is positive fact. I'm as weak
as a rush. Come down."
" Your eyes are quiet like the cat's, but you'll spring."
" Spring ? Nothing of the kind : it isn't in me.
Come down."
" Perhaps I may if you'll promise not to touch
not to snatch me up, and not to whirl me round."
*' I ? I couldn't do it ! " (sinking into a chair).
" Then put the books down on the first step, and go
three yards off."
This being done, she descended warily, and not
taking her eyes from the feeble Graham. Of course
her approach always galvanised him to new and
spasmodic life : the game of romps was sure to be
exacted. Sometimes she would be angry ; sometimes
the matter was allowed to pass smoothly, and we could
hear her say as she led him upstairs " Now, my dear
boy, come and take your tea I am sure you must want
something."
It was sufficiently comical to observe her as she sat
beside Graham, while he took that meal. In his
absence she was a still personage, but with him the most
officious, fidgetty little body possible. I often wished
she would mind herself and be tranquil ; but no her-
self was forgotten in him : he could not be sufficiently
well waited on, nor carefully enough looked after ; he
was more than the Grand Turk in her estimation. She
would gradually assemble the various plates before him,
and, when one would suppose all he could possibly
desire was within his reach, she would find out
something else
" Ma'am," she would whisper to Mrs Bretton,
26 VILLETTE
" perhaps your son would like a little cake sweet cake,,
you know there is some in there " (pointing to the
sideboard cupboard). Mrs Bretton, as a rule, dis-
approved of sweet cake at tea, but still the request was-
urged, " one little piece only for him as he goes to-
school : girls such as me and Miss Snowe don't,
need treats, but be would like it."
Graham did like it very well, and almost always-
got it. To do him justice, he would have shared
his prize with her to whom he owed it ; but that was
never allowed : to insist, was to ruffle her for the
evening. To stand by his knee, and monopolise his
talk and notice, was the reward she wanted not a
share of the cake.
With curious readiness did she adapt herself to such
schemes as interested him. One would have thought
the child had no mind or life of her own, but must
necessarily live, move, and have her being in another i
now that her father was taken from her, she nestled to-
Graham, and seemed to feel by his feelings : to exist in>
his existence. She learned the names of all his school-
fellows in a trice ; she got by heart their characters as
given from his lips : a single description of an individual
seemed to suffice. She never forgot, or confused
identities : she would talk with him the whole evening
about people she had never seen, and appear completely
to realise their aspect, manners, and dispositions. Some
she learned to mimic : an under-master, who was an-
aversion of young Bretton's, had, it seems, some
peculiarities, which she caught up in a moment from
Graham's representation, and rehearsed for his amuse-
ment ; this, however, Mrs Bretton disapproved and
forbade.
The pair seldom quarrelled ; yet once a rupture
occurred, in which her feelings received a severe shock.
One day Graham, on the occasion of his birthday,
THE PLAYMATES 27
had some friends lads of his own age to dine with
him. Paulina took much interest in the coming of
these friends ; she had frequently heard of them ; they
were amongst those of whom Graham oftenest spoke.
After dinner, the young gentlemen were left by them-
selves in the dining-room, where they soon became very
merry and made a good deal of noise. Chancing to
pass through the hall, I found Paulina sitting alone on
the lowest step of the staircase, her eyes fixed on the
glossy panels of the dining-room door, where the
reflection of the hall-lamp was shining ; her little brow
knit in anxious meditation.
" What are you thinking about, Polly ? "
" Nothing particular ; only I wish that door was
clear glass that I might see through it. The boys
seem very cheerful, and I want to go to them : I want
to be with Graham, and watch his friends."
" What hinders you from going ? "
" I feel afraid : but may I try, do you think ? May
I knock at the door, and ask to be let in ? "
I thought perhaps they might not object to have her
as a playmate, and therefore encouraged the attempt.
She knocked too faintly at first to be heard, but on
a second essay the door unclosed ; Graham's head
appeared ; he looked in high spirits, but impatient.
" What do you want, you little monkey ? "
" To come to you."
" Do you indeed ? As it I would be troubled with
you ! Away to mamma and Mistress Snowe, and tell
them to put you to bed." The auburn head and bright
flushed face vanished, the door shut peremptorily.
She was stunned.
" Why does he speak so ? He never spoke so be-
fore," she said in consternation. "What have I done?"
" Nothing, Polly ; but Graham is busy with his
school-friends."
2g VILLETTE
" And he likes them better than me ! He turns me
away now they are here ! "
I had some thoughts of consoling her, and of im-
proving the occasion by inculcating some of those
maxims of philosophy whereof I had ever a tolerable
stock ready for application. She stopped me, however,
by putting her fingers in her ears at the first words I
uttered, and then lying down on the mat with her face
against the flags ; nor could either Warren or the cook
root her from that position : she was allowed to lie,
therefore, till she chose to rise of her own accord.
Graham forgot his impatience the same evening,
and would have accosted her as usual when his
friends were gone, but she wrenched herself from his
hand ; her eye quite flashed ; she would not bid him
good-night ; she would not look in his face. The next
day he treated her with indifference, and she grew like
a bit of marble. The day after, he teased her to know
what was the matuer ; her lips would not unclose. Of
course he could not feel real anger on his side : the
match was too unequal in every way ; he tried
soothing and coaxing. " Why was she so angry ?
What had he done ? " By-and-by tears answered
him ; he petted her, and they were friends. But she
was one on whom such incidents were not lost : I
remarked that never after this rebuff did she seek him,
or follow him, or in any way solicit his notice. I told
her once to carry a book or some other article to
Graham when he was shut up in his study.
" I shall wait till he comes out," said she proudly ;
" I don't choose to give him the trouble of rising to
open the door."
Young Bretton had a favourite pony on which he
often rode out ; from the window she always watched
his departure and return. It was her ambition to be
permitted to have a ride round the courtyard on this
THE PLAYMATES 29
pony ; but far be it from her to ask such a favour.
One day she descended to the yard to watch him
dismount ; as she leaned against the gate, the longing
wish for the indulgence of a ride glittered in her eye.
" Come, Polly, will you have a canter ? " asked
Graham, half carelessly. I suppose she thought he was
too careless.
* No, thank you," said she, turning away with the
utmost coolness.
" You'd better," pursued he. ** You will like it, I
am sure."
" Don't think I should care a fig about it," was the
response.
" That is not true. You told Lucy Snowe you
longed to have a ride."
" Lucy Snowe is a tatter-box," I heard her say :
(her imperfect articulation was the least precocious thing
she had about her), and with this she walked into the
house. Graham, coming in soon after, observed to his
mother " Mamma, I believe that creature is a change-
ling : she is a perfect cabinet of oddities ; but I should
be dull without her : she amuses me a great deal more
than you or Lucy Snowe."
" Miss Snowe," said Paulina to me (she had now
got into the habit of occasionally chatting with me
when we were alone in our room at night), " do you
know on what day in the week I like Graham best ? "
" How can I possibly know anything so strange ? Is
there one day out of the seven when he is otherwise
than on the other six ? "
" To be sure ! Can't you see ? Don't you know ?
I find him the most excellent on a Sunday ; then we have
him the whole day, and he is quiet, and, in the evening,
to kind."
This observation was not altogether groundless :
3
VILLETTE
going to church, &c., kept Graham quiet on the
Sunday, and the evening he generally dedicated to a
serene, though rather indolent sort of enjoyment by
the parlour fireside. He would take possession of the
couch, and then he would call Polly.
Graham was a boy not quite as other boys are ; all
his delight did not lie in action : he was capable of
some intervals of contemplation ; he could take a
pleasure too in reading, nor was his selection of books
wholly indiscriminate: there were glimmerings of
characteristic preference, and even of instinctive taste in
the choice. He rarely, it is true, remarked on what he
read, but I have seen him sit and think of it.
Polly, being near him, kneeling on a little cushion or
the carpet, a conversation would begin in murmurs, not
inaudible, though subdued. I caught a snatch of their
tenor now and then ; and, in truth, some influence
better and finer than that of every day seemed to soothe
Graham at such times into no ungentle mood.
" Have you learned any hymns this week, Polly ? "
" I have learned a very pretty one, four verses long.
Shall I say it?"
" Speak nicely, then : don't be in a hurry."
The hymn being rehearsed, or rather half-chanted,
in a little singing-voice, Graham would take exceptions
at the manner, and proceed to give a lesson in recitation.
She was quick in learning, apt in imitating ; and, besides,
her pleasure was to please Graham : she proved a ready
scholar. To the hymn would succeed some reading
perhaps a chapter in the Bible ; correction was seldom
required here, for the child could read any simple
narrative chapter very well ; and, when the subject was
auch as she could understand and take an interest in,
her expression and emphasis were something remarkable.
Joseph cast into the pit ; the calling of Samuel ; Daniel
in the lion's den ; these were favourite passages : of
THE PLAYMATES 31
die first especially she seemed perfectly to feel the
pathos.
" Poor Jacob ! " she would sometimes say, with
quivering lips. *' How he loved his son Joseph ! As
much," she once added " as much, Graham, as I love
you : if you were to die " (and she re-opened the book,
sought the verse, and read), ** I should ' refuse to be
comforted, and go down into the grave to you
.mourning.' "
With these words she gathered Graham in her
little arms, drawing his long-tressed head towards her.
The action, I remember, struck me as strangely rash ;
exciting the feeling one might experience on seeing an
animal dangerous by nature, and but half-tamed by art,
too heedlessly fondled. Not that I feared Graham
would hurt, or very roughly check her ; but I thought
she ran risk of incurring such a careless, impatient re-
pulse, as would be worse almost to her than a blow.
On the whole, however, these demonstrations were
'borne passively : sometimes even a sort of complacent
wonder at her earnest partiality would smile not un-
kindly in his eyes. Once he said " You like me
almost as well as if you were my little sister,
Polly."
" Oli ! I do like you," said she ; " I do like you
very much."
I was not long allowed the amusement of this study
of character. She had scarcely been at Bretton two
months, when a letter came from Mr Home, signifying
that he was now settled amongst his maternal kinsfolk
on the Continent ; that, as England was become wholly
distasteful to him, he had no thoughts of returning
thither, perhaps, for years ; and that he wished his little
;girl to join him immediately.
" I wonder how she will take this news ? " said Mri
32 VILLETTE
Bretton, when she had read the letter. / wondered,
too, and I took upon myself to communicate it.
Repairing to the drawing-room in which calm and
decorated apartment she was fond of being alone, and
where she could be implicitly trusted, for she fingered
nothing, or rather soiled nothing she fingered I found
her seated, like a little Odalisque, on a couch, half
shaded by the drooping draperies of the window near.
She seemed happy ; all her appliances for occupation
were about her ; the white wood work-box, a shred or
two of muslin, an end or two of ribbon, collected for
conversion into doll-millinery. The doll, duly night-
capped and night-gowned, lay in its cradle ; she was
rocking it to sleep, with an air of the most perfect faith
in its possession of sentient and somnolent faculties ;
her ey;s, at the same time, being engaged with a picture-
book which lay open on her lap.
" Miss Snowe," said she in a whisper, " this is a
wonderful book. Candace " (the doll, christened by
Graham ; for, indeed, its begrimed complexion gave it
much of an Ethiopian aspect) " Candace is asleep
now, and I may tell you about it ; only we must both
speak low, lest she should waken. This book was given
me by Graham ; it tells about distant countries, a long,
long way from England, which no traveller can reach
without sailing thousand of miles over the sea. Wild
men live in these countries, Miss Snowe, who wear
clothes different from ours : indeed, some of them wear
scarcely any clothes, for the sake of being cool, you
know ; for they have very hot weather. Here is a
picture of thousands gathered in a desolate place a
plain, spread with sand round a man in black, a good,
good Englishman a missionary, who is preaching to
them under a palm-tree." (She showed a little coloured
cut to that effect.) "And here are pictures" (she
went on) ** more stranger " (grammar was occasionally
,THE PLAYMATES 33
forgotten) "than that. There is the wonderful Great
Wall of China ; here is a Chinese lady, with a foot
littler than mine. There is a wild horse of Tartary ;
and here, most strange of all is a land of ice and snow,
without green fields, woods, or gardens. In this land,
they found some mammoth bones : there are no mam-
moths now. You don't know what it was ; but I can
tell you, because Graham told me. A mighty, goblin
creature, as high as this room, and as long as the hall ;
but not a fierce, flesh-eating thing, Graham thinks. He
believes, if I met one in a forest, it would not kill me,
unless I came quite in its way ; when it would trample
roe down amongst the bushes, as I might tread, on a
grasshopper in a hayfield without knowing it."
Thus she rambled on.
"Polly," I interrupted, "should you like to travel?"
" Not just yet," was the prudent answer ; " but
perhaps in twenty years, when I am grown a woman,
as tall as Mrs Bretton, I may travel with Graham.
We intend going to Switzerland, and climbing Mount
Blanc ; and some day we shall sail over to South
America, and walk to the top of Kim kim borazo."
" But how would you like to travel now, if your
papa was with you ? "
Her reply not given till after a pause evinced one
of those unexpected turns of temper peculiar to her
** Where is the good of talking in that silly way ? "
said she. " Why do you mention papa ? What is
papa to you ? I was just beginning to be happy, and
not think about him so much ; and there it will be all
to do over again ! "
Her lip trembled. I hastened to disclose the fact
of a letter having been received, and to mention the
directions given that she and Harriett should immedi-
ately rejoin this dear papa. " Now, Polly, are you not
glad ? " I added.
34 VILLETTE
She made no answer. She dropped her book, and
ceased to rock her doll ; she gazed at me with gravity
and earnestness.
" Shall not you like to go to papa ? "
Of course," she said at last in that trenchant
manner she usually employed in speaking to me ; and
which was quite different from that she used with Mrs
Bretton, and different again from the one dedicated to
Graham. I wished to ascertain more of what she
thought ; but no : she would converse no more.
Hastening to Mrs Bretton, she questioned her, and
received the confirmation of my news. The weight
and importance of these tidings kept her perfectly
serious the whole day. In the evening, at the moment
Graham's entrance was heard below, I found her at my
side. She began to arrange a locket-ribbon about my
neck, she displaced and replaced the comb in my hair ;
while thus busied, Graham entered.
" Tell him by-and-by," she whispered : *' tell him
1 am going."
In the course of tea-time I made the desired com-
munication. Graham, it chanced, was at that time
greatly preoccupied about some school-prize, for which
he was competing. The news had to be told twice
before it took proper hold of his attention, and even
then he dwelt on it but momently.
" Polly going ? What a pity ! Dear little Mousie,.
I shall be sorry to lose her : she must come to us again,
mamma.
And hastily swallowing his tea, he took a candle and
a small table to himself and his books, and was soon
buried in study.
" Little Mousie " crept to his side, and lay down on
the carpet at his feet, her face to the floor ; mute and
motionless she kept that post and position till bed-time.
Once I saw Graham wholly unconscious of her
THE PLAYMATES 35
proximity push her with his restless foot. She re-
ceded an inch or two. A minute after one little hand
stole out from beneath her face, to which it had been
pressed, and softly caressed the heedless foot. When
summoned by her nurse she rose and departed very
obediently, having bid us all a subdued good-night.
I will not say that I dreaded going to bed, an hour
later ; yet I certainly went with an unquiet anticipation
that I should find that child in no peaceful sleep. The
forewarning of my instinct was but fulfilled, when I
discovered her, all cold and vigilant, perched like a white
bird on the outside of the bed. I scarcely knew how to
accost her ; she was not to be managed like another child.
She, however, accosted me. As I closed the door, and
put the light on the dressing-table, she turned to me
with these words " I cannot cannot sleep ; and in
this way I cannot cannot live ! "
I asked what ailed her.
" Dedful miz-er-y ! " said she, with her piteous
lisp.
"Shall I call Mrs Bretton?"
" That is downright silly," was her impatient reply ;
and, indeed, I well knew that if she had heard Mrs
Bretton's foot approach, she would have nestled quiet
as a mouse under the bedclothes. Whilst lavishing her
eccentricities regardlessly before me for whom she
professed scarcely the semblance of affection she never
showed my godmother one glimpse of her inner self ;
for her, she was nothing but a docile, somewhat quaint
little maiden. I examined her ; her cheek was crim-
son ; the dilated eye was both troubled and glowing,
and painfully restless : in this state it was obvious she
must not be left till morning. I guessed how the case
stood.
"Would you like to bid Graham good-night again?"
I asked. " He is not gone to his room yet."
3 6 VILLETTE
She at once stretched out her little arms to be lifted.
Folding a shawl round her, I carried her back to the
drawing-room. Graham was just coming out.
" She cannot sleep without seeing and speaking to
you once more," I said. " She does not like the
thought of leaving you."
" I've spoilt her," said he, taking her from me with
good humour, and kissing her little hot face and burning
lips. " Polly, you care for me more than for papa,
now "
" I do care for you, but you care nothing for me,"
was her whisper.
She was assured to the contrary, again kissed, restored
to me, and I carried her away ; but, alas ! not soothed.
When I thought she could listen to me, I said
* Paulina, you should not grieve that Graham does not
care for you so much as you care for him. It must
be so."
Her lifted and questioning eyes asked why.
" Because he is a boy and you are a girl ; he is
sixteen and you are only six ; his nature is strong and
gay, and yours is otherwise."
" But I love him so much ; he should love me a
little."
" He does. He is fond of you. You are his
favourite."
" Am I Graham's favourite ? "
" Yes, more than any little child I know."
The assurance soothed her ; she smiled in her anguish.
" But," I continued, " don't fret, and don't expect
too much of him, or else he will feel you to be trouble-
some, and then it is all over."
' All over," she echoed softly, then I'll be good.
I'll try to be good, Lucy Snowe."
I put her to bed.
" Will he forgive me this one time ? " she asked, as
THE PLAYMATES 37
I undressed myself. I assured her that he would ; that
as yet he was by no means alienated ; that she had only
to be careful for the future.
" There is no future," said she : " I am going.
Shall I ever ever see him again, after I leave
England?"
I returned an encouraging response. The candle
being extinguised, a still half-hour elapsed. I thought
her asleep, when the little white shape once more lifted
itself once more in the crib, and the small voice asked
" Do you like Graham, Miss Snowe ? "
" Like him ! Yes, a little."
" Only a little ! Do you like him as I do ? "
" I think not. No : not as you do."
"Do you like him much ? "
" I told you I liked him a little. Where is the use
of caring for him so very much : he is full of faults."
"Is he?"
" All boys are."
" More than girls ? "
" Very likely. Wise people say it is folly to think
anybody perfect ; and as to likes and dislikes, we
should be friendly to all, and worship none."
" Are you a wise person ? "
" I mean to try to be so. Go to sleep."
" I cannot go to sleep. Have you no pain just here "
(laying her elfish hand on her elfish breast), " when
you think you shall have to leave Graham ; for your
home is not here ? "
" Surely, Polly," said I, " you should not feel so
much pain when you are very soon going to rejoin
your father. Have you forgotten him ? Do you no
longer wish to be his little companion ? "
Dead silence succeeded this question.
" Child, lie down and sleep," I urged.
" My bed is cold," said she. " I can't warm it."
3 8 VILLETTE
I saw the little thing shiver. "Come to me," I
said, wishing, yet scarcely hoping, that she would
comply : for she was a most strange, capricious, little
creature, and especially whimsical with me. She came,
however, instantly, like a small ghost gliding over the
carpet. I took her in. She was chill : I warmed her
in my arms. She trembled nervously ; I soothed her.
Thus tranquillised and cherished she at last slumbered.
"A very unique child," thought I, as I viewed
her sleeping countenance by the fitful moonlight, and
cautiously and softly wiped her glittering eyelids and
her wet cheeks with my handkerchief. " How will
she get through this world, or battle with this life ?
How will she bear the shocks and repulses, the
humiliations and desolations, which books, and my own
reason, tell me are prepared for all flesh ? "
She departed the next day ; trembling like a leaf
when she took leave, but exercising self-command.
Chapter it>.
MISS MARCHMONT.
ON quitting Bretton, which I did a few weeks after
Paulina's departure little thinking then I was
never again to visit it ; never more to tread
its calm old streets I betook myself home, having been
absent six months. It will be conjectured that I was
of course glad to return to the bosom of my kindred.
Well ! the amiable conjecture does no harm, and may
therefore be safely left uncontradicted. Far from say-
ing nay, indeed, I will permit the reader to picture me,
for the next eight years, as a bark slumbering through
halcyon weather, in a harbour still as glass the steers-
man stretched on the little deck, his face up to heaven,
MISS MARCHMONT 39
We eyes closed : buried, if you will, in a long prayer.
A great many women and girls are supposed to pass
their lives something in that fashion ; why not I with
the rest ?
Picture me then idle, basking, plump, and happy,
stretched on a cushioned deck, warmed with constant
sunshine, rocked by breezes indolently soft. However,
it cannot be concealed that, in that case, I must some-
how have fallen overboard, or that there must have been
wreck at last. I too well remember a time a long
time of cold, of danger, of contention. To this hour,
when I have the nightmare, it repeats the rush and salt-
ness of briny waves in my throat, and their icy pressure
on my lungs. I even know there was a storm, and
that not of one hour nor one day. For many days and
nights neither sun nor stars appeared ; we cast with our
own hands the tackling out of the ship ; a heavy tempest
lay on us ; all hope that we should be saved was taken
away. In fine, the ship was lost, the crew perished.
As far as I recollect, I complained to no one about
these troubles. Indeed, to whom could I complain ?
Of Mrs Bretton I had long lost sight. Impediments,
raised by others, had, years ago, come in the way of our
intercourse, and cut it off. Besides, time had brought
changes for her too : the handsome property of which
she was left guardian for her son, and which had been
chiefly invested in some joint-stock undertaking, had
melted, it was said, to a fraction of its original amount.
Graham, I learned from incidental rumours, had
adopted a profession ; both he and his mother were
gone from Bretton, and were understood to be now in
London. Thus, there remained no poscibility of de-
pendence on others ; to myself alone could I look. I
know not that 1 was of a self-reliant or active nature ;
but self-reliance and exertion were forced upon me by
circumstances, as they are upon thousands besides ; and
40 VILLETTE
when Miss Marchmont, a maiden lady of our neighbour-
hood, sent for me, I obeyed her behest, in the hope
that she might assign me some task I could
undertake.
Miss Marchmont was a woman of fortune, and lived
in a handsome residence ; but she was a rheumatic
cripple, impotent, foot and hand, and had been so for
twenty years. She always sat upstairs : her drawing-
room adjoined her bed-room. I had often heard of
Miss Marchmont, and of her peculiarities (she had the
character of being very eccentric), but till now had
never seen her. I found her a furrowed, grey-haired
woman, grave with solitude, stern with long affliction,
irritable also, and perhaps exacting. It seemed that a
maid, or rather companion, who had waited on her
for some years, was about to be married ; and she,
hearing of my bereaved lot, had sent for me, with the
idea that I might supply this person's place. She made
the proposal to me after tea, as she and I sat alone by
her fireside.
" It will not be an easy life," said she candidly, " for
I require a good deal of attention, and you will be much
confined; yet perhaps, contrasted with the existence
you have lately led, it may appear tolerable."
I reflected. Of course it ought to appear tolerable,
1 argued inwardly ; but somehow, by some strange
fatality, it would not. To live here, in this close room,
the watcher of suffering sometimes, perhaps, the butt
of temper through all that was to come of my youth ;
while all that was gone had passed, to say the least, not
blissfully ! My heart sunk one moment, then it revived ;
for though I forced myself to realize evils, I think I
was too prosaic to idealize, and consequently to exagger-
ate them.
" My doubt is whether I should have strength for
the undertaking," I observed.
MISS MARCHMONT 41
" That is my own scruple," said she ; " for you look
a worn-out creature ! "
So I did. I saw myself in the glass, in my mourn-
ing-dress, a faded, hollow-eyed vision. Yet I thought
little of the wan spectacle. The blight, I believed,
was chiefly external : I still felt life at life's sources.
" What else have you in view anything ? "
" Nothing clear as yet : but I may find something."
** So you imagine : perhaps you are right. Try your
own method, then ; and if it does not succeed, test
mine. The chance I hare offered shall be left open
to you for three months."
That was kind. I told her so, and expressed my
gratitude. While I was speaking, a paroxysm of pain
came on. I ministered to her ; made the necessary
applications, according to her directions, and, by the
time she was relieved, a sort of intimacy was already
formed between us. I, for my part, had learned from
the manner in which she bore this attack, that she was
a firm, patient woman (patient under physical pain,
though sometimes perhaps excitable under long mental
canker) ; and she, from the good-will with which I
succoured her, discovered that she could influence my
sympathies (such as they were). She sent for me the
next day ; for five or six successive days she claimed
my company. Closer acquaintance, while it developed
both faults and eccentricities, opened, at the same time,
a view of a character I could respect. Stern and even
morose as she sometimes was, I could wait on her and
sit beside her with that calm which always blesses us
when we are sensible that our manners, presence, con-
tact, please and soothe the persons we serve. Even
when she scolded me which she did, now and then,
very tartly it was in such a way as did not humiliate,
and left no sting : it wfas rather like an irascible mother
rating her daughter, than a harsh mistress lecturing a
B2
4 2 VILLETTE
dependent : lecture, indeed, she could not, though she
could occasionally storm. Moreover, a vein of reason
ever ran through her passion : she was logical even
when fierce. Ere long a growing sense of attachment
began to present the thought of staying with her as
companion in quite a new light ; in another week I had
agreed to remain.
Two hot, close rooms thus became my world ; and a
crippled old woman my mistress, my friend, my all.
Her service was my duty her pain, my suffering her
relief, my hope her anger, my punishment her regard,
my reward. I forgot that there were fields, woods,
rivers, seas, an ever-changing sky outside the steam-
dimmed lattice of this sick-chamber ; I was almost
content to forget it. All within me became narrowed
to my lot. Tame and still by habit, disciplined by
destiny, I demanded no walks in the fresh air ; my
appetite needed no more than the tiny messes served for
the invalid. In addition she gave me the originality of
her character to study : the steadiness of her virtues, I
will add, the power of her passions, to admire; the
truth of her feelings to trust. All these things she had,
and for these things I clung to her.
For these things I would have crawled on with her
for twenty years, if for twenty years longer her life of
endurance had been protracted. But another decree
was written. It seemed I must be stimulated into
action. I must be goaded, driven, stung, forced to
energy. My little morsel of human affection, which I
prized as if it were a solid pearl, must melt in my
fingers and slip thence like a dissolving hailstone. My
small adopted duty must be snatched from my easily
contented conscience. I had wanted to compromise
with Fate : to escape occasional great agonies by sub-
mitting to a whole life of privation and small pains.
Fate would not so be pacified ; nor would Provi-
MISS MARCHMONT 43
dence sanction this shrinking sloth and cowardly
indolence.
One February night I remember it well there
came a voice near Miss Marchmonrs house, heard by
every inmate, but translated, perhaps, only by one.
After a calm winter, storms were ushering in the spring.
I had put Miss Marchmont to bed ; I sat at the fire-
side sewing. The wind was wailing at the windows :
it had wailed all day ; but, as night deepened, it took a
new tone an accent keen, piercing, almost articulate
to the ear ; a plaint, piteous and disconsolate to the
nerves, trilled in every gust/
** Oh, hush ! hush ! " I said in my disturbed mind,
dropping my work, and making a vain effort to stop my
ears against that subtle, searching cry. I had heard
that very voice ere this, and compulsory observation
had forced on me a theory as to what it boded.
Three times in the course of my life, events had taught
me that these strange accents in the storm this rest-
less, hopeless cry denote a coming state of the
atmosphere unpropitious to life. Epidemic diseases, I
believed, were often heralded by a gasping, sobbing,
tormented, long-lamenting east wind. Hence, I in-
ferred, arose the legend of the Banshee. I fancied,
too, I had noticed but was not philosopher enough to
know whether there was any connection between the
circumstances that we often at the same time hear of
disturbed volcanic action in distant parts of the world ;
of rivers suddenly rushing above their banks ; and of
strange high tides flowing furiously in on low sea-coasts.
"Our globe," I had said to myself, "seems at such
periods torn and disordered ; the feeble amongst us
wither in her distempered breath, rushing hot from
steaming volcanoes."
I listened and trembled ; Miss Marchmont slept.
About midnight, the storm in one half-hour fell to a
44 VILLETTE
dead calm. The fire, which had been burning dead,
glowed up vividly. I felt the air change, and become
keen. Raising blind and curtain, I looked out, and
saw in the stars the keen sparkle of a sharp frost.
Turning' away, the object that met my eyes was Miss
Marchmont awake, lifting her head from the pillow,
and regarding me with unusual earnestness.
" Is it a fine night ? " she asked.
I replied in the affirmative.
" I thought so," she said ; " for I feel so strong, so
well. Raise me. I feel young to-night," she con-
tinued ; "young, light-hearted, and happy. What if
my complaint be about to take a turn, and I am yet
destined to enjoy health ? It would be a miracle ! "
" And these are not the days of miracles," I thought
to myself, and wondered to hear her talk so. She
went on directing her conversation to the past, and
seeming to recall its incidents, scenes, and personages,
with singular vividness.
" I love memory to-night," she said : " I prize her
as my best friend. She is just now giving me a deep
delight : she is bringing back to my heart, in warm
and beautiful life, realities not mere empty ideas, but
what were once realities, and that I long have thought
decayed, dissolved, mixed in with grave-mould. I
possess just now the hours, the thoughts, the hopes of
my youth. I renew the love of my life its only love
almost its only affection ; for I am not a particularly
good woman : I am not amiable. Yet I have had my
feelings, strong and concentrated ; and these feelings
had their object ; which, in its single self, was dear to
me, as, to the majority of men and women, are all the
unnumbered points on which they dissipate their re-
gard. While I loved, and while I was loved, what an
existence I enjoyed ! What a glorious year I can re-
call how bright it comes back to me ! What a living
MISS MARCHMONT 45
spring what a warm, glad summer what soft moon-
light, silvering the autumn evenings what strength of
hope under the ice-bound waters and frost-hoar fields
of that year's winter! Through that year my heart
lived with Frank's heart. O my noble Frank my
faithful Frank my good Frank ! so much better than
myself his standard in all things so much higher !
This I can now see and say : if few women have
suffered as I did in his loss, few have enjoyed what I
did in his love. It was a far better kind of love than
common ; I had no doubts about it or him : it was
such a love as honoured, protected, and elevated, no
less than it gladdened her to whom it was given. Let
me now ask, just at this moment, when. my mind is so
strangely clear, let me reflect why it was taken from
me ? For what crime was I condemned, after twelve
months of bliss, to undergo thirty years of sorrow ? "
** I do not know," she continued, after a pause : " I
cannot cannot see the reason ; yet at this hour I can
say with sincerity, what I never tried to say before
Inscrutable God, Thy will be done ! And at this
moment I can believe that death will restore me to
Frank. I never believed it till now."
" He is dead, then ? " I inquired in a low voice.
"My dear girl," she said, "one happy Christmas
Eve I dressed and decorated myself, expecting my
lover, very soon to be my husband, would come that
night to visit me. I sat down to wait. Once more I
see that moment I see the snow-twilight stealing
through the window over which the curtain was not
dropped, for I designed to watch him ride up the
white walk ; I see and feel the soft firelight warming
me, playing on my silk dress, and fitfully showing me
my own young figure in a glass. I see the moon of a
calm winter night float full, clear, and cold, over the
inky mass of shrubbery, and the silvered turf of my
46 VILLETTE
grounds. I wait, with some impatience in my pulse,
but no doubt in my breast. The flames had died in the
fire, but it was a bright mass yet ; the moon was mount-
ing high, but she was still visible from the lattice ; the
clock neared ten ; he rarely tarried later than this, but
once or twice he had been delayed so long.
" Would he for once fail me ? No not even for
once ; and now he was coming and coming fast to
atone for lost time. * Frank ! you furious rider,' I
said inwardly, listening gladly, yet anxiously, to his
approaching gallop, * you shall be rebuked for this : I
will tell you it is my neck you are putting in peril ; for
whatever is yours is, in a dearer and tenderer sense,
mine.' There he was : I saw him ; but I think tears
were in my eyes, my sight was so confused. I saw the
horse ; I heard it stamp I saw at least a mass ; I
heard a clamour. Wai it a horse ? or what heavy,
dragging thing was it, crossing, strangely dark, the
lawn ? How could I name that thing in the moon-
light before me ? or how could I utter the feeling which
rose in my soul ?
" I could only run out. A great animal truly
Frank's black horse stood trembling, panting, snorting
before the door ; a man held it : Frank, as I thought.
" * What is the matter ? ' I demanded. Thomas, my
own servant, answered by saying sharply, * Go into the
house, madam.' And then calling to another servant,
who came hurrying from the kitchen as if summoned
by some instinct, Ruth, take missis into the house
directly.' But I was kneeling down in the snow,
beside something that lay there something that I had
seen dragged along the ground something that sighed,
that groaned on my breast, as I lifted and drew it to
me. He was not dead ; he was not quite unconscious.
I had him carried in ; I refused to be ordered about
and thrust from him. I was quite collected enough,
MISS MARCHMONT 47
not only to be my own mistress but the mistress of
others. They had begun by trying to treat me like a
child, as they always do with people struck by God's
hand ; but I gave place to none except the surgeon ;
and when he had done what he could, I took my
dying Frank to myself. He had strength to fold me
in his arms ; he had power to speak my name ; he heard
me as I prayed over him very softly ; he felt me as I
tenderly and fondly comforted him.
" Maria,' he said, * I am dying in Paradise.' He
spent his last breath in faithful words for me. When
the dawn of Christmas morning broke, my Frank was
with God.
" And that," she went on, " happened thirty years
ago. I have suffered since. I doubt if I have made
the best use of all my calamities. Soft, amiable natures
they would have refined to saintliness ; of strong, evil
spirits they would have made demons ; as for me, I
have only been a woe-struck and selfish woman."
" You have done much good," I said ; for she was
noted for her liberal almsgiving.
" I have not withheld money, you mean, where it
could assuage affliction. What of that ? It cost me
no effort or pang to give. But I think from this day I
am about to enter a better frame of mind, to prepare
myself for reunion with Frank. You see I still think
of Frank more than of God ; and unless it be counted
that in thus loving the creature so much, so long, and
so exclusively, I have not at least blasphemed the
Creator, small is my chance of salvation. What do
you think, Lucy, of these things ? Be my chaplain,
and tell me."
This question I could not answer : I had no words.
It seemed as if she thought I had answered it.
" Very right, my child. We should acknowledge
God merciful, but not always for us comprehensible.
48 VILLETTE
We should accept our own lot, whatever it be, and try
to render happy that of others. Should we not ?
Well, to-morrow I will begin by trying to make you
happy. I will endeavour to do something for you,
Lucy : something that will benefit you when I am dead.
My head aches now with talking too much ; still I am
happy. Go to bed. The clock strikes two. How
late you sit up ; or rather how late I, in my selfishness,
keep you up. But go now ; have no more anxiety for
me : I feel I shall rest well."
She composed herself as if to slumber. I, too, re-
tired to my crib in a closet within her room. The
night passed in quietness ; quietly her doom must at
last have come : peacefully and painlessly : in the
morning she was found without life, nearly cold, but all
calm and undisturbed. Her previous excitement of
spirits and change of mood had been the prelude of a
fit ; one stroke sufficed to sever the thread of an exist-
ence so long fretted by affliction.
M
Chapter ft*
TURNING A NEW LEAF.
Y mistress being dead, and I once more alone, I
had to look out for a new place. About this
time I might be a little a very little shaken
in nerves. I grant I was not looking well, but, on the
contrary, thin, haggard, and hollow-eyed ; like a sitter-
up at night, like an overwrought servant, or a placeless
person in debt. In debt, however, I was not ; nor
quite poor; for though Miss Matchmont had not had time
to benefit me, as, on that last night, she said she
intended, yet, after the funeral, my wages were duly
paid by her second cousin, the heir, an avaricious-
looking man, with pinched nose and narrow temples,
TURNING A NEW LEAF 49
who, indeed, I heard long afterwards, turned out a
thorough miser : a direct contrast to his generous kins-
woman, and a foil to her memory, blessed to this day
by the poor and needy. The possessor, then, of fifteen
pounds ; of health, though worn, not broken, and of a
spirit in similar condition ; I might still, in comparison
with many people, be regarded as occupying an enviable
position. An embarrassing one it was, however, at the
same time ; as I felt with some acuteness on a certain
day, of which the corresponding one in the next week
was to see my departure from my present abode, while
with another I was not provided.
In this dilemma I went, as the last and sole resource,
to see and consult an old servant of our family ; once
my nurse, now housekeeper at a grand mansion not far
from Miss Marchmont's. I spent some hours with
her ; she comforted, but knew not how to advise me.~
Still all inward darkness, I left her about twilight : a
walk of two miles lay before me ; it was a clear, frosty
night. In spite of my solitude, my poverty, and my
perplexity, my heart, nourished and nerved with the
vigour of a youth that had not yet counted twenty-
three summers, beat light and not feebly. Not feebly,
I am sure, or I should have trembled in that lonely
walk, which lay through still fields, and passed neither
village nor farmhouse, nor cottage ; I should have
quailed in the absence of moonlight, for it was by the
leading of stars only I traced the dim path ; I should
have quailed still more in the unwonted presence of that
which to-night shone in the north, a moving mystery
the Aurora Borealis. But this solemn stranger in-
fluenced me otherwise than through my fears. Some
new power it seemed to bring. I drew in energy with
the keen, low breeze that blew on its path. A bold
thought was sent to my mind ; my mind was made
strong to receive it.
5 o VILLETTE
" Leave this wilderness," it was said to me, " and
go out hence."
" Where ? " was the query.
I had not very far to look ; gazing from this country
parish in that flat, rich middle of England I mentally
saw within reach what I had never yet beheld with my
bodily eyes ; I saw London.
The next day I returned to the hall, and asking once
more to see the housekeeper, I communicated to her
my plan.
Mrs Barrett was a grave, judicious woman, though
she knew little more of the world than myself; but
grave and judicious as she was, she did not charge me
with being out of my senses : and, indeed, I had a staid
manner of my own which ere now had been as good to
me as cloak and hood of hodden grey ; since under its
favour I had been enabled to achieve with impunity,
and even approbation, deeds that, if attempted with an
excited and unsettled air, would in some minds have
stamped me as a dreamer and zealot.
The housekeeper was slowly propounding some diffi-
culties, while she prepared orange-rind for marmalade,
when a child ran past the window and came bounding
into the room. It was a pretty child, and as it danced,
laughing, up to me for we were not strangers (nor,
indeed, was its mother a young married daughter of
the house a stranger) I took it on my knee.
Different as were our social positions now, this child's
mother and I had been schoolfellows, when I was a
girl of ten and she a young lady of sixteen ; and I re-
membered her good-looking, but dull in a lower
class than mine.
I was admiring the boy's handsome dark eyes, when
the mother, young Mrs Leigh, entered. What a
beautiful and kind-looking woman was the good-
natured and comely, but unintellectual girl become !
TURNING A NEW LEAF 51
Wifehood and maternity had changed her thus, as I
have since seen them change others even less promising
than she. Me she had forgotten. I was changed, too,
though not, I fear, for the better. I made no attempt
to recall myself to her memory ; why should I ? She
came for her son to accompany her in a walk, and
behind her followed a nurse, carrying an infant. I
only mention the incident because, in addressing the
nurse, Mrs Leigh spoke French (very bad French, by
the way, and with an incorrigibly bad accent, again
forcibly reminding me of our school-days) : and I found
the woman was a foreigner. The little boy chattered
volubly in French too. When the whole party were
withdrawn, Mrs Barrett remarked that her young lady
had brought that foreign nurse home with her two years
ago, on her return from a Continental excursion ; that
she was treated almost as well as a governess, and had
nothing to do but walk out with the baby and chatter
French with Master Charles ; " and," added Mrs
Barrett, " she says there are many Englishwomen in
foreign families as well placed as she."
I stored up this piece of casual information, as careful
housewives store seemingly worthless shreds and frag-
ments for which their prescient minds anticipate a
possible use some day. Before I left my old friend,
she gave me the address of a respectable old-fashioned
inn in the city, which, she said, my uncles used to
frequent in former days.
In going to London, I ran less risk and evinced less
enterprise than the reader may think. In fact,
the distance was only fifty miles. My means would
suffice both to take me there, to keep me a few
days, and also to bring me back if I found no induce-
ment to stay. I regarded it as a brief holiday, per-
mitted for once to work-weary faculties, rather than as
an adventure of life and death. There is nothing like
5 2
VILLETTE
taking all you do at a moderate estimate : it keeps mind
and body tranquil ; whereas grandiloquent notions are
apt to hurry both into fever.
Fifty miles were then a day's journey (for I speak
of a time gone by : my hair, which, till a late period,
withstood the frosts of time, lies now, at last white,
under a white cap, like snow beneath snow). About
nine o'clock of a wet February night I reached London.
My reader, I know, is one who would not thank me
for an elaborate reproduction of poetic first impressions ;
and it is well, inasmuch as I had neither time nor mood
to cherish such : arriving as I did late, on a dark, raw,
and rainy evening, in a Babylon and a wilderness, of
which the vastness and the strangeness tried to the utmost
any powers of clear thought and steady self-possession
with which, in the absence of more brilliant faculties,
Nature might have gifted me.
When I left the coach, the strange speech of the
cabmen and others waiting round, seemed to me odd
as a foreign tongue. I had never before heard the
English language chopped up in that way. However,
I managed to understand and to be understood, so far as
to get myself and trunk safely conveyed to the old inn
whereof I had the address. How difficult, how oppressive,
how puzzling seemed my flight ! In London for the
first time ; at an inn for the first time ; tired with
travelling ; confused with darkness ; palsied with cold ;
unfurnished with either experience or advice to tell me
how to act, and yet to act obliged.
Into the hands of common -sense I confided the
matter. Common-sense, however, was as chilled and
bewildered as all my other faculties, and it was only
under the spur of an inexorable necessity that she
spasmodically executed her trust. Thus urged, she
paid the porter : considering the crisis, I did not blame
her too much that she was hugely cheated ; she asked
TURNING A NEW LEAF 53
the waiter for a room ; she timorously called for the
chambermaid ; what is far more, she bore, without
being wholly overcome, a highly supercilious style of
demeanour from that young lady, when she appeared.
I recollect this same chambermaid was a pattern of
town prettiness and smartness. So trim her waist, her
cap, her dress I wondered how they had all been
manufactured. Her speech had an accent which in its
mincing glibness seemed to rebuke mine as by authority ;
her spruce attire flaunted an easy scorn to my plain
country garb.
" Well, it can't be helped," I thought, " and then the
scene is new, and the circumstances ; I shall gain good."
Maintaining a very quiet manner towards this
arrogant little maid, and subsequently observing the
same towards the parsonic-looking, black-coated, white-
neckclothed waiter, I got civility from them ere long.
I believe at fir D c they thought I was a servant ; but in
a little while they changed their minds, and hovered in a
doubtful state between patronage and politeness.
I kept up well till I had partaken of some refresh-
ment, warmed myself by a fire, and was fairly shut into
my own room ; but, as I sat down by the bed and
rested my head and arms on the pillow, a terrible
oppression overcame me. All at once my position rose
on me like a ghost. Anomalous, desolate, almost
blank of hope, it stood. What was I doing here alone
in great London ? What should I do on the morrow ?
What prospects had I in life ? What friends had I on
earth ? Whence did I come ? Whither should I go ?
What should I do ?
I wet the pillow, my arms, and my hair, with rushing
tears. A dark interval of most bitter thought followed
this burst ; but I did not regret the step taken, nor wish
to retract it. A strong, vague persuasion that it was
better to go forward than backward, and that I could go
54 VILLETTE
forward that a way, however narrow and difficult,
would in time open predominated over other feelings :
its influence hushed them so far, that at last I became
sufficiently tranquil to be able to say my prayers and
seek my couch. I had just extinguished my candle and
lain down, when a deep, low, mighty tone swung through
the night. At first I knew it not ; but it was uttered
twelve times, and at the twelfth colossal hum and
trembling knell, I said " I lie in the shadow of St
Paul's."
Chapter bj.
LONDON.
THE next day was the first of March, and when I
awoke, rose, and opened my curtain, I saw the
risen sun struggling through fog. Above my
head, above the house-tops, co-elevate almost with the
clouds, I saw a solemn, orbed mass, dark-blue and dim
THE DOME. While I looked, my inner self moved ;
my spirit shook its always-fettered wings half loose ; I
had a sudden feeling as if I, who never yet truly lived,
were at last about to taste life. In that morning my
soul grew as fast as Jonah's gourd.
" I did well to come," I said, proceeding to dress
with speed and care. " I like the spirit of this great
London which I feel around me. Who but a coward
would pass his whole life in hamlets, and for ever
abandon his faculties to the eating rust of obscurity ? "
Being dressed, I went down ; not travel-worn and
exhausted, but tidy and refreshed. When the waiter
came in with my breakfast, I managed to accost him
sedately, yet cheerfully ; we had ten minutes' discourse,
in the course of which we became usefully known to
each other.
LONDON 55
He was a grey-haired, elderly man ; and, it seemed,
had lived in his present place twenty years. Having
ascertained this, I was sure he must remember my two
uncles, Charles and Wilmot, who, fifteen years ago,
were frequent visitors here. I mentioned their names ;
he recalled them perfectly, and with respect. Having
intimated my connection, my position in his eyes was
henceforth clear, and on a right footing. He said I
was like my uncle Charles : I suppose he spoke truth,
because Mrs Barrett was accustomed to say the same
thing. A ready and obliging courtesy now replaced
his former uncomfortably doubtful manner ; henceforth
I need no longer be at a loss for a civil answer to a
sensible question.
The street on which my little sitting-room window
looked was narrow, perfectly quiet, and not dirty : the
few passengers were just such as one sees in provincial
towns : here was nothing formidable ; I felt sure I might
venture out alone.
Having breakfasted, out I went. Elation and plea-
sure were in my heart : to walk alone in London seemed
of itself an adventure. Presently I found myself in
Paternoster Row classic ground this. I entered a
bookseller's shop, kept by one Jones : I bought a little
book a piece of extravagance I could ill afford ; but
I thought I would one day give or send it to Mrs
Barrett. Mr Jones, a dried-in man of business, stood
behind his desk ; he seemed one of the greatest, and T
one of the happiest of beings.
Prodigious was the amount of life I lived that morn-
ing. Finding myself before St Paul's, I went in ; I
mounted to the dome : 1 saw thence London, with its
river, and its bridges, and its churches ; I saw antique
Westminster, and the green Temple Gardens, with sun
upon them, and a glad, blue sky, of early spring above ;
and, between them and it, not too dense a cloud of haze.
5 6 VILLETTE
Descending, I went wandering whither chance might
lead, in a still ecstacy of freedom and enjoyment ; and
I g t I know not how I got into the heart of city
life. I saw and felt London at last : I got into the
Strand ; I went up Cornhill ; I mixed with the life
passing along ; I dared the perils of crossings. To do
this, and to do it utterly alone, gave me, perhaps an
irrational, but a real pleasure. Since those days, I
have seen the West End, the parks, the fine squares ; but
I love the city far better. The city seems so much
more in earnest : its business, its rush, its roar, are such
serious things, sights, and sounds. The city is getting
its living the West End but enjoying its pleasure. At
the West End you may be amused, but in the city you
are deeply excited.
Faint, at last, and hungry (it was years since I had
felt such healthy hunger), I returned, about two o'clock,
to my dark, old, and quiet inn. I dined on two dishes
a plain joint, and vegetables ; both seemed excellent :
how much better than the small, dainty messes Miss
Marchmont's cook used to send up to my kind, dead
mistress and me, and to the discussion of which we could
not bring half an appetite between us ! Delightfully
tired, I lay down on three chairs for an hour (the room
did not boast a sofa). I slept, then I woke and
thought for two hours.
My state of mind, and all accompanying circum-
stances, were just now such as most to favour the adop-
tion of a new, resolute, and daring perhaps desperate
line of action. I had nothing to lose. Unutterable
loathing of a desolate existence past, forbade return. If
I failed in what I now designed to undertake, who,
save myself, would suffer ? If I died far away from
home, I was going to say, but I had no home from
England, then, who would weep ?
I might suffer ; I was inured to suffering : death itself
LONDON 57
had not, I thought, those terrors for me which it ha*
for the softly reared. I had, ere this, looked on the
thought of death with a quiet eye. Prepared, then, for
any consequences, I formed a project.
That same evening I obtained from my friend, the
waiter, information respecting the sailing of vessels for a
certain continental port, Boue- Marine. No time, I found,
was to be lost : that very night I must take my berth. I
might, indeed, have waited till the morning before going
on board, but would not run the risk of being too late.
" Better take your berth at once, ma'am," coun-
selled the waiter. I agreed with him, and having dis-
charged my bill, and acknowledged my friend's services
at a rate which I now know was princely, and which in
his eyes must have seemed absurd and indeed, while
pocketing the cash, he smiled a faint smile which inti-
mated his opinion of the donor's savoir-faire he pro-
ceeded to call a coach. To the driver he also recom-
mended me, giving at the same time an injunction about
taking me, I think, to the wharf, and not leaving me
to the watermen ; which that functionary promised to
observe, but failed in keeping his promise : on the con-
trary, he offered me up as an oblation, served me as a
dripping roast, making me alight in the midst of a throng
of watermen.
This was an uncomfortable crisis. It was a dark
night. The coachman instantly drove off as soon as he
had got his fare ; the watermen commenced a struggle
for me and my trunk. Their oaths I hear at this moment :
they shook my philosophy more than did the night, or
the isolation, or the strangeness of the scene. One laid
hands on my trunk. I looked on and waited quietly ;
but when another laid hands on me, I spoke up, shook
off his touch, stepped at once into a boat, desired
austerely that the trunk should be placed beside me
" just *here," which was instantly done ; for the
5 8 VILLETTE
owner of the boat I had chosen became now an ally : I
was rowed off.
Black was the river as a torrent of ink ; lights glanced
on it from the piles of building round, ships rocked on
its bosom. They rowed me up to several vessels ; I
read by lantern-light their names painted in great, white
letters on a dark ground : the Ocean, the Phoenix, the
Consort, the Dolphin, were passed in turns ; but the
Vvoid was my ship, and it seemed she lay furtheif down.
Down the sable flood we glided ; I thought! of the
Styx, and of Charon rowing some solitary soul ) to the
Land of Shades. Amidst the strange scene, iwith a
chilly wind blowing in my face and midnight-clouds
dropping rain above my head ; with two rude rowers
for companions, whose insane oaths still tortured my
ear, I asked myself if I was wretched or terrified. I
was neither. Often in my life have I been far more so
under comparatively safe circumstances. " How is
this ? " said I. " Methinks I am animated and alert,
instead of being depressed and apprehensive ! " I could
not tell how it was.
The " VIVID " started out, white and glaring, from
the black night at last. " Here you are ! " said the
waterman, and instantly demanded six shillings.
" You ask too much," I said. He drew off from the
vessel, and swore he would not embark me till I paid it.
A young man, the steward as I found afterwards, was
looking over the ship's side; he grinned a smile in
anticipation of the coming contest ; to disappoint him,
I paid the money. Three times that afternoon I had
given crowns where I should have given shillings ;
but I consoled myself with the reflection, " It is the
price of experience."
" They've cheated you ! " said the steward exultingly
when I got on board. I answered phlegmatically that
" I knew it," and went below.
LONDON 59
A stout, handsome, and showy woman was in the
ladies' cabin. I asked to be shown my berth ; she
looked hard at me, muttered something about its being
unusual for passengers to come on board at that hour,
and seemed disposed to be less than civil. What a face
she had so comely so insolent and so selfish !
" Now that I am on board, I shall certainly stay
here," was my answer. " I will trouble you to show
me my berth."
She complied, but sullenly. I took off my bonnet,
arranged my things, and lay down. Some difficulties
had been passed through ; a sort of victory was won :
my homeless, anchorless, unsupported mind had again
leisure for a brief repose. Till the Vivid arrived in
harbour, no further action would be required of me ;
but then. . . . Oh ! I could not look forward.
Harassed, exhausted, I lay in a half-trance.
The stewardess talked all night ; not to me but to
the young steward, her son and her very picture. He
passed in and out of the cabin continually : they dis-
puted, they quarrelled, they made it up again twenty
times in the course of the night. She professed to be
writing a letter home she said to her father ; she read
passages of it aloud, heeding me no more than a stock
perhaps she believed me asleep. Several of these
passages appeared to comprise family secrets, and bore
special reference to one " Charlotte," a younger sister,
who, from the bearing of the epistle, seemed to be on
the brink of perpetrating a romantic and imprudent
match ; loud was the protest of this elder lady against
the distasteful union. The dutiful son laughed his
mother's correspondence to scorn. She defended it,
and raved at him. They were a strange pair. She
might be thirty-nine or forty, and was buxom and
blooming as a girl of twenty. Hard, loud, vain and
vulgar, her mind and body alike seemed brazen and im-
6o VILLETTE
perishable. I should think, from her childhood, she
must have lived in public stations ; and in her youth
might very likely have been a barmaid.
Towards morning her discourse ran on a new theme :
"the Watsons," a certain expected family-party of
passengers, known to her, it appeared, and by her much
esteemed on account of the handsome profit realised in
their fees. She said, " it was as good as a little fortune
to her whenever this family crossed."
At dawn all were astir, and by sunrise the passenger?
came on board. Boisterous was the welcome given by
the stewardess to the " Watsons," and great was the
bustle made in their honour. They were four in
number, two males and two females. Besides them,
there was but one other passenger a young lady,
whom a gentlemanly, though languid-looking man
escorted. The two groups offered a marked contrast.
The Watsons were doubtless rich people, for they had
the confidence of conscious wealth in their bearing ; the
women youthful both of them, and one perfectly
handsome, as far as physical beauty went were dressed
richly, gaily, and absurdly out of character for the cir-
cumstances. Their bonnets with bright flowers, their
velvet cloaks and silk dresses, seemed better suited for
park or promenade than for a damp packet-deck. The
men were of low stature, plain, fat, and vulgar ; the
oldest, plainest, greasiest, broadest, I soon found was
the husband the bridegroom I suppose, for she was
very young of the beautiful girl. Deep was my
amazement at this discovery ; and deeper still when I
perceived that, instead of being desperately wretched in
such a union, she was gay even to giddiness. " Her
laughter," I reflected, "must be the mere frenzy of
despair." And even while this thought was crossing
my mind, as I stood leaning quiet and solitary against
the ship's side, she came tripping up to me, an uttei
LONDON 6 i
stranger, with a camp stool in her hand, and smiling a
smile of which the levity puzzled and startled me,
though it showed a perfect set of perfect teeth, she
offered me the accommodation of this piece of furniture.
I declined it, of course, with all the courtesy I could
put into my manner ; she danced off heedless and light-
some. She must have been good-natured ; but what
had made her marry that individual, who was at least
as much like an oil-barrel as a man ?
The other lady-passenger, with the gentleman-com-
panion, was quite a girl, pretty and fair : her simple
print dress, untrimmed straw-bonnet, and large shawl,
gracefully worn, formed a costume plain to quakerism :
yet, for her, becoming enough. Before the gentleman
quitted her, I observed him throwing a glance of scrutiny
over all the passengers, as if to ascertain in what com-
pany his charge would be left. With a most dissatisfied
air did his eye turn from the ladies with the gay flowers ;
he looked at me, and then he spoke to his daughter,
niece, or whatever she was : she also glanced in my
direction, and slightly curled her short, pretty lip. It
might be myself, or it might be my homely mourning
habit, that elicited this mark of contempt ; more likely,
both. A bell rang ; her father (I afterwards knew
that it was her father) kissed her, and returned to land.
The packet sailed.
Foreigners say that it is only English girls who can
thus be trusted to travel alone, and deep is their wonder
at the daring confidence of English parents and guardians.
As for the "jeunes Miss," by some their intrepidity is
pronounced masculine and " inconvenant," others re-
gard them as the passive victims of an educational and
theological system which wantonly dispenses with proper
" surveillance." Whether this particular young lady
was of the sort that can the most safely be left un-
watched, I do not know : or rather did not then know
62 VILLETTE
but it soon appeared that the dignity of solitude was not
to her taste. She paced the deck once or twice back-
wards and forwards ; she looked with a little sour air
of disdain at the flaunting silks and velvets, and the
bears which thereon danced attendance, and eventually
she approached me and spoke.
"Are you fond of a sea-voyage?" was her question.
I explained that my fondness for a sea-voyage had
yet to undergo the test of experience ; I had never
made one.
" Oh, how charming ! " cried she. " I quite envy
you the novelty : first impressions, you know, are so
pleasant. Now I have made so many, I quite forget
the first : I am quite blasee about the sea and all that."
I could not help smiling.
" Why do you laugh at me ? " she inquired, with a
frank testiness that pleased me better than her other
talk.
" Because you are so young to be blasee about
anything."
"I am seventeen" (a little piqued).
" You hardly look sixteen. Do you like travelling
alone ? "
" Bah ! I care nothing about it. I have crossed the
Channel ten times, alone ; but then I take care never
to be long alone : I always make friends."
" You will scarcely make many friends this voyage,
I think " (glancing at the Watson group, who were
now laughing and making a great deal of noise on deck).
" Not of those odious men and women," said she :
" such people should be steerage passengers. Are you
going to school ? "
" No."
" Where are you going ? "
"I have not the least idea beyond, at least, the
Port of Boue-Marine."
LONDON 63
She stared, then carelessly ran on
** I am going to school. Oh, the number of foreign
schools I have been at in my life ! And yet I am
quite an ignoramus. I know nothing nothing in the
world I assure you ; except that I play and dance
beautifully, and French and German of course I
know, to speak ; but I can't read or write them very
well. Do you know they wanted me to translate a
page of an easy German book into English the other
day, and I couldn't do it. Papa was so mortified : he
says it looks as if M. de Bassompierre my godpapa,
who pays all my school-bills had thrown away all his
money. And then, in matters of information in
history, geography, arithmetic, and so on, I am quite a
baby ; and I write English so badly such spelling and
grammar, they tell me. Into the bargain I have quite
forgotten my religion : they call me a Protestant, you
know, but really I am not sure whether I am one or
not : I don't well know the difference between
Romanism and Protestantism. However, I don't in
the least care for that. I was a Lutheran once at
Bonn dear Bonn ! charming Bonn ! where there
were so many handsome students. Every nice girl in
our school had an admirer ; they knew our hours for
walking out, and almost always passed us on the pro-
menade : ' Schones Madchen,' we used to hear them
say. I was excessively happy at Bonn ! "
** And where are you going now ? " I inquired.
" Oh ! at chose" said she.
Now, Miss Ginevra Fanshawe (such was this young
person's name) only substituted this word "chose" in
temporary oblivion of the real name. It was a habit
she had : " chose " came in at every turn in her con-
versation the convenient substitute for any missing
word in any language she might chance at the time to-
be speaking. French girls often do the like; from
6 4 VILLETTE
them she had caught the custom. " Chose" however,
I found in this instance, stood for Villette the great
capital of the great kingdom of Labassecour.
" Do you like Villette ? " I asked.
" Pretty well. The natives, you know, are intensely
stupid and vulgar; but there are some nice English
families."
" Are you in a school ? "
Yes."
" A good one ? "
"Oh no ! horrid : but I go out every Sunday, and
care nothing about the mattresses or the frofesseurs, or
the e/eves, and send lessons au diable (one daren't say that
in English, you know, but it sounds quite right in
French) ; and thus I get on charmingly. . . .
You are laughing at me again ? "
No I am only smiling at my own thoughts."
" What are they ? " (without waiting for an answer)
" Now, do tell me where you are going."
" Where Fate may lead me. My business is to earn
a living where I can find it."
" To earn ! " (in consternation) " are you poor,
then ? "
*' As poor as Job."
(After a pause) " Bah ! how unpleasant ! But 1
know what it is to be poor : they are poor enough at
home papa and mamma, and, all of them. Papa is
called Captain Fanshawe ; he is an officer on half-pay,
but well-descended, and some of our connections are
great enough ; but my uncle and godpapa De Bassom-
pierre, who lives in France, is the only one that helps
us : he educates us girls. I have five sisters and three
brothers. By-and-by we are to marry rather elderly
gentlemen, I suppose, with cash : papa and mamma
manage that. My sister Augusta is married now to a
-man much older-looking than papa. Augusta is very
LONDON 65
beautiful not in my style but dark ; her husband,
Mr Davies, had the yellow fever in India, and he is
still the colour of a guinea ; but then he is rich, and
Augusta has her carriage and establishment, and we all
think she has done perfectly well. Now, this is better
than * earning a living,' as you say. By the way, are
you clever ? "
No not at all."
" You can play, sing, speak three or four languages ?"
" By no means." .
" Still I think you are clever " (a pause and a yawn).
" Shall you be sea-sick ? "
" Shall you ? "
" Oh, immensely ! as soon as ever we get in sight of
die sea : I begin, indeed, to feel it already. I shall go
below ; and won't I order about that fat odious
stewardess. Heureusement je sais faire aller mon
monde." Down she went.
It was not long before the other passengers followed
her : throughout the afternoon I remained on deck
alone. When I recall the tranquil, and even happy
mood in which I passed those hours, and remember, at
the same time, the position in which I was placed . its
hazardous some would have said its hopeless
character ; I feel that, as
" Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage."
so peril, loneliness, an uncertain future, are not oppres-
sive evils, so long as the frame is healthy and the
faculities are employed ; so long, especially, as Liberty
lends us her wings, and Hope guides us by her star.
I was not sick till long after we passed Margate, and
deep was the pleasure I drank in with the sea breeze ;
divine the delight I drew from the heaving Channel
waves, from the sea-birds on their ridges, from the
C
66 VILLETTE
white sails on their dark distance, from the quiet yet
beclouded sky, overhanging all. In my reverie, me-
thought I saw the continent of Europe, like a wide
dreamland, far away. Sunshine lay on it, making the
long coast one line of gold ; tiniest tracery of clustered
town and snow-gleaming tower, of woods deep massed,
of heights serrated, of smooth pasturage and veiny
stream, embossed the metal-bright prospect. For
background, spread a sky, solemn and dark blue, and
grand with imperial promise, soft with tints of enchant-
ment strode from north to south a God-bent bow, an
arch of hope.
Cancel the whole of that, if you please, reader or
rather let it stand, and draw thence a moral an
alliterative, text-hand copy
"Day-dreams are delusions of the demon."
Becoming excessively sick, I faltered down into the
cabin.
Miss Fanshawe's berth chanced to be next mine ;
and, I am sorry to say, she tormented me with an un-
sparing selfishness during the whole time of our mutual
distress. Nothing could exceed her impatience and
fretfulness. The Watsons, who were very sick too,
and on whom the stewardess attended with shameless
partiality, were stoics compared with her. Many a
time since have I noticed, in persons of Ginevra
Fanshawe's light, careless temperament, and fair, fragile
style of beauty, an entire incapacity to endure : they
seem to sour in adversity, like small beer in thunder.
The man who takes such a woman for his wife, ought
to be prepared to guarantee her an existence all sunshine.
Indignant at last with her teasing peevishness, I curtly
requested her " to hold her tongue." The rebuff did her
good, and it was observable that she liked me no worse
for it.
LONDON 67
As dark night drew on, the sea roughened : larger
waves swayed strong against the vessel's side. It was
strange to reflect that blackness and water were round
us, and to feel the ship ploughing straight on her path-
less way, despite noise, billow, and rising gale. Articles
of furniture began to fall about, and it became needful
to lash them to their places ; the passengers grew sicker
than ever ; Miss Fanshawe declared, with groans, that
ehe must die.
" Not just yet, honey," said the stewardess. " We're
just in port.'* Accordingly, in another quarter of an
hour, a calm fell upon us all ; and about midnight the
voyage ended.
I was sorry : yes, I was sorry. My resting-time was
past ; my difficulties my stringent difficulties recom-
menced. When I went on deck, the cold air and
black scowl of the night seemed to rebuke me for my
presumption in being where I was : the lights of the
foreign seaport town, glimmering round the foreign
harbour, met me like unnumbered threatening eyes.
Friends came on board to welcome the Watsons ; a
whole family of friends surrounded and bore away Miss
Fanshawe ; I but I dared not for one moment dwell
on a comparison of positions.
Yet where should I go ? I must go somewhere.
Necessity dare not be nice. As I gave the stewardess
her fee and she seemed surprised at receiving a coin
of more value than, from such a quarter, her coarse
calculations had probably reckoned on I said,
" Be kind enough to direct me to some quiet, re-
spectable inn, where I can go for the night."
She not only gave me the required direction, but
called a commissionaire, and bid him take charge of me,
and not my trunk, for that was gone to the custom-
house.
I followed this man along a rudely-paved street, lit
68 VILLETTE
now by a fitful gleam of moonlight ; he brought me to
the inn. I offered him sixpence, which he refused
to take ; supposing it not enough, I changed it for a
shilling ; but this also he declined, speaking rather
sharply, in a language to me unknown. A waiter,
coming forward into the lamp-lit inn-passage, reminded
me, in broken English, that my money was foreign
money, not current here. I gave him a sovereign to
change. This little matter settled, 1 asked for a bed-
room ; supper I could not take : I was still sea-sick
and unnerved, and trembling all over. How deeply
glad I was when the door of a very small chamber at
length closed on me and my exhaustion. Again I
might rest : though the cloud of doubt would be as
thick to-morrow as ever ; the necessity for exertion
more urgent, the peril (of destitution ) nearer, the con-
flict (for existence) more severe.
Chapter bij.
VILLETTE.
I AWOKE next morning with courage revived
and spirits refreshed : physical debility no longer
enervated my judgment ; my mind felt prompt and
clear.
Just as I finished dressing, a tap came to the door ; I
said, " Come in," expecting the chambermaid, whereas
a rough man walked in and said
" Gif me your keys, Meess."
" Why ? " I asked.
" Gif ! " said he impatiently ; and as he half-
snatched them from my hand, he added, " All right !
haf your tronc soon."
Fortunately it did turn put all right : he was from
VILLETTE 69
the custom-house. Where to go to get some breakfast
I could not tell ; but I proceeded, not without hesita-
tion, to descend.
I now observed, what I had not noticed in my
extreme weariness last night, viz., that this inn was, in
fact, a large hotel ; and as I slowly descended the broad
staircase, halting on each step (for I was in wonder-
fully little haste to get down), I gazed at the high
ceiling above me, at the painted walls around, at the
wide windows which filled the house with light, at the
veined marble I trod (for the steps were all of marble,
though uncarpeted and not very clean), and contrasting
all this with the dimensions of the closet assigned to
me as a chamber, with the extreme modesty of its
appointments, I fell into a philosophising mood.
Much I marvelled at the sagacity evinced by waiters
and chambermaids in proportioning the accommodation
to the guest. How could inn-servants and ship-
stewardesses everywhere tell at a glance that I, for
instance, was an individual of no social significance and
little burdened by cash ? They did know it evidently :
I saw quite well that they all, in a moment's calcula-
tion, estimated me at about the same fractional value.
The fact seemed to me curious and pregnant : I would
not disguise from myself what it indicated, yet managed
to keep up my spirits pretty well under its pressure.
Having at last landed in a great hall, full of skylight
glare, I made my way somehow to what proved to be
the coffee-room. It cannot be denied that on entering
this room I trembled somewhat ; felt uncertain, solitary,
wretched ; wished to Heaven I knew whether 1 was
doing right or wrong ; felt convinced that it was the
last, but could not help myself. Acting in the spirit
and with the calm of a fatalist, I sat down at a small
table, to which a waiter presently brought me some
breakfast ; and I partook of that meal in a frame of
7 o VILLETTE
mind not greatly calculated to favour digestion. There
were many other people breakfasting at other tables in
the room ; I should have felt rather more happy if
amongst them all I could have seen any women ; how-
ever, there was not one all present were men. But
nobody seemed to think I was doing anything strange ;
one or two gentlemen glanced at me occasionally, but
none stared obtrusively : I suppose if there was anything
eccentric in the business, they accounted for it by this
word " Anglaise ! "
Breakfast over, I must again move in what direc-
tion f " Go to Villette," said an inward voice ;
prompted doubtless by the recollection of this slight
sentence uttered carelessly and at random by Miss
Fanshawe, as she bid me good-bye
" I wish you would come to Madame Beck's ; she
has some marmots whom you might look after: she
wants an English gouvernante, or was wanting one two
months ago."
Who Madame Beck was, where she lived, I knew
not ; I had asked, but the question passed unheard :
Miss Fanshawe, hurried away by her friends, left it un-
answered. I presumed Villette to be her residence to
Villette I would go. The distance was forty miles.
I knew I was catching at straws ; but in the wide and
weltering deep where I found myself, I would have
caught at cobwebs. Having inquired about the means
of travelling to Villette, and secured a seat in the dili-
gence, I departed on the strength of this outline this
shadow of a project. Before you pronounce on the
rashness of the proceeding, reader, look back to the
point whence I started ; consider the desert I had left,
note how little I perilled : mine was the game where
the player cannot lose and may win.
Of an artistic temperament, I deny that I am ; yet I
must possess something of the artist's faculty of making
VILLETTE 71
the most of present pleasure : that is to say, when it is
of the kind to my taste. I enjoyed that day, though
we travelled slowly, though it was cold, though it
rained. Somewhat bare, flat, and treeless was the route
along which our journey lay ; and slimy canals crept,
like half-torpid green snakes, beside the road ; and
formal pollard willows edged level fields, tilled like
kitchen-garden beds. The sky, too, was monotonously
grey ; the atmosphere was stagnant and humid ; yet
amidst all these deadening influences, my fancy budded
fresh and my heart basked in sunshine. These feelings,
however, were well kept in check by the secret but
ceaseless consciousness of anxiety lying in wait on
enjoyment, b'ke a tiger crouched in a jungle. The
breathing of that beast of prey was in my ear always ;
his fierce heart panted close against mine ; he never
stirred in his lair but I felt him : I knew he waited
only for sun-down to bound ravenous from his ambush.
I had hoped we might reach Villette ere night set in,
and that thus I might escape the deeper embarrassment
which obscurity seems to throw round a first arrival at
an unknown bourne ; but, what with our slow progress
and long toppages what with a thick fog and small,
dense rein darkness, that might almost be felt,
had settled on the city by the time we gained its
suburbs.
I know we passed through a gate where soldiers
were stationed so much I could see by lamplight ;
then, having left behind us the miry Chaussee, we
rattled over a pavement of strangely rough and flinty
surface. At a bureau, the diligence stopped, and
the passengers alighted. My first business was to
get my trunk : a small matter enough, but important
to me. Understanding that it was best not to be im-
portunate or over-eager about luggage, but to wait and
watch quietly the delivery of other boxes till I saw my
7 2 VILLETTE
own, and then promptly claim and secure it, I stood
apart ; my eye fixed on that part of the vehicle in which
I had seen my little portmanteau safely stowed, and
upon which piles of additional bags and boxes were now
heaped. One by one, I saw these removed, lowered,
and seized on. I was sure mine ought to be by this
time visible : it was not. I had tied on the direction-
card with a piece of green ribbon, that I might know it
at a glance : not a fringe or fragment of green was per-
ceptible. Every package was removed ; every tin-case
and brown paper parcel : the oil-cloth cover was lifted ;
I saw with distinct vision that not an umbrella, cloak,
cane, hat-box or band-box remained.
And my portmanteau, with my few clothes and little
pocket-book enclasping the remnant of my fifteen pounds,
where were they ?
I ask this question now, but I could not ask it then.
I could say nothing whatever ; not possessing a phrase
of speaking French : and it was French, and French
only, the whole world seemed now gabbling around me.
What should I do ? Approaching the conductor, I
just laid my hand on his arm, pointed to a trunk, thence
to the diligence-roof, and tried to express a question
with my eyes. He misunderstood me, seized the trunk
indicated, and was about to hoist it on the vehicle.
" Let that alone will you ? " said a voice in good
English ; then, in correction, " Qu' est ce que vous
fakes done ? Cette malle est a moi."
But I had heard the Fatherland accents; they
rejoiced my heart ; I turned.
" Sir," said I, appealing to the stranger, without in
my distress noticing what he was like, "I cannot speak
French. May I entreat you to ask this man what he
has done with my trunk ? "
Without discriminating, for the moment, what sort of
face it was to which my eyes were raised and on which
VILLETTE 73
they were fixed, I felt in its expression half-surprise
at my appeal and half-doubt of the wisdom of inter-
ference.
" Do ask him ; I would do as much for you,"
said I.
I don't know whether he smiled, but he said in a
gentlemanly tone ; that is to say, a tone not hard nor
terrifying
" What sort of trunk was yours ? "
I described it, including in my description the green
ribbon. And forthwith he took the conductor under
hand, and I felt through all the storm of French which
followed, that he raked him fore and aft. Presently he
returned to me.
" The fellow avers he was overloaded, and confesses
that he removed your trunk after you saw it put on, and
has left it behind at Boue- Marine with other parcels ; he
has promised, however, to forward it to-morrow ; the
day after, therefore, you will find it safe at this
bureau."
" Thank you," said I : but my heart sank.
Meantime what should I do ? Perhaps this English
gentleman saw the failure of courage in my face ; he
inquired kindly
** Have you any friends in this city ? "
" No, and I don't know where to go."
There was a little pause, in the course of which, as
he turned more fully to the light of a lamp above him,
I saw that he was a young, distinguished, and handsome
man ; he might be a lord, for anything I knew : nature
had made him good enough for a prince, I thought.
His face was very pleasant ; he looked high but not
arrogant, manly but not overbearing. I was turning
away, in the deep consciousness of all absence of claim
to look for further help from such a one as he.
" Was all your money in your trunk ? " he asked,
stopping me.
C2
74 VILLETTE
How thankful was I to be able to answer with
truth
" No. I have enough in my purse " (for I had near
twenty francs) " to keep me at a quiet inn till the day
after to-morrow ; but I am quite a stranger in Villette,
and don't know the streets and the inns."
" I can give you the address of such an inn as you
want," said he ; " and it is not far off: with my
direction you will easily find it."
He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, wrote a few
words, and gave it to me. I did think him kind ; and
as to distrusting him, or his advice, or his address, I
should almost as soon have thought of distrusting the
Bible. There was goodness in his countenance, and
honour in his bright eyes.
" Your shortest way will be to follow the Boulevard
and cross the park," he continued ; " but it is too late
and too dark for a woman to go through the park
alone ; I will step with you thus far."
He moved on, and I followed him, through the
darkness and the small soaking rain. The Boulevard
was all deserted, its path miry, the water dripping from
its trees ; the park was black as midnight. In the
double gloom of trees and fog, I could not see my
guide ; I could only follow his tread. Not the least
fear had I : I believe I would have followed that
frank tread, through continual night, to the world's end.
" Now," said he, when the park was traversed,
" you will go along this broad street till you come to
steps ; two lamps will show you where they are : these
steps you will descend : a narrower street lies below ;
following that, at the bottom you will find your inn.
They speak English there, so your difficulties are now
pretty well over. Good-night."
" Good-night, sir," said I : " accept my sincerest
thanks." And we parted.
VILLETTE 75
The remembrance of his countenance, which I am
sure wore a light not unbenignant to the friendless the
sound in my ear of his voice, which spoke a nature
chivalric to the needy and feeble, as well as the youthful
and fair were a sort of cordial to me long after. He
was a true young English gentleman.
On I went, hurrying fast through a magnificent
street and square, with the grandest houses round, and
amidst them the huge outline of more than one over-
bearing pile ; which might be palace or church I
could not tell. Just as I passed a portico, two mous-
tachioed men came suddenly from behind the pillars ;
they were smoking cigars, their dress implied pretensions
to the rank of gentlemen, but, poor things ! they were very
plebeian in soul. They spoke with insolence, and, fast
as I walked, they kept pace with me a long way. At
last I met a sort of patrol, and my dreaded hunters were
turned from the pursuit ; but they had driven me beyond
my reckoning : when I could collect my faculties, I no
longer knew where I was ; the staircase I must long
since have passed. Puzzled, out of breath, all my
pulses throbbing in inevitable agitation, I knew not
where to turn. It was terrible to think of again en-
countering those bearded, sneering simpletons ; yet the
ground must be retraced, and the steps sought out.
I came at last to an old and worn flight, and, taking
it for granted that this must be the one indicated, I
descended them. The street into which they led was
indeed narrow, but it contained no inn. On I wandered.
In a very quiet and comparatively clean and well-paved
street, I saw a light burning over the door of a rather
large house, loftier by a storey than those round it.
This might be the inn at last. I hastened on : my
knees now trembled under me : I was getting quite
exhausted.
No inn was this. A brass-plate embellished the
7 6 VILLETTE
great porte-cochere : " Pensionnat de Demoiselles " was
the inscription ; and beneath, a name, " Madame Beck."
I started. About a hundred thoughts volleyed
through my mind in a moment. Yet I planned nothing,
and considered nothing : I had not time. Providence
said, " Stop here ; this is your inn." Fate took me in
her strong hand ; mastered my will : directed my
actions : I rang the door-bell.
While I waited, I would not reflect. I fixedly
looked at the street-stones, where the door-lamp shone,
and counted them and noted their shapes, and the glitter
of wet on their angles. I rang again. They opened at
last. A bonne in a smart cap stood before me.
" May I see Madame Beck ? " I inquired.
I believe if I had spoken French she would not have
admitted me : but, as I spoke English, she concluded
I was a foreign teacher come on business connected
with the pensionnat, and, even at that late hour, she let
me in, without a word of reluctance or a moment of
hesitation.
The next moment I sat in a cold, glittering salon,
with porcelain stove unlit, and gilded ornaments, and
polished floor. A pendule on the mantelpiece struck
nine o'clock.
A quarter of an hour passed. How fast beat every
pulse in my frame ! How I turned cold and hot by
turns ! I sat with my eyes fixed on the door a great
white folding-door, with gilt mouldings : I watched to
see a leaf move and open. All had been quiet : not a
mouse had stirred ; the white doors were closed and
motionless. .
" You ayre Engliss ? " said a voice at my elbow. I
almost bounded, so unexpected was the sound ; so
certain had I been of solitude.
No ghost stood beside me, nor anything of spectral
aapect ; merely a motherly, dumpy little woman, in a
VILJLETTE 77
large shawl, a wrapping-gown, and a clean, trim night-
cap.
I said I was English, and immediately, without
further prelude, we fell to a most remarkable conversa-
tion. Madame Beck (for Madame Beck it was she
had entered by a little door behind me, and, being shod
with the shoes of silence, I had heard neither her
entrance nor approach) Madame Beck had exhausted
her command of insular speech when she said " You
ayre Engliss," and she now proceeded to work away
volubly in her own tongue. I answered in mine. She
partly understood me, but as I did not at all understand
her though we made together an awful clamour (any-
thing like Madame's gift of utterance I had not hitherto
heard or imagined) we achieved little progress. She
rang, ere long, for aid ; which arrived in the shape of a
" makresse," who had been partly educated in an Irish
convent, and was esteemed a perfect adept in the English
language. A bluff little personage this maitresse was
Labassecourienne from top to toe : and how she did
slaughter the speech of Albion ! However, I told her
a plain tale, which she translated. I told her how I
had left my own country, intent on extending my
knowledge, and gaining my bread ; how I was ready to
turn my hand to any useful thing, provided it was not
wrong or degrading ; how I would be a child's-nurse,
or a lady's-maid, and would not refuse even house-
work adapted to my strength. Madame heard this ;
and, questioning her countenance, I almost thought the
tale won her ear.
" II n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entre-
prises," said she : " sont-elles done intrepides ces
femmes la ! "
She asked my name, my age ; she sat and looked at
me not pityingly, not with interest : never a gleam
of sympathy, or a shade of compassion, crossed her
7 8 VILLETTE
countenance during the interview. I felt she was not
one to be led an inch by her feelings: grave and
considerate, she gazed, consulting her judgment and
studying my narrative. A bell rang.
" Voila pour la prire du soir ! " said she, and rose.
Through her interpreter, she desired me to depart now,
and come back on the morrow ; but this did not suit
me : I could not bear to return to the perils of darkness
and the street. With energy, yet with a collected and
controlled manner, I said, addressing herself personally,
and not the maitresse
" Be assured, madame, that by instantly securing my
services, your interests will be served and not injured :
you will find me one who will wish to give, in her
labour, a full equivalent for her wages ; and if you hire
me, it will be better that I should stay here this night :
having no acquaintance in Villette, and not possessing
the language of the country, how can I secure a
lodging i "
" It is true," said she ; " but at least you can give a
reference ? "
None."
She inquired after my luggage : I told her when it
would arrive. She mused. At that moment a man's
step was heard in the vestibule, hastily proceeding to the
outer door. (I shall go on with this part of my tale as
if I had understood all that passed ; for though it was
then scarce intelligible to me, I heard it translated
afterwards. )
" Who goes out now ? " demanded Madame Beck,
listening to the tread.
" M. Paul," replied the teacher. " He came this
evening to give a reading to the first class."
" The very man I should at this moment most wish
to see. Call him."
The teacher ran to the salon door. M. Paul was
VILLETTE 79
summoned. He entered: a small, dark, and spare
man, in spectacles.
" Mon cousin," began Madame, " I want your opinion.
We know your skill in physiognomy ; use it now. Read
that countenance."
The little man fixed on me his spectacles. A re-
solute compression of the lips, and gathering of the
brow, seemed to say that he meant to see through me,
and that a veil would be no veil for him.
" I read it," he pronounced.
" Et qu'en dites vous ? "
" Mais bien des choses," was the oracular answer.
" Bad or good ? "
"Of each kind, without doubt," pursued the
diviner.
" May one trust her word ? "
" Are you negotiating a matter of importance ? "
" She wishes me to engage her as bonne or gouver-
nante ; tells a tale full of integrity, but gives no
reference."
" She is a stranger ? "
" An Englishwoman, as one may see."
" She speaks French ? "
" Not a word."
" She understands it ? "
" No."
" One may then speak plainly in her presence ? "
" Doubtless."
He gazed steadily. " Do you need her services ? "
" I could do with them. You know I am disgusted
with Madame Svini."
Still he scrutinised. The judgment, when it at last
came, was as indefinite as what had gone before it.
" Engage her. If good predominates in that nature,
the action will bring its own reward ; if evil eh bien !
ma cousine, ce sera toujours une bonne osuvre." And
8o VILLETTE
with a bow and a " bon soir," this vague arbiter of my
destiny vanished.
And Madame did engage me that very night by
God's blessing I was spared the necessity of passing
forth again into the lonesome, dreary, hostile street.
Chapter biij,
MADAME BECK.
BEING delivered into the charge of the mattresse,
I was led through a long narrow passage into a
foreign kitchen, very clean but very strange. It
seemed to contain no means of cooking neither fire-
place nor oven ; I did not understand that the great
black furnace which filled one corner, was an efficient
substitute for these. Surely pride was not already
beginning its whispers in my heart ; yet I felt a
sense of relief when, instead of being left in the kitchen,
as I half anticipated, I was led forward to a small inner
room termed a " cabinet." A cook in a jacket, a short
petticoat and sabots, brought my supper : to wit some
meat, nature unknown, served in an odd and acid, but
pleasant sauce ; some chopped potatoes, made savoury
with I know not what vinegar and sugar, I think : a
tartine, or slice of bread and butter, and a baked pear.
Being hungry, I ate and was grateful.
After the " Prire du Soir," Madame herself came
to have another look at me. She desired me to follow
her upstairs. Through a series of the queerest little
dormitories which, I heard afterwards, had once been
nuns' cells : for the premises were in part of ancient
date and through the oratory a long, low, gloomy
room, where a crucifix hung, pale, against the wall, and
two tapers kept dim vigils she conducted me to an
MADAME BECK 81
apartment where three children were asleep in three
tiny beds. A heated stove made the air of this room
oppressive ; and, to mend matters, it was scented with
an odour rather strong than delicate : a perfume,
indeed, altogether surprising and unexpected under the
circumstances, being like the combination of smoke with
some spirituous essence a smell, in short, of whiskey.
Beside a table, on which dared the remnant of a
candle guttering to waste in the socket, a coarse woman,
heterogeneously clad in a broad striped showy silk
dress, and a stuff apron, sat in a chair fast asleep. To
complete the picture, and leave no doubt as to the state
of matters, a bottle and an empty glass stood at the
sleeping beauty's elbow.
Madame contemplated this remarkakle tableau with
great calm ; she neither smiled nor scowled ; no impress
of anger, disgust, or surprise, ruffled the equality of her
grave aspect ; she did not even wake the woman. Serenely
pointing to a fourth bed, she intimated that it was to be
mine ; then, having extinguished the candle and substi-
tuted for it a night-lamp, she glided through an inner
door, which she left ajar the entrance to her own
chamber, a large, well-furnished apartment ; as was dis-
cernible through the aperture.
My devotions that night were all thanksgiving.
Strangely had I been led since morning unexpectedly
had I been provided for. Scarcely could I believe that
not forty-eight hours had elapsed since I left London,
under no other guardianship than that which protects
the passenger-bird with no prospect but the dubious
cloud-tracery of hope.
I was a light sleeper ; in the dead of night I
suddenly awoke. All was hushed, but a white figure
stood in the room Madame in her night-dress.
Moving without perceptible sound, she visited the three
children in the three beds ; she approached me : I
82 VILLETTE
feigned sleep, and she studied me long. A small pan-
tomime ensued, curious enough. I dare say she sat a
quarter of an hour on the edge of my bed, gazing at my
face. She then drew nearer, bent close over me ;
slightly raised my cap, and turned back the border so as
to expose my hair ; she looked at my hand lying on the
bedclothes. This done, she turned to the chair where
my clothes lay : it was at the foot of the bed. Hear-
ing her touch and lift them, I opened my eyes with
precaution, for I own I felt curious to see how far her
taste for research would lead her. It led her a good
way : every article did she inspect. I divined her
motive for this proceeding, viz., the wish to form
from the garments a judgment respecting the wearer,
her station, means, neatness, &c. The end was not
bad, but the means were hardly fair or justifiable.
In my dress was a pocket ; she fairly turned it inside
out : she counted the money in my purse ; she opened a
little memorandum-book, coolly perused its contents,
and took from between the leaves a small plaited lock
of Miss Marchmont's grey hair. To a bunch of three
keys, being those of my trunk, desk, and workbox, she
accorded special attention : with these, indeed, she with-
drew a moment to her own room. I softly rose in my
bed and followed her with my eye : these keys, reader,
were not brought back till they had left on the toilet
of the adjoining room the impress of their wards in
wax. All being thus done decently and in order, my
property was returned to its place, my clothes were
carefully refolded. Of what nature were the conclu-
sions deduced from this scrutiny ? Were they favour-
able or otherwise ? Vain question. Madame's face of
stone (for of stone in its present night aspect it looked:
it had been human, and, as I said before, motherly, in
the salon) betrayed no response.
Hei duty done I felt that in her eyes this business
MADAME BECK 83
was a duty she rose, noiseless as a shadow : she moved
towards her own chamber ; at the door, she turned,
fixing her eye on the heroine of the bottle, who still
slept and loudly snored. Mrs Svini (I presume this
was Mrs Svini, Anglice or Hibernice, Sweeny) Mrs
Sweeny's doom was in Madame Beck's eye an im-
mutable purpose that eye spoke : Madame's visitations for
shortcomings might be slow, but they were sure. All
this was very un-English : truly I was in a foreign land.
The morrow made me further acquainted with Mrs
Sweeny. It seems she had introduced herself to her
present employer as an English lady in reduced circum-
stances : a native, indeed, of Middlesex, professing to
speak the English tongue with the purest metropolitan
accent. Madame reliant on her own infallible expedi-
ents for finding out the truth in time had a singular
intrepidity in hiring service off-hand (as indeed seemed
abundantly proved in my own case). She received
Mrs Sweeny as nursery-governess to her three children.
I need hardly explain to the reader that this lady was
in effect a native of Ireland ; her station I do not pre-
tend to fix : she boldly declared that she had " had
the bringing-up of the son and daughter of a marquis."
I think, myself, she might possibly have been a hanger-
on, nurse, fosterer, or washerwoman, in some Irish
family : she spoke a smothered tongue, curiously over-
laid with mincing cockney inflections. By some means
or other she had acquired, and now held in possession,
a wardrobe of rather suspicious splendour gowns of
stiff and costly silk, fitting her indifferently, and appar-
ently made for other proportions than those they now
adorned ; caps with real lace borders, and the chief
item in the inventory, the spell by which she struck a
certain awe through the household, quelling the other-
wise scornfully disposed teachers and servants, and, so
long as her broad shoulders wore the folds of that
84 VILLETTE
majestic drapery, even influencing Madame herself a
real Indian shawl " un veritable Cachmire," as
Madame Beck said, with unmixed reverence and amaze.
I feel quite sure that without this " Cachmire " she
would not have kept her footing in the pensionnat for
two days : by virtue of it, and it only, she maintained
the same a month.
But when Mrs Sweeny knew that I was come to fil 1
her shoes, then it was that she declared herself then
did she rise on Madame Beck in her full power then
come down on me with her concentrated weight.
Madame bore this revelation and visitation so well, so
stoically, that I for very shame could not support it
otherwise than with composure. For one little moment
Madame Beck absented herself from the room : ten
minutes after, an agent of the police stood in the midst
of us. Mrs Sweeny and her effects were removed.
Madame' s brow had not been ruffled during the scene
her lips had not dropped one sharply-accented
word.
This brisk little affair of the dismissal was all settled
before breakfast : order to march given, policemen
called, mutineer expelled, " chambre d'enfans " fumi-
gated and cleansed, windows thrown open, and every
trace of the accomplished Mrs Sweeny even to the
fine essence and spiritual fragrance which gave token so
subtle and so fatal of the head and front of her offend-
ing was annihilated from the Rue Fossette : all this,
I say, was done between the moment of Madame Beck's
issuing like Aurora from her chamber, and that in
which she coolly sat down to pour out her first cup of
coffee.
About noon, I was summoned to dress Madame.
(It appeared my place was to be a hybrid between
gouvernante and lady's-maid.) Till noon, she haunted
the house in her wrapping-gown, shawl, and soundless
MADAME BECK 85
Uppers. How would the lady-chief of an English
school approve this custom ?
The dressing of her hair puzzled me ; she had plenty
of it : auburn, unmixed with grey : though she was
forty years old. Seeing my embarrassment, she said,
" You have not been a femme de chambre in your own
country ? " And taking the brush from my hand, and
setting me aside, not ungently or disrespectfully, she
arranged it herself. In performing other offices of the
toilet, she half-directed, half-aided me, without the
least display of temper of impatience. N.B., that was
the first and last time I was required to dress her.
Henceforth, on Rosine, the portress, devolved that
duty.
When attired, Madame Beck appeared a personage
of a figure rather short and stout, yet still graceful in its
own peculiar way ; that is, with the grace resulting
from proportion of parts. Her complexion was fresh
and sanguine, not too rubicund ; her eye, blue and
serene ; her dark silk dress fitted her as a French
sempstress alone can make a dress fit : she looked well,
though a little bourgeoise ; as bourgeoise, indeed, she
was. I know not what of harmony pervaded her whole
person ; and yet her face offered contrast, too : its
features were by no means such as are usually seen
in conjunction with a complexion of such blended fresh-
ness and repose : their outline was stern : her forehead
was high but narrow ; it expressed capacity and some
benevolence, but no expanse ; nor did her peaceful yet
watchful eye ever know the fire which is kindled in the
heart or the softness which flows thence. Her mouth
was hard : it could be a little grim ; her lips were thin.
For sensibility and genius, with all their tenderness and
temerity, I felt somehow that Madame would be the
right sort of Minos in petticoats.
In the long run, I found she was something else in
86 VILLETTE
petticoats too. Her name was Modeste Maria Beck,
nee Kint : it ought to have been Ignacia. She was a
charitable woman, and did a great deal of good. There
never was a mistress whose rule was milder. I was
told that she never once remonstrated with the intoler-
able Mrs Sweeny, despite her tipsiness, disorder, and
general neglect ; yet Mrs Sweeny had to go the
moment her departure became convenient. I was told,
too, that neither masters nor teachers were found fault
with in that establishment ; yet both masters and
teachers were often changed : they vanished and others
filled their places, none could well explain how.
The establishment was both a pensionnat and an
external : the externes or day-pupils exceeded one
hundred in number ; the boarders were about a score.
Madame must have possessed high administrative
powers ; she ruled all these, together with four teachers,
eight masters, six servants, and three children, managing
at the same time to perfection the pupils' parents and
friends ; and that without apparent effort ; without
bustle, fatigue, fever, or any symptom of undue excite-
ment : occupied she always was busy, rarely. It is
true that Madame had her own system for managing and
regulating this mass of machinery ; and a very pretty
system it was : the reader has seen a specimen of it, in
that small affair of turning my pocket inside out, and
reading my private memoranda. " Surveillance,"
" espionage," these were her watchwards.
Still, Madame knew what honesty was, and liked it
that is, when it did not obtrude its clumsy scruples
in the way of her will and interest. She had a respect
for " Angleterre ; " and as to " les Anglaises," she
would have the women of no other country about her
own children, if she could help it.
Often in the evening, after she had been plotting and
counter-plotting, spying and receiving the reports of spies
MADAME BECK 87
all day, she would come up to my room a trace of
real weariness on her brow and she would sit down
and listen while the children said their little prayers to
me in English : the Lord's Prayer, and the hymn be-
ginning " Gentle Jesus," these little Catholics were
permitted to repeat at my knee ; and, when I had put
them to bed, she would talk to me (I soon gained
enough French to be able to understand, and even
answer her) about England and Englishwomen, and
the reasons for what she was pleased to term their
superior intelligence, and more real and reliable probity.
Very good sense she often showed ; very sound opinions
she often broached : she seemed to know that keeping
girls in distrustful restraint, in blind ignorance, and
under a surveillance that left them no moment and no
corner for retirement, was not the best way to make
them grow up honest and modest women ; but she
averred that ruinous consequences would ensue if any
other method were tried with continental children :
they were so accustomed to restraint, that relaxation,
however guarded, would be misunderstood and fatally
presumed on. She was sick, she would declare, of the
means she had to use, but use them she must ; and after
discoursing, often with dignity, and delicacy, to me, she
would move away on her " souliers de silence," and
glide ghost-like through the house, watching and spying
everywhere, peering through every keyhole, listening
behind every door.
After all, Madame's system was not bad let me do
her justice. Nothing could be better than all her
arrangements for the physical well-being of her scholars.
No minds were overtasked ; the lessons were well dis-
tributed and made incomparably easy to the learner ;
there was a liberty of amusement, and a provision for
exercise which kept the girls healthy ; the food was
abundant and good : neither pale nor puny faces were
88 VILLETTE
anywhere to be seen in the Rue Fossette. She never
grudged a holiday ; she allowed plenty of time for
sleeping, dressing, washing, eating ; her method in all
these matters was easy, liberal, salutary, and rational :
many an austere English schoolmistress would do vastly
well to imitate her and I believe many would be glad
to do so, if exacting English parents would let them.
As Madame Beck ruled by espionage, she of course
had her staff of spies : she perfectly knew the quality
of the tools she used, and while she would not scruple
to handle the dirtiest for a dirty occasion flinging this
sort from her like refuse rind, after the orange has been
duly squeezed I have known her fastidious in seeking
pure metal for clean uses ; and when once a bloodless
and rustless instrument was found, she was careful of
the prize, keeping it in silk and cotton-wool. Yet,
woe be to that man or woman who relied on her one
inch beyond the point where it was her interest to be
trustworthy : interest was the master-key of Madame' s
nature the mainspring of her motives the alpha and
omega of her life. I have seen her feelings appealed to,
and I have smiled in half-pity, half-scorn at the
appellants. None ever gained her ear through that
channel, or swayed her purpose by that means. On
the contrary, to attempt to touch her heart was the
surest way to rouse her antipathy, and to make of her a
secret foe. It proved to her that she had no heart to
be touched : it reminded her where she was impotent
and dead. Never was the distinction between charity
and mercy better exemplified than in her. While de-
void of sympathy, she had a sufficiency of rational
benevolence : she would give in the readiest manner to
people she had never seen rather, however, to classes
than to individuals. "Pour les pauvres," she opened
her purse freely against the poor man, as a rule, she
kept it closed. In philanthropic schemes for the benefit
MADAME BECK 89
of society at large she took a cheerful part ; no private
sorrow touched her : no force or mass of suffering con-
centrated in one heart had power to pierce hers. No*
the agony in Gethsemane, not the death on Calvary,
could have wrung from her eyes one tear.
I say again, Madame was a very great and a very
capable woman. That school offered her for her
powers too limited a sphere ; she ought to have swayed
a nation : she should have been the leader of a turbulent
legislative assembly. Nobody could have browbeaten
her, none irritated her nerves, exhausted her patience,
or over-reached her astuteness. In her own single
person, she could have comprised the duties of a
first minister and a superintendent of police. Wise,
firm, faithless ; secret, crafty, passionless ; watchful and
inscrutable ; acute and insensate withal perfectly
decorous what more could be desired ?
The sensible reader will not suppose that I gained all
the knowledge here condensed for his benefit in one
month, or in one half-year. No ! what I saw at first
was the thriving outside of a large and flourishing
educational establishment. Here was a great house, full
of healthy, lively girls, all well-dressed and many of
them handsome, gaining knowledge by a marvellously
easy method, without painful exertion or useless waste
of spirits ; not, perhaps, making very rapid progress in
anything ; taking it easy, but still always employed, and
never oppressed. Here was a corps of teachers and
masters more stringently tasked, as all the real head-
labour was to be done by them, in order to save the
pupils, yet having their duties so arranged that they re-
lieved each other in quick succession whenever the work
was severe : here, in short, was a foreign school ; ot
which the life, movement, and variety made it a com-
plete and most charming contrast to many English
institutions of the same kind.
90 VILLETTE
Behind the house was a large garden, and, in summer,
the pupils almost lived out of doors amongst the rose-
bushes and the fruit-trees. Under the vast and vine-
draped berceau, Madame would take her seat on summer
afternoons, and send for the classes, in turns, to sit
round her and sew and read. Meantime, masters came
and went, delivering short and lively lectures, rather
than lessons, and the pupils made notes of their in-
structions, or did not make them just as inclination
prompted ; secure that, in case of neglect, they could
copy the notes of their companions. Besides the regular
monthly jours de sortie, the Catholic fete-days brought
a succession of holidays all the year round ; and some-
times on a bright summer morning, or soft summer
evening, the boarders were taken out for a long walk
into the country, regaled with gaufres and vtn llanc, or
new milk and pain bis, or pistolets au beurre (rolls) and
coffee. All this seemed very pleasant, and Madame
appeared goodness itself; and the teachers not so bad,
but they might be worse ; and the pupils, perhaps, a
little noisy and rough, but types of health and glee.
Thus did the view appear, seen through the enchant-
ment of distance ; but there came a time when distance
was to melt for me when I was to be called down
from my watch-tower of the nursery, whence I had
hitherto made my observations, and was to be compelled
into closer intercourse with this little world of the Rue
Fossette.
I was one day sitting upstairs, as usual, hearing the
children their English lessons, and at the same time
turning a silk dress for Madame, when she came saun-
tering into the room with that absorbed air and brow of
hard thought she sometimes wore, and which made her
look so little genial. Dropping into a seat opposite
mine, she remained some minutes silent. Desirec, the
eldest girl, was reading to me some little essay of Mrs
MADAME BECK 91
Barbauld's, and I was making her translate currently
from English to French as she proceeded, by way of
ascertaining that she comprehended what she read :
Madame listened.
Presently, without preface or prelude, she said, almost
in the tone of one making an accusation, " Meess, in
England you were a governess."
" No, Madame," said I, smiling, " you are mistaken."
" Is this your first essay at teaching this attempt
with my children ? "
I assured her it was. Again she became silent ; but
looking up, as I took a pin from the cushion, I found
myself an object of study : she held me under her eye ;
she seemed turning me round in her thoughts measur-
ing my fitness for a purpose, weighing my value in a
plan. Madame had, ere this, scrutinised all I had, and
I believe she esteemed herself cognisant of much that I
was ; but from that day, for the space of about a fort-
night, she tried me by new tests. She listened at the
nursery door when I was shut in with the children ;
she followed me at a cautious distance when I walked
out with them, stealing within ear-shot whenever the
trees of park or boulevard afforded a sufficient screen :
a strict preliminary process having thus been observed,
she made a move forward.
One morning, coming on me abruptly, and with the
semblance of hurry, she said she found herself placed in
a little dilemma. Mr Wilson, the English master, had
foiled to come at his hour, she feared he was ill ; the
pupils were waiting in classe ; there was no one to give
a lesson ; should I, for once, object to giving a short
dictation exercise, just that the pupils might not have it
to say they had missed their English lesson ?
" In classe, Madame ? " I asked.
" Yes, in classe : in the second division."
" Where there are sixty pupils," said I ; for I knew
92 VILLETTE
the number, and with my usual base habit of cowardice,
I shrank into my sloth like a snake into a shell, and
alleged incapacity and impracticability as a pretext to
escape action. If left to myself, I should infallibly
have let this chance slip. Inadventurous, unstirred by
impulses of practical ambition, I was capable of sitting
twenty years teaching infants the hornbook, turning silk
dresses and making children's frocks. Not that true
contentment dignified this infatuated resignation : my
work had neither charm for my taste, nor hold on my
interest ; but it seemed to me a great thing to be without
heavy anxiety, and relieved from intimate trial : the
negation of severe suffering was the nearest approach to
happiness I expected to know. Besides, I seemed to
hold two lives the life of thought, and that of reality ;
and, provided the former was nourished with a sufficiency
of the strange necromantic joys of fancy, the privileges
of the latter might remain limited to daily bread, hourly
work, and a roof of shelter.
"Come," said Madame, as I stooped more busily
than ever over the cutting-out of a child's pinafore,
" leave that work."
" But Fifine wants it, Madame."
" Fifine must want it, then, for / want you.*'
And as Madame Beck did really want and was re-
solved to have me as she had long been dissatisfied
with the English master, with his shortcomings in
punctuality, and his careless method of tuition as, too,
the did not lack resolution and practical activity, whether
/ lacked them or not she, without more ado, made
me relinquish thimble and needle ; my hand was taken
into hers, and I was conducted downstairs. When we
reached the carre, a large square hall between the
dwelling-house and the pensionnat, she paused, dropped
my hand, faced, and scrutinised me. I was flushed, and
tremulous from head to foot : tell it not in Gath, I
MADAME BECK 93
belieye I was crying. In fact, the difficulties before me
were far from being wholly imaginary ; some of them
were real enough ; and not the least substantial lay in
my want of mastery over the medium through which I
should be obliged to teach. I had, indeed, studied
French closely since my arrival in Villette ; learning its
practice by day, and its theory in every leisure moment
at night, to as late an hour as the rule of the house
would allow candle-light ; but I was far from yet being
able to trust my powers of correct oral expression.
" Dites done," said Madame, sternly, " vous sentez
vous reellement trop faible ? "
I might have said " Yes," and gone back to nursery
obscurity, and there, perhaps, mouldered for the rest of
my life ; but looking up at Madame, I saw in her
countenance a something that made me think twice ere I
decided. At that instant she did not wear a woman's
aspect, but rather a man's. Power of a particular kind
strongly limned itself in all her traits, and that power
was not my kind of power : neither sympathy, nor con-
geniality, nor submission, were the emotions it awakened.
I stood not soothed, nor won, nor overwhelmed. It
seemed as if a challenge of strength between opposing
gifts was given, and I suddenly felt all the dishonour
of my diffidence, all the pusillanimity of my slackness to
aspire.
" Will you," she said, " go backward or forward ? "
indicating with her hand, first, the small door of com-
munication with the dwelling-house, and then the great
double portals of the classes or schoolrooms.
" En avant," I said.
" But," pursued she, cooling as I warmed, and
continuing the hard look, from very antipathy to
which I drew strength and determination, " can you face
the classes, or are you over-excited ? "
She sneered slightly in saying this : nervous excita-
bility was not much to Madame' s taste
94 VILLETTE
' I am no more excited than this stone," I said,
tapping the flag with my toe : " or than you," I added,
returning her look.
" Bon ! But let me tell you these are not quiet,
decorous, English girls you are going to encounter.
Ce sont des Labassecouriennes, rondes, tranches,
brusques, et tant soit peu rebelles."
I said : " I know ; and I know, too, that though
I have studied French hard since I came here, yet I
still speak it with far too much hesitation too little
accuracy to be able to command their respect : I shall
make blunders that will lay me open to the scorn of the
most ignorant. Still I mean to give the lesson."
"They always throw over timid teachers," said
she.
" I know that too, Madame ; I have heard how they
rebelled against and persecuted Miss Turner " a poor
friendless English teacher, whom Madame had employed,
and lightly discarded ; and to whose piteous history I
was no stranger.
" C'est vrai," said she coolly. " Miss Turner had
no more command over them than a servant from the
kitchen would have had. She was weak and wavering ;
she had neither tact nor intelligence, decision nor
dignity. Mjss Turner would not do for these girls
at all."
I made no reply, but advanced to the closed school-
room door.
" You will not expect aid from me, or from any
one," said Madame. " That would at once set you
down as incompetent for your office."
I opened the door, let her pass with courtesy, and
followed her. There were three schoolrooms, all large.
That dedicated to the second division, where I was to
figure, was considerably the largest, and accommodated
an assemblage more numerous, more turbulent, ana
MADAME BECK 95
infinitely more unmanageable than the other two. In
after days, when I knew the ground better, I used to
think sometimes (if such a comparison may be per-
mitted), that the quiet, polished, tame first division, was
to the robust, riotous, demonstrative second division,
what the English House of Lords is to the House of
Commons.
The first glance informed me that many of the pupils
were more than girls quite young women ; I knew
that some of them were of noble family (as nobility
goes in Labassecour), and I was well convinced that
not one amongst them was ignorant of my position in
Madame's household. As I mounted the estrade (a
low platform, raised a step above the flooring), where
stood the teacher's chair and desk, I beheld opposite to
me a row of eyes and brows that threatened stormy
weather eyes full of an insolent light, and brows hard
and unblushing as marble. The continental " female "
is quite a different being to the insular " female " of the
same age and class : I never saw such eyes and brows
in England. Madame Beck introduced me in one cool
phrase, sailed from the room, and left me alone in my
glory.
I shall never forget that first lesson, nor all the under-
current of life and character it opened up to me. Then
first did I begin rightly to see the wide difference that
lies between the novelist's and poet's ideal " jeune fille,"
and the said " jeune fille " as she really is.
It seems that three titled belles in the first row had
sat down predetermined that a bonne d'enfants should
not give them lessons in English. They knew they
had succeeded in expelling obnoxious teachers before
now ; they knew that Madame would at any time
throw overboard a professeur or maitresse who became
unpopular with the school that she never assisted a
weak official to retain his place that if he had not
9 6 VILLETTE
strength to fight, or tact to win his way, down he went :
looking at " Miss Snowe " they promised themselves
at easy victory.
Mesdemoiselles Blanche, Virginie, and Angelique
opened the campaign by a series of titterings and
whisperings ; these soon swelled into murmurs and
short laughs, which the remoter benches caught up and
echoed more loudly. This growing revolt of sixty
against one soon became oppressive enough ; my com-
mand of French being so limited, and exercised under
such cruel constraint.
Could I have but spoken in my own tongue, I felt
as if I might have gained a hearing ; for, in the first
place, though I knew I looked a poor creature, and in
many respects actually was so, yet nature had given me
a voice that could make itself heard, if lifted in excite-
ment or deepened by emotion. In the second place,
while I had no flow, only a hesitating trickle of
language, in ordinary circumstances, yet under stimulus
such as was now rife through the mutinous mass I
could, in English, have rolled out readily phrases stig-
matising their proceedings as such proceedings deserved
to be stigmatised ; and then with some sarcasm, flavoured
with contemptuous bitterness for the ringleaders, and
relieved with easy banter for the weaker but less knavish
followers, it seemed to me that one might possibly get
command over this wild herd and bring them into train-
ing, at least. All I could now do was to walk up to
Blanche Mademoiselle de Melcy, a young baronne
the eldest, tallest, handsomest, and most vicious stand
before her desk, take from under her hand her exercise-
book, remount the estrade, deliberately read the com-
position, which I found very stupid, and, as deliberately,
and in the face of the whole school, tear the blotted
page in two.
This action availed to draw attention and check noise.
MADAME BECK 97
One girl alone, quite in the background, persevered in
the riot v/ith undiminished energy. I looked at her
attentively. She had a pale face, hair like night,
broad strong eyebrows, decided features, and a dark,
mutinous, sinister eye : I noted that she sat close by a
little door, which door, I was well aware, opened into a
small closet where books were kept. She was standing
up for the purpose of conducting her clamour with freer
energies. I measured her stature and calculated her
strength. She seemed both tall and wiry ; but, so the
conflict were brief and the attack unexpected, I thought
I might manage her.
Advancing up the room, looking as cool and careless
as I possibly could, in short, ayant I' air de rlen ; I
slightly pushed the door and found it was ajar. In an
instant, and with sharpness, I had turned on her. In
another instant she occupied the closet, the door was
shut, and the key in my pocket.
It so happened that this girl, Dolores by name, and
a Catalonian by race, was the sort of character at once
dreaded and hated by all her associates ; the act of
summary justice above noted proved popular: there
was not one present but, in her heart, liked to see it
done. They were stilled for a moment ; then a smile
not a laugh passed from desk to desk : then
when I had gravely and tranquilly returned to the
estrade, courteously requested silence, and commenced
a dictation as if nothing at all had happened the pens
travelled peacefully over the pages, and the remainder
of the lesson passed in order and industry.
"C'est bien," said Madame Beck, when I came
out of class, hot and a little exhausted. " Ca
ira."
She had been listening and peeping through a spy-
hole the whole time.
From that day I ceased to be nursery governess, and
D
9 8 VILLETTE
became English teacher. Madame raised my salary ;
but she got thrice the work out of me she had extracted
from Mr Wilson, at half the expense.
Chapter
MY time was now well and profitably filled up.
What with teaching others and studying
closely myself, I had hardly a spare moment.
It was pleasant. I felt I was getting on ; not lying
the stagnant prey of mould and rust, but polishing my
faculties and whetting them to a keen edge with con-
stant use. Experience of a certain kind lay before me,
on no narrow scale. Villette is a cosmopolitan city,
and in this school were girls of almost every European
nation, and likewise of very varied rank in life.
Equality is much practised in Labassecour ; though not
republican in form, it is nearly so in substance, and at
the desks of Madame Beck's establishment the young
countess and the young bourgeoise sat side by side.
Nor could you always by outward indications decide
which was noble and which plebeian ; except that, in-
deed, the latter had often franker and more courteous
manners, while the former bore away the bell for a
delicately-balanced combination of insolence and deceit.
In the former there was often quick French blood
mixed with the marsh-phlegm : I regret to say that the
effect of this vivacious fluid chiefly appeared in the
oilier glibness with which flattery and fiction ran from
the tongue, and in a manner lighter and livelier, but
quite heartless and insincere.
To do all parties justice, the honest aboriginal
Labassecouriennes had an hypocrisy of their own, too ;.
ISIDORE 99
but it was of a coarse order, such as could deceive few.
Whenever a lie was necessary for their occasions, they
brought it out with a careless ease and breadth alto-
gether untroubled by the rebuke of conscience. Not a
soul in Madame Beck's house, from the scullion to the
directress herself, but was above being ashamed of a lie ;
they thought nothing of it : to invent might not be pre-
cisely a virtue, but it was the most venial of faults.
" J'ai menti plusieurs fois " formed an item of every
girl's and woman's monthly confession ; the priest
heard unshocked, and absolved unreluctant. If they
had missed going to mass, or read a chapter of a novel,
that was another thing : these were crimes whereof
rebuke and penance were the unfailing meed.
While yet but half-conscious of this state of things,
and unlearned in its results, I got on in my new sphere
very well. After the first few difficult lessons, given
amidst peril and on the edge of a moral volcano that
rumbled under my feet and sent sparks and hot fumes
into my eyes, the eruptive spirit seemed to subside, as
far as I was concerned. My mind was a good deal
bent on success : I could not bear the thought of being
baffled by mere undisciplined disaffection and wanton
indocility, in this first attempt to get on in life. Many
hours of the night I used to lie awake, thinking what
plan I had best adopt to get a reliable hold on these
mutineers, to bring this stiff-necked tribe under per-
manent influence. In the first place, I saw plainly that
aid in no shape was to be expected from Madame : her
righteous plan was to maintain an unbroken popularity
with the pupils, at any and every cost of justice or
comfort to the teachers. For a teacher to seek her
alliance in any crisis of insubordination was equivalent to
securing her own expulsion. In intercourse with her
pupils, Madame only took to herself what was pleasant,
amiable, and recommendatory ; rigidly requiring of her
ioo VILLETTE
lieutenants sufficiency for every annoying crisis, where
to act with adequate promptitude was to be unpopular.
Thus, I must look only to myself.
Imprimis it was clear as the day that this swinish
multitude were not to be driven by force. They were
to be humoured, borne with very patiently ; a courteous
though sedate manner impressed them : a very rare flash
of raillery did good. Severe or continuous mental
application they could not, or would not, bear : heavy
demand on the memory, the reason, the attention, they
rejected point-blank. Where an English girl of not
more than average capacity and docility would quietly
take a theme and bind herself to the task of comprehen-
sion and mastery, a Labassecourienne would laugh in
your face, and throw it back to you with the phrase,
" Dieu que c'est difficile ! Je n'en veux pas. Cela
m'ennuie trop."
A teacher who understood her business would take h
back at once, without hesitation, contest, or expostula-
tion proceed with even exaggerated care to smooth
every difficulty, to reduce it to the level of their under-
standings, return it to them thus modified, and lay on
the lash of sarcasm with unsparing hand. They would
feel the sting, perhaps wince a little under it ; but they
bore no malice against this sort of attack, provided the
sneer was not sour, but hearty, and that it held well up
to them, in a clear, light, and bold type, so that she who
ran might read, their incapacity, ignorance, and sloth.
They would riot for three additional lines to a lesson ;
but I never knew them rebel against a wound given to
their self-respect: the little they had of that quality
was trained to be crushed, and it rather liked the
pressure of a firm heel than otherwise.
By degrees, as I acquired fluency and freedom in
their language, and could make such application of its
more nervious idioms as suited their case, the elder and
ISIDORE 101
more intelligent girls began rather to like me in their
way : I noticed that whenever a pupil had been roused
to feel in her soul the stirring of worthy emulation, or
the quickening of honest shame, from that date she was
won. If I could but once make their (usually large)
ears burn under their thick glossy hair, all was compara-
tively well. By-and-by bouquets began to be laid on
my desk in the morning ; by way of acknowledgment
for this little foreign attention, I used sometimes to walk
with a select few during recreation. In the course of
conversation it befell once or twice that I made an un-
premeditated attempt to rectify some of their singularly
distorted notions of principle ; especially I expressed
my ideas of the evil and baseness of a lie. In an un-
guarded moment, I chanced to say that, of the two
errors, I considered falsehood worse than an occasional
lapse in church attendance. The poor girls were tutored
to report in Catholic ears whatever the Protestant
teacher said. An edifying consequence ensued. Some-
thing an unseen, an indefinite, a nameless something
stole between myself and these my best pupils: the
bouquets continued to be offered, but conversation
thenceforth became impracticable. As I paced the
alleys or sat in the berceau, a girl never came to my
right hand but a teacher, as if by magic, appeared
at my left. Also, wonderful to relate, Madame's shoes
of silence brought her continually to my back, as quick,
as noiseless and unexpected, as some wandering
zephyr.
The opinion of my Catholic acquaintance concerning
my spiritual prospects was somewhat naively expressed
to me on one occasion. A pensionnaire, to whom I
had rendered some little service, exclaimed one day as
she sat beside me
" Mademoiselle, what a pity you are a Protestant ! "
Why, Isabelle ? "
102 VILLETTE
" Parceque, quand vous serez morte vous brftlerez
tout de suite dans 1'Enfer."
" Croyez-vouz ? "
" Certainement que j'y crois : tout le monde le salt ;
et d'ailleurs le prgtre me 1'a dit."
Isabelle was an old, blunt little creature. She
added, sotto voce
" Pour assurer votre salut la-haut, on ferait bien de
vous bruler toute vive ici-bas."
I laughed, as, indeed, it was impossible to do
otherwise.
Has the reader forgotten Miss Ginevra Fanshawe ?
If so, I must be allowed to re-introduce that young
lady as a thriving pupil of Madame Beck's ;
for such she was. On her arrival in the Rue
Fossette, two or three days after my sudden settle-
ment there, she encountered me with very little
surprise. She must have had good blood in her
veins, for never was any duchess more perfectly,
radically, unaffectedly nonchalante than she : a weak,
transient amaze was all she knew of the sensation of
wonder. Most of her other faculties seemed to be in
the same flimsy condition : her liking and disliking,
her love and hate, were mere cobweb and gossamer ;
but she had one thing about her that seemed strong and
durable enough, and that was her selfishness.
She was not proud ; and bonne d'enfants as I
was she would forthwith have made of me a sort of
friend and confidant. She teased me with a thousand
vapid complaints about school-quarrels and household
economy : the cookery was not to her taste ; the
people about her, teachers and pupils, she held to be
despicable, because they were foreigners. I bore with
her abuse of the Friday's salt fish and hard eggs with
her invective against the goup, the bread, the coflFe
ISIDORE 103
with some patience for a time ; but at last, wearied by
iteration, I turned crusty, and put her to rights : a thing
I ought to have done in the very beginning, for a
salutary setting down always agreed with her.
Much longer had I to endure her demands on me in
the way of work. Her wardrobe, so far as concerned
articles of external wear, was well and elegantly sup-
plied ; but there were other habiliments not so carefully
provided : what she had, needed frequent repair. She
hated needle-drudgery herself, and she would bring her
hose, &c., to me in heaps, to be mended. A com-
pliance of some weeks threatening to result in the
establishment of an intolerable bore I at last dis-
tinctly told her she must make up her mind to mend her
own garments. She cried on receiving this information,
and accused me of having ceased to be her friend ; but
I held by my decision, and let the hysterics pass as they
could.
Notwithstanding these foibles, and various others
needless to mention but by no means of a refined or
elevating character how pretty she was ! How
charming she looked, when she came down on a sunny
Sunday morning, well-dressed, and well-humoured,
robed in pale lilac silk, and with her fair long curls
reposing on her white shoulders. Sunday was a
holiday which she always passed with friends resident
in town ; and amongst these friends she speedily gave
me to understand was one who would fain become
something more. By glimpses and hints it was shown
me, and by the general buoyancy of her look and
manner it was ere long proved, that ardent admiration
perhaps genuine love was at her command. She
called her suitor " Isidore : " this, however, she inti-
mated was not his real name, but one by which it
pleased her to baptise him his own, she hinted, not
being " very pretty." Once, when she had been
I04 VILLETTE
bragging about the vehemence of " Isidore's " attach-
ment, I asked if she loved him in return.
" Comme cela," said she : " he is handsome, and he
loves me to distraction, so that I am well amused.
Ca suffit."
Finding that she carried the thing on longer than,
from her very fickle tastes, t had anticipated, I one day
took it upon me to make serious inquiries as to whether
the gentleman was such as her parents, and especially
her uncle on whom, it appeared, she was dependent
would be likely to approve. She allowed that this was
very doubtful, as she did not believe " Isidore " had
much money
" Do you encourage him ? " I asked.
" Furieusement, sometimes," said she.
" Without being certain that you will be permitted to
marry him ? "
" Oh, how dowdyish you are ! I don't want to be
married. I am too young."
" But if he loves you as much as you say, and yet it
comes to nothing in the end, he will be made miserable."
"Of course he will break his heart. I should be
shocked and disappointed if he didn't."
" I wonder whether this M. Isidore is a fool ? "
said I.
" He is, about me ; but he is wise in other things,
a ce qu' on dit. Mrs Cholmondeley considers him
extremely clever : she says he will push his way by his
talents ; all I know is, that he does little more than
sigh in my presence, and that I can wind him round
my little finger."
Wishing to get a more definite idea of this love-
stricken M. Isidore, whose position seemed to me of
the least secure, I requested her to favour me with a
personal description ; but she could not describe : she
had neither words nor the power of putting them to-
ISIDORE 105
gether so as to make graphic phrases. She even seemed
not properly to have noticed him: nothing of his looks,
of the changes in his countenance, had touched her
heart or dwelt in her memory that he was " beau,
mais plutdt bel homme que joli garcon," was all she
could assert. My patience would often have failed, and
my interest flagged, in listening to her, but for one
thing. All the hints she dropped, all the details she
gave, went unconsciously to prove, to my thinking, that
M. Isidore's homage was offered with great delicacy
and respect. I informed her very plainly that I believed
him much too good for her, and intimated with equal
plainness my impression that she was but a vain coquette.
She laughed, shook her curls from her eyes, and danced
away as if I had paid her a compliment.
Miss Ginevra's school-studies were little better than
nominal ; there were but three things she practised in
earnest, viz., music, singing, and dancing ; also em-
broidering the fine cambric handkerchiefs which she
could not afford to buy ready worked : such mere trifles
as lessons in history, geography, grammar, and arith-
metic, she left undone, or got others to do for her.
Very much of her time was spent in visiting. Madame,
aware that her stay at school was now limited to i cer-
tain period which would not be extended whether she
made progress or not, allowed her great licence in this
particular. Mrs Cholmondeley her chaperon a gay,
fashionable lady, invited her whenever she had company
at her own house, and sometimes took her to evening
parties at the houses of her acquaintance. Ginevra per-
fectly approved this mode of procedure : it had but one
inconvenience ; she was obliged to be well dressed, and
she had not money to buy variety of dresses. All her
thoughts turned on this difficulty ; her whole soul was
occupied with expedients for effecting its solution. It
was wonderful to witness the activity of her otherwise
D2
I0 6 VILLETTK
indolent mind on this point, and to see the much-daring
intrepidity to which she was spurred by a sense of neces- '
sity, and the wish so shine.
She begged boldly of Mrs Cholmondeley boldly, I
say : not with an air of reluctant shame, but in this
strain
" My darling Mrs C., I have nothing in the world
fit to wear for your party next week ; you mutt give me
a book-muslin dress, and then a ceinture bleu celeste : do
there's an angel ! will you ? "
The " darling Mrs C." yielded at first ; but finding
that applications increased as they were complied with,
she was soon obliged, like all Miss Fanshawe's friends,
to oppose resistance to encroachment. After a while I
heard no more of Mrs Cholmondeley's presents ; but
still, visiting went on, and absolutely necessary dresses
continued to be supplied : also many little expensive
etcetera gloves, bouquets, even trinkets. These things,
contrary to her custom, and even nature for she was not
secretive were most sedulously kept out of sight for a
time ; but one evening, when she was going to a large party
for which particular care and elegance of costume were
demanded, she could not resist coming to my chamber
to show herself in all her splendour.
Beautiful she looked : so young, so fresh, and with a
delicacy of skin and flexibility of shape altogether
English, and not found in the list of continental female
charms. Her dress was new, costly, and perfect. I
saw at a glance that it lacked none of those finishing
details which cost so much, and give to the general
effect such an air of tasteful completeness.
I viewed her from top to toe. She turned airily
round that I might survey her on all sides. Conscious of
her charms, she was in her best humour : her rather
small blue eyes sparkled gleefully. She was going to
bestow on me a kiss, in her school-girl fashion of show-
ISIDORE 107
ing her delight : but I said, " Steady ! Let us be
steady, and know what we are about, and find out the
meaning of our magnificence " and so put her off at
arm's length, to undergo cooler inspection.
" Shall I do ? " was her question.
" Do ? " said I. " There are different ways of
doing ; and, by my word, I don't understand yours."
" But how do I look ? "
" You look well dressed."
She thought the praise not warm enough, and pro-
ceeded to direct attention to the various decorative
points of her attire. " Look at this parure," said she.
" The brooch, the earrings, the bracelets : no one in the
school has such a set not Madame herself."
" I see them all." (Pause.) " Did M. de Bassom-
pierre give you those jewels ? "
" My uncle knows nothing about them."
" Were they presents from Mrs Cholmondeley ? "
" Not they, indeed. Mrs Cholmondeley is a mean,
stingy creature ; she never gives me anything now."
I did not choose to ask any further questions, but
turned abruptly away.
" Now, old Crusty old Diogenes " (these were her
familiar terms for me when we disagreed), " what is the
matter now ? "
" Take yourself away. I have no pleasure in looking
at you or your parure."
For an instant, she seemed taken by surprise.
" What now, Mother Wisdom ? I have not got into
debt for it that is, not for the jewels, nor the gloves, nor
the bouquet. My dress is certainly not paid for, but uncle
de Bassompierre will pay it in the bill : he never notices
items, but just looks at the total ; and he is so rich, one
need not care about a few guineas more or less."
" Will you go ? 1 want to shut the door. . . .
Ginevra, people may tell you you are very handsome in
io8 VILLETTE
that ball-attire ; but, in my eyes, you will never look so
pretty as you did in the gingham gown and plain straw
bonnet you wore when I first saw you."
" Other people have not your puritanical tastes," was
her angry reply. " And, besides, I see no right you
have to sermonize me."
" Certainly ! I have little right ; and you, perhaps,
have still less to come flourishing and fluttering into my
chamber a mere jay in borrowed plumes. I have not
the least respect for your feathers, Miss Fanshawe ; and
especially the peacock's eyes, you call a parure : very
pretty things, if you had bought them with money
which was your own, and which you could well spare,
but not at all pretty under present circumstances."
" On est la pour Mademoiselle Fanshawe ! " was
announced by the portress, and away she tripped.
This semi-mystery of the parure was not solved till
two or three days afterwards, when she came to make
a voluntary confession.
" You need not be sulky with me," she began, " in
che idea that I am running somebody, papa or M. de
Bassompiere, deeply into debt. I assure you nothing
remains unpaid for, but the few dresses I have lately
had : all the rest is settled."
" There," I thought, " lies the mystery ; considering
that they were not given you by Mrs Cholmondeley,
and that your own means are limited to a few shillings,
of which I know you to be excessively careful."
" Ecoutez ! " she went on, drawing near and speaking
in her most confidential and coaxing tone ; for my
" sulkiness " was inconvenient to her : she liked me to
be in a talking and listening mood, even if I only talked
to chide and listened to rail. " Ecoutez, chere grogn-
euse ! I will tell you all how and about it ; and you
will then see, not only how right the whole thing is, but
how cleverly managed. ID the first place, I must go
ISIDORE 109
out. Papa himself said that he wished me to see some-
thing of the world ; he particularly remarked to Mrs
Cholmondeley, that, though I was a sweet creature
enough, I had rather a bread-and-butter-eating, school-
girl air ; of which it was his special desire that I should
get rid, by an introduction to society here, before I
make my regular debut in England. Well, then, if I
go out, I must dress, Mrs Cholmondeley is turned
shabby, and will give nothing more ; it would be too hard
upon uncle to make him pay for all the things I need :
that you can't deny that agrees with your own preach-
ments. Well, but SOMEBODY who heard me (quite by
chance, I assure you) complaining to Mrs Cholmondeley
of my distressed circumstances, and what straits I was
put to for an ornament or two somebody, far from
grudging one a present, was quite delighted at the idea
of being permitted to offer some trifle. You should
have seen what a Uanc-btc he looked when he first
spoke of it : how he hesitated and blushed, and positively
trembled from fear of a repulse."
" That will do, Miss Fanshawe. I suppose 1 am to
understand that M. Isidore is the benefactor : that it is
from him you have accepted that costly parure j that
he supplies your bouquets and your gloves ? "
" You express yourself so disagreeably," said she, "one
hardly knows how to answer ; what I mean to say is,
that I occasionally allow Isidore the pleasure and honour
of expressing his homage by 'he offer of a trifle."
" It comes to the same thing. . . Now, Ginevra,
to speak the plain truth, I don't very well understand
these matters ; but I believe you are doing very wrong
seriously wrong. Perhaps, however, you now feel
certain that you will be able to marry M. Isidore ; your
parents and uncle have given their consent, and, for
your part, you love him entirely ? "
" Mais pas du tout ! " (she always had recourse to
no VILLETTE
French when about to say something specially heartless
and perverse). " Je suis sa reine, mais il n'est pas mon
roi."
" Excuse me, I must believe this language is mere
nonsense and coquetry. There is nothing great about
you, yet you are above profiting by the good-nature and
purse of a man to whom you feel absolute indifference.
You love M. Isidore far more than you think, or will
avow."
" No. I danced with a young officer the other night,
whom I love a thousand times more than he. I often
wonder why I feel so very cold to Isidore, for every-
body says he is handsome, and other ladies admire
him ; but, somehow, he bores me : let me see now how
it is. . . ."
And she seemed to make an effort to reflect. In
this I encouraged her. " Yes ! " I said, " try to get a
clear idea of the state of your mind. To me it seems
in a great mess chaotic as a rag-bag."
" It is something in this fashion," she cried out ere
long : " the man is too romantic and devoted, and he
expects something more of me than I find it convenient
to be. He thinks I am perfect : furnished with all
sorts of sterling qualities and solid virtues, such as I
never had, nor intend to have. Now, one can't help
in his presence, rather trying to justify his good opinion ;
and it does so tire one to be goody, and to talk sense,
for he really thinks I am sensible. I am far more at
my ease with you, old lady you, you dear crosspatch
who take me at my lowest, and know me to be
coquettish, and ignorant, and flirting, and fickle, and
silly, and selfish, and all the other sweet things you and
I have agreed to be a part of my character."
" This is all very well," I said, making a strenuous
effort to preserve that gravity and severity which ran
risk of being shaken by this whimsical candour, " but it
ISIDORE in
does not alter that wretched business of the presents.
Pack them up, Ginevra, like a good, honest girl, and
send them back."
" Indeed, I won't," said she stoutly.
"Then you are deceiving M. Isidore. It stands to
reason that by accepting his presents you give him to
understand he will one day receive an equivalent, in your
regard . . ."
" But he won't," she interrupted : " he has his
equivalent now, in the pleasure of seeing me wear them
quite enough for him : he is only bourgeois."
This phrase, in its senseless arrogance, quite cured
me of the temporary weakness which had made me
relax my tone and aspect. She rattled on
" My present business is to enjoy youth, and not to
think of fettering myself, by promise or vow, to this
man or that. When first I saw Isidore, I believed
he would help me to enjoy it. I believed he would be
content with my being a pretty girl ; and that we should
meet and part and flutter about like two butterflies, and
be happy. Lo, and behold ! 1 find him at times as
grave as a judge, and deep-feeling and thoughtful. Bah !
Les penseurs, les hommes profonds et passiones, ne sont
pas a mon gout. L.e Colonel Alfred de Hamal suits
me far better. Va pour les beaux fats et les jolis
fripons ! Vive les joies et les plaisirs ! A bas les
grandes passions et les severes vertus ! '*
She looked for an answer to this tirade. I gave none.
" J'aime mon beau Colonel," she went on : " je
n'aimerai jamais son rival. Je ne serai jamais femme
de bourgeois, moi ! "
I now signified that it was imperatively necessary
my apartment should be relieved of the honour of her
presence : she went away laughing.
112
VILLETTE
Chapter jt
DR JOHN.
MADAME BECK was a most consistent
character; forbearing with all the world, and
tender to no part of it. Her own children
drew her into no deviation from the even tenor of her
stoic calm. She was solicitous about her family,
vigilant for their interests, and physical well-being ; but
she never seemed to know the wish to take her little
children upon her lap, to press their rosy lips with her
own, to gather them in a genial embrace, to shower on
them softly the benignant caress, the loving word.
I have watched her sometimes sitting in the garden,
viewing the little ones afar off, as they walked in a
distant alley with Trinette, their bonne ; in her mien
spoke care and prudence. I know she often pondered
anxiously what she called " leur avenir ; " but if the
youngest, a puny and delicate but engaging child,
chancing to spy her, broke from its nurse, and toddling
down the walk, came all eager and laughing and pant-
ing to clasp her knee, Madame would just calmly put
out one hand, so as to prevent inconvenient concussion
from the child's sudden onset : " Prends garde, mon
enfant ! " she would say unmoved, patiently permit it
to stand near her a few moments, and then, without
smile or kiss, or endearing syllable, rise and lead it back
to Trinette.
Her demeanour to the elder girl was equally char-
acteristic in another way. This was a vicious child.
" Quelle peste que cette Desiree ! Quel poison que cet
enfant la ! " were the expressions dedicated to her,
alike in kitchen and in schoolroom. Amongst her
other endowments she boasted an exquisite skill in the
art of provocation, sometimes driving her bonne and the
DR JOHN 113
servants almost wild. She would steal to their attics,
open their drawers and boxes, wantonly tear their best
caps and soil their best shawls ; she would watch
her opportunity to get at the beaufet of the salle
a manger, where she would smash articles of
porcelain or glass or to the cupboard of the store-
room, where she would plunder the preserves, drink
the sweet wine, break jars and bottles, and so contrive
as to throw the onus of suspicion on the cook and the
kitchen-maid. All this when Madame saw, and of
which when she received report, her sole observation,
uttered with matchless serenity, was
" Desiree a besoin d'une surveillance toute particu-
liere." Accordingly she kept this promising olive-
branch a good deal at her side. Never once, I believe,
did she tell her faithfully of her faults, explain the evil
of such habits, and show the results which must thence
ensue. Surveillance must work the whole cure. Tt
failed of course. Desiree was kept in some measure
from the servants, but she teased and pillaged her
mamma instead. Whatever belonging to Madame's
work-table or toilet she could lay her hands on, she
stole and hid. Madame saw all this, but she still pre-
tended not to see : she had not rectitude of soul to
confront the child with her vices. When an article
disappeared whose value rendered restitution necessary,
she would profess to think that Desiree had taken it
away in play, and beg her to restore it. Desiree was
not to be so cheated : she had learned to bring false-
hood to the aid of theft, and would deny having touched
the brooch, ring, or scissors. Carrying on the hollow
system, the mother would calmly assume an air of belief,
and afterwards ceaselessly watch and dog the child till
she tracked her to her hiding-places some hole in
the garden-wall some chink or cranny in garret or
out-house. This done, Madame would send Desiree
II4 VILLETTE
out for a walk with her bonne, and profit by her absence
to rob the robber. Desiree proved herself the true
daughter of her astute parent, by never suffering either
her countenance or manner to betray the least sign of
mortification on discovering the loss.
The second child, Fifine, was said to be like its dead
father. Certainly, though the mother had given it her
healthy frame, her blue eye and ruddy cheek, not from
her was derived its moral being. It was an honest,
gleeful little soui : a passionate, warm-tempered, bustling
creature it was too, and of the sort likely to blunder
often into perils and difficulties. One day it bethought
itself to fall from top to bottom of a steep flight of
stone steps ; and when Madame, hearing the noise (she
always heard every noise), issued from the salle a
manger and picked it up, she said quietly
" Get enfant a un os de casse."
At first we hoped this was not the case. It was, how-
ever, but too true : one little plump arm hung powerless.
" Let Meess " (meaning me) " take her," said
Madame ; " et qu'on aille tout de suite chercher un
fiacre."
In a fiacre she promptly, but with admirable cool-
ness and self-possession, departed to fetch a surgeon.
It appeared she did not find the family-surgeon at
home ; but that mattered not : she sought until she
laid her hand on a substitute to her mind, and brought
him back with her. Meantime I had cut the child's
sleeve from its arm, undressed and put it to bed.
We none of us, I suppose (by <we I mean the bonne,
the cook, the portress, and myself, all which personages
were now gathered in the small and heated chamber),
looked very scrutinisingly at the new doctor when he
came into the room. I, at least, was taken up with
endeavouring to soothe Fifine ; whose cries (for she
had good lungs) were appalling to hear. These cries
DR JOHN 115
redoubled in intensity as the stranger approached her
bed ; when he took her up, " Let alone ! " she cried
passionately, in her broken English (for she spoke
English, as did the other children). " I will not you :
I will Dr Pillule ! "
" And Dr Pillule is my very good friend," was the
answer, in perfect English ; " but he is busy at a place
three leagues off, and I am come in his stead. So now,
when we get a little calmer, we must commence busi-
ness ; and we will soon have that unlucky little arm
bandaged and in right order."
Hereupon he called for a glass of eau sucree, fed her
with some teaspoonsful of the sweet liquid (Fifine was a
frank gourmande ; anybody could win her heart through
her palate), promised her more when the operation
should be over, and promptly went to work. Some
assistance being needed, he demanded it of the cook, a
robust, strong-armed woman ; but she, the portress,
and the nurse instantly fled. I did not like to touch
that small, tortured limb, but, thinking there was no
alternative, my hand was already extended to do what
was requisite. I was anticipated ; Madame Beck had
put out her own hand : hers was steady while mine
trembled.
" a vaudra mieux," said the doctor, turning from
me to her.
He showed wisdom in his choice. Mine would have
been feigned stoicism, forced fortitude. Hers was
neither forced nor feigned.
" Merci Madame ; ire's bien, fort bien ! " said the
operator, when he had finished. " Voila un sang-froid
bien opportun, et qui vaut mille elans de sensibilite
deplacee."
He was pleased with her firmness, she with his com-
pliment. It is likely, too, that his whole general
appearance, his voice, mien, and manner, wrought im-
IX 6 VILLETTE
pressious in his favour. Indeed, when you looked well
at him, and when a lamp was brought in for it was
evening and now waxing dusk you saw that, unlest,
Madame Beck had been less than woman, it could not
well be otherwise. This young doctor (he -was young)
had no common aspect. His stature looked imposingly
tall in that little chamber, and amidst that group of
Dutch-made women ; his profile was clear, fine, and
expressive : perhaps his eye glanced from face to face
rather too vividly, too quickly, and too often ; but it
had a most pleasant character, and so had his mouth ;
his chin was full, cleft, Grecian, and perfect. As to
his smile, one could not in a hurry make up one's mind
as to the descriptive epithet it merited ; there was some-
thing in it that pleased, but something too that brought
surging up into the mind all one's foibles and weak
points : all that could lay one open to a laugh. Yet
Fifine liked this doubtful smile, and thought the owner
genial : much as he had hurt her, she held out her hand
to bid him a friendly good-night. He patted the little
hand kindly, and then he and Madame went downstairs
together ; she talking in her highest tide of spirits and
volubility, he listening with an air of good-natured
amenity, dashed with that unconscious roguish archness
I find it difficult to describe.
I noticed that though he spoke French well, he spoke
English better; he had, too, an English complexion,
eyes, and form. I noticed more. As he passed me in
leaving the room, turning his face in my direction one
moment not to address me, but to speak to Madame,
yet so standing, that I almost necessarily looked up at
him a recollection which had been struggling to form
in my memory, since the first moment I heard his
voice, started up perfected. This was the very gentle-
man to whom I had spoken at the bureau ; who had
helped me in the matter of the trunk ; who had been
DR JOHN 117
my guide through the dark, wet park. Listening, as he
passed down the long vestibule out into the street, I
recognised his very tread ; it was the same firm and
equal stride I had followed under the dripping trees.
It was to be concluded that this young surgeon-
physician's first visit to the Rue Fossette would be the
last. The respectable Dr Pillule being expected home
the next day, there appeared no reason why his
temporary substitute should again represent him ;
but the Fates had written their decree to the
contrary.
Dr Pillule had been summoned to see a rich old
hypochondriac at the antique university town of
Bouquin-Moisi, and upon his prescribing change of air
and travel as remedies, he was retained to accompany
the timid patient on a tour of some weeks ; it but re-
mained, therefore, for the new doctor to continue his
attendance at the Rue Fossette.
I often saw him when he came ; for Madame would
not trust the little invalid to Trinette, but required me
to spend much of my time in the nursery. I think he
was skilful. Fifine recovered rapidly under his care,
yet even her convalescence did not hasten his dismissal.
Destiny and Madame Beck seemed in league, and both
had ruled that he should make deliberate acquaintance
with the vestibule, the private staircase, and upper
chambers of the Rue Fossette.
No sooner did Fifine emerge from his hands than
Desiree declared herself ill. That possessed child had
a genius for simulation, and captivated by the attentions
and indulgences of a sick-room, she came to the con-
clusion that an illness would perfectly accommodate her
tastes, and took her bed accordingly. She acted well,
and her mother still better ; for while the whole case
was transparent to Madame Beck as the day, she treated
n8 VILLETTE
it with an astonishingly well-assured air of gravity and
good faith.
What surprised me was, that Dr John (so the young
Englishman had taught Fifine to call him, and we all
took from her the habit of addressing him by this name,
till it became an established custom, and he was known
by no other in the Rue Fossette) that Dr John con-
sented tacitly to adopt Madame's tactics, and to fall in
with her manoeuvres. He betrayed, indeed, a period of
comic doubt, cast one or two rapid glances from the
child to the mother, indulged in an interval of self-
consultation, but finally resigned himself with a good
grace to play his part in the farce. Desiree eat like a
raven, gambolled day and night in her bed, pitched
tents with the sheets and blankets, lounged like a Turk
amidst pillows and bolsters, diverted herself with throw-
ing her shoes at her bonne and grimacing at her sisters
overflowed, in short, with unmerited health and evil
spirits ; only languishing when her mamma and the
physician paid their diurnal visit. Madame Beck, I
knew, was glad, at any price, to have her daughter in
bed out of the way of mischief; but I wondered that
Dr John did not tire of the business.
Every day, on this mere pretext of a motive, he gave
punctual attendance ; Madame always received him
with the same empressement, the same sunshine for him-
self, the same admirably counterfeited air of concern for
her child. Dr John wrote harmless prescriptions for
the patient, and viewed her mother with a shrewdly
sparkling eye. Madame caught his rallying looks with-
out resenting them she had too much good sense for
that. Supple as the young doctor seemed, one could
not despise him this pliant part was evidently not
adopted in the design to curry favour with his employer :
while he liked his office at the pensionnat, and lingered
strangely about the Rue Fossette, he was independent,
DR JOHN u 9
almost careless in his carriage there ; and yet, too, he
was often thoughtful and preoccupied.
It was not perhaps my business to observe the mystery
of his bearing, or search out its origin or aim ; but,
placed as I was, I could hardly help it. He laid him-
self open to my observation, according to my presence
in the room just that degree of notice and consequence
a person of my exterior habitually expects ; that is to
say, about what is given to unobtrusive articles of
furniture, chairs of ordinary joiner's work, and carpets
of no striking pattern. Often, while waiting for
Madame, he would muse, smile, watch, or listen like a
man who thinks himself alone. I, meantime, was free
to puzzle over his countenance and movements, and
wonder what could be the meaning of that peculiar
interest and attachment all mixed up with doubt and
strangeness, and inexplicably ruled by some presiding
spell which wedded him to this demi-convent, secluded
in the built-up core of a capital. He, I believe, never
remembered that I had eyes in my head, much less a
brain behind them.
Nor would he ever have found this out, but that one
day, while he sat in the sunshine and 1 was observing
the colouring of his hair, whiskers, and complexion
the whole being of such a tone as a strong light brings
out with somewhat perilous force (indeed I recollect I
was driven to compare his beamy head in my thoughts
to that of the " golden image " which Nebuchadnezzar
the king had set up), an idea new, sudden, and
startling, rivetted my attention with an overmastering
strength and power of attraction. I know not to this
day how I looked at him : the force of surprise, and
also of conviction, made me forget myself; and I only
recovered wonted consciousness when I saw that his
notice was arrested, and that it had caught my move-
ment in a clear little oval mirror fixed in the side of the
i 2 o VILLETTE
window recess by the aid of which reflector Madame
often secretly spied persons walking in the garden below.
Though of so gay and sanguine a temperament, he was
not without a certain nervous sensitiveness which made
him ill at ease under a direct, inquiring gaze. On sur-
prising me thus, he turned and said, in a tone which,
though courteous, had just so much dryness in it as to
mark a shade of annoyance, as well as to give to what
was said the character of rebuke
" Mademoiselle does not spare me : I am not vain
enough to fancy that it is my merits which attract her atten-
tion; it must then be some defect Dare I ask what ?"
I was confounded, as the reader may suppose, yet not
with an irrecoverable confusion ; being conscious that it
was from no emotion of incautious admiration, nor yet
in a spirit of unjustifiable inquisitiveness, that I had in-
curred this reproof. I might have cleared myself on
the spot, but would not. I did not speak. 1 was not
in the habit of speaking to him. Suffering him, then, to
think what he chose and accuse me of what he would,
I resumed some work I had dropped, and kept my head
bent over it during the remainder of his stay. There is
a perverse mood of the mind which is rather soothed
than irritated by misconstruction ; and in quarters where
we can never be rightly known, we take pleasure, I
think, in being consummately ignored. What honest
man, on being casually taken for a housebreaker, does
not feel rather tickled than vexed at the mistake ?
Chapter jcj.
THE PORTRESSE'S CABINET.
I T was summer and very hot. Georget* e, the youngest
of Madame Beck's children, took a fever. Desiree,
suddenly cured of her ailments, was, together with
Fifine, packed off to Bonne-Maman in the country, by
THE PORTRESSE'S CABINET 121
way of precaution against infection. Medical aid was
now really needed, and Madame, choosing to ignore the
return of Dr Pillule, who had been at home a week,
conjured his English rival to continue his visits. One
or two of the pensionnaires complained of headache,
and in other respects seemed slightly to participate it '
Georgette's ailment. " Now, at last," I thought, " Dr
Pillule must be recalled : the prudent directress will
never venture to permit the attendance of so young a
man on the pupils."
The directress was very prudent, but she could also
be intrepidly venturous. She actually introduced Dr
John to the school-division of the premises, and estab-
lished him in attendance on the proud and handsome
Blanche de Melcy, and the vain, flirting Angelique, her
friend. Dr John, I thought, testified a certain gratifi-
cation at this mark of confidence ; and if discretion of
bearing could have justified the step, it would by him
have been amply justified. Here, however, in this land
of convents and confessionals, such a presence as his was
not to be suffered with impunity in a " pensionnat de
demoiselles." The school gossipped, the kitchen
whispered, the town caught the rumour, parents wrote
letters and paid visits of remonstrance. Madame, had
she been weak, would now have been lost : a dozen
rival educational houses were ready to improve this false
step if false step it were to her ruin ; but Madame
was not weak, and little Jesuit though she might be, yet
I clapped the hands of my heart, and with its voice
cried " Brava ! " as I watched her able bearing, her
skilled management, her temper and her firmness on
this occasion.
She met the alarmed parents with a good-humoured,
easy grace : for nobody matched her in, I know not
whether to say the possession or the assumption of a
certain " rondeur et franchise de bonne femme ; " which
I22 VILLETTE
on various occasions gained the point aimed at with
instant and complete success, where severe gravity and
serious reasoning would probably have failed.
" Ce pauvre Docteur Jean ! " she would say, chuckling
and rubbing joyously her fat, little, white hands ; " ce
cher jeune homme ! le meilleur creature du monde ! "
and go on to explain how she happened to be employing
him for her own children, who were so fond of him
they would scream themselves into fits at the thought of
another doctor ; how where she had confidence for her
own, she thought it natural to repose trust for others,
and au reste it was only the most temporary expedient
in the world : Blanche and Angelique had the
migraine ; Dr John had written a prescription ; voila
tout!
The parents' mouths were closed. Blanche and
Angelique saved her all remaining trouble by chanting
loud duets in their physician's praise ; the other pupils
echoed them, unanimously declaring that when they
were ill they would have Dr John and nobody
else ; and Madame laughed, and the parents laughed
too. The Labassecouriens must have a large organ
of philoprogenitiveness : at least the indulgence of
offspring is carried by them to excessive lengths ; the
law of most households being the children's will.
Madame now got credit for having acted on this occa-
sion in a spirit of motherly partiality : she came off
with flying colours ; people liked her as a directress
better than ever.
To this day I never fully understood why she thus
risked her interest for the sake of Dr John. What
people said, of course I know well : the whole house
pupils, teachers, servants included affirmed that she
was going to marry him. So they had settled it;
difference of age seemed to make no obstacle in their
yes : it was to be so.
THE PORTRESSE'S CABINET 123
It must be admitted that appearances did not wholly
discountenance this idea ; Madame seemed so bent on
retaining his services, so oblivious of her former protege,
Pillule. She made, too, such a point of personally re-
ceiving his visits, and was so unfailingly cheerful, blithe,
and benignant in her manner to him. Moreover, she
paid, about this time, marked attention to dress: the
morning deshabille, the nightcap and shawl, were dis-
carded ; Dr John's early visits always found her with
auburn braids all nicely arranged, silk dress trimly fitted
on, neat laced brodequins in lieu of slippers : in short,
the whole toilette complete as a model, and fresh as a
flower. I scarcely think, however, that her intention
in this went further than just to show a very handsome
man that she was not quite a plain woman : and plain
she was not. Without beauty of feature or elegance of
form, she pleased. Without youth and its gay graces,
she cheered. One never tired of seeing her : she was
never monotonous, or insipid, or colourless, or flat.
Her unfaded hair, her eye with its temperate blue light,
her cheek with its wholesome fruit-like bloom these
things pleased in moderation, but with constancy.
Had she, indeed, floating visions of adopting Dr
John as a husband, taking him to her well-furnished
home, endowing him with her savings, which were said
to amount to a moderate competency, and making him
comfortable for the rest of his life? Did Dr John
suspect her of such visions ? I have met him coming
out of her presence with a mischievous half-smile about
his lips, and in his eyes a look as of masculine vanity
elate and tickled. With all his good looks and good
nature, he was not perfect; he must have been very
imperfect if he roguishly encouraged aims he never in-
tended to be successful. But did he not intend them
to be successful ? People said he had no money, that
he was wholly dependent upon his profession. Madame
I24 VILLETTE
though perhaps some fourteen years his senior was
yet the sort of woman never to grow old, never to
wither, never to break down. They certainly were on
good terms. He perhaps was not in love ; but how
many people ever do love, or at least marry for love, in
this world ? We waited the end.
For what he waited I do not know, nor for what he
watched ; but the peculiarity of his manner, his expec-
tant, vigilant, absorbed, eager look, never wore off: it
rather intensified. He had never been quite within the
compass of my penetration, and I think he ranged
farther and farther beyond it.
One morning little Georgette had been more feverish
and consequently more peevish ; she was crying, and
wpuld not be pacified. I thought a particular draught
ordered disagreed with her, and I doubted whether it
ought to be continued ; I waited impatiently for the
doctor's coming in order to consult him.
The door-bell rung, he was admitted ; I felt sure of
this, for I heard his voice addressing the portresse. It
was his custom to mount straight to the nursery, taking
about three degrees of the staircase at once, and coming
upon us like a cheerful surprise. Five minutes elapsed
ten and I saw and heard nothing of him. What
could he be doing ? Possibly waiting in the corridor
below. Little Georgette still piped her plaintive wail,
appealing to me by her familiar term, " Minnie, Minnie,
me very poorly ! " till my heart ached. I descended
to ascertain why he did not come. The corridor was
empty. Whither was he vanished ? Was he with
Madame in the salle a manger ? Impossible : I had
left her but a short time since, dressing in her own
chamber. I listened. Three pupils were just then hard
at work practising in three proximate rooms the dining-
room and the greater and lesser drawing-rooms, between
which and the corridor there was but the portresse'i
THE PORTRESSE'S CABINET 125
cabinet communicating with the salons, and intended
originally for a boudoir. Farther off, at a fourth instru-
ment in the oratory, a whole class of a dozen or more
were taking a singing lesson, and just then joining in a
"barcarole" (I think they called it), whereof I yet
remember these words " fraiche brise " and ** Venise."
Under these circumstances, what could I hear ? A
great deal, certainly ; had it only been to the purpose.
Yes ; I heard a giddy treble laugh in the above-men-
tioned little cabinet, close by the door of which I stood
that door half-unclosed ; a man's voice in a soft,
deep, pleading tone, uttered some words, whereof I only
caught the adjuration, " For God's sake ! " Then,
after a second's pause, forth issued Dr John, his eye full
shining, but not with either joy or triumph ; his fair
English cheek high-coloured ; a baffled, tortured,
anxious, and yet a tender meaning on his brow.
The open door served me as a screen ; but had I
been full in his way, I believe he would have passed
without seeing me. Some mortification, some strong
vexation had hold of his soul : or rather, to write my
impressions now as I received them at the time, I should
say some sorrow, some sense of injustice. I did not so
much think his pride was hurt, as that his affections had
been wounded cruelly wounded, it seemed to me. But
who was the torturer ? What being in that house had
him so much in her power ? Madame I believed to be
in her chamber ; the room whence he had stepped was
dedicated to the portresse's sole use ; and she, Rosine
Matou, an unprincipled though pretty little French
grisette, airy, fickle, dressy, vain, and mercenary it was
not, surely, to her hand he owed the ordeal through
which he seemed to have passed ?
But while I pondered, her voice, clear, though some-
what sharp, broke out in a lightsome French song, trilling
through the door still ajar : I glanced in, doubting my
X2 6 VILLETTE
senses. There at the table she sat in a smart dress of
" jaconas rose," trimming a tiny blond cap : not a living
thing save herself was in the room, except indeed some
gold fish in a glass globe, some flowers in pots, and a
broad July sunbeam.
Here was a problem : but I must go upstairs to ask
about the medicine.
Dr John sat in a chair at Georgette's bedside;
Madame stood before him ; the little patient had been
examined and soothed, and now lay composed in her
crib. Madame Beck, as I entered, was discussing the
physician's own health, remarking on some real or fancied
change in his looks, charging him with over-work, and
recommending rest and change of air. He listened
good-naturedly, but with laughing indifference, telling
her that she was " trop bonne," and that he felt perfectly
well. Madame appealed to me Dr John following
her movement with a slow glance which seemed to
express languid surprise at reference being made to a
quarter so insignificant.
" What do you think, Miss Lucie ? " asked Madame.
" Is he not paler and thinner i "
It was very seldom that I uttered more than mono-
syllables in Dr John's presence ; he was the kind of
person with whom I was likely ever to remain the neutral,
passive thing he thought me. Now, however, I took
license to answer in a phrase : and a phrase I purposely
made quite significant.
*' He looks ill at this moment ; but perhaps it is
owing to some temporary cause : Dr John may have
been vexed or harassed." I cannot tell how he took
this speech, as I never sought his face for information.
Georgette here began to ask me in her broken English
if she might have a glass of eau sucree. I answered her
in English. For the first time, I fancy, he noticed that
I spoke his language ; hitherto he had always taken me
THE PORTRESSE'S CABINET 127
for a foreigner, addressing me as " Mademoiselle," and
giving in French the requisite directions about the
children's treatment. He seemed on the point of
making a remark, but thinking better of it, held his
tongue.
Madame recommenced advising him ; he shook his
head laughing, rose and bid her good morning, with
courtesy, but still with the regardless air of one whom
too much unsolicited attention was surfeiting and
spoiling.
When he was gone, Madame dropped into the chair
he had just left ; she rested her chin in her hand ; all
that was animated and amiable vanished from her face :
she looked stony and stern, almost mortified and
morose. She signed ; a single, but a deep sigh. A
loud bell rang for morning school. She got up ; as
she passed a dressing-table with a glass upon it, she
looked at her reflected image. One single white hair
streaked her nut-brown tresses ; she plucked it out with
a shudder. In the full summer daylight, her face,
though it still had the colour, could plainly be seen to
have lost the texture of youth ; and then, where were
youth's contours ? Ah, Madame ! wise as you were,
even you knew weakness. Never had I pitied Madame
before, but my heart softened towards her, when she
turned darkly from the glass. A calamity had come
upon her. That hag Disappointment was greeting her
with a grisly ** All-hail," and her soul rejected the
intimacy.
But Rosine ! My bewilderment there surpasses de-
scription. I embraced five opportunities of passing her
cabinet that day, with a view to contemplating her
charms, and finding out the secret of their influence.
She was pretty, young, and wore a well-made dress.
Ail very good points, and, I suppose, amply sufficient
to account, in any philosophic mind, for any amount of
12 8 VILLETTE
agony and distraction in a young man like Dr John.
Still, I could not help forming half a wish that the said
doctor were my brother ; or at least that he had a sister
or a mother who would kindly sermonize him. I say
half a wish ; I broke it, and flung it away before it
became a whole one, discovering in good time its
exquisite folly. " Somebody," I argued, " might as
well sermonize Madame about her young physician : and
what good would that do ? "
I believe Madame sermonized herself. She did not
behave weakly, or make herself in any shape ridiculous.
It is true she had neither strong feelings to overcome,
nor tender feelings by which to be miserably pained. It
is true likewise that she had an important avocation, a
real business to fill her time, divert her thoughts, and
divide her interest. It is especially true that she pos-
sessed a genuine good sense which is not given to all
women nor to all men ; and by dint of these combined
advantages she behaved wisely she behaved well.
Brava ! once more, Madame Beck. I saw you matched
against an Apollyon of a predilection ; you fought a
good fight, and you overcame !
Chapter *ij*
THE CASKET.
F) EHIND the house at the Rue Fossette there was
_) a garden large, considering that it lay in the
heart of a city, and to my recollection at this
day it seems pleasant : but time, like distance, lends
to certain scenes an influence so softening ; and where
all is stone around, blank wall and hot pavement, how
precious seems one shrub, how lovely an enclosed and
; plan ted spot of ground !
THE CASKET 129
There went a tradition that Madame Beck's house
had in old days been a convent. That in years gone
by how long gone by I cannot tell, but I think some
centuries before the city had overspread this quarter,
and when it was tilled ground and avenue, and such
deep and leafy seclusion as ought to embosom a religious
house that something had happened on this site which,
rousing fear and inflicting horror, had left to the place
the inheritance of a ghost story. A vague tale went of
a black and white nun, sometimes, on some night or
nights of the year, seen in some part of this vicinage.
The ghost must have been built out some ages ago, for
there were houses all round now ; but certain convent-
relics, in the shape of old and huge fruit-trees, yet con-
secrated the spot ; and, at the foot of one a Methuse-
lah of a pear-tree, dead, all but a few boughs which still
faithfully renewed their perfumed snow in spring, and
their honey-sweet pendants in autumn you saw, in
scraping away the mossy earth between the half-bared
roots, a glimpse of slab, smooth, hard, and black. The
legend went, unconfirmed and unaccredited, but still pro-
pagated, that this was the portal of a vault, imprisoning
deep beneath that ground, on whose surface grass grew
and flowers bloomed, the bones of a girl whom a monkish
conclave of the drear middle ages had here buried alive
for some sin against her vow. Her shadow it was that
tremblers had feared, through long generations after her
poor frame was dust ; her black robe and white veil
that, for timid eyes, moonlight and shade had mocked,
as they fluctuated in the night- wind through the garden-
thicket.
Independently of romantic rubbish, however, that old
garden had its charms. On summer mornings I used
to rise early, to enjoy them alone ; on summer evenings,
to linger solitary, to keep tryst with the rising moon,
or taste one kiss of the evening breeze, or fancy rather
E
I3 o VILLETTE
than feel the freshness of dew descending. The turf
was verdant, the gravelled walks were white ; sun-
bright nasturtiums clustered beautiful about the roots of
the doddered orchard giants. There was a large
berceau, above which spread the shade of an acacia ;
there was a smaller, more sequestered bower, nestled in
the vines which ran all along a high and grey wall, and
gathered their tendrils in a knot of beauty, and hung
their clusters in loving profusion about the favoured spot
where jasmine and ivy met and married them.
Doubtless at high noon, in the broad, vulgar middle
of the day, when Madame Beck's large school turned
out rampant, and externes and pensionnaires were spread
abroad, vying with the denizens of the boys' college
close at hand, in the brazen exercise of their lungs and
limbs doubtless then the garden was a trite, trodden-
down place enough. But at sunset or the hour of salut,
when the externes were gone home, and the boarders
quiet at their studies ; pleasant was it then to stray down
the peaceful alleys, and hear the bells of St Jean
Baptiste peal out with their sweet, soft, exalted sound.
I was walking thus one evening, and had been de-
tained, farther within the verge of twilight than usual,
by the still-deepening calm, the mellow coolness, the
fragrant breathing with which flowers no sunshine could
win now answered the persuasion of the dew. I saw
by a light in the oratory window that the Catholic
household were then gathered to evening prayer a rite,
from attendance on which, I now and then, as a
Protestant, exempted myself.
" One moment longer," whispered solitude and the
summer moon, " stay with us : all is truly quiet now ;
for another quarter of an hour your presence will not
be missed : the day's heat and bustle have tired you ;
enjoy these precious minutes."
The windowless backs of houses built in this
THE CASKET 131
garden, and in particular the whole of one side, was
skirted by the rear of a long line of premises being the
boarding-houses of the neighbouring college. This
rear, however, was all blank stone, with the exception
of certain attic loopholes high up, opening from the
sleeping-rooms of the women-servants, and also one
casement in a lower storey said to mark the chamber or
study of a master. But, though thus secure, an alley,
which ran parallel with the very high wall on that side
the garden, was forbidden to be entered by the
pupils. It was called indeed " 1'allee defendue," and
any girl setting foot there would have rendered
herself liable to as severe a penalty as the mild rules of
Madame Beck's establishment permitted. Teachers
might indeed go there with impunity ; but as the walk
was narrow, and the neglected shrubs were grown very
thick and close on each side, weaving overhead a roof
of branch and leaf which the sun's rays penetrated but
in rare chequers, this alley was seldom entered even
during day, and after dusk was carefully shunned.
From the first I was tempted to make an exception
to this rule of avoidance : the seclusion, the very gloom
of the walk attracted me. For a long time the fear of
seeming singular scared me away ; but by degrees, as
people became accustomed to me and my habits, and to
such shades of peculiarity as were engrained in my
nature shades, certainly not striking enough to interest,
and perhaps not prominent enough to offend, but born
in and with me, and no more to be parted with than
my identity by slow degrees I became a frequenter of
this strait and narrow path. I made myself gardener of
some tintless flowers that grew between its closely-ranked
shrubs ; I cleared away die relics of past autumns,
choking up a rustic seat at the far end. Borrowing of
Goton, the cuisiniere, a pail of water and a scrubbing-
brush, I made this seat clean. Madame saw me at
13 2 VILLETTE
work and smiled approbation : whether sincerely or not
I don't know ; but she seemed sincere.
" Voyez-vous ! " cried she, " comme elle est propre
cette demoiselle Lucie ? Vous aimez done cette aJlee,
Meess ? "
" Yes," I said, " it is quiet and shady."
" C'est juste," cried she, with an air of bonte ; and
she kindly recommended me to confine myself to it as
much as I chose, saying, that as I was not charged with
the surveillance, I need not trouble myself to walk with
the pupils : only I might permit her children to come
there, to talk English with me.
On the night in question, I was sitting on the hidden
seat reclaimed from fungi and mould, listening to what
seemed the far-off sounds of the city. Far off, in truth,
they were not : this school was in the city's centre ;
hence, it was but five minutes' walk to the park, scarce
ten to buildings of palatial splendour. Quite near were
wide streets brightly lit, teeming at this moment with
life : carriages were rolling through them, to balls or to
the opera. The same hour which tolled curfew for our
convent, which extinguished each lamp, and dropped
the curtain round each couch, rang for the gay city
about us the summons to festal enjoyment. Of this
contrast I thought not, however: gay instincts my
nature had few ; ball or opera I had never seen ; and
though often I had heard them described, and even
wished to see them, it was not the wish of one who
hopes to partake a pleasure if she could only reach it
who feels fitted to shine in some bright distant sphere,
could she but thither win her way ; it was no yearning
to attain, no hunger to taste ; only the calm desire to
look on a new thing.
A moon was in the sky, not a full moon, but a young
crescent. I saw her through a space in the boughs
overhead. She and the stars, visible beside her, were
THE CASKET 133
no strangers where all else was strange : my childhood
knew them. I had seen that golden sign with the dark
globe in its curve leaning back on azure, beside an old
thorn at the top of an old field, in Old England, in
long past days, just as it now leaned back beside a
stately spire in this continental capital.
Oh, my childhood ! I had feelings : passive as I
lived, little as I spoke, cold as I looked, when I
thought of past days, I could feel. About the present,
it was better to be stoical ; about the future such a
future as mine to be dead. And in catalepsy and a
dead trance, I studiously held the quick of my nature.
At that time, I well remember whatever could excite
certain accidents of the weather, for instance, were
almost dreaded by me, because they woke the being I
was always lulling, and stirred up a craving cry I could
not satisfy. One night a thunderstorm broke ; a sort of
hurricane shook us in our beds : the Catholics rose in
panic and prayed to their saints. As for me, the
tempest took hold of me with tyranny : I was roughly
roused and obliged to live. I got up and dressed my-
self, and creeping outside the casement close by my bed,
sat on its ledge, with my feet on the roof of a lower
adjoining building. It was wet, it was wild, it was
pitch-dark. Within the dormitory they gathered round
the night-lamp in consternation, praying loud. I could
not go in : too resistless was the delight oPstaying with
the wild hour, black and full of thunder, pealing out
such an ode as language never delivered to man too
terribly glorious, the spectacle of clouds, split and
pierced by white and blinding bolts.
I did long, achingly, then and for four and twenty
hours afterwards, for something to fetch me out of my
present existence, and lead me upwards and onwards.
This longing, and all of a similar kind, it was necessary
to knock on the head ; which I did, figuratively, after
i 34 VILLETTE
the manner of Jael to Sisera, driving a nail through their
temples. Unlike Sisera, they did not die : they were
but transiently stunned, and at intervals would turn on
the nail with a rebellious wrench : then did the temples
bleed, and the brain thrill to its core.
To-night, I was not so mutinous, nor so miserable.
My Sisera lay quiet in the tent, slumbering ; and if his
pain ached through his slumbers, something like an angel
the ideal knelt near, dropping balm on the soothed
temples, holding before the sealed eyes a magic glass, of
which the sweet, solemn visions were repeated in
dreams, and shedding a reflex from her moonlight
wings and robe over the transfixed sleeper, over the
tent threshold, over all the landscape lying without. Jael,
the stern woman, sat apart, relenting somewhat over her
captive ; but more prone to dwell on the faithful ex-
pectation of Heber coming home. By which words I
mean that the cool peace and dewy sweetness of the
night filled me with a mood of hope : not hope on any
definite point, but a general sense of encouragement and
heart-ease.
Should not such a mood, so sweet, so tranquil, so
unwonted, have been the harbinger of good ? AJas,
no good came of it ! Presently the rude Real burst
coarsely in all evil, grovelling and repellent as she too
often is.
Amid the "intense stillness of that pile of stone over-
looking the walk, the trees, the high wall, I heard a
sound ; a casement (all the windows here are casements,
opening on hinges) creaked. Ere I had time to look
up and mark where, in which storey, or by whom un-
closed, a tree overhead shook, as if struck by a missile ;
some object dropped prone at my feet.
Nine was striking by St Jean Baptiste's clock ; day
was fading, but it was not dark : the crescent-moon
aided little, but the deep gilding of that point in heaven
THE CASKET 135
where the sun beamed last, and the crystalline clearness
of a wide space above, sustained the summer twilight ;
even in my dark walk I could, by approaching an open-
ing, have managed to read print of a small type. Easy
was it to see then that the missile was a box, a small
box of white and coloured ivory ; its loose lid opened
in my hand ; violets lay within, violets smothering a
closely folded bit of pink paper, a note, superscribed,
" Pour la robe grise." I wore indeed a dress of French
grey.
Good. Was this a billet-doux ? A thing I had
heard of, but hitherto had not had the honour of seeing
or handling. Was it this sort of commodity I held
between my finger and thumb at this moment ?
Scarcely : I did not dream it for a moment. Suitor
or admirer my very thoughts had not conceived. All
the teachers had dreams of some lover ; one (but she
was naturally of a credulous turn) believed in a future
husband. All the pupils above fourteen knew of some
prospective bridegroom ; two or three were already
affianced by their parents, and had been so from child-
hood : but into the realm of feelings and hopes which
such prospects open, my speculations, far less my pre-
sumptions, had never once had warrant to intrude. If
the other teachers went into town, or took a walk on
the boulevards, or only attended mass, they were very
certain (according to the accounts brought back) to
meet with some individual of the " opposite sex," whose
rapt, earnest gaze assured them of their power to strike
and to attract. I can't say that my experience tallied
with theirs, in this respect. I went to church and I
took walks, and am very well convinced that nobody
minded me. There was not a girl or woman in the Rue
Fossette who could not, and did not testify to having
received an admiring beam from our young doctor's blue
eyes at one time or other. I am obliged, however
I3 6 VILLETTE
humbling it may sound, to except myself: as far as I
was concerned, those blue eyes were guiltless, and calm
as the sky, to whose tint theirs seemed akin. So it
came to pass that I heard the others talk, wondered
often at their gaiety, security, and self-satisfaction, but
did not trouble myself to look up and gaze along the
path they seemed so certain of treading. This then
was no billet-doux ; and it was in settled conviction to
the contrary that I quietly opened it. Thus it ran I
translate :
** Angel of my dreams ! A thousand, thousand
thanks for the promise kept : scarcely did I venture to
hope its fulfilment. I believed you, indeed, to be half
in jest; and then you seemed to think the enterprise
beset with such danger the hour so untimely, the alley
so strictly secluded often, you said, haunted by that
dragon, the English teacher une veritable begueule
Britannique a ce que vous dites espe'ce de monstre,
brusque et rude comme un vieux caporal de grenadiers,
et reveche comme une religieuse " (the reader will
excuse my modesty in allowing this flattering sketch of
my amiable self to retain the slight veil of the original
tongue). " You are aware," went on this precious
effusion, " that little Gustave, on account of his illness,
has been removed to a master's chamber that favoured
chamber, whose lattice overlooks your prison-ground.
There, I, the best uncle in the world, am admitted to
visit him. How tremblingly I approached the window
and glanced into your Eden an Eden for me, though
a desert for you ! how I feared to behold vacancy, or
the dragon aforesaid ! How my heart palpitated with
delight when, through apertures in the envious boughs,
I at once caught the gleam of your graceful straw-hat,
and the waving of your grey dress dress that I should
recognise amongst a thousand. But why, my angel,
will you not look up ? Cruel, to deny me one ray of
THE CASKET 137
those adorable eyes ! how a single glance would have
revived me ! I write this in fiery haste : while the
physician examines Gustave, I snatch an opportunity to
enclose it in a small casket, together with a bouquet of
flowers, the sweetest that blow yet less sweet than
thee, my Peri my all-charming ! ever thine thou well
knowest whom ! "
" I wish I did know whom," was my comment ; and
the wish bore even closer reference to the person
addressed in this choice document, than to the writer
thereof. Perhaps it was from the fiance of one of the
engaged pupils ; and, in that case, there was no great
harm done or intended only a small irregularity.
Several of the girls, the majority, indeed, had brothers
or cousins at the neighbouring college. But, " la robe
grise, le chapeau de paille," here surely was a clue a
very confusing one. The straw-hat was an ordinary
garden head-screen, common to a score besides myself.
The grey dress hardly gave more definite indication.
Madame Beck herself ordinarily wore a grey dress just
now ; another teacher, and three of the pensionnaires,
had had grey dresses purchased of the same shade and
fabric as mine : it was a sort of every-day wear which
happened at that time to be in vogue.
Meanwhile, as I pondered, I knew I must go in.
Lights, moving in the dormitory, announced that
prayers were over, and the pupils going to bed.
Another half hour and all doors would be locked all
lights extinguished. The front door yet stood open, to
admit into the heated house the coolness of the summer
night ; from the portresse's cabinet close by shone a
lamp, showing the long vestibule with the two-leaved
drawing-room doors on one side, the great street-door
closing the vista.
All at once, quick rang the bell quick, but not loud
a cautious tinkle a sort of warning metal whisper.
E2
I3 8 VILLETTE
Rosine darted from her cabinet and ran to open. The
person she admitted stood with her two minutes in
parley : there seemed a demur, a delay. Rosine came
to the garden door, lamp in hand ; she stood on the
steps, lifting her lamp, looking round vaguely.
" Quel conte ! " she cried, with a coquettish laugh.
" Personne n'y a ete."
" Let me pass," pleaded a voice I knew : " I ask
but five minutes ; " and a familiar shape, tall and grand
(as we of the Rue Fossette all thought it), issued from
the house, and strode down amongst the beds and walks.
It was sacrilege the intrusion of a man into that spot,
at that hour ; but he knew himself privileged, and
perhaps he trusted to the friendly night. He wandered
down the alleys, looking on this side and on that he
was lost in the shrubs, trampling flowers and breaking
branches in his search he penetrated at last the " for-
bidden walk." There I met hitn, like some ghost, I
suppose.
" Dr John ! it is found."
He did not ask by whom, for with his quick eye he
perceived that I held it in my hand.
" Do not betray her," he said, looking at me as if I
were indeed a dragon.
" Were I ever so disposed to treachery, I cannot
betray what I do not know," was my answer. ** Read
the note, and you will see how little it reveals."
"Perhaps you have read it," 1 thought to myself;
and yet I could not believe he wrote it : that could
hardly be his style : besides, I was fool enough to think
there would be a degree of hardship in his calling me
such names. His own look vindicated him ; he grew
hot, and coloured as he read.
" This is indeed too much : this is cruel, this is
humiliating," were the words that fell from him. I
thought it was cruel when I saw his countenance so
THE CASKET 139
moved. No matter whether he was to blame or not ;
somebody, it seemed to me, must be more to blame.
" What shall you do about it ? " he inquired of
me. " Shall you tell Madame Beck what you have
found, and cause a stir an esclandre ? "
I thought I ought to tell, and said so ; adding that I
did not believe there would be either stir or esclandre :
Madame was much too prudent to make a noise about
an affair of that sort connected with her establishment.
He stood looking down and meditating. He was
both too proud and too honourable to entreat my secrecy
on a point which duty evidently commanded me to
communicate. I wished to do right, yet loathed to
grieve or injure him. Just then Rosine glanced out
through the open door ; she could not see us, though
between the trees I could plainly see her : her dress was
grey, like mine. This circumstance, taken in connec-
tion with prior transactions, suggested to me that per-
haps the case, however deplorable, was one in which I
was under no obligation whatever to concern myself.
Accordingly, I said
" If you can assure me that none of Madame Beck's
pupils are implicated in this business, I shall be very
happy to stand aloof from all interference. Take the
casket, the bouquet, and the billet ; for my part, I gladly
forget the whole affair."
" Look there ! " he whispered suddenly, as his hand
closed on what I offered, and at the same time he
pointed through the boughs.
I looked. Behold Madame, in shawl, wrapping-gown,
and slippers, softly descending the steps, and stealing
like a cat round the garden : in two minutes she
would have been upon Dr John. If she were like
a cat, however, he quite as much resembled a leopard :
nothing could be lighter than his tread when he
chose. He watched, and as she turned a corner, he
1 40 VILLETTE
took the garden at two noiseless bounds. She reappeared,,
and he was gone. Rosine helped him, instantly inter-
posing the door between him and his huntress. I, too,
might have got away, but I preferred to meet Madame
openly.
Though it was my frequent and well-known custom
to spend twilight in the garden, yet, never till now, had
I remained so late. Full sure was I that Madame had
missed was come in search of me, and designed now
to pounce on the defaulter unawares. 1 expected a.
reprimand. No. Madame was all goodness. She
tendered not even a remonstrance ; she testified no shade
of surprise. With that consummate tact of hers, in
which I believe she was never surpassed by living thing,,
she even professed merely to have issued forth to taste
"la brise du soir."
" Quelle belle nuit ! " cried she, looking up at the
stars the moon was now gone down behind the broad
tower of Jean Baptiste. " Qu'il fait bon ! que 1'air est
frais ! "
And, instead of sending me in, she detained me to
take a few turns with her down the principal alley.
When at last we both re-entered, she leaned affably on
my shoulder by way of support in mounting the front-
door steps ; at parting, her cheek was presented to my
lips, and " Bon soir, ma bonne amie ; dormez bien ! "
was her kindly adieu for the night.
I caught myself smiling as I lay awake and thoughtful
on my couch smiling at Madame. The unction, the
suavity of her behaviour offered, for one who knew her,
a sure token that suspicion of some kind was busy in
her brain. From some aperture or summit of observa-
tion, through parted bough or open window, she had
doubtless caught a glimpse, remote or near, deceptive or
instructive, of that night's transactions. Finely accom-
plished as she was in the art of surveillance, it was next
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 141
to impossible that a casket could be thrown into her
garden, or an interloper could cross her walks to seek
it, without that she, in shaken branch, passing shade,
unwonted footfall, or stilly murmur (and though Dr
John had spoken very low in the few words he dropped
me, yet the hum of his man's voice pervaded, I
thought, the whole conventual ground) without, I say,
that she should have caught intimation of things extra-
ordinary transpiring on her premises. What things, she
might by no means see, or at that time be able to dis-
cover ; but a delicious little ravelled plot lay tempting
her to disentanglement ; and in the midst, folded round
and round in cobwebs, had she not secured " Mees
Lucie," clumsily involved, like the foolish fly she was ?
Chapter jcitj.
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON.
I HAD occasion to smile nay, to laugh, at Madame
again, within the space of four-and-twenty hours
after the little scene treated of in the last chapter.
Villette owns a climate as variable, though not so
humid, as that of any English town. A night of high
wind followed upon that soft sunset, and all the next
day was one of dry storm dark, beclouded, yet rainless,
the streets were dim with sand and dust, whirled from
the boulevards. I know not that even lovely weather
would have tempted me to spend the evening-time of
study and recreation where I had spent it yesterday.
My alley, and, indeed, all the walks and shrubs in the
garden, had acquired a new, but not a pleasant interest ;
their seclusion was now become precarious ; their calm
insecure. That casement which rained billets, had
yulgarised the once dear nook it overlooked ; and else-
1 42 VILLETTE
where, the eyes of the flowers had gained vision, and
the knots in the tree-boles listened like secret ears.
Some plant* there were, indeed, trodden down by Dr
John in his search, and his hasty and heedless progress,
which I wished to prop up, water, and revive ; some
footmarks, too, he had left on the beds : but these, in
spite of the strong wind, I found a moment's leisure to
efface very early in the morning, ere common eyes had
discovered them. With a pensive sort of content, I sat
down to my desk and my German, while the pupils
settled to their evening lessons, and the other teachers
took up their needlework.
The scene of the " etude du soir " was always the
refectory, a much smaller apartment than any of the three
classes or schoolrooms ; for here none, save the boarders,
were ever admitted, and these numbered only a score.
Two lamps hung from the ceiling over the two tables ;
these were lit at dusk, and their kindling was the signal
for school-books being set aside, a grave demeanour
assumed, general silence enforced, and then commenced
"la lecture pieuse." This said "lecture pieuse " was,
I soon found, mainly designed as a wholesome mortifica-
tion of the Intellect, a useful humiliation of the Reason ;
and such a dose for Common Sense as she might digest
at her leisure, and thrive on as she best could.
The book brought out (it was never changed, but
when finished, recommenced) was a venerable volume,
old as the hills grey as the Hotel de Ville.
I would have given two francs for the chance of
getting that book once into my hands, turning over the
sacred yellow leaves, ascertaining the title, and perusing
with my own eyes the enormous figments which, as an
unworthy heretic, it was only permitted me to drink in
with my bewildered ears. This book contained legends
of the saints. Good God! (I speak the words rever-
ently) what legends they were. What gasconading
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 143
rascals those saints must have been, if they first boasted
these exploits or invented these miracles. These legends,
however, were no more than monkish extravagances,
over which one laughed inwardly ; there were, besides,
priestly matters, and the priestcraft of the book was far
worse than its monkery. The ears burned on each side
of my head as I listened, perforce, to tales of moral
martyrdom inflicted by Rome ; the dread boasts of con-
fessors, who had wickedly abused their office, trampling
to deep degradation high-born ladies, making of count-
esses and princesses the most tormented slaves under the
sun. Stories like that of Conrad and Elizabeth of
Hungary recurred again and again, with all its dreadful
viciousness, sickening tyranny and black impiety : tales
that were nightmares of oppression, privation, and
agony.
I sat out this " lecture pieuse " for some nights as
well as I could, and as quietly too ; only once breaking
off the points of my scissors by involuntarily sticking
them somewhat deep in the worm-eaten board of the
table before me. But, at last, it made me so burning
hot, and my temples, and my heart, and my wrist
throbbed so fast, and my sleep afterwards was so broken
with excitement, that I could sit no longer. Prudence
recommended henceforward a swift clearance of my
person from the place, the moment that guilty old book
was brought out. No Mause Headrigg ever felt a
stronger call to take up her testimony against Sergeant
Bothwell, than I to speak my mind in this matter of
the popish " lecture pieuse." However, I did manage
somehow to curb and rein in ; and though always, as
soon as Rosine came to light the lamps, I shot from the
room quickly, yet also I did it quietly ; seizing that
vantage moment given by the little bustle before the dead
sUence, and vanishing whilst the boarders put their books
away.
I44 VILLETTE
When I vanished it was into darkness ; candles
were not allowed to be carried about, and the teacher
who forsook the refectory, had only the unlit hall,
schoolroom, or bedroom, as a refuge. In winter I
sought the long classes, and paced them fast to keep
myself warm fortunate if the moon shone, and if there
were only stars, soon reconciled to their dim gleam, or
even to the total eclipse of their absence. In summer
it was never quite dark, and then I went upstairs to my
own quarter of the long dormitory, opened my own
casement (that chamber was lit by five casements large
as great doors), and leaning out, looked forth upon the
city beyond the garden, and listened to band-music from
the park or the palace-square, thinking meantime my
own thoughts, living my own life, in my own still,
shadow- world.
This evening, fugitive as usual before the Pope and
his works, I mounted the staircase, approached the dor-
mitory, and quietly opened the door, which was always
kept carefully shut, and which, like every other door in
this house, revolved noiselessly on well-oiled hinges.
Before I saw, I felt that life was in the great room,
usually void: not that there was either stir or breath,
or rustle of sound, but Vacuum lacked, Solitude was not
at home. All the white beds the " lits d'ange," as
they were poetically termed lay visible at a glance ; all
were empty : no sleeper reposed therein. The sound of
a drawer cautiously slid out struck my ear ; stepping a
little to one side, my vision took a free range, unimpeded
by falling curtains. I now commanded my own bed and
my own toilet, with a locked work-box upon it, and
locked drawers underneath.
Very good. A dumpy, motherly, little body, in
decent shawl and the cleanest of possible nightcaps,
stood before this toilet, hard at work, apparently doing
me the kindness of "tidying out" the " meuble."
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 145
Open stood the lid of the workbox, open the top
drawer ; duly and impartially was each succeeding
drawer opened in turn : not an article of their contents
but was lifted and unfolded, not a paper but was glanced
over, not a little box but was unlidded ; and beautiful
was the adroitness, exemplary the care with which the
search was accomplished. Madame wrought at it like
a true star, " unhasting yet unresting." I will not deny
that it was with a secret glee I watched her. Had
I been a gentleman I believe Madame would have
found favour in my eyes, she was so handy, neat,
thorough in all she did : some people's movements
provoke the soul by their loose awkwardness, hers
satisfied by their trim compactness. I stood, in short,
fascinated ; but it was necessary to make an effort to
break this spell : a retreat must be beaten. The
searcher might have turned and caught me ; there would
have been nothing for it then but a scene, and she and
I would have had to come all at once, with a sudden
clash, to a thorough knowledge of each other : down
would have gone conventionalities, away swept disguises,
and / should have looked into her eyes, and she into
mine we should have known that we could work
together no more, and parted in this life for ever.
Where was the use of tempting such a catastrophe ?
I was not angry, and had no wish in the world to leave
her. I could hardly get another employer whose yoke
would be so light and so easy of carriage ; and truly,
I liked Madame for her capital sense, whatever I might
think of her principles : as to her system, it did me no
harm ; she might work me with it to her heart's
content : nothing would come of the operation. Lover-
less and inexpectant of love, I was as safe from spies in
my heart-poverty, as the beggar from thieves in his
destitution of purse. I turned, then, and fled ; descend-
ing the stairs with progress as swift and soundless as that
146 VILLETTE
of the spider, which at the same instant ran down the
bannister.
How I laughed when 1 reached the schoolroom. I
knew now she had certainly seen Dr John in the
garden ; I knew what her thoughts were. The
spectacle of a suspicious nature so far misled by its own
inventions, tickled me much. Yet as the laugh died, a
kind of wrath smote me, and then bitterness followed :
it was the rock struck, and Meribah's waters gushing
out. I never had felt so strange and contradictory an
inward tumult as I felt for an hour that evening : sore-
ness and laughter, and fire, and grief, shared my heart
between them. I cried hot tears : not because
Madame mistrusted me I did not care twopence for
her mistrust but for other reasons. Complicated,
disquieting thoughts broke up the whole repose of my
nature. However, that turmoil subsided : next day I
was again Lucy Snowe.
On revisiting my drawers, I found them all securely
locked ; the closest subsequent examination could not
discover change or apparent disturbance in the position
of one object. My few dresses were folded as I had
left them ; a certain little bunch of white violets that
had been once silently presented to me by a stranger (a
stranger to me, for we had never exchanged words), and
which I had dried and kept for its sweet perfume
between the folds of my best dress, lay there unstirred ;
my black silk scarf, my lace chemisette and collars were
unrumpled. Had she creased one solitary article, I
own I should have felt much greater difficulty in for-
giving her ; but finding all straight and orderly, I said
" Let bygones be bygones. I am unharmed : why
should I bear malice ? "
A thing there was which puzzled myself, and I
ought in my brain a key to that riddle almost aa
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 147
sedulously as Madame had sought a guide to useful
knowledge in my toilet drawers. How was it that Dr
John, if he had not been accessory to the dropping of
that casket into the garden, should have known that it
was dropped, and appeared so promptly on the spot to
seek it ? So strong was the wish to clear up this point
that I began to entertain this daring suggestion
" Why may I not, in case I should ever have the
opportunity, ask Dr John himself to explain this
coincidence ? "
And so long as Dr John was absent, I really believed
I had courage to test him with such a question.
Little Georgette was now convalescent ; and her
physician accordingly made his visits very rare : indeed,
he would have ceased them altogether, had not Madame
insisted on his giving an occasional call till the child
should be quite well.
She came into the nursery one evening just after I
had listened to Georgette's lisped and broken prayer,
and had put her to bed. Taking the little one's hand,
she said
" Cette enfant a toujours un peu de fi^vre." And
presently afterwards, looking at me with a quicker glance
than was habitual to her quiet eye, " Le Docteur John
l'a-t-il vue dernirement ? Non, n'est ce pas ? "
Of course she knew this better than any other person
in the house. " Well," she continued, " I am going
out, pour faire quelques courses en fiacre. I shall call
on Dr John, and send him to the child. I will that
he sees her this evening ; her cheeks are flushed, her
pulse is quick : you will receive him for my part, I
shall be from home."
Now the child was well enough, only warm with the
warmth of July ; it was scarcely less needful to send for
a priest to administer extreme unction than for a doctor to
prescribe a dose ; also Madame rarely made " courses,"
I4 8 VILLETTE
as she called them, in the evening : moreover, this was
the first time she had chosen to absent herself on the
occasion of a visit from Dr John. The whole arrange-
ment indicated some plan ; this I saw, but without the
least anxiety. " Ha ! ha ! Madame," laughed Light-
heart the Beggar, " your crafty wits are on the wrong
tack."
She departed, attired very smartly, in a shawl of
price, and a certain chapeau vert tendrt hazardous, as
to its tint, for any complexion less fresh than her own,
but, to her, not unbecoming. I wondered what she
intended : whether she really would send Dr John or
not ; or whether indeed he would come : he might be
engaged.
Madame had charged me not to let Georgette sleep
till the doctor came ; I had therefore sufficient occupa-
tion in telling her nursery tales and palavering the little
language for her benefit. I affected Georgette ; she
was a sensitive and a loving child : to hold her in my
lap, or carry her in my arms, was to me a treat. To-
night she would have me lay my head on the pillow of
her crib ; she even put her little arms round my neck.
Her clasp, and the nestling action with which she
pressed her cheek to mine, made me almost cry with a
tender pain. Feeling of no kind abounded in that
house ; this pure little drop from a pure little source
was too sweet : it penetrated deep ; and subdued the
heart, and sent a gush to the eyes.
Half-an-hour or an hour passed ; Georgette mur-
mured in her soft lisp that she was growing sleepy.
" And you shall sleep," thought I, " malgre mamnn
and medecin, if they are not here in ten minutes."
Hark ! There was a ring, and there the tread,
astonishing the staircase by the fleetness with which it
left the steps behind. Rosine introduced Dr John,
and, with a freedom of manner not altogether peculiar
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 149
to herself, but characteristic of the domestics of Villette
generally, she stayed to hear what he had to say.
Madame's presence would have awed her back to her
own realm of the vestibule and the cabinet for mine,
or that of any other teacher or pupil, she cared not a jot.
Smart, trim, and pert, she stood, a hand in each pocket
of her gay grisette apron, eyeing Dr John with no more
fear or shyness than if he had been a picture instead of
a living gentleman.
" Le marmot n'a rien n'est ce pas ? " said she,
indicating Georgette with a jerk of her chin.
" Pas beaucoup," was the answer, as the doctor
hastily scribbled with his pencil some harmless
prescription.
" Eh bien ! " pursued Rosine, approaching him quite
near, while he put up his pencil. "And the box
did you get it ? Monsieur went off like a coup de vent
the other night ; I had not time to ask him."
" I found it : yes."
" And who threw it, then ? " continued Rosine,
speaking quite freely the very words I should so much
have wished to say, but had no address or courage to
bring it out : how short some people make the road to
a point which, for others, seems unattainable !
" That may be my secret," rejoined Dr John briefly,
but with no sort of hauteur : he seemed quite to under-
stand the Rosine or grisette character.
" Mais enfin," continued she, nothing abashed,
" monsieur knew it was thrown, since he came to seek
it how did he know ? "
" 1 was attending a little patient in the college near,"
said he, "and saw it dropped out of his chamber
window, and so came to pick it up."
How simple the whole explanation ! The note had
alluded to a physician as then examining " Gustave."
" Ah c.a ! " pursued Rosine, " il n'y a done rien
I5 o VILLETTE
la-dessous: pas de mystere, pas d'amourette, par
exemple ? "
" Pas plus que sur ma main," responded the doctor,
showing his palm.
" Quel dommage ! " responded the grisette : " et
moi a qui tout cela commencait a donner des
idees."
" Vraiment ! vous en tes pour vos frais," was the
doctor's cool rejoinder.
She pouted. The doctor could not help laughing at
the sort of " moue " she made : when he laughed, he
had something peculiarly good-natured and genial in his
look. I saw his hand incline to his pocket.
" How many times have you opened the door for
me within this last month ? " he asked.
" Monsieur ought to have kept count of that," said
Rosine, quite readily.
" As if I had not something better to do ! " re-
joined he ; but I saw him give her a piece of gold,
which she took unscrupulously, and then danced off to
answer the door-bell, ringing just now every five
minutes, as the various servants came to fetch the half-
boarders.
The reader must not think too hardly of Rosine ; on
the whole, she was not a bad sort of person, and had no
idea there could be any disgrace in grasping at whatever
she could get, or any effrontery in chattering like a pie
to the best gentleman in Christendom.
I had learned something from the above scene besides
what concerned the ivory box : viz., that not on the
robe de jaconas, pink or grey, nor yet on the frilled and
pocketed apron, lay the blame of breaking Dr John's
heart : these items of array were obviously guiltless as
Georgette's little blue tunic. So much the better.
But who then was the culprit ? What was the ground
what the origin what the perfect explanation of the
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 151
whole business ? Some points had been cleared, but
how many yet remained obscure as night !
" However," I said to myself, " it is no affair of
yours : " and turning from the face on which I had been
unconsciously dwelling with a questioning gaze, I
looked through the window which commanded the
garden below. Dr John, meantime, standing by the
bedside, was slowly drawing on his gloves and watching
his little patient, as her eyes closed and her rosy lipi
parted in coming sleep. I waited till he should depart
as usual, with a quick bow and scarce articulate " good-
night." Just as he took his hat, my eyes, fixed on the
tall houses bounding the garden, saw the one lattice,
already commemorated, cautiously open ; forth from the
aperture projected a hand and a white handkerchief;
both waved. I know not whether the signal was
answered from some viewless quarter of our own dwell-
ing ; but immediately after there fluttered from the
lattice a falling object, white and light billet the
second, of course.
** There ! " I ejaculated involuntarily.
" Where i " asked Dr John with energy, making
direct for the window. " What is it ? "
" They have gone and done it again," was my reply.
** A handkerchief waved and something fell : " and I
pointed to the lattice, now closed and looking hypo-
critically blank.
" Go at once ; pick it up and bring it here," was
his prompt direction ; adding, " nobody will take notice
of you . I should be seen."
Straight I went. After some little search, I found
a folded paper, lodged on the lower branch of a shrub ;
I seized and brought it direct to Dr John. This time,
I believe not even Rosine saw me.
He instantly tore the billet into small piecet, without
reading it.
i 5 2 VILLETTE
" It is not in the least her fault, you must remember,"
he said, looking at me.
< Whose fault ? " I asked. Who is it ? "
* You don't yet know, then ? "
' Not in the least."
' Have you no guess ? "
None.''
' If I knew you better, I might be tempted to risk
some confidence, and thus secure you as guardian over a
most innocent and excellent, but somewhat inexperienced
being."
" As a duenna ? " I asked.
" Yes," said he abstractedly. " What snares are
round her ! " he added musingly : and now, certainly
for the first time, he examined my face, anxious, doubt-
less, to see if any kindly expression there would warrant
him in recommending to my care and indulgence some
ethereal creature, against whom powers of darkness were
plotting. I felt no particular vocation to undertake the
surveillance of ethereal creatures ; but recalling the
scene at the bureau, it seemed to me that I owed him a
good turn : if I could help him then I would, and it lay not
with me to decide how. With as little reluctance as
might be, I intimated that " I was willing to do what I
could towards taking care of any person in whom he
might be interested."
" I am no farther interested than as a spectator,' *
said he, with a modesty, admirable, as I thought, to
witness. " I happen to be acquainted with the rather
worthless character of the person who, from the house
opposite, has now twice invaded the sanctity of this
place ; I have also met in society the object at whom
these vulgar attempts are aimed. Her exquisite
superiority and innate refinement ought, one would
think, to scare impertinence from her very idea. It is
not so, however ; and innocent, unsuspicious as she is,
A SNEEZE OUT OF SEASON 153
I would guard her from evil if I could. In person,
however, I can do nothing : I cannot come near her "
he paused.
" Well, I am willing to help you," said I, " only
tell me how." And busily, in my own mind, I ran
over the list of our inmates, seeking this paragon, this
pearl of great price, this gem without flaw. " It must
be Madame," I concluded.
" She only, amongst us all, has the art even to teem
superior : but as to being unsuspicious, inexperienced,
&c., Dr John need not distract himself about that.
However, this is just his whim, and I will not con-
tradict him ; he shall be humoured : his angel shall be
an angel."
" Just notify the quarter to which my care is to be
directed," I continued gravely : chuckling, however,
to myself over the thought of being set to chaperon
Madame Beck or any of her pupils.
Now Dr John had a fine set of nerves, and he at once
felt by instinct, what no more coarsely constituted mind
would have detected ; namely, that I was a little amused
at him. The colour rose to his cheek ; with half a
smile he turned and took his hat he was going. My
heart smote me.
" I will I will help you," said I eagerly. " I will
do what you wish. I will watch over your angel : I
will take care of her, only tell me who she is."
" But you must know," said he then with earnest-
ness, yet speaking very low. " So spotless, so good, so
unspeakably beautiful ! impossible that one house should
contain two like her. I allude, of course "
Here the latch of Madame Beck's chamber-door
(opening into the nursery) gave a sudden click, as if the
hand holding it had been slightly convulsed ; there was
the suppressed explosion of an irrepressible sneeze.
These little accidents will happen to the best of us.
i 54 VILLETTE
Madame excellent woman ! was then on duty. She
had come home quietly, stolen upstairs on tip-toe ; she
was in her chamber. If she had not sneezed, she
would have heard all, and so should I ; but that un-
lucky sternutation routed Dr John. While he stood
aghast, she came forward alert, composed, in the best
yet most tranquil spirits : no novice to her habits but
would have thought she had just come in, and scouted
the idea of her ear having been glued to the key-hole
for at least ten minutes. She affected to sneeze again,
declared she was " enrhumee," and then proceeded
volubly to recount her " courses en fiacre." The
prayer-bell rang, and I left her with the doctor.
Chapter jcifo.
THE FTE.
AS soon as Georgette was well, Madame sent her
away into the country. I was sorry ; I loved
the child, and her loss made me poorer than
before. But I must not complain. 1 lived in a house
full of robust life ; I might have had companions, and I
chose solitude. Each of the teachers in turn made me
overtures of special intimacy ; I tried them all. One I
found to be an honest woman, but a narrow thinker,,
a coarse feeler, and an egotist. The second was a
Parisienne, externally refined at heart, corrupt with-
out a creed, without a principle, without an affection :
having penetrated the outward crust of decorum in this
character, you found a slough beneath. She had a
wonderful passion for presents ; and, in this point, the
third teacher a person otherwise characterless and in*
significant closely resembled her. This last-named
had also one other distinctive property that of avarice-
THE FETE 155
In her reigned the love of money for its own sake.
The sight of a piece of gold would bring into her eyes
a green glisten, singular to witness. She once, as a mark
of high favour, took me upstairs, and, opening a secret
door, showed me a hoard a mass of coarse, large coin
about fifteen guineas, in five-franc pieces. She loved
this hoard as a bird loves its eggs. These were her
savings. She would come and talk to me about them
with an infatuated and persevering dotage, strange to
behold in a person not yet twenty-five.
The Parisienne, on the other hand, was prodigal and
profligate (in disposition, that is: as to action, I do not
know). That latter quality showed its snake-head to
me but once, peeping out very cautiously. A curious
kind of reptile it seemed, judging from the glimpse I
got ; its novelty whetted my curiosity : if it would have
come out boldly, perhaps I might philosophically have
stood my ground, and coolly surveyed the long thing
from forked tongue to scaly tail-tip ; but it merely
rustled in the leaves of a bad novel ; and, on encounter-
ing a hasty and ill-advised demonstration of wrath,
recoiled and vanished, hissing. She hated me from that
day.
This Parisienne was always in debt ; her salary being
anticipated, not only in dress, but in perfumes, cosmetics,
confectionery, and condiments. What a cold, callous
epicure she was in all things ! I see her now. Thin
in face and figure, sallow in complexion, regular in
features, with perfect teeth, lips like a thread, a large,
prominent chin, a well-opened, but frozen eye, of light
at once craving and ingrate. She mortally hated work,
and loved what she called pleasure ; being an insipid,
heartless, brainless dissipation of time.
Madame Beck knew this woman's character perfectly
well. She once talked to me about her, with an odd
mixture of discrimination, indifference, and antipathy.
c 5 6 VILLETTE
I asked why she kept her in the establishment. She
answered plainly, " because it suited her interest to do
so ; " and pointed out a fact I had already noticed, namely,
that Mademoiselle St Pierre possessed, in an almost
unique degree, the power of keeping order amongst her
undisciplined ranks of scholars. A certain petrifying
influence accompanied and surrounded her : without
passion, noise, or violence, she held them in check as a
breezeless frost-air might still a brawling stream. She
was of little use as far as communication of knowledge
went, but for strict surveillance and maintenance of rules
she was invaluable. "Je sais bien qu'elle n'a pas de
principes, ni, peutetre, de moeurs," admitted Madame
frankly ; but added with philosophy, " son maintien en
classe est toujours convenable et rempli meme d'une
certaine dignite : c'est tout ce qu'il faut. Ni les eleves
ni les parents ne regardent plus loin ; ni, par conse-
quent, moi non plus."
A strange, frolicsome, noisy little world was this
school : great pains were taken to hide chains with
flowers : a subtle essence of Romanism pervaded every
arrangement : large sensual indulgence (so to speak) was
permitted by way of counterpoise to jealous spiritual
restraint. Each mind was being reared in slavery ; but,
to prevent reflection from dwelling on this fact, every
pretext for physical recreation was seized and made the
most of. There, as elsewhere, the CHURCH strove to
bring up her children robust in body, feeble in soul, fat,
ruddy, hale, joyous, ignorant, unthinking, unquestioning.
" Eat, drink, and live ! " she says. " Look after your
bodies ; leave your souls to me. I hold their cure
guide their course : I guarantee their final fate." A
bargain, in which every true Catholic deems himself a
gainer. Lucifer just offers the same terms : " All this
power will I give thee, and the glory of it ; for that is
THE FETE 157
delivered unto me, and to whomsoever I will I give it.
If thou, therefore, wilt worship me, all shall be thine ! "
About this time in the ripest glow of summer
Madame Beck's house became as merry a place as a
school could well be. All day long the broad folding-
doors and the two-leaved casements stood wide open :
settled sunshine seemed naturalised in the atmosphere ;
clouds were far off, sailing away beyond sea, resting, no
doubt, on round islands such as England that dear
land of mists but withdrawn wholly from the drier
continent. We lived far more in the garden than
under a roof: classes were held, and meals partaken of,
in the " grand berceau." Moreover, there was a note
of holiday preparation, which almost turned freedom
into license. The autumnal long vacation was but two
months distant ; but before that, a great day an im-
portant ceremony none other than the fete of Madame
awaited celebration.
The conduct of this fdte devolved chiefly on Made-
moiselle St Pierre ; Madame herself being supposed to
stand aloof, disinterestedly unconscious of what might be
going forward in her honour. Especially, she never knew,
never in the least suspected, that a subscription was
annually levied on the whole school for the purchase of a
handsome present. The polite tact of the reader will
please to leave out of the account a brief, secret con-
sultation on this point in Madame's own chamber.
" What will you have this year ? " was asked by her
Parisian lieutenant.
" Oh, no matter ! Let it alone. Let the poor
children keep their francs." And Madame looked
benign and modest.
The St Pierre would here protrude her chin ; she
knew Madame by heart ; she always called her airs of
" bonte " " des grimaces." She never even professed
to respect them one instant.
i S 8 VILLETTE
" Vite ! " she would say coldly. " Name the article.
Shall it be jewellery or porcelain, haberdashery or
silver ? "
" Eh bien 1 Deux ou trois cuillers et autant de
fourchettes en argent."
And the result was a handsome case, containing 300
francs' worth of plate.
The programme of the fete-day's proceedings com-
prised: Presentation of plate, collation in the garden,
dramatic performance (with pupils and teachers for
actors), a dance and supper. Very gorgeous seemed
the effect of the whole to me, as I well remember.
Zelie St Pierre understood these things, and managed
them ably.
The play was the main point : a month's previous
drilling being there required. The choice, too, of the
actors required knowledge and care ; then came lessons
in elocution, in attitude, and then the fatigue of countless
rehearsals. For all this, as may well be supposed, St
Pierre did not suffice : other management, other ac-
complishments than hers were requisite here. They
were supplied in the person of a master M. Paul
Emanuel, professor of literature. It was never my lot
to be present at the histrionic lessons of M. Paul,
but I often saw him as he crossed the carre (a square
hall between the dwelling-house and school-house). I
heard him, too, in the warm evenings, lecturing with
open doors, and his name, with anecdotes of him, re-
sounded in one's ears from all sides. Especially our
former acquaintance, Miss Ginevra Fanshawe, who had
been selected to take a prominent part in the play used,
in bestowing upon me a large portion of her leisure, to
lard her discourse with frequent allusions to his sayings
and doings. She esteemed him hideously plain, and used
to profess herself frightened almost into hysterics at the
sound of his step or voice. A dark little man he
THE FETE 159
certainly was ; pungent and austere. Even to me he
aeemed a harsh apparition, with his close-shorn, black
head, his broad, sallow brow, his thin cheek, his wide
and quivering nostril, his thorough glance, and hurried
bearing. Irritable he was ; one heard that, as he
apostrophised with vehemence the awkward squad under
his orders. Sometimes he would break out on these
raw amateur actresses with a passion of impatience at
their falseness of conception, their coldness of emotion,
their feebleness of delivery. " Ecoutez ! " he would
cry ; and then his voice rang through the premises like
a trumpet ; and when, mimicking it, came the small
pipe of a Ginevra, a Mathilde, or a Blanche, one under-
stood why a hollow groan of scorn, or a fierce hiss of
rage, rewarded the tame echo.
" Vous n'etes done que des poupees ? " I heard
him thunder. " Vous n'avez pas de passions vous
autres ? Vous ne sentez done rien ? Votre chair est
de neige, votre sang de glace ? Moi, je veux que tout
cela s'allume, qu'il ait une vie, une ame ! "
Vain resolve ! And when he at last found it was
vain, he suddenly broke the whole business down.
Hitherto he had been teaching them a grand tragedy ;
he tore the tragedy in morsels, and came next day with
a compact little comic trifle. To this they took more
kindly ; he presently knocked it all into their smooth
round pates.
Mademoiselle St Pierre always presided at M.
Emanuel's lessons, and I was told that the polish of
her manner, her seeming attention, her tact and grace,
impressed that gentleman very favourably. She had,
indeed, the art of pleasing, for a given time, whom she
would ; but the feeling would not last : in an hour it
was dried like dew, vanished like gossamer.
The day preceding Madame's fete was as much a
<holiday as the fete itself. It waa devoted to clearing
160 VILLETTE
out, cleaning, arranging and decorating the three school-
rooms. All within doors was the gayest bustle ; neither
upstairs nor down could a quiet, isolated person find
rest for the sole of her foot ; accordingly, for my part,
I took refuge in the garden. The whole day did I
wander or sit there alone, finding warmth in the sun,
shelter among the trees, and a sort of companionship
in my own thoughts. I well remember that I ex-
changed but two sentences that day with any living
being : not that I felt solitary ; I was glad to be quiet.
For a looker-on, it sufficed to pass through the rooms
once or twice, observe what changes were being wrought,
how a green-room and a dressing-room were being con-
trived, a little stage with scenery erected, how M. Paul
Emanuel, in conjunction with Mademoiselle St Pierre,
was directing all, and how an eager band of pupils,
amongst them Ginevra Fanshawe, were working gaily
under his control.
The great day arrived. The sun rose hot and un-
clouded, and hot and unclouded it burned on till even-
ing. All the doors and all the windows were set open,
which gave a pleasant sense of summer freedom and
freedom the most complete seemed indeed the order of
the day. Teachers and pupils descended to breakfast in
dressing-gowns and curl-papers : anticipating " avec
delices " the toilette of the evening, they seemed to
take a pleasure in indulging that forenoon in a luxury of
slovenliness ; like aldermen fasting in preparation for a
feast. About nine o'clock A.M., an important func-
tionary, the " coiffeur," arrived. Sacrilegious to state,
he fixed his headquarters in the oratory, and there, in
presence of benitier, candle, and crucifix, solemnised the
mysteries of his art. Each girl was summoned in turn
to pass through his hands ; emerging from them with
head as smooth as a shell, intersected by faultless white
lines, and wreathed about with Grecian plaits that shone
THE FETE 161
as if lacquered. I took my turn with the rest, and
could hardly believe what the glass said when I applied
to it for information afterwards ; the lavished garlandry
of woven brown hair amazed me I feared it was not
all my own, and it required several convincing pulls to
give assurance to the contrary. I then acknowledged
in the coiffeur a first-rate artist one who certainly made
the most of indifferent materials.
The oratory closed, the dormitory became the scene
of ablutions, arrayings and bedizenings curiously elaborate.
To me it was, and ever must be an enigma, how they
contrived to spend so much time in doing so little. The
operation seemed close, intricate, prolonged : the result
simple. A clear white muslin dress, a blue sash (the
Virgin's colours), a pair of white, or straw-colour kid
gloves such was the gala uniform, to the assumption
whereof that houseful of teachers and pupils devoted
three mortal hours. But though simple, it must be
allowed the array was perfect perfect in fashion, fit, ,
and freshness ; every head being also dressed with ex-
quisite nicety, and a certain compact taste suiting
the full, firm comeliness of Labassecourien contours,
though too stiff for any more flowing and flexible style
of beauty the general effect was, on the whole, com-
mendable.
In beholding this diaphanous and snowy mass, I well
remember feeling myself to be a mere shadowy spot on
a field of light ; the courage was not in me to put on a
transparent white dress : something thin I must wear
the weather and rooms being too hot to give substantial
fabrics suffrance, so I had sought through a dozen shops
till I lit upon a crape-like material of purple-grey the
colour, in short, of dun mist, lying on a moor in bloom.
My iailleute had kindly made it as well as she could :
because, as she judiciously observed, it was " si triste
*i peu voyant," care in the fashion was the more im-
F
l62 VILLETTE
perative : it was well she took this view of the matter,
for I had no flower, no jewel to relieve it : and, what
was more, 1 had no natural rose of complexion.
We become oblivious of these deficiencies in the
uniform routine of daily drudgery, but they luill force
upon us their unwelcome blank on those bright occasions
when beauty should shine.
However, in this same gown of shadow, I felt at
home and at ease ; an advantage I should not have en-
joyed in anything more brilliant or striking. Madame
Beck, too, kept me in countenance ; her dress was
almost as quiet as mine, except that she wore a bracelet,
and a large brooch bright with gold and fine stones.
We chanced to meet on the stairs, and she gave me a
nod and smile of approbation. Not that she thought I
was looking well a point unlikely to engage her in-
terest but she considered me dressed " convenable-
ment," "decemment," and la Convenance et la Decence
were the two calm deities of Madame's worship. She
even paused, laid on my shoulder her gloved hand, hold-
ing an embroidered and perfumed handkerchief, and
confided to my ear a sarcasm on the other teachers
(whom she had just been complimenting to their faces).
" Nothing so absurd," she said, " as for des femmes
mures ' to dress themselves like girls of fifteen ' quant
a la St Pierre, elle a 1'air d'une vieille coquette qui fait
1'ingenue."
Being dressed at least a couple of hours before any-
body else, I felt a pleasure in betaking myself not to
the garden, where servants were busy propping up long
tables, placing seats, and spreading cloths in readiness
for the collation but to the schoolrooms, now empty,
quiet, cool, and clean ; their walls fresh stained, their
plank floors fresh scoured, and scarce dry ; flowers fresh
gathered adorning the recesses in pots, and draperies*
fresh hung, beautifying the great windows.
THE FETE 163
Withdrawing to the first classe, a smaller and neater
room than the others, and taking from the glazed book-
case, of which I kept the key, a volume whose title
promised some interest, I sat down to read. The glass-
door of this " classe," or schoolroom, opened into the
large berceau ; acacia-boughs caressed its panes, as they
stretched across to meet a rose-bush blooming by the
opposite lintel : in this rose-bush bees murmured busy
and happy. I commenced reading. Just as the stilly
hum, the embowering shade, the warm, lonely calm of
my retreat were beginning to steal meaning from the
page, vision from my eyes, and to lure me along the
track of reverie, down into some deep dell of dreamland
just then, the sharpest ring of the street-door bell to
which that much-tried instrument had ever thrilled,
snatched me back to consciousness.
Now the bell had been ringing all the morning, as
workmen, or servants, or coiffeures, or tai/kuses, went and
came on their several errands. Moreover, there was
good reason to expect it would ring all the afternoon,
since about one hundred externes were yet to arrive in
carriages or fiacres : nor could it be expected to rest
during the evening, when parents and friends would
gather thronging to the play. Under these circumstances,
a ring even a sharp ring was a matter of course : yet
this particular peal had an accent of its own, which
chased my dream, and startled my book from my
knee.
I was stooping to pick up this last, when firm, fast,
straight right on through vestibule along corridor,
across carre, through first division, second division, grand
salte strode a step, quick, regular, intent. The closed
door of the first classe my sanctuary offered no
obstacle ; it burst open, and a paletot and a bonnet grec
filled the void ; also two eyes first vaguely struck upon,
and then hungrily dived into me.
X 6 4 VILLETTE
" C'est cela ! " said a voice. " Je la connais ; c'est
1'Anglaise. Tant pis. Tout Anglaise, et, par cone-
quent, toute begueule qu'elle soit elle fera mon affaire,
ou je saurai pourquoi.'
Then, with a certain stern politeness (I suppose he
thought I had not caught the drift of his previous un-
civil mutterings), and in a jargon the most execrable
that ever was heard, " Meess , play you must : I
am planted there."
" What can I do for you, M. Paul Emanuel ? " I
inquired : for M. Paul Emanuel it was, and in a state
of no little excitement.
" Play you must. I will not have you shrink, 01
frown, or make the prude. I read your skull that night
you came ; I see yonr moyens : play you can : play you
must."
" But how, M. Paul ? What do you mean ? "
" There is no time to be lost," he went on, now
speaking in French ; " and let us thrust to the wall all
reluctance, all excuses, all minauderies. You must take
a part."
" In the vaudeville ? "
" In the vaudeville. You have said it."
I gasped, horror-struck. What did the little man
mean ?
" Listen ! " he said. " The case shall be stated, and
you shall then answer me Yes, or No ; and according
to your answer shall I ever after estimate you "
The scarce-suppressed impetus of a most irritable
nature glowed in his cheek, fed with sharp shafts his
glances, a nature the injudicious, the mawkish, the hesi-
tating, the sullen, the affected, above all, the unyielding,
might quickly render violent and implacable. Silence
and attention was the best balm to apply : I listened.
"The whole matter is going to fail," he began.
" Louise Vanderkdkov has fallen ill at least so her
THE FETE 165
ridiculous mother asserts ; for my part, 1 feel sure she
might play if she would : it is only good- will that lacks.
She was charged with a role, as you know, or do not
know it is equal : without that r$le the play is stopped.
There are now but a few hours in which to learn it :
not a girl in this school would hear reason, and accept
the task. Forsooth, it is not an interesting, not an
amiable, part ; their vile amour-propre that base
quality of which women have so much would revolt
from it. Englishwomen are either the best or the
worst of their sex. Dieu sait que je les deteste comme
la peste, ordinairement " (this between his recreant
teeth). "I apply to an Englishwoman to rescue me.
What is her answer Yes, or No ? "
A thousand objections rushed into my mind. The
foreign language, the limited time, the public display. . . .
Inclination recoiled, Ability faltered, Self-respect (that
"vile quality") trembled. " Non, non, non ! " said
all these ; but looking up at M. Paul, and seeing in his
vexed, fiery, and searching eye, a sort of appeal behind
all its menace, my lips dropped the word " oui." For a
moment his rigid countenance relaxed with a quiver of
content : quickly bent up again, however, he went on
" Vite a 1'ouvrage ! Here is the book ; here is your
role : read." And I read. He did not commend ; at
some passages he scowled and stamped. He gave me a
lesson : I diligently imitated. It was a disagreeable
part a man's an empty-headed fop's. One could
put into it neither heart nor soul : I hated it. The
play a mere trifle ran chiefly on the efforts of a brace
of rivals to gain the hand of a fair coquette. One lover
was called the " Ours," a good and gallant but un-
polished man, a sort of diamond in the rough ; the
other was a butterfly, a talker, and a traitor : and I was
to be the butterfly, talker, and traitor.
I did my best which was bad, I know : it pro-
,66 VILLETTE
voked M. Paul; he fumed. Putting both hands to
the work, I endeavoured to do better than my best ; 1
presume he gave me credit for good intentions ; he pro-
fessed to be partially content. " Ca ira ! " he cried ;
and as voices began sounding from the garden, and
white dresses fluttering among the trees, he added :
" You must withdraw : you must be alone to learn this.
Come with me."
Without being allowed time or power to deliberate,
I found myself in the same breath convoyed along as in
a species of whirlwind, up stairs, up two pair of stairs,
nay, actually up three (for this fiery little man seemed as
by instinct to know his way everywhere) ; to the
solitary and lofty attic was I borne, put in and locked
in, the key being in the door, and that key he took with
him and vanished.
The attic was no pleasant place : I believe he did
not know how unpleasant it was, or he never would
have locked me in with so little ceremony. In this
summer weather, it was hot as Africa ; as in winter, it
was always cold as Greenland. Boxes and lumber
filled it ; old dresses draped its unstained wall cob-
webs its unswept ceiling. Well was it known to be
tenanted by rats, by black beetles, and by cockroaches
nay, rumour affirmed that the ghostly Nun of the
garden had once been seen here. A partial darkness
obscured one end, across which, as for deeper mystery,
an old russet curtain was drawn, by way of screen to
a sombre band of winter cloaks, pendant each from its
pin like a malefactor from his gibbet. From amongst
these cloaks, and behind that curtain, the Nun was said
to issue. I did not believe this, nor was I troubled by
apprehension thereof; but I saw a very dark and large
rat, with a long tail, come gliding out from that squalid
alcove ; and, moreover, my eye fell on many a. black
beetle, dotting the floor. These objects discomposed
THE FETE 167
me more, perhaps, than it would be wise to say, as also
did the dust, lumber, and stifling heat of the place. The
last inconvenience would soon have become intolerable,
had I not found means to open and prop up the sky-
light, thus admitting some freshness. Underneath this
aperture I pushed a large empty chest, and having
mounted upon it a smaller box, and wiped from both
the dust, I gathered my dress (my best, the reader must
remember, and therefore a legitimate object of care)
fastidiously around me, ascended this species of extem-
pore throne, and being seated, commenced the acquisi-
tion of my task ; while I learned, not forgetting to
keep a sharp look-out on the black beetles and cock-
roaches, of which, more even, I believe, than of the
rats, I sat in mortal dread.
My impression at first was that I had undertaken
what it really was impossible to perform, and I simply
resolved to do my best and be resigned to fail. I soon
found, however, that one part in so short a piece was
not more than memory could master at a few hours'
notice. I learned and learned on, first in a whisper,
and then aloud. Perfectly secure from human audience,
I acted my part before the garret-vermin. Entering
into its emptiness, frivolity, and falsehood, with a spirit
inspired by scorn and impatience, I took my revenge on
this " fat," by making him as fatuitous as I possibly
could.
In this exercise the afternoon passed : day began to
glide into evening ; and I, who had eaten nothing since
breakfast, grew excessively hungry. Now I thought of
the collation, which doubtless they were just then de-
vouring in the garden far below. (I had seen in the
vestibule a basketful of small pdtes a la creme, than
which nothing in the whole range of cookery seemed to
me better. ) A fate, or a square of cake, it seemed to
me would come very apropos ; and as my relish for
,68 VILLETTE
those dainties increased, it began to appear somewhat
hard that I should pass my holiday, fasting and in
prison. Remote as was the attic from the street-door
and vestibule, yet the ever-tinkling bell was faintly
audible here ; and also the ceaseless roll of wheels on
the tormented pavement. I knew that the house and
garden were thronged, and that all was gay and glad
below ; here it began to grow dusk : the beetles were
fading from my sight ; I trembled lest they should steal
on me a march, mount my throne unseen, and, un-
suspected, invade my skirts. Impatient and apprehen-
sive, I recommenced the rehearsal of my part merely to
kill time. Just as I was concluding, the long-delayed
rattle of the key in the lock came to my ear no un-
welcome sound. M. Paul (I could just see through
the dusk that it was M. Paul, for light enough
still lingered to show the velvet blackness of his close
shorn head, and the sallow ivory of his brow) looked in.
" Brava ! " cried he, holding the door open and re-
maining at the threshold. " J'ai tout entendu. C'est
assez bien. Encore !"
A moment I hesitated.
" Encore ! " said he sternly. " Et point de grimaces!
A bas la timidite ! "
Again I went through the part, but not half so well
as I had spoken it alone.
" Enfin, elle sait," said he., half dissatisfied, " and one
cannot be fastidious or exacting under the circumstances."
Then he added, " You may yet have twenty minutes for
preparation : au revoir ! " And he was going.
* Monsieur," I called out, taking courage.
' Eh bien. Qu'est que c'est, Mademoiselle ? "
* J'ai bien faim."
' Comment, vous avez faim ! Et la collation ? "
' I know nothing about it. I have not seen it, shut
up here."
THE FETE 169
Ah 1 C'est vrai," cried he.
In a moment my throne was abdicated, the attic
evacuated ; an inverse repetition of the impetus which
had brought me up into the attic, instantly took me
down down down to the very kitchen. I thought
I should have gone to the cellar. The cook was im-
peratively ordered to produce food, and I, as impera-
tively, was commanded to eat. To my great joy this
food was limited to coffee and cake : I had feared wine
and sweets, which I did not like. How he guessed
that I should like a petit pdte a la creme I cannot tell ;
but he went out and procured me one from some
quarter. With considerable willingness I ate and drank,
keeping the petit pdte till the last, as a bonne bouche. M.
Paul superintended my repast, and almost forced upon
me more than I could swallow.
" A la bonne heure," he cried, when I had signified
that I really could take no more, and, with uplifted
hands, implored to be spared the additional roll on
which he had just spread butter. " You will set me
down as a species of tyrant and Bluebeard, starving
women in a garret ; whereas, after all, I am no such
thing. Now, Mademoiselle, do you feel courage and
strength to appear ? "
I said I thought I did ; though, in truth, I was per-
fectly confused, and could hardly tell how I felt : but
this little man was of the order of beings who must not
be opposed, unless you possessed an all-dominant force
sufficient to crush him at once.
" Come then," said he, offering his hand.
I gave him mine, and he set off with a rapid walk,
which obliged me to run at his side in order to keep
pace. In the carre he stopped a moment ; it was lit
with large lamps ; the wide doors of the classes were
open, and so were the equally wide garden-doors ;
orange-trees in tubs, and tall flowers in pots, ornamented
F2
170
these portals, on each side ; groups of ladies and gentle-
men in evening-dress stood and walked amongst the
flowers. Within, the long vista of the schoolrooms
presented a thronging, undulating, murmuring, waving,
streaming, multitude, all rose, and blue, and half
translucent white. There were lustres, burning over-
head ; far off there was a stage, a solemn green curtain,
a row of footlights.
" N'est-ce pas que c'est beau ? " demanded ray
companion.
I should have said it was, but my heart got up into
my throat. M. Paul discovered this, and gave me a
side-scowl and a little shake for my pains.
" I will do my best, but I wish it was over," said I ;
then I asked : " Are we to walk thiough that crowd ? "
' By no means : I manage matters better : we pass
through the garden here."
In an instant we were out of doors : the cool, calm
night revived me somewhat. It was moonless, but the
reflex from the many glowing windows lit the court
brightly, and even the alleys dimly. Heaven waa
cloudless, and grand with the quiver of its living fires ;.
How soft are the nights of the Continent ! How bland,
balmy, safe ! No sea-fog ; no chilling damp : mistless
as noon, and fresh as morning.
Having crossed court and garden, we reached the
glass door of the first classe. It stood open, like all
other doors that night ; we passed, and then I was
ushered into a small cabinet, dividing the first classe
from the grand salle. This cabinet dazzled me, it was
so full of light : it deafened me, it was clamorous with
voices : it stifled me, it was so hot, choking, thronged.
" De 1'ordre ! Du silence ! " cried M. Paul. * Is
this chaos ? " he demanded ; and there was a hush.
With a dozen words, and as many gestures, he turned
out half the persons present, and obliged the remnant to
THE FETE 171
fall into rank. Those left were all in costume : they
were the performers, and this was the green-room. M.
Paul introduced me. All stared and some tittered. It
was a surprise : they had not expected the English-
woman would play in a vaudeville. Ginevra Fanshawe,
beautifully dressed for her part, and looking fascinatingly
pretty, turned on me a pair of eyes as round as beads.
In the highest spirit, unperturbed by fear or bashfulness,
delighted indeed at the thought of shining off before
hundreds my entrance seemed to transfix her with
amazement in the midst of her joy. She would have ex-
claimed, but M. Paul held her and all the rest in check.
Having surveyed and criticised the whole troop, he
turned to me.
" You, too, must be dressed for your part."
" Dressed dressed like a man ' " exclaimed Zelie
St Pierre, darting forwards ; adding with officiousness,
" I will dress her myself."
To be dressed like a man did not please, and would
not suit me. I had consented to take a man's name and
part ; as to his dress halte la ! No. I would keep
my own dress ; come what might. M. Paul might
storm, might rage : I would keep my own dress. I
said so, with a voice as resolute in intent, as it was low,
and perhaps unsteady, in utterance.
He did not immediately storm or rage, as I fully
thought he would : he stood silent. But Zelie again
interposed.
" She will make a capital petit-maitre. Here are the
garments, all all complete : somewhat too large, but I
will arrange all that. Come, chere amie belle
Anglaise ! "
And she sneered, for I was not " belle." She
seized my hand, she was drawing me away. M. Paul
stood impassable neutral.
** You must not resist," pursued St Pierre for resist
I?2 VILLETTE
I did. " You will spoil all, destroy the mirth of the
piece, the enjoyment of the company, sacrifice every-
thing to your amour-propre. This would be too bad
Monsieur will never permit this ? "
She sought his eye. I watched, likewise, for a
glance. He gave her one, and then he gave me one.
" Stop ! " he said slowly, arresting St Pierre, who con-
tinued her efforts to drag me after her. Everybody
awaited the decision. He was not angry, not irritated ;
I perceived that, and took heart.
" You do not like these clothes ? " he asked, point-
ing to the masculine vestments.
" I don't object to some of them, but I won't have
them all."
" How must it be, then ? How accept a man's pan,
and go on the stage dressed as a woman ? This is an
amateur affair, it is true a vaudeville de pensionnat ;
certain modifications I might sanction, yet something
you must have to announce you as of the nobler sex."
" And I will, Monsieur ; but it must be arranged in
my own way : nobody must meddle ; the things must
not be forced upon me. Just let me dress myself."
Monsieur, without another word, took the costume
from St Pierre, gave it to me, and permitted me to pass
into the dressing-room. Once alone, I grew calm, and
collectedly went to work. Retaining my woman's
garb without the slightest retrenchment, I merely
assumed, in addition, a little vest, a collar, and cravat,
and a paletot of small dimensions ; the whole being the
costume of a brother of one of the pupils. Having
loosened my hair out of its braids, made up the long
back hair close, and brushed the front hair to one side,
I took my hat and gloves in my hand, and came out.
M. Paul was waiting, and so were the others. He
looked at me. " That may pass in a pensionnat," he
oronounced. Then added, not unkindly, " Courage.
THE FETE 173
mon ami ! Un peu de sang froid un peu d'aplomb,
M. Lucien, et tout ira bien."
St Pierre sneered again, in her cold snaky manner.
I was irritable, because excited, and I could not help
turning upon her and saying, that if she were not a lady
and I a gentleman, I should feel disposed to call her out.
" After the play, after the play," said M. Paul. " I
will then divide my pair of pistols between you, and we
will settle the dispute according to form : it will only be
the old quarrel of France and England."
But now the moment approached for the performance
to commence. M. Paul, setting us before him, har-
angued us briefly, like a general addressing soldiers about
to charge. I don't know what he said, except that he
recommended each to penetrate herself with a sense of
her personal insignificance. God knows I thought this
advice superfluous for some of us. A bell tinkled. I and
two more were ushered on to the stage. The bell tinkled
again. I had to speak the very first words.
" Do not look at the crowd, nor think of it," whis-
pered M. Paul in my ear. " Imagine yourself in the
garret, acting to the rats."
He vanished. The curtain drew up shrivelled to
the ceiling : the bright lights, the long room, the gay
throng, burst upon us. I thought of the black bettles,
the old boxes, the worm-eaten bureaux. I said my say
badly ; but I said it. That first speech was the diffi-
culty ; it revealed to me this fact, that it was not the
crowd I feared so much as my own voice. Foreigners
and strangers, the crowd were nothing to me. Nor did
I think of them. When my tongue once got free,
and my voice took its true pitch, and found its natural
tone, I thought of nothing but the personage I repre-
sented and of M. Paul, who was listening, watching,
prompting in the side-scenes.
By-and-by, feeling the right power come the spring
I?4 VILLETTE
demanded gush and rise inwardly I became sufficiently
composed to notice my fellow-actors. Some of them
played very well ; especially Ginevra Fanshawe, who
had to coquette between two suitors, and managed
admirably : in fact she was in her element. I observed
that she once or twice threw a certain marked fondness
and pointed partiality into her manner towards me the
fop. With such emphasis and animation did she favour
me, such glances did she dart out into the Iwtening and
applauding crowd, that to me who knew her it
presently became evident she was acting at some one ;
and I followed her eye, her smile, her gesture, and ere
long discovered that she had at least singled out a
handsome and distinguished aim for her shafts ; full in
the path of those arrows taller than other spectators, and
therefore more sure to receive them stood, in attitude
quiet but intent, a well-known form that of Dr John.
The spectacle seemed somehow suggestive. There
was language in Dr John's look, though I cannot tell
what he said ; it animated me : I drew out of it a
history ; I put my idea into the part I performed ; I
threw it into my wooing of Ginevra. In the " Ours,"
or sincere lover, I saw Dr John. Did I pity him, as
erst? No, I hardened my heart, rivalled and out-
rivalled him. I knew myself but a fop, but where he
was outcast / could please. Now I know I acted as
if wishful and resolute to win and conquer. Ginevra
seconded me ; between us we half-changed the nature
of the role, gilding it from top to toe. Between the
acts M. Paul told us he knew not what possessed us,
and half expostulated, " C'est peutetre plus beau que
votre modele," said he, " mais ce n'est pas juste." I
know not what possessed me either ; but somehow, my
longing was to eclipse the " Ours," i.e. t Dr John.
Ginevra was tender ; how could I be otherwise than
chivalric ? Retaining the letter, I recklessly altered the
THE FETE 175
epirit of the rSle. Without heart, without interest, I
could not play it at all. It must be played in went the
yearned-for seasoning thus flavoured, I played it with
relish.
What I felt that night, and what I did, I no more
expected to feel and do, than to be lifted in a trance to
the seventh heaven. Cold, reluctant, apprehensive, I
had accepted a part to please another : ere long,
warming, becoming interested, taking courage, I acted
to please myself. Yet the next day, when I thought it
over, I quite disapproved of these amateur performances ;
and though glad that I had obliged M. Paul, and tried
my own strength for once, I took a firm resolution
never to be drawn into a similar affair. A keen relish
for dramatic expression had revealed itself as part of my
nature ; to cherish and exercise this new-found faculty
might gift me with a world of delight, but it would not
do for a mere looker-on at life : the strength and long-
ing must be put by ; and I put them by, and fastened
them in with the lock of a resolution which neither
Time nor Temptation has since picked.
No sooner was the play over and well over, than the
choleric and arbitrary M. Paul underwent a metamor-
phosis. His hour of managerial responsibility pas,t, he
at once laid aside his magisterial austerity ; in a moment
he stood amongst us, vivacious, kind, and social, shook
hands with us all round, thanked us separately, and
announced his determination that each of us should in
turn be his partner in the coming ball. On his claiming
my promise, I told him I did not dance. " For once
I must," was the answer ; and if I had not slipped
aside and kept out of his way, he would have compelled
me to this second performance. But I had acted
enough for one evening ; it was time I retired into
myself and my ordinary life. My dun-coloured dress
did well enough under a paletot on the stage, but would
i 7 6
VILLETTE
not suit a waltz or a quadrille. Withdrawing to a quiet
nook, whence unobserved I could observe the ball,
its splendours and its pleasures, passed before me as a
spectacle.
Again, Ginevra Fanshawe was the belle, the fairest
and the gayest present ; she was selected to open the
ball : very lovely she looked, very gracefully she danced,
very joyously she smiled. Such scenes were her
triumphs she was the child of pleasure. Work or
suffering found her listless and dejected, powerless and
repining ; but gaiety expanded her butterfly's wings,
lit up their gold-dust and bright spots, made her flash
like a gem, and flush like a flower. At all ordinary
diet and plain beverage she would pout ; but she fed
on creams and ices like a humming-bird on honey-
paste : sweet wine was her element, and sweet cake her
daily bread. Ginevra lived her full life in a ball-room ;
elsewhere she drooped dispirited.
Think not, reader, that she thus bloomed and sparkled
for the mere sake of M. Paul, her partner, or that she
lavished her best graces that night for the edification of
her companions only, or for that of the parents and
grand-parents, who filled the carre and lined the ball-
room ; under circumstances so insipid and limited, with
motives so chilly and vapid, Ginevra would scarce have
deigned to walk one quadrille, and weariness and fret-
fulness would have replaced animation and good-
humour, but she knew of a leaven in the otherwise
heavy festal mass which lighted the whole ; she tasted
a condiment which gave it zest ; she perceived reasons
justifying the display of her choicest attractions.
In the ball-room, indeed, not a single male spectator
was to be seen who was not married and a father M.
Paul excepted that gentleman, too, being the sole
creature of his sex permitted to lead out a pupil to the
dance ; and this exceptional part was allowed him.
THE FETE 177
partly as a matter of old-established custom (for he was-
a kinsman of Madame Beck's, and high in her confid-
ence), partly because he would always have his own
way and do as he pleased, and partly because wilful,
passionate, partial, as he might be he was the soul of
honour, and might be trusted with a regiment of the
fairest and purest, in perfect security that under his
leadership they would come to no harm. Many of the
girls it may be noted in parenthesis were not pure-
minded at all, very much otherwise ; but they no more
dare betray their natural coarseness in M. Paul's
presence, than they dare tread purposely on his corns,
laugh in his face during a stormy apostrophe, or speak
above their breath while some crisis of irritability was
covering his human visage with the mask of an intelli-
gent tiger. M. Paul, then, might dance with whom he
would and woe be to the interference which put him
out of step.
Others there were admitted as spectators with
(seeming) reluctance, through prayers, by influence,
under restriction, by special and difficult exercise of
Madame Beck's gracious good-nature, and whom she all
the evening with her own personal surveillance kept
far aloof at the remotest, dreariest, coldest, darkest side of
the carre a small, forlorn band of " jeunes gens ; '*
these being all of the best families, grown-up sons of
mothers present, and whose sisters were pupils in the
school. The whole evening was Madame on duty
beside these " jeunes gens " attentive to them as a
mother, but strict with them as a dragon. There was
a sort of cordon sketched before them, which they
wearied her with prayers to be permitted to pass, and
just to revive themselves by one dance with that " belle
blonde," or that " jolie brune," or " cette jeune fille
magnifique aux cheveux noirs comme le jais."
" Taisez-vous ! " Madame would reply, heroically
I7 8 VILLETTE
and inexorably. " Vous ne passerez pas a moins que
ce ne soit sur mon cadavre, et vous ne danserez qu' avec
la nonnette du jardin " (alluding to the legend). And
she majestically walked to and fro along their discon-
solate and impatient line, like a little Bonaparte in a
mouse-coloured silk gown.
Madame knew something of the world ; Madame
knew much of human nature. I don't think that
another directress in Villette would have dared to admit
a " jeune homme " within her walls ; but Madame
knew that by granting such admission, on an occasion
like the present, a bold stroke might be struck, and a
great point gained.
In the first place, the parents were made accomplices
to the deed, for it was only through their mediation it
was brought about. Secondly : the admission of these
rattlesnakes, so fascinating and so dangerous, served to
draw out Madame precisely in her strongest character
that of a first-rate surveillante. Thirdly : their presence
furnished a most piquant ingredient to the entertain-
ment : the pupils knew it, and saw it, and the view of
such golden apples shining afar off, animated them with
a spirit no other circumstance could have kindled. The
children's pleasure spread to the parents ; life and mirth
circulated quickly round the ball-room ; the " jeunes
gens " themselves, though restrained, were amused : for
Madame never permitted them to feel dull and thus
Madame Beck's fete annually ensured a success unknown
to the fete of any other directress in the land.
I observed that Dr John was at first permitted to
walk at large through the classes : there was about him
a manly, responsible look, that redeemed his youth, and
half-expiated his beauty ; but as soon as the ball began,
Madame ran up to him.
" Come, Wolf ; come," said she, laughing : " you
wear sheep's clothing, but you must quit the fold not-
THE FETE 179
withstanding. Come ; I have a fine menagerie of
twenty here in the carre : let me place you amongst my
collection."
" But first suffer me to have one dance with one pupil
of my choice."
"Have you the face to ask such a thing? It is
madness : it is impiety. Sortez, sortez, et au plus vite."
She drove him before her, and soon had him enclosed
within the cordon.
Ginevra being, I suppose, tired with dancing, sought
me out in my retreat. She threw herself on the bench
beside me, and (a demonstration I could very well have
dispensed with) cast her arms round my neck.
" Lucy Snowe ! Lucy Snowe ! " she cried in a
somewhat sobbing voice, half hysterical.
" What in the world is the matter ? " I drily said.
" How do I look how do I look to-night ? " she
demanded.
" As usual," said I ; " preposterously vain."
" Caustic creature ! You never have a kind word
for me ; but in spite of you, and all other envious de-
tractors, I know I am beautiful ; I feel it, I see it
for there is a great looking-glass in the dressing-room,
where I can view my shape from head to foot. Will
you go with me now, and let us two stand before it ? "
" I will, Miss Fanshawe : you shall be humoured
even to the top of your bent."
The dressing-room was very near, and we stepped in.
Putting her arm through mine, she drew me to the
mirror. Without resistance, remonstrance, or remark,
I stood and let her self-love have its feast and triumph :
curious to see how much it could swallow whether it
was possible it could feed to satiety whether any
whisper of consideration for others could penetrate her
heart, and moderate its vain-glorious exultation.
Not at all. She turned me and herself round ; she
i8o VILLETTE
viewed as both on all sides ; she smiled, she waved hei
curls, she retouched her sash, she spread her dress, and
finally, letting go my arm, and curtseying with mock
respect, she said
" I would not be you for a kingdom."
The remark was too naive to rouse anger ; I merelj
said
" Very good."
" And what would you give to be ME ? " she
inquired.
" Not a bad sixpence strange as it may sound," I
replied. " You are but a poor creature."
" You don't think so in your heart."
" No ; for in my heart you have not the outline of a
place : I only occasionally turn you over in my brain."
"Well, but," said she, in an expostulatory tone,
"just listen to the difference of our positions, and then
see how happy am I, and how miserable are you."
" Go on ; I listen."
" In the first place : I am the daughter of a gentle-
man of family, and though my father is not rich, I have
expectations from an uncle. Then, I am just eighteen,
the finest age possible. I have had a continental edu-
cation, and though I can't spell, I have abundant
accomplishments. I am pretty ; you can't deny that ;
I may have as many admirers as I choose. This very
night I have been breaking the hearts of two gentle-
men, and it is the dying look I had from one of them
just now which puts me in such spirits. I do so like
to watch them turn red and pale, and scowl and dart
fiery glances at each other, and languishing ones at me.
There is me happy ME ; now for you, poor soul !
"I suppose you are nobody's daughter, since you
took care of little children when you first came to
Villette : you have no relations ; you can't call your-
self young at twenty-three; you have no attractive
THE FETE 181
accomplishments no beauty. As to admirers, you
hardly know what they are ; you can't even talk on
the subject: you sit dumb when the other teachers
quote their conquests. I believe you never were in
love, and never will be ; you don't know the feeling :
and so much the better, for though you might have
your own heart broken, no living heart will you ever
break. Isn't it all true ? "
" A good deal of it is true as gospel, and shrewd
besides. There must be good in you, Ginevra, to
speak so honestly ; that snake, Zelie St Pierre, could
not utter what you have uttered. Still, Miss Fanshawe,
napless as I am, according to your showing, sixpence I
would not give to purchase you, body and soul."
"Just because I am not clever, and that is all you
think of. Nobody in the world but you cares for
cleverness."
" On the contrary, I consider you are clever, in your
way very smart indeed. But you were talking of
breaking hearts that edifying amusement into the
merits of which I don't quite enter : pray on whom
does your vanity lead you to think you have done
execution to-night ? "
She approached her lips to my ear " Isidore and
Alfred de Hamal are both here," she whispered.
" Oh ! they are ? I should like to see them."
" There's a dear creature ! your curiosity is roused
at last. Follow me, I will point them out."
She proudly led the way " But you cannot see
them well from the classes," said she, turning,
"Madame keeps them too far off. Let us cross the
garden, enter by the corridor, and get close to them
behind : we shall be scolded if we are seen, but never
mind."
For once, I did not mind. Through the garden we
went penetrated into the corridor by a quiet private
t 8 2 VILLETTE
entrance, and approaching the carre, yet keeping in the
corridor shade, commanded a near view of the band of
"jeunes gens."
I believe I could have picked out the conquering
De Hamal even undirected. He was a straight-nosed,
very correct-featured little dandy. I say little dandy,
though he was not beneath the middle standard in
stature ; but his lineaments were small, and so were his
hands and feet ; and he was pretty and smooth, and as
trim as a doll : so nicely dressed, so nicely curled, so
booted and gloved and cravated he was charming
indeed. 1 said so : " What a dear personage ! " cried
I, and commended Ginevra's taste warmly ; and asked
her what she thought De Hamal might have done with
the precious fragments of that heart she had broken
whether he kept them in a scent-vial, and conserved
them in otto of roses ? I observed, too, with deep
rapture of approbation, that the Colonel's hands were
scarce larger than Miss Fanshawe's own, and suggested
that this circumstance might be convenient, as he could
wear her gloves at a pinch. On his dear curls, I told
her I doated ; and as to his low, Grecian brow, and
exquisite classic headpiece, I confessed I had no
language to do such perfections justice.
" And if he were your lover ? " suggested the
cruelly exultant Ginevra.
" Oh ! heavens, what bliss ! " said I ; " but do not
be inhuman, Miss Fanshawe: to put such thoughts
into my head is like showing poor outcast Cain a far
glimpse of Paradise."
" You like him, then ? "
" As I like sweets, and jams, and comfits, and con-
servatory flowers."
Ginerva admired my taste, for all these things were
her adoration ; she could then readily credit that they
were mine too.
THE FETE 18^
" Now for Isidore," I went on. I own I felt still
more curious to see him than his rival ; but Ginevra
was absorbed in the latter.
" Alfred was admitted here to-night," said she,
" through the influence of his aunt, Madame le Baronne
de Dorlodot ; and now, having seen him, can you not
understand why I have been in such spirits all the even-
ing, and acted so well, and danced with such life, and
why I am now happy as a queen ? Dieu ! Dieu ! It
was such good fun to glance first at him and then at
the other, and madden them both."
" But that other where is he ? Show me Isidore."
I don't like."
"Why not?"
" I am ashamed of him."
" For what reason ? "
" Because because " (in a whisper) " he ha>
such such whiskers, orange red there now ! "
" The murder is out," I subjoined. " Never mind,
show him all the same ; I engage not to faint."
She looked round. Just then an English voice spoke
behind her and me.
" You are both standing in a draught ; you must
leave this corridor."
" There is no draught, Dr John," said I, turning.
" She takes cold so easily," he pursued, looking at
Ginevra with extreme kindness. " She is delicate ;
she must be cared for : fetch her a shawl."
" Permit me to judge for myself," said Miss Fan-
shawe, with hauteur. " I want no shawl."
" Your dress is thin, you have been dancing, you are
heated."
" Always preaching," retorted she ; " always coddling
and admonishing."
The answer Dr John would have given did not
come ; that his heart was hurt became evident in hi&
T 8 4 VILLETTE
*ye ; darkened, and saddened, and pained, he turned a
little aside, but was patient. I knew where there were
plenty of shawls near at hand ; I ran and fetched one.
" She shall wear this if I have strength to make her,"
said I, folding it well round her muslin dress, covering
carefully her neck and arms. " Is that Isidore ? " I
asked in a somewhat fierce whisper.
She pushed up her lip, smiled, and nodded.
" Is that Isidore ? " I repeated, giving her a shake :
I could have given her a dozen.
" C'est lui-meme," said she. " How coarse he is,
compared with the Colonel-Count! And then oh,
del ! the whiskers ! "
Dr John now passed on.
" The Colonel-Count ! " I echoed. " The doll
the puppet the manikin the poor inferior creature !
A mere lackey for Dr John : his valet, his foot -boy !
Is it possible that fine generous gentleman handsome
as a vision offers you his honourable hand and gallant
heart, and promises to protect your flimsy person and
wretchless mind through the storms and struggles of life
and you hang back you scorn, you sting, you torture
him ! Have you power to do this ? Who gave you
that power ? Where is it ? Does it lie all in youi
beauty your pink and white complexion, and youi
yellow hair ? Does this bind his soul at your feet, and
bend his neck under your yoke ? Does this purchase
for you his affection, his tenderness, his thoughts, his
hopes, his interest, his noble, cordial love and will you
not have it ? Do you scorn it ? You are only dis-
sembling : you are not in earnest ; you love him ; you
long for him ; but you trifle with his heart to make him
more surely yours ? "
" Bah ! How you run on ! I don't understand
fcilf you have said."
I had got her out into the garden ere this. I now
THE FETE 185
set her down on a seat and told her she should not stir
till she had avowed which she meant in the end to-
accept the man or the monkey.
" Him you call the man," said she, " is bourgeois.,
sandy-haired, and answers to the name of John ! cela
suffit : je n'en veux pas. Colonel de Hamal is a
gentleman of excellent connections, perfect manners,
sweet appearance, with pale interesting face, and hair
and eyes like an Italian. Then too he is the most de-
lightful company possible a man quite in my way ; not
sensible and serious like the other, but one with whom
I can talk on equal terms who does not plague and
bore, and harass me with depths, and heights, and
passions, and talents for which I have no taste. There
now. Don't hold me so fast."
I slackened my grasp, and she darted off. 1 did not
care to pursue her.
Somehow I could not avoid returning once more in
the direction of the corridor to get another glimpse of
Dr John ; but I met him on the garden-steps, standing,
where the light from a window fell broad. His well-
proportioned figure was not to be mistaken, for I doubt
whether there was another in that assemblage his equal.
He carried his hat in his hand ; his uncovered head, his
face and fine brow were most handsome and manly.
Hit features were not delicate, not slight like those of a
woman, nor were they cold, frivolous, and feeble ;
though well cut, they were not so chiselled, so frittered
away, as to lose in power and significance what they
gained in unmeaning symmetry. Much feeling spoke in
them at times, and more sat silent in his eye. Such at
least were my thoughts of him : to me he seemed all
this. An inexpressible sense of wonder occupied me
as I looked at this man, and reflected that he could be
slighted.
It was not my intention to approach or address him
i86
VILLETTE
in the garden, our terms of acquaintance not warranting
such a step ; I had only meant to view him in the
crowd myself unseen : coming upon him thus alone, I
withdrew. But he was looking out for me, or rather
for her who had been with me : therefore he descended
the steps, and followed me down the alley.
" You know Miss Fanshawe ? I have often wished
to ask whether you knew her," said he.
" Yes : I know her."
" Intimately ? " ypfiq
" Quite as intimately as I wish."
" What have you done with her now ? *'
" Am I her keeper ? " I felt inclined to ask ; but I
simply answered, " I have shaken her well, and would
have shaken her better, but she escaped out of my hands
and ran away."
" Would you favour me," he asked, " by watching
over her this one evening, and observing that she does
nothing imprudent does not, for instance, run out into
the night-air immediately after dancing ? "
" I may, perhaps, look after her a little, since you
wish it ; but she likes her own way too well to submit
readily to control."
" She is so young, so thoroughly artless," said he.
" To me she is an enigma," I responded.
" Is she ? " he asked, much interested. " How ? "
" It would be difficult to say how difficult, at least,
to tell you how."
"And why me?"
" I wonder she is not better pleased that you are so
much her friend."
" But she has not the slightest idea how much I am
her friend. That is precisely the point I cannot teach
her. May I inquire did she ever speak of me to
you ? "
" Under the name of ' Isidore ' she has talked about
THE FfiTE 187
you often ; but I must add that it is only within the last
ten minutes I have discovered that you and * Isidore '
are identical. It is only, Dr John, within that brief
space of time I have learned that Ginevra Fanshawe is
the person, under this roof, in whom you have long been
interested that she is the magnet which attracts you to
the Rue Fossette, that for her sake you venture into this
garden, and seek out caskets dropped by rivals."
" You know all ? "
" I know so much."
" For more than a year I have been accustomed to
meet her in society. Mrs Cholmondeley, her friend, is
an acquaintance of mine ; thus I see her every Sunday.
But you observed that under the name of ' Isidore ' she
often spoke of me : may I without inviting you to a
breach of confidence inquire what was the tone, what
the feeling of her remarks ? I feel somewhat anxious
to know, being a little tormented with uncertainty as to
how I stand with her."
" Oh, she varies : she shifts and changes like the
wind."
" Still, you can gather some general idea ? "
" I can," thought I, " but it would not do to com-
municate that general idea to you. Besides, if I said
she did not love you, I know you would not believe
me."
" You are silent," he pursued. " I suppose you
have no good news to impart. No matter. If she
feels for me positive coldness and aversion, it is a sign I
do not deserve her."
** Do you doubt yourself ? Do you consider your-
self the inferior of Colonel de Hamal ? "
" I love Miss Fanshawe far more than De Hamal
loves any human being, and would care for and guard
her better than he. Respecting De Hamal, I fear she
is under an illusion ; the man's character is known to
i88
VILLETTE
me, all his antecedent!, all his scrapes. He is not
worthy of your beautiful young friend."
" My ' beautiful young friend ' ought to know that,
and to know or feel who is worthy of her," said I.
" If her beauty or her brains will not serve her so far,
she merits the sharp lesson of experience."
" Are you not a little severe ? "
" I am excessively severe more severe than I choose
to show you. You should hear the strictures with
which I favour ' my beautiful young friend,' only that
you would be unutterably shocked at my want of tender
considerateness for her delicate nature."
" She is so lovely, one cannot but be loving towards
her. You every woman older than herself, must fee)
for such a simple, innocent, girlish fairy a sort of
motherly or elder-sisterly fondness. Graceful angel !
Does not your heart yearn towards her when she pours
into your ear her pure, childlike confidences ? How
you are privileged ! " And he sighed.
" I cut short these confidences somewhat abruptly
now and then," said I. " But excuse me, Dr John,
may I change the theme for one instant ? What a
god-like person is that De Hamal ! What a nose on
his face perfect ! Model one in putty or clay, you
could not make a better or straighter, or neater ; and
then, such classic lips and chin and his bearing
sublime."
" De Hamal is an unutterable puppy, besides being a
very white-livered hero."
" You, Dr John, and every man of a less refined
mould than he, must feel for him a sort of admiring
affection, such as Mars and the coarser deities may
be supposed to have borne the young, graceful
Apollo."
" An unprincipled, gambling, little jackanapes ! "
said Dr John curtly, " whom, with one hand, I could
THE FETE 189
lift up by the waistband any day, and lay low in the
kennel if I liked."
" The sweet seraph ! " said I. " What a cruel
idea ? Are you not a little severe, Dr John .' "
And now I paused. For the second time that night
I was going beyond myself venturing out of what I
looked on as my natural habits speaking in an unpre-
meditated, impulsive strain, which startled me strangely
when I halted to reflect. On rising that morning, had
I anticipated that before night I should have acted the
part of a gay lover in a vaudeville : and an hour after,
frankly discussed with Dr John the question of his hap-
less suit, and rallied him on his illusions ? I had no
more presaged such feats than I had looked forward to
an ascent in a balloon, or a voyage to Cape Horn.
The Doctor and I, having paced down the walk,
were now returning ; the reflex from the window again
lit his face : he smiled, but his eye was melancholy.
How I wished that he could feel heart's-ease ! How
I grieved that he brooded over pain, and pain from such
a cause ! He, with his great advantages, be to love in
vain ! I did not then know that the pensiveness of
reverse is the best phase for some minds ; nor did I
reflect that some herbs, " though scentless when entire,
yield fragrance when they're bruised."
" Do not be sorrowful, do not grieve," I broke out.
" If there is in Ginevra one spark of worthiness of your
affection, she will she must feel devotion in return.
Be cheerful, be hopeful, Dr John. Who should hope,
if not you ? "
In return for this speech I got what, it must be sup-
posed, I deserved a look of surprise : I thought also
of some disapprobation. We parted, and I went into
the house very chill. The clocks struck and the bells
tolled midnight; people were leaving fast: the fgte was
over ; the lamps were fading. In another hour all the
I9 o VILLETTE
dwelling-house, and all the pensionnat, were dark and
hushed. I too was in bed, but not asleep. To me it
was not easy to sleep after a day of such excitement.
Chapter jcfc,
THE LONG VACATION.
F7OLLOWING Madame Beck's fete, with its three
preceding weeks of relaxation, its brief twelve
hours' burst of hilarity and dissipation, and its
one subsequent day of utter languor, came a period of
reaction ; two months of real application, of close, hard
study. These two months, being the last of the " annee
scolaire," were indeed the only genuine working months
in the year. To them was procrastinated into them
concentrated, alike by professors, mistresses, and pupils
the main burden of preparation for the examinations
preceding the distribution of prizes. Candidates for
rewards had then to work in good earnest ; masters and
teachers had to set their shoulders to the wheel, to urge
on the backward, and diligently aid and train the more
promising. A showy demonstration a telling exhibi-
tion must be got up for public view, and all means
were fair to this end.
I scarcely noted how the other teachers went to
work ; I had my own business to mind ; and my task
was not the least onerous, being to imbue some ninety
sets of brains with a due tincture of what they con-
sidered a most complicated and difficult science, that of
the English language ; and to drill ninety tongues in
what, for them, was an almost impossible pronunciation
the lisping and hissing dentals of the isles.
The examination-day arrived. Awful day ! Pre-
pared for with anxious care, dressed for with silent
dispatch nothing vaporous or fluttering now no white
gauze or azure streamers ; the grave, close, compact was
the order of the toilette. It seemed to me that I was
this day especially doomed the main burden and trial
fiilling on me alone of all the female teachers. The
others were not expected to examine in the studies they
taught ; the professor of literature, M. Paul, taking upon
himself this duty. He, this school autocrat, gathered
all and sundry reins into the hollow of his one hand ;.
he irefully rejected any colleague ; he would not have
help. Madame herself, who evidently rather wished to
undertake the examination in geography her favourite
study, which she taught well was forced to succumb,,
and be subordinate to her despotic kinsman's direction.
The whole staff of instructors, male and female, he set
aside, and stood on the examiner's estrade alone. It
irked him that he was forced to make one exception to-
this rule. He could not manage English : he was
obliged to leave that branch of education m the English
teacher's hands ; which he did, not without a flash or
naive jealousy.
A constant crusade against the " amour-propre " of
every human being but himself, was the crotchet of this
able, but fiery and grasping little man. He had a strong
relish for public representation in his own person, but an
extreme abhorrence of the like display in any other.
He quelled, he kept down when he could ; and when
he could not, he fumed like a bottled storm.
On the evening preceding the examination-day I was
walking in the garden, as were the other teachers and
all the boarders. M. Emanuel joined me in the " allee
defendue ; " his cigar was at his lips ; his paletot a
most characteristic garment of no particular shape hung
dark and menacing ; the tassel of his bonnet grec sternly
shadowed his left temple ; his black whiskers curled
like those of a wrathful cat ; his blue eye had a cloud
in its glitter.
I9 2 VILLETTE
" Ainsi," he began, abruptly fronting and arresting
me, " vouz allez tr6ner comme une reine ; demain
tr6ner a mes c6tes ? Sans doute vous savourez d'avance
les delices de Pautonte. Je crois voir en je ne sais quoi
de rayonnante, petite ambitieuse ! "
Now the fact was, he happened to be entirely mis-
taken. I did not could not estimate the admiration
or the good opinion of to-morrow's audience at the same
rate he did. Had that audience numbered as many
personal friends and acquaintance for me, as for him, I
'know not how it might have been : I speak of the case
.as it stood. On me school-triumphs shed but a cold
lustre. I had wondered and 1 wondered now how
'it was that for him they seemed to shine as with hearth-
warmth and hearth-glow. He cared for them perhaps
-too much ; /, probably, too little. However, I had
<my own fancies as well as he. I liked, for instance, to
see M. Emanuel jealous ; it lit up his nature, and woke
his spirit ; it threw all sorts of queer lights and shadows
over his dun face, and into his violet-azure eyes (he used
>to say that his black hair and blue eyes were " une de
ses beautes"). There was a relish in his anger; it
was artless, earnest, quite unreasonable, but never hypo-
critical. I uttered no disclaimer then of the com-
placency he attributed to me ; I merely asked where
the English examination came in whether at the
commencement or close of the day ?
" I hesitate," said he, " whether at the very be-
ginning, before many persons are come, and when your
aspiring nature will not be gratified by a large audience,
or quite at the close, when everybody is tired, and only
a jaded and worn-out attention will be at your service."
" Que vous etes dur, monsieur 5 " I said, affecting
dejection.
" One ought to be dur ' with you. You are one of
those beings who must be kept down. I know you ! I
THE LONG VACATION 193
know you ! Other people in this house see you pass,
and think that a colourless shadow has gone by. As
for me, I scrutinised your face once, and it sufficed."
" You are satisfied that you understand me ? "
Without answering directly, he went on, " Were you
not gratified when you succeeded in that vaudeville ? I
watched you and saw a passionate ardour for triumph in
your physiognomy. What fire shot into the glance !
Not mere light, but Same : je me tins pour averti."
" What feeling I had on that occasion, Monsieur
and pardon me, if I say, you immensely exaggerate both
its quality and quantity was quite abstract. I did not
care for the vaudeville. I hated the part you assigned
me. I had not the slightest sympathy with the audience
below the stage. They are good people, doubtless, but
do I know them ? Are they anything to me ? Can I care
for being brought before their view again to-morrow ?
Will the examination be anything but a task to me a
task I wish well over ? "
" Shall I take it out of your hands ? "
" With all my heart ; if you do not fear failure."
" But I should fail. I only know three phrases of
English, and a few words : par exemple, de sonn, de
mone, de stare est ce bien dit ? My opinion is that it
would be better to give up the thing altogether : to have
DO English examination, eh ? "
" If Madame consents ; I consent."
"Heartily?"
" Very heartily."
He smoked his cigar in silence. He turned suddenly.
" Donnez-moi la main," said he, and the spite and
jealousy melted out of his face, and a generous kindliness
shone there instead.
" Come, we will not be rivals, we will be friends ; "
he pursued. " The examination shall take place, and I
will choose a good moment ; and instead of vexing and
G
I94 VILLETTE
hindering, as I felt half-inclined ten minutes ago for 1
have my malevolent moods: I always had from child-
hood I will aid you sincerely. After all, you are
solitary and a stranger, and have your way to make and
your bread to earn ; it may be well that you should
become known. We will be friends : do you agree ? '*
" Out of my heart, Monsieur. I am glad of a friend,
I like that better than a triumph."
" Pauvrette ! " said he, and turned away and left the
alley.
The examination passed over well ; M. Paul was as
good as his word, and did his best to make my part easy.
The next day came the distribution of prizes ; that also
passed ; the school broke up ; the pupils went home, and
now began the long vacation.
That vacation ! Shall I ever forget it ? I think
not. Madame Beck went, the first day of the holidays,
to join her children at the seaside ; all the three teachers
had parents or friends with whom they took refuge \
every professor quitted the city ; some went to Paris, some
to Bouemarine ; M. Paul set forth on a pilgrimage to
Rome ; the house was left quite empty, but for me, a
servant, and a poor deformed and imbecile pupil, a sort
of cretin, whom her stepmother in a distant province
would not allow to return home.
My heart almost died within me ; miserable longings-
strained its chords. How long were the September
days ! How silent, how lifeless ! How vast and void
seemed the desolate premises ! How gloomy the for-
saken garden grey now with the dust of a town
summer departed. Looking forward at the commence-
ment of those eight weeks, I hardly knew how I was to
live to the end. My spirits had long been gradually sink-
ing ; now that the prop of employment was withdrawn,
they went down fast. Even to look forward was not
to hope : the dumb future sooke no comfort, offered no
THE LONG VACATION 195
promise, gave no inducement to bear present evil in
reliance on future good. A sorrowful indifference to
existence often pressed on me a despairing resignation
to reach betimes the end of all things earthly. Alas !
When I had full leisure to look on life as life must be
looked on by such as me, I found it but a ho)>eless
desert : tawny sands, with no green fields, no palm-
tree, no wc-ll in view. The hopes which are dear to
youth, which bear it up and lead it on, 1 knew not and
dared not know. If they knocked at my heart some-
times, an inhospitable bar to admission must be inwardly
drawn. When they turned away thus rejected, tears
sad enough sometimes flowed ; but it could not be
helped : I dared not give such guests lodging. So
mortally did I fear the sin and weakness of presumption.
Religious reader, you will preach to me a long
sermon about what I have just written, and so will you,
moralist ; and you, stern sage : you, stoic, will frown ;
you, cynic, sneer ; you, epicure, laugh. Well, each
and all, take it your own way. I accept the sermon,
frown, sneer, and laugh ; perhaps you are all right :
and perhaps circumstanced like me, you would have
been, like me, wrong. The first month was, indeed, a
long, black, heavy month to me.
The cretin did not seem unhappy. I did my best to
feed her well and keep her warm, and she only asked
food and sunshine, or when that lacked, fire. Her
weak faculties approved of inertion : her brain, her eyes,
her ears, her heart slept content ; they could not wake
to work, so li-thargy was their Paradise.
Three weeks of that vacation were hot, fair, and dry,
but the fourth and fifth were tempestuous and wet. I
do not know why that change in the atmosphere made
a cruel impression on me, why the raging storm and
beating rain crushed me with a deadlier paralysis than I
had experienced while the air had remained serene ;
, 9 6 VILLETTE
but so it was; and my nervous system could hardly
support what it had for many days and nights to undergo
in that huge empty house. How I used to pray to
Heaven for consolation and support ! With what
dread force the conviction would grasp me that Fate
was my permanent foe, never to be conciliated. I did
not, in my heart, arraign the mercy or justice of God
for this ; I concluded it to be a part of His great plan
that some must deeply suffer while they live, and I
thrilled in the certainty that of this number I was one.
It was some relief when an aunt of the cretin, a kind
old woman, came one day, and took away my strange,
deformed companion. The hapless creature had been
at times a heavy charge ; I could not take her out
beyond the garden, and I could not leave her a minute
alone : for her poor mind, like her body, was warped :
its propensity was to evil. A vague bent to mischief,
an aimless malevolence, made constant vigilance indis-
pensable. As she very rarely spoke, and would sit for
hours together moping and mowing and distorting her
features with indescribable grimaces, it was more like
being prisoned with some strange tameless animal, than
associating with a human being. Then there were
personal attentions to be rendered which required the
nerve of an hospital nurse ; my resolution was so tried,
it sometimes fell dead-sick. These duties should not
have fallen on me ; a servant, now absent, had rendered
them hitherto, and in the hurry of holiday departure,
no substitute to fill this office had been provided. This
tax and trial were by no means the least I have known
in life. Still, menial and distasteful as they were, my
mental pain was far more wasting and wearing. At-
tendance on the cretin deprived me often of the power
and inclination to swallow a meal, and sent me faint to
the fresh air, and the well or fountain in the court.
But this duty never wrung my heart, or brimmed my
THE LONG VACATION 197
eyes, or scalded my cheek with tears hot as molten
metal.
The cretin being gone, I was free to walk out. At
first I lacked courage to venture very far from the Rue
Fossette, but by degrees I sought the city gates, and
passed them, and then went wandering away far along
chaussees, through fields, beyond cemeteries, Catholic
and Protestant, beyond farmsteads, to lanes and little
woods, and I know not where. A goad thrust me on,
a fever forbade me to rest ; a want of companionship
maintained in my soul the cravings of a most deadly
famine. I often walked all day, through the burning
noon and the arid afternoon, and the dusk evening, and
came back with moonrise.
While wandering in solitude, I would sometimes
picture the present probable position of others, my
acquaintance. There was Madame Beck at a cheerful
watering-place with her children, her mother, and a
whole troop of friends who had sought the same scene
of relaxation. Zelie St Pierre was at Paris, with her
relatives ; the other teachers were at their homes.
There was Ginevra Fanshawe, whom certain of her
connections had carried on a pleasant tour southward.
Ginevra seemed to me the happiest. She was on the
route of beautiful scenery ; these September suns shone
for her on fertile plains, where harvest and vintage
matured under their mellow beam. These gold and
crystal moons rose on her vision over blue horizons
waved in mountain lines.
But all this was nothing ; I too felt those autumn
suns and saw those harvest moons, and I almost wished
to be covered in with earth and turf, deep out of their
influence ; for I could not live in their light, nor make
them comrades, nor yield them affection. But Ginevra
d a kind of spirit with her, empowered to give con-
stant strength and comfort, to gladden daylight and
198
VILLETTE
embalm darkness ; the best of the good genii that guard
humanity curtained her with his wings, and canopied
her head with his bending form. By True Love was
Ginevra followed : never could she be alone. Was
she insensible to this presence ? It seemed to me im-
possible : I could not realise such deadness. I imagined
her grateful in secret, loving now with reserve ; but
purposing one day to show how much she loved : I
pictured her faithful hero half conscious of her coy
fondness, and comforted by that consciousness : I con-
ceived an electric chord of sympathy between them, a
fine chain of mutual understanding, sustaining union
through a separation of a hundred leagues carrying,
across mound and hollow, communication by prayer
and wish. Ginevra gradually became with me a sort
of heroine. One day, perceiving this growing illusion,
I said, " I really believe my nerves are getting over-
stretched : my mind has suffered somewhat too much ;
a malady is growing upon it what shall I do ? How
shall I keep well ? "
Indeed there was no way to keep well under the
circumstances. At last a day and night of peculiarly
agonising depression were succeeded by physical illness
I took perforce to my bed. About this time the
Indian summer closed and the equinoctial storms be-
gan ; and for nine dark and wet days, of which the
hours rushed on all turbulent, deaf, dishevelled be-
wildered with sounding hurricane I lay in a strange
fever of the nerves and blood. Sleep went quite away.
I used to rise in the night, look round for her, beseech
her earnestly to return. A rattle of the window, a cry
of the blast only replied Sleep never came !
I err. She came once, but in anger. Impatient of
my importunity she brought with her an avenging
dream. By the clock of St Jean Baptiste, that dream
remained scarce fifteen minutes a brief space, but
THE LONG VACATION 199
aufficing to wring my whole frame with unknown
anguish ; to confer a nameless experience that had the
hue, the mien, the terror, the very tone of a visitation
from eternity. Between twelve and one that night a
cup was forced to my lips, black, strong, strange, drawn
from no well, but filled up seething from a bottomless
and boundless sea. Suffering, brewed in temporal or
calculable measure, and mixed for mortal lips, tastes not
as this suffering tasted. Having drank and woke, I
thought all was over : the end come and past by.
Trembling fearfully as consciousness returned ready
to cry out on some fellow-creature to help me, only
that I knew no fellow-creature was near enough to
catch the wild summons Goton in her far distant attic
could not hear I rose on my knees in bed. Some
fearful hours went over me : indescribably was I torn,
racked and oppressed in mind. Amidst the horrors of
that dream I think the worst lay here. Methought the
well-loved dead, who had loved me well in life, met me
elsewhere, alienated : galled was my inmost spirit with
an unutterable sense of despair about the future.
Motive there was none why I should try to recover or
wish to live ; and yet quite unendurable was the pitiless
and haughty voice in which Death challenged me to
engage his unknown terrors. When I tried to pray I
could only utter these words
" From my youth up Thy terrors have I suffered
with a troubled mind."
Most true was it.
On bringing me my tea next morning Goton urged
me to call in a doctor. I would not : I thought no
doctor could cure me.
One evening and I was not delirious : 1 was in my
ane mind, I got up I dressed myself, weak and
shaking. The solitude and the stillness of the long
dormitory could not be borne any longer ; the ghastly
white beds were turning into spectres the coronal of
200 VILLETTE
each became a death's head, huge and sun-bleached
dead dreams of an elder world and mightier race lay
frozen in their wide gaping eyeholes. That evening
more firmly than ever fastened into my soul the con-
viction that Fate was of stone, and Hope a false idol
blind, bloodless, and of granite core. I felt, too, that
the trial God had appointed me was gaining its climax,
and must now be turned by my own hands, hot, feeble,
trembling as they were. It rained still, and blew ;
but with more clemency, I thought, than it had poured
and raged all day. Twilight was falling, and I deemed
its influence pitiful ; from the lattice I saw coming
night-clouds trailing low like banners drooping. It
seemed to me that at this hour there was affection and
sorrow in Heaven above for all pain suffered on earth
beneath ; the weight of my dreadful dream became
alleviated that insufferable thought of being no more
loved no more owned, half-yielded to hope of the
contrary I was sure this hope would shine clearer if I
got out from under this house-roof, which was crushing
as the slab of a tomb, and went outside the city to a
certain quiet hill, a long way distant in the fields.
Covered with a cloak ( I could not be delirious, for I
had sense and recollection to put on warm clothing),
forth I set. The bells of a church arrested me in pass-
ing ; they seemed to call me in to the salut, and I went
in. Any solemn rite, any spectacle of sincere worship,
any opening for appeal to God was as welcome to me
then as bread to one in extremity of want. I knelt
down with others on the stone pavement. It was an
old solemn church, its pervading gloom not gilded but
purpled by light shed through stained glass.
Few worshippers were assembled, and, the talut over,
half of them departed. I discovered soon that those
left remained to confess. I did not stir. Carefully
every door of the church was shut ; a holy quiet sank
THE LONG VACATION 201
upon, and a solemn shade gathered about us. Aftei
a space, breathless and spent in prayer, a penitent
approached the confessional. I watched. She whispered
her avowal ; her shrift was whispered back ; she re-
turned consoled. Another went, and another. A
pale lady, kneeling near me, said in a low, kind voice
" Go you now, I am not quite prepared."
Mechanically obedient, I rose and went. I knew
what I was about ; my mind had run over the intent
with lightning-speed. To take this step could not make
me more wretched than I was ; it might soothe me.
The priest within the confessional never turned his eyes
to regard me ; he only quietly inclined his ear to my
lips. He might be a good man, but this duty had be-
come to him a sort of form : he went through it with
the phlegm of custom. I hesitated ; of the formula of
confession I was ignorant : instead of commencing them
with the prelude usual, I said
" Mon pre, je suis Protestante."
He directly turned. He was not a native priest : of
that class, the cast of physiognomy is, almost invariably,
grovelling : I saw by his profile and brow he was a
Frenchman ; though grey and advanced in years, he did
not, I think, lack feeling or intelligence. He inquired,
not unkindly, why, being a Protestant, I came to him ?
I said I was perishing for a word of advice or an accent
of comfort. I had been living for some weeks quite
alone ; I had been ill ; I had a pressure of affliction on
my mind of which it would hardly any longer endure
the weight.
" Was it a sin, a crime ? " he inquired, somewhat
startled.
I reassured him on this point, and, as well as I could,
I showed him the mere outline of my experience.
He looked thoughtful, surprised, puzzled. " You
take me unawares," said he. " I have not had such a
G2
202 VILLETTE
case as yours before : ordinarily we know our routine,
and are prepared ; but this makes a great break in the
common course of confession. I am hardly furnished
with counsel fitting the circumstances."
Of course, I had not expected he would be ; but the
mere relief of communication in an ear which was human
and sentient, yet consecrated the mere pouring out of
some portion of long accumulating, long pent-up pain
into a vessel whence it could not be again diffused had
done me good. I was already solaced.
" Must I go, father ? " 1 asked of him as he sat
silent.
" My daughter," he said kindly and I am sure he
was a kind man : he had a compassionate eye " for
the present you had better go : but I assure you your
words have struck me. Confession, like other things,
is apt to become formal and trivial with habit. You
have come and poured your heart out ; a thing seldom
done. I would fain think your case over, and take it
with me to my oratory. Were you of our faith I
should know what to say a mind so tossed can find re-
pose but in the bosom of retreat, and the punctual
practice of piety. The world, it is well known, has no
satisfaction for that class of natures. Holy men have
bidden penitents like you to hasten their path upward by
penance, self-denial, and difficult good works. Tears
are given them here for meat and drink bread of
affliction and waters of affliction their recompense
comes hereafter. It is my own conviction that these
impressions under which you are smarting are messengers
from God to bring you back to th true Church. You
were made for our faith : depend upon it our faith alone
could heal and help you Protestantism is altogether
too dry, cold, prosaic for you. The further I look into
this matter, the more plainly I see it is entirely out of
the common order of things. On no account would I
THE LONG VACATION 203
lose sight of you. Go, my daughter, for the present ;
but return to me again."
I rose and thanked him. I was withdrawing when
he signed me to return.
" You must not come to this church," said he : ** I
see you are ill, and this church is too cold ; you must
come to my house: I live" (and he gave me his
address). " Be there to-morrow morning at ten."
In reply to this appointment, I only bowed ; and
pulling down my veil, and gathering round me my cloak,
I glided away.
Did I, do you suppose, reader, contemplate venturing
again within that worthy priest's reach ? As soon
should I have thought of walking into a Babylonish
furnace. That priest had arms which could influence
me : he was naturally kind, with a sentimental French
kindness, to whose softness I knew myself not wholly
impervious. Without respecting some sorts of affection,
there was hardly any sort having a fibre of root in
reality, which I could rely on my force wholly to with-
stand. Had I gone to him, he would have shown me
all that was tender, and comforting, and gentle, in the
honest Popish superstition. Then he would have
tried to kindle, blow and stir up in me the zeal of good
works. I know not how it would all have ended. We
all think ourselves strong in some points ; we ail know
ourselves weak in many ; the probabilities are that had
I visited Numero 10, Rue des Mages, at the hour and
day appointed, I might just now, instead of writing this
heretic narrative, be counting my beads in the cell of a
certain Carmelite cocvent on the Boulevard of Crecy,
in - Villette. There was something of Fenelon about
that benign old priest ; and whatever most of his
brethren may be, and whatever I may think of his
Church and creed (and I like neither), of himself I
must ever retain a grateful recollection. He was kind
204 V1LLETTE
when I needed kindness; he did me good. May
Heaven bless him !
Twilight had passed into night, and the lamps were
lit in the streets ere I issued from that sombre church.
To turn back was now become possible to me ; the
wild longing to breathe this October wind on the little
hill far without the city walls had ceased to be an im-
perative impulse, and was softened into a wish with
which Reason could cope : she put it down, and I
turned, as I thought, to the Rue Fossette. But I had
become involved in a part of the city with which I was
not familiar ; it was the old part, and full of narrow
streets of picturesque, ancient, and mouldering houses.
I was much too weak to be very collected, and I was
still too careless of my own welfare and safety to be
cautious ; I grew embarrassed ; I got immeshed in a
network of turns unknown. I was lost and had no
resolution to ask guidance of any passenger.
If the storm had lulled a little at sunset, it made up
now for lost time. Strong and horizontal thundered the
current of the wind from north-west to south-east ; it
brought rain like spray, and sometimes a sharp, hail-like
shot ; it was cold, and pierced me to the vitals. I bent my
head to meet it, but it beat me back. My heart did not fail
at all in this conflict ; I only wished that I had wings
and could ascend the gale, spread and repose my pinions
on its strength, career in its course, sweep where it
swept. While wishing this, I suddenly felt colder
where before I was cold, and more powerless where
before I was weak. I tried to reach the porch of a
great building near, but the mass of frontage and the
giant-spire turned black and vanished from my eyes.
Instead of sinking on the steps as I intended, I seemed
to pitch headlong down an abyss. I remember no
more.
AULD LANG SYNE 205
Chapter jcbj.
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 thres-
hold, and, guiding her weeping down, have bound her,
once more, all shuddering and unwilling, to that poor
frame, cold and wasted, of 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 his place ; the life-machine pre-
sently 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
20 6 VILLETTE
no portico-step ; night and tempest were excluded by
walls, windows, and ceiling. Into some house I had
been carried but what house ?
I could only think of the pensionnat in the Rue
Fossette. Still half-dreaming, I tried hard to discover
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 furni-
ture i saw accord with my knowledge 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 myself 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. It
was obvious, not only from the furniture, but from the
position of windows, doors, and fireplace, 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
AULD LANG SYNE 207
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 mantelpiece, 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 kerchiefs: 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-
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 hand-
screens, with elaborate pencil -drawings 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-bye ; since my fourteenth year
they and I had never met. I gasped audibly, " Where
am I ? "
A shape hitherto unnoticed, stirred, rose, came for-
ward : a shape inharmonious with the environment,
serving only to complicate the riddle further. This was
no more than a sort of native bonne, in a commonplace
bonne's cap and print-dress. She spoke neither French
oor 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
2 o8 VILLETTE
reclined, 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 scrutinise 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 mistake, and that
I was not sleeping, and I believed 1 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 god-
mother'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 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 Eng-
land ? 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
AULD LANG SYNE 209
out water, and measured drops from a phial : glass in
hand, she approached me. What dark-tinged draught
might she now be offering ? what Genii-elixir or Magi-
distillation ?
It was too late to inquire I had swallowed it pas-
sively, and at once. A ride 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 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 bluster-
ing autumn. I felt sure now that I was in the pen-
sionnat 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. 1 say tvhiteness 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 baffled, 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 festoons :
instead of two dozen little stands of painted wood, each
holding a basin and a 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 pin-cushion frilled with lace adorned it. This
210 VILLETTE
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 washstands they must
be the ghosts of such articles ; or, if this were denied
as too wild an hypothesis and, confounded as I was,
I did deny it there remained but to conclude that I
had myself passed into an abnormal 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 grey marble, splintered
at one corner ; all these I was compelled to recognise
and to hail, as last night I had, perforce, recognised and
hailed the rosewood, the drapery, the procelain, of the
drawing-room.
Bretton ! Bretton ! and ten years ago shone reflected
in that mirror. And why did Bretton and my four-
teenth year haunt me thus ? Why, if they came at all,
did they not return complete? Why hovered before
my distempered vision the mere furniture, while the
rooms and the locality were gone ? As to that pin-
cushion made of crimson satin, ornamented 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
AULD LANG SYNE 211
c ; pher "L. L. B." formed in gold beads, and sur-
rounded 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 grey pavement of St Ann's Street,
and to see at the end the towers of the minster : or, if
otherwise, full expectant of a town 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 excluded.
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 sixteen, fair-com-
plexioned with sanguine health in his cheek ; hair long,
212 VILLETTE
not dark, and with a sonny sheen ; penetrating eyes, ao
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 affections 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 mantelpiece : somewhat too high, as I
thought. I well remember how I used to mount a
music-stool for the purpose of unhooking it, holding 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 improve 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,
by way 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 do I now think over, adding, " He
had his faults, yet scarce ever was a finer nature ; liberal,
AULD LANG SYNE 213
suave, impressible." My reflections 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 wondet
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, wearing widow's silk, and
such 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 distinct vision of Mrs Bretton.
I kept quiet, yet internally / 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 pre-
sent ; 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 mis-
leading 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 ? "
" That is his portrait as a youth. While looking at
it, you pronounced his name."
2i 4 VILLETTE
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 school here : my son recognised
you as such."
" How was I found, madam, and by whom ? "
" My son shall tell you that by-and-by," said she ;
" but at present you are too confused and weak for con-
versation : try to eat some breakfast, and then sleep."
Notwithstanding all I had undergone the bodiry
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 morn-
ing, 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 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 gather-
ing gloom, too, depressed me ; I wanted to see to feel
firelight. Besides, 1 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 atten-
AULD LANG SYNE 215
tions, 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 in her voice and
manner that, as a girl, I had always 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 downstairs, Madam ; I am so cold
and dull here."
" I desire nothing better, if you are strong enough to
bear the change," was her reply. " 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 um, 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 mould, which always 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
21 6 VILLETTE
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 news-
paper. 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 not her spirit
seemed yet touched by the rust of age. Though portly,
she was alert, and though serene, she was at times im-
petuous 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 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 teapot 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
AULD LANG SYNE 217
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 curdy.
" Who else should it be, mamma ? " demanded the
Unpunctual, possessing himself irreverently of the
abdicated throne.
" Don't you deserve cold tea, for being late ? "
" I shall not get my deserts, for the urn sing
cheerily."
" Wheel yourself to the 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, mamma ? "
"Will she come forward and speak for herself?'*
said Mrs Bretton, turning to my corner ; and at this
invitation, forward I came. Graham courteously rose
up to meet 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 particulars ; meantime, I trust you
really do feel better."
" Much better," I said calmly. " Much better, I
thank you, Dr John."
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
2i8 VILLETTE
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 discovery was not of to-day, its dawn
had penetrated my perceptions long since. Of course I
remembered 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 recognised him on that
occasion, noted several chapters back, when my un-
guardedly-fixed attention had drawn on me the mortifi-
cation of an implied rebuke. 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 of former days. 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 ind, 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
assimilated 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 DO
farther.
Well I knew that to him it could make little
difference, were I to come forward and announce
AULD LANG SYNE 219
" 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 M Miss
Lucy ; " he never heard the surname, " Snowe." As
to spontaneous recognition though I, perhaps, was still
less changed than he the idea never approached his
mind, and why should I suggest it ?
During tea, Dr John was kind, as it was his nature
to be ; that meal over, and the tray carried out, 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.
M Well," she exclaimed presently ; " I have seldom
een a stronger likeness ! Graham, have you ob-
served it ? "
" Observed what ? What ails the Old Lady now ?
How you stare, mamma ! One would think you had
an attack of second sight."
" Tel) me, Graham, of whom does that young lady
remind you ? " pointing to me.
" Mamma, 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, mamma, 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
Rue Fossette : yet you never mentioned to me that
angular resemblance ! "
" 1 could not mention a thing of which I never
2 2o VILLETTE
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 anticipate.
" 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 recognise 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 god-
mother's habit to make a bustle, and she preferred all
sentimental demonstrations in bas-relief. So she and I
got over the surprise with few words and a single
salute ; yet I dare say she was pleased, and I know I
was. While we renewed old acquaintance, Graham,
sitting opposite, silently disposed of his paroxsym of
atonishment.
" Mamma 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 acquaintance all this time, and
never mentioned it ? "
" That I have," was my answer.
Dr John commented not. I supposed he regarded
my silence as eccentric, but he was indulgent in
refraining from censure. I dare say, too, he would
have deemed it impertinent to have interrogated me
AULD LANG SYNE 221
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.
" I think I do ! " said he : " 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 con-
flict 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. 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 eyeballs a beam almost loving.
222 VILLETTE
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 oi
the former St Ann's Street mansion 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 teacups.
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 catas-
trophe, I am sure thereby 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 stairs.
When I had said my prayers, and when I was un-
dressed and laid down, I felt that I still had friends.
Friends, not professing vehement attachment, not offer-
ing the tender solace of well-matched and congenial
relationship ; on whom, therefore, but moderate demand
of affection was to be made, of whom 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
LA TERRASSE 223
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, unengrossing and tranquil : quite
tranquil ! "
Still repeating this word, I turned to my pillow ;,
and, tttll repeating it, I steeped that pillow with tears.
Chapter
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 differ-
ence 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,
for strength in piteous weakness, for patience in extreme
ni-fd. Certainly, at some hour, though perhaps not
four 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 die blind, and the dumb,
224 VILLETTE
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
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 mourning 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.
*' 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
LA TERRASSE 225
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 cheerier.
Our natures own predilections and antipathies alike
strange. There are people from whom we secretly shrink,
whom we would personally avoid, though reason con-
fesses 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, h T self-reliant mood, her de-
cided bearing, were all beneficial to me as the atmo-
sphere 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. * Now
mamma,' 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 ? "
I replied that I did not quite know what my ailment
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 con-
fidence have led that hale, serene nature ! The differ-
ence between her and me might be figured by that
between the stately ship cruising safe on smooth seas,
H
226 VILLETTE
with its full complement of crew, a captain gay and
brave, and venturous 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 en-
counters 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 even-
ing 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 fulfilment, a vague impression of
obligation to be employed when this stirring time was
past, and the silent descent of afternoon hushed house-
maid 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 1 closed my eyes, I heard a gale,
subsiding at last, bearing upon the house-front like a
setting 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
LA TERRASSE 227
of it* largest waves, the dash of its fiercest breakers,
could sound down in this submarine home, 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, read-
ing 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 calcu-
lated 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
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 manoir 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."
22 8 VILLETTE
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 moon-
light soften or sadden Dr Bretton ? Did it touch him
with romance ? 1 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 that it was in some sort my duty to speak the
name he meditated. Of course he was ready for the
subject : 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 Choimondeleys," and was opening my lips to speak
to 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 that 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 you
must 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
LA TERRASSE 229
the past week, that the good 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 have been delighted r.o cook me
cotelettes de mouton, if I could have eaten them."
" What did Madame Beck mean by leaving you
alone ? "
" Madame Beck could not foresee that I should fall
ill."
" 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 the 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 remarks.
They sounded all right, I thought, and bore the safe
sanction of custom, and the well-worn stamp of use.
" Miss Snowe," recommenced Dr John my health,
nervous system included, being now, somewhat to my
relief, discussed and done with " is it permitted me to
ask what your religion 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
yet remains 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
230
VILLETTE
singularly interesting and critical character ; the disease
being rare, and its treatment doubtful : I saw a similar
and still finer case in a hospital in Paris ; but that will
not interest you. At last a mitigation of the patient's
most urgent symptoms (acute pain is one of its accom-
paniments) liberated me, and I set out homeward. My
shortest way lay through the Basse-Ville, and as the
night was excessively 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
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 recognised 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 Madame Beck's pensionnat.
She was perfectly unconscious, perfectly bloodless, and
nearly cold.
" What does it all mean ? ' was my inquiry.
" He communicated a curious account ; that you 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
checked his garrulity, and my curiosity. Your confi-
dences, however, had not made an enemy of the good
LA TERRASSE 231
father ; it seems he was so struck, and felt so sorry that
you should be out on such a night alone, that he had
esteemed it a Christian duty to watch you 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 unconsciously, 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 confession, 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 ' nervous system.' I cannot
put the case into words, but my days and nights were
grown intolerable : 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 understand, Dr
John) the current which passes through the heart, and
which, if aneurism or any other morbid cause obstructs
its natural channels, 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
solitary 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."
232 VILLETTE
" 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.
" 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 wanderings
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 know
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 Beguin-
age, amidst the stress of flood and gust, and in the per-
plexity 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. Pre Silas, old as
he is, would carry you upstairs, 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 de-
ferred. Pere Silas and myself departed together, 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 ? "
" Not yet," said I, with a smile. " And never let
LA TERRASSE 233
Pere Silas know where I live, or he will try to convert
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 indulgence to
which she had succumbed, and fully prepared to deny
that she had slept at all her son came gaily to the
attack
" Hushaby, mamma ! 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.
Mamma, under such circumstances, you always remind
me of Titania."
" That is because you, yourself, are so like Bottom."
" Miss Snowe did you ever hear anything like
mamma'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 maintains the whole-
some ferment of her spirits."
The two were now standing opposite to each other,
H2
234 VILLETTE
one on each side the fire-place ; their words were not
very fond, but their mutual looks atoned for verbal de-
ficiencies. 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 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 approve that choice ? I could not tell ; but
I could well guess that if she knew Miss Fanshawe's
conduct 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 perverted, or both. Well I
thought so too.
That second evening passed as sweetly as the first
more sweetly indeed : we enjoyed a smoother inter-
change of thought : old troubles were not reverted 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.
Chapter jcfcitj*
WE QUARREL.
DURING the first days of my stay at the terrace,
Graham never took a seat near me, or in his
frequent pacing of the room approached the
quarter where I sat, or looked preoccupied, or more
WE QUARREL 235
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 permanently
under arms, and my sympathy desired to keep its cornu-
copia replenished and ready for outpouring. At last,
and after a little inward struggle which I saw and re-
spected, he one day launched into the topic. It was
introduced delicately ; anonymously as it were.
" Your friend is spending her vacation in travelling, 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 impeachment : 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 he 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 comprehensively 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, unequivocal applications
for cash.)
" And her handwriting ? It must be pretty, light,
ladylike, I should think ? "
It was, and I said so.
23 6 V1LLETTE
** 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 enjoy.
I have never been the depository of her plans and secrets.
You will find her particular friends in another sphere
than mine : amongst the Cholmondeleys, for in-
stance."
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 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 briefly. A disclaimer
of the sentiments attributed to me burned on my lips,
but I extinguished the flame. I submitted to be looked
upon as the humiliated, cast-off, and now pining con-
fidante of the distinguished Miss Fanshawe : but, reader,
it was a hard submission.
" Yet, you ee," continued Graham, " while I com-
fort 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 :
WE QUARREL 237
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 concerned, 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 ; 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 out-
lines of his nature had been shaped with breadth and
vigour, the details embraced 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 in exquisite per-
fection ; 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 tmsympathising, unfeeling : on the con-
trary, 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 percep-
tion, miracles of intuition, and realise disappointment.
This night, when Dr John entered the room, and met
the evening lamp, I saw well and at one glance his
whole mechanism.
?3 8 VILLETTE
To one who had named him " slave/' and, on any
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 un-
manning possibility. He sought in this accusation the
cause of that ill-success which had got so galling a hold
on his mental peace. Amid the worry of a self-con-
demnatory soliloquy, his demeanour seemed grave, per-
haps cold, both to me and his mother. And yet there
was no bad feeling, no malice, no rancour, no littleness
in his countenance, 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 all ; I could
not stand it : I made no pretence of capacity to wage
war on this footing. School solitude, conventual silence
and stagnation, anything seemed preferable to living em-
broiled 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
WE QUARREL 239
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 was 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.
" 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 your 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 ? "
" / 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 ? "
" 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 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.
240
VILLETTE
Reader, if, in the course of this work, you find that
my opinion of Dr John undergoes modification, 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 showed the fineness of his nature by being kinder
to me after that misunderstanding than before. Nay,
the very incident which, by my theory, must in some
degree estrange me and him, changed, indeed, some-
what 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 hitherto, 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
day, so long as we continued friends, he never in dis-
course stood on topics of ceremony with me. He
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 answered, my wish always
satisfied. It follows, as a matter of course, that I con-
tinued to hear much of " 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 con-
fess 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 myself the delight of indulging his mood, and
being pliant to his will. He still seemed to me most
WE QUARREL 241
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. Sometimes 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 impatience,
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, you 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 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 not r and go on I will t Ginevra has
had her hands filled from your hands more times than I
can count. You have sought tor her the costliest
24 2 VILLETTE
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 ex-
travagance."
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 accepting
them."
" She did more than a favour, Dr John : 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."
" But you don't understand her ; she is far too dis-
interested 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 endeavours
to realise 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 whenever
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 1 always carefully chose what seemed to
me pretty, and what of course was not valueless), the
THE CLEOPATRA 243
glitter never dazzled her bright eyes : she would hardly
cast one look on my gift."
" Then, of course, not valuing it, she would unloose,
and return it to you ? "
** No ; for such a repulse she was too good-natured.
She would consent to seem to forget what 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 pan, at least, of his
professed persuasion of Miss Fanshawe's naivete 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 conversation.
Chapter jci*.
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
244 ViLLETTE
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, how-
ever, followed an attention I 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 and neat in-
terior surpassed her expectations ; she eulogised 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 compliment in my favour, and, upon Dr
John coming in, ran up to him with the utmost buoy-
ancy, opening 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 embellished
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-
|)ur|)osf ly, 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 traction 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 !
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
THE CLEOPATRA 245
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, beneath 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 Bretton's and his mother's.
They liked to communicate happiness, as some like to
occasion misery ; they did 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
occupied as was Dr John's time, he mil 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, confused, or oppressed. What he did
was accomplished with the ease and grace of all-sufficing
strength ; with the bountiful cheerfulness of high and
unbroken 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
246 VILLETTE
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 noteworthy information. 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 coldly and vaguely ; he rarely
generalised, 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 discourse ; 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
freshness, 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 benevol-
ence, 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 philanthropist 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.
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 time
I spent with him, that in act, or speech, or look, he did
not betray something that was not of a god. A god
THE CLEOPATRA 247
could not have the cruel vanity of Dr John, nor his
some-time 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 contradic-
tion in the two views which have been given ot
Graham Bretton the public and private the outdoor
and the indoor view. In the first, the public, he is
shown oblivious of self; as modest in the display of his
energies, as earnest in their exercise. In the second,
the fireside picture, there is 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 fabrication of
some trifle dedicated to his use had been achieved un-
noticed, 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
me 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
248 VILLETTE
affluence than his gay, taunting, teasing, loving wont. If
Lucy Snowe were discovered to have put her hand to such
work, he planned, in recompense, some pleasant recreation.
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 sights or build-
ings, or any lions of public interest. Dr Bretton was a
cicerone after my own heart ; he would take me be-
times, ere the galleries were filled, leave me there for
two or three hours, and call for me when his own en-
gagements were discharged. Meantime, I was happy ;
happy, not always in admiring, but in examining,
questioning, and forming conclusions. In the com-
mencement of these visits, there was some misunder-
standing and consequent 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
THE CLEOPATRA
249
however, the more it wouldn't praise. Discovering
gradually that a wonderful sense of fatigue resulted from
these conscientious efforts, I began to reflect whether I
might not dispense with that great labour, and con-
cluded eventually that I might, and so sank supine 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 picture
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 (Teeuvres 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 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,
excellent for fashion-books displaying varied cos-
tumes 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, startingly 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 particular picture
of portentous size, set up in the best light, having a
cordon of protection stretched before it, and a cushioned
250 VILLETTE
bench duly set in front for the accommodation of wor-
shipping connoisseurs, who, 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 reception of a com-
modity 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, for the
wretched untidyness 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 fore-
ground ; a perfect rubbish of flowers was mixed amongst
them, and an absurd and disorderly mass of curtain up-
holstery smothered the couch and cumbered the floor.
On referring to the catalogue, I found that this notable
production bore name " Cleopatra."
Well, I was sitting wondering at it (as the bench was
there, I thought I might as well take advantage of its
accommodation), and thinking that while some of the
details as roses, gold cups, jewels, &c., were very
THE CLEOPATRA 251
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, in-
deed, I soon tired, and betook myself for refreshment
to the contemplation of some exquisite little pictures of
still life : wild-flowers, wild fruit, mossy woodnests,
casketing eggs that looked like pearls seen through clear
green sea-water ; all hung modestly beneath that coarse
and preposterous canvas.
Suddenly a light tap visited my shoulder. Starting,
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 1'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 insubordination now,
than before this added distinction laurelled his temples.
" Permit me to conduct you to your party," said he,
as he crossed the room.
" I have no party."
" You are not alone ? "
"Yes, Monsieur."
" Did you come here unaccompanied ? "
" No, Monsieur. Dr Bretton brought me here."
" Dr Bretton and Madame his mother, of course ? "
" No ; only Dr Bretton."
" And he told you to look at that picture ? "
" By no means ; I found it out for myself."
M. Paul's hair was shorn close as raven down, or I
252 VILLETTE
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 professor.
" Singulieres femmes que ces Anglaises ! "
" What is the matter, Monsieur ! "
" Matter ! How dare you, a young person, sit coolly
down, with the self-possession of a gargon, and look at
that picture ? "
"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."
" Maie, Monsieur."
" Mais, Mademoiselle, asseyez vous, et ne bougez
pas entendez-vous ? jusqu' a ce qu'on vienne vous
chercher, ou que je vous donne la permission."
" Quel triste coin ! " cried I, ** et quelles laids
tableaux ! "
And " laids," indeed, they were j being a set of
four, denominated in the catalogue " La vie d'une
femme." They were painted rather in a remarkable
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 villainous
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
THE CLEOPATRA 253
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 grey 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 Cleo-
patra, in hers.
It was impossible to keep one's attention long con-
fined 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 " des 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 absolut-
ism, he merely requested my silence, and also, in the
same breath, denounced my mingled rashness and ignor-
ance. A more despotic little man than M. Paul nevei
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 was obeying orders, and not breaking
bounds. By-and-by, he again accosted me.
" Had 1 not been ill ? " he wished to know : " he
understood I had."
" Yes, but I was now quite well."
254 VILLETTE
" 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 contradictory
expressions played rapidly over his countenance. Marie
Broc was well known to M. Paul ; he never gave a
lesson in the third division (containing the least advanced
pupils), that she did not occasion in him a sharp conflict
between antagonistic impressions. Her personal appear-
ance, her repulsive manners, her often unmanageable
disposition, irritated 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 such 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 attachments 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, required a thorough
comprehension of his nature ; and his nature was of an
order rarely comprehended.
255
" 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 courage ;
and perhaps, charity. Yours are not the 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 infinitely
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."
" V raiment ! Vous valez peu de chose. You are
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. f had never been angry
256 VILLETTE
with him yet, however, and had no present 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. " Une 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 soeur. Aussi vous ne jeterez plus
un seul coup d'oeil de sa c6te."
** 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, or
what he intended for a smile, though it was but a grim
and hurried manifestation, " you nurslings of Protestant-
ism astonish me. You unguarded Englishwomen walk
calmly amidst red-hot ploughshares and escape burning.
I believe, if some of you were thrown into Nebuchad-
nezzar'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 ? "
" How ! At what are you gazing now ? You are
not recognising an acquaintance amongst that group of
jeunes gens ? "
" 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
THE CLEOPATRA 257
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 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
forgot 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 pre-
sent abstraction, 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 distinc-
tion. This way came Dr John, in visage, in shape, in
hue, as unlike the dark, acerb, and caustic little pro-
fessor, 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 ; 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 eye 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
I
258 VILLETTE
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 teachably ; unformalised
by scruples lest so to bend his bright handsome head, to
gather a woman's rather obscure and stammering explana-
tion, should imperil the dignity of his manhood. And
when he communicated information 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 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 re-
commended to my attention).
" Pooh ! " said he, " my mother is a better-looking
woman. I heard some French fops, yonder, designat-
ing her as * le type du voluptueux ; ' if so, I can only
say, * le voluptueux ' is little to my liking. Compare
that mulatto with Ginevra ! "
Chapter *jt*
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-
THE CONCERT 259
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," If 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," re-
joined 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 be
held in the large salle, or hall, of the principal musical
society. The most advanced of the pupils of the Con-
servatoire 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 recommended punctual readiness by seven o'clock.
About six, I was ushered upstairs. 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 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,
2 6 VILLETTE
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 satisfied nod,
which calmed at once my sense of shame and fear of
ridicule. For the rest, the dress was made with ex-
treme simplicity, guiltless of flounce or furbelow ; it was
but the light 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 not sure that I ex-
pected 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 chaussee, the passage
through the city gates, the lights there burning, the
guards there posted, the pretence of inspection to which
we there submitted, and which amused us so much all
these small matters had for me, in their novelty, a
peculiarly 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
THE CONCERT 261
than at high noon. How brilliant seemed the shops !
How glad, gay, and abundant flowed the tide of life
along the broad pavement ! While I 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 carriages
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 in-
timated, 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 distinctly re-
member 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.
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 disclosed a
hall grand, wide, and high, whose sweeping circular
walls, and domed hollow ceiling, seemed to me all dead
gold (thus with nice art was it stained), 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 drapery hung, wherever carpets were
spread, or cushions placed, the sole colour employed
3 62 VILLETTE
was deep crimson. Pendant from the dome, flamed a maa
that dazzled me a mass, I thought, of rock-crystal,
sparkling with facets, streaming with drops, ablaze with
stars, and gorgeously tinged with dews of gems dis-
solved, 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 another
party approaching from the opposite direction. I just
now see that group, as it flashed upon 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 believed
them all strangers, thus receiving an impartial impression
of their appearance. But the impression was hardly
felt and not fixed, before the consciousness that I faced
a great mirror, filling a compartment 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 were so perfect ;
and foreigners, even such as are ungraceful in domestic
THE CONCERT 263
privacy, seem to possess the art of appearing graceful in
public : however blunt and boisterous those every-dayand
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
jala 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 per-
fect 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 -fjund, straight
but stolid ; and for their depth of expnJ8ionles8 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 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 conscious 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
264 VILLETTE
love of heaven to shield well his heart. You need not
fall in love with that lady," I said, " because, I tell you
beforehand, 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 ? 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. Mamma, 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 il^ver seems to think that such a calamity can
befall her ai^ e 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. ' Mamma, 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 realised.
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 satin
dress, and hair of paler brown, with reflets satines ' as
those of her robe. Would you not feel proud, mamma,
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
iittie chateau will not contain two mistresses ; especially
THE CONCERT 265
if the second be of the height, bulk and circumference
of that mighty doll in wood and wax, and kid and
satin."
" Mamma, ahe would fill your blue chair so admir-
ably ! "
" Fill ray 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 the 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 overflowing with life ; round two grand
pianos, placed about the centre, a white flock of young
girls, the pupils of the Conservatoire, had noiselessly
poured. 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 recognised 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 pensionnat, to give lessons to
the few pupils whose parents were rich enough to allow
their daughters the privilege of his instruction ; 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, restraining, over-awing about one hundred
young ladies. He was, too, so perfectly in earnest so
12
266 V1LLETTE
energetic, so intent, and, above all, so absolute : and yet
what business had he there ? What had he to do with
music or the Conservatoire he who could hardly dis-
tinguish one note from another ? I knew that it 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 them-
selves. 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 professor 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 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 King, 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 specimens
of European royalty. By whomsoever majesty is
beheld for the first time, there will always be experienced
a vague surprise bordering on disappointment, 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. Looking 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
THE CONCERT 267
bowed, a little grey : 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, Hypo-
chondria. Perhaps he saw her now on that stage, over
against him, amidst all that brilliant throng. Hypo-
chondria has that wont, to rise in the midst of thousands
dark as Doom, pale as Malady, and well nigh strong
as Death. Her comrade 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 are 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
too suggestive of reigning dynasties and royal lines to
give unqualified pleasure. The expression clothing
that profile was agreeable in the present instance ; but
you could not avoid connecting it with remembered
268 VILLETTE
effigies, where similar lines appeared, under phase
ignoble ; feeble, or sensual, or cunning, as the case
might be. The Queen's eye, however, was her own ;
and pity, goodness, 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, accom-
panied her : he leaned on his mother's knee ; and, ever
and anon, in the course of that evening, I saw her ob-
servant of the monarch at her side, conscious of his
beclouded 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. Full 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 in-
visible : I could not discover that one soul present was
either struck or touched. >d Ji
With the King and Queen had entered their court,
comprising two or three foreign ambassadors ; and with
them came the elite of the foreigners then resident in
Villette. These took possession of the crimson benches ;
the ladies were seated ; most of the men remained stand-
ing : their sable rank, lining the background, 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
THE CONCERT 269
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 : pupi 
