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diff --git a/1028-h/1028-h.htm b/1028-h/1028-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da52f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/1028-h/1028-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10881 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> +<meta charset="utf-8"><style> +#pg-header div, #pg-footer div { + all: initial; + display: block; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 2em; +} +#pg-footer div.agate { + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + text-align: center; +} +#pg-footer li { + all: initial; + display: block; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + text-indent: -0.6em; +} +#pg-footer div.secthead { + font-size: 110%; + font-weight: bold; +} +#pg-footer #project-gutenberg-license { + font-size: 110%; + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + text-align: center; +} +#pg-header-heading { + all: inherit; + text-align: center; + font-size: 120%; + font-weight:bold; +} +#pg-footer-heading { + all: inherit; + text-align: center; + font-size: 120%; + font-weight: normal; + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; +} +#pg-header #pg-machine-header p { + text-indent: -4em; + margin-left: 4em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 0; + font-size: medium +} +#pg-header #pg-header-authlist { + all: initial; + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; +} +#pg-header #pg-machine-header strong { + font-weight: normal; +} +#pg-header #pg-start-separator, #pg-footer #pg-end-separator { + margin-bottom: 3em; + margin-left: 0; + margin-right: auto; + margin-top: 2em; + text-align: center +} + + .xhtml_center {text-align: center; display: block;} + .xhtml_center table { + display: table; + text-align: left; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + } .xhtml_big {font-size: larger;}</style><title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Professor, by (aka Charlotte Brontë) Currer Bell</title> +<style>body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + text-align: justify + } +p { + text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em + } +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5, h6 { + text-align: center; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15% + } +hr { + width: 50%; + text-align: center + } +.foot { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; + text-indent: -3em; + font-size: 90% + } +blockquote { + font-size: 97%; + font-style: italic; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10% + } +.mynote { + background-color: #DDE; + color: #000; + padding: 0.5em; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + font-family: sans-serif; + font-size: 95% + } +.toc { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-bottom: 0.75em + } +.toc2 { + margin-left: 20% + } +div.fig { + display: block; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center + } +div.middle { + margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify + } +.figleft { + float: left; + margin-left: 0%; + margin-right: 1% + } +.figright { + float: right; + margin-right: 0%; + margin-left: 1% + } +.pagenum { + display: inline; + font-size: 70%; + font-style: normal; + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + position: absolute; + right: 1%; + text-align: right + } +.no-break { + page-break-before: avoid + } +.topspace { + margin-top: 2em + } +.author { + font-size: 130%; + text-align: center; + padding-top: 5%; + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 15% + } +.poem { + font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-left: 10% + } +.poem span.poemindent { + margin-left: 2% + } +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1028 ***</div> +<h1> + THE PROFESSOR + </h1> +<p class="author"> + by (AKA Charlotte Brontë) Currer Bell + </p> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<hr> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<blockquote><div> +<p class="toc"> +<span class="xhtml_big"><b>CONTENTS</b></span> +</p> +<p> +<br> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_PREF" class="pginternal"> PREFACE. </a> +</p> +<p> +<br> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2H_4_0002" class="pginternal"> +<span class="xhtml_big"><b>T H E P R O F E S S O R</b></span> +</a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0001" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0002" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER II. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0003" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER III. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0004" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER IV. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0005" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER V. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0006" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER VI. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0007" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER VII. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0008" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0009" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER IX. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0010" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER X. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0011" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XI. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0012" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XII. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0013" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0014" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0015" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XV. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0016" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0017" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0018" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0019" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0020" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XX. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0021" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0022" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0023" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0024" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> +</p> +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#link2HCH0025" class="pginternal"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> +</p> +</div></blockquote> +<p> +<br> <br> +</p> +<hr> +<p> +<br> <br> <a id="link2H_PREF"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2> + PREFACE. + </h2> +<p> + This little book was written before either “Jane Eyre” or “Shirley,” and + yet no indulgence can be solicited for it on the plea of a first attempt. + A first attempt it certainly was not, as the pen which wrote it had been + previously worn a good deal in a practice of some years. I had not indeed + published anything before I commenced “The Professor,” but in many a crude + effort, destroyed almost as soon as composed, I had got over any such + taste as I might once have had for ornamented and redundant composition, + and come to prefer what was plain and homely. At the same time I had + adopted a set of principles on the subject of incident, &c., such as + would be generally approved in theory, but the result of which, when + carried out into practice, often procures for an author more surprise than + pleasure. + </p> +<p> + I said to myself that my hero should work his way through life as I had + seen real living men work theirs—that he should never get a shilling + he had not earned—that no sudden turns should lift him in a moment + to wealth and high station; that whatever small competency he might gain, + should be won by the sweat of his brow; that, before he could find so much + as an arbour to sit down in, he should master at least half the ascent of + “the Hill of Difficulty;” that he should not even marry a beautiful girl + or a lady of rank. As Adam’s son he should share Adam’s doom, and drain + throughout life a mixed and moderate cup of enjoyment. + </p> +<p> + In the sequel, however, I find that publishers in general scarcely + approved of this system, but would have liked something more imaginative + and poetical—something more consonant with a highly wrought fancy, + with a taste for pathos, with sentiments more tender, elevated, unworldly. + Indeed, until an author has tried to dispose of a manuscript of this kind, + he can never know what stores of romance and sensibility lie hidden in + breasts he would not have suspected of casketing such treasures. Men in + business are usually thought to prefer the real; on trial the idea will be + often found fallacious: a passionate preference for the wild, wonderful, + and thrilling—the strange, startling, and harrowing—agitates + divers souls that show a calm and sober surface. + </p> +<p> + Such being the case, the reader will comprehend that to have reached him + in the form of a printed book, this brief narrative must have gone through + some struggles—which indeed it has. And after all, its worst + struggle and strongest ordeal is yet to come but it takes comfort—subdues + fear—leans on the staff of a moderate expectation—and mutters + under its breath, while lifting its eye to that of the public, + </p> +<p> + “He that is low need fear no fall.” + </p> +<p> + CURRER BELL. + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + The foregoing preface was written by my wife with a view to the + publication of “The Professor,” shortly after the appearance of “Shirley.” + Being dissuaded from her intention, the authoress made some use of the + materials in a subsequent work—“Villette.” As, however, these two + stories are in most respects unlike, it has been represented to me that I + ought not to withhold “The Professor” from the public. I have therefore + consented to its publication. + </p> +<p> + A. B. NICHOLLS + </p> +<p> + Haworth Parsonage, + </p> +<p> + September 22nd, 1856. + </p> +<div class="chapter no-break"> +<p> +<a id="link2H_4_0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> +<h2 class="topspace"> + T H E P R O F E S S O R + </h2> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> +<h2 class="topspace no-break"> + CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY. + </h2> +<p> + THE other day, in looking over my papers, I found in my desk the following + copy of a letter, sent by me a year since to an old school acquaintance:— + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + “DEAR CHARLES, + </p> +<p> + “I think when you and I were at Eton together, we were neither of us what + could be called popular characters: you were a sarcastic, observant, + shrewd, cold-blooded creature; my own portrait I will not attempt to draw, + but I cannot recollect that it was a strikingly attractive one—can + you? What animal magnetism drew thee and me together I know not; certainly + I never experienced anything of the Pylades and Orestes sentiment for you, + and I have reason to believe that you, on your part, were equally free + from all romantic regard to me. Still, out of school hours we walked and + talked continually together; when the theme of conversation was our + companions or our masters we understood each other, and when I recurred to + some sentiment of affection, some vague love of an excellent or beautiful + object, whether in animate or inanimate nature, your sardonic coldness did + not move me. I felt myself superior to that check <em>then</em> as I do + <em>now</em>. + </p> +<p> + “It is a long time since I wrote to you, and a still longer time since I + saw you. Chancing to take up a newspaper of your county the other day, my + eye fell upon your name. I began to think of old times; to run over the + events which have transpired since we separated; and I sat down and + commenced this letter. What you have been doing I know not; but you shall + hear, if you choose to listen, how the world has wagged with me. + </p> +<p> + “First, after leaving Eton, I had an interview with my maternal uncles, + Lord Tynedale and the Hon. John Seacombe. They asked me if I would enter + the Church, and my uncle the nobleman offered me the living of Seacombe, + which is in his gift, if I would; then my other uncle, Mr. Seacombe, + hinted that when I became rector of Seacombe-cum-Scaife, I might perhaps + be allowed to take, as mistress of my house and head of my parish, one of + my six cousins, his daughters, all of whom I greatly dislike. + </p> +<p> + “I declined both the Church and matrimony. A good clergyman is a good + thing, but I should have made a very bad one. As to the wife—oh how + like a night-mare is the thought of being bound for life to one of my + cousins! No doubt they are accomplished and pretty; but not an + accomplishment, not a charm of theirs, touches a chord in my bosom. To + think of passing the winter evenings by the parlour fire-side of Seacombe + Rectory alone with one of them—for instance, the large and + well-modelled statue, Sarah—no; I should be a bad husband, under + such circumstances, as well as a bad clergyman. + </p> +<p> + “When I had declined my uncles’ offers they asked me ‘what I intended to + do?’ I said I should reflect. They reminded me that I had no fortune, and + no expectation of any, and, after a considerable pause, Lord Tynedale + demanded sternly, ‘Whether I had thoughts of following my father’s steps + and engaging in trade?’ Now, I had had no thoughts of the sort. I do not + think that my turn of mind qualifies me to make a good tradesman; my + taste, my ambition does not lie in that way; but such was the scorn + expressed in Lord Tynedale’s countenance as he pronounced the word + <em>trade</em>—such + the contemptuous sarcasm of his tone—that I was instantly decided. + My father was but a name to me, yet that name I did not like to hear + mentioned with a sneer to my very face. I answered then, with haste and + warmth, ‘I cannot do better than follow in my father’s steps; yes, I will + be a tradesman.’ My uncles did not remonstrate; they and I parted with + mutual disgust. In reviewing this transaction, I find that I was quite + right to shake off the burden of Tynedale’s patronage, but a fool to offer + my shoulders instantly for the reception of another burden—one which + might be more intolerable, and which certainly was yet untried. + </p> +<p> + “I wrote instantly to Edward—you know Edward—my only brother, + ten years my senior, married to a rich mill-owner’s daughter, and now + possessor of the mill and business which was my father’s before he failed. + You are aware that my father—once reckoned a Croesus of wealth—became + bankrupt a short time previous to his death, and that my mother lived in + destitution for some six months after him, unhelped by her aristocratical + brothers, whom she had mortally offended by her union with Crimsworth, + the ——shire manufacturer. At the end of the six months she brought me into + the world, and then herself left it without, I should think, much regret, + as it contained little hope or comfort for her. + </p> +<p> + “My father’s relations took charge of Edward, as they did of me, till I + was nine years old. At that period it chanced that the representation of + an important borough in our county fell vacant; Mr. Seacombe stood for it. + My uncle Crimsworth, an astute mercantile man, took the opportunity of + writing a fierce letter to the candidate, stating that if he and Lord + Tynedale did not consent to do something towards the support of their + sister’s orphan children, he would expose their relentless and malignant + conduct towards that sister, and do his best to turn the circumstances + against Mr. Seacombe’s election. That gentleman and Lord T. knew well + enough that the Crimsworths were an unscrupulous and determined race; they + knew also that they had influence in the borough of X——; and, + making a virtue of necessity, they consented to defray the expenses of my + education. I was sent to Eton, where I remained ten years, during which + space of time Edward and I never met. He, when he grew up, entered into + trade, and pursued his calling with such diligence, ability, and success, + that now, in his thirtieth year, he was fast making a fortune. Of this I + was apprised by the occasional short letters I received from him, some + three or four times a year; which said letters never concluded without + some expression of determined enmity against the house of Seacombe, and + some reproach to me for living, as he said, on the bounty of that house. + At first, while still in boyhood, I could not understand why, as I had no + parents, I should not be indebted to my uncles Tynedale and Seacombe for + my education; but as I grew up, and heard by degrees of the persevering + hostility, the hatred till death evinced by them against my father—of + the sufferings of my mother—of all the wrongs, in short, of our + house—then did I conceive shame of the dependence in which I lived, + and form a resolution no more to take bread from hands which had refused + to minister to the necessities of my dying mother. It was by these + feelings I was influenced when I refused the Rectory of Seacombe, and the + union with one of my patrician cousins. + </p> +<p> + “An irreparable breach thus being effected between my uncles and myself, I + wrote to Edward; told him what had occurred, and informed him of my + intention to follow his steps and be a tradesman. I asked, moreover, if he + could give me employment. His answer expressed no approbation of my + conduct, but he said I might come down to ——shire, if I liked, + and he would ‘see what could be done in the way of furnishing me with + work.’ I repressed all—even <em>mental</em> comment on his note—packed + my trunk and carpet-bag, and started for the North directly. + </p> +<p> + “After two days’ travelling (railroads were not then in existence) I + arrived, one wet October afternoon, in the town of X——. I had + always understood that Edward lived in this town, but on inquiry I found + that it was only Mr. Crimsworth’s mill and warehouse which were situated + in the smoky atmosphere of Bigben Close; his <em>residence</em> lay four + miles out, in the country. + </p> +<p> + “It was late in the evening when I alighted at the gates of the habitation + designated to me as my brother’s. As I advanced up the avenue, I could see + through the shades of twilight, and the dark gloomy mists which deepened + those shades, that the house was large, and the grounds surrounding it + sufficiently spacious. I paused a moment on the lawn in front, and leaning + my back against a tall tree which rose in the centre, I gazed with + interest on the exterior of Crimsworth Hall. + </p> +<p> + “Edward is rich,” thought I to myself. ‘I believed him to be doing + well—but I did not know he was master of a mansion like this.’ Cutting + short all marvelling, speculation, conjecture, &c., I advanced to the + front door and rang. A man-servant opened it—I announced myself—he + relieved me of my wet cloak and carpet-bag, and ushered me into a room + furnished as a library, where there was a bright fire and candles burning + on the table; he informed me that his master was not yet returned from + X—— market, but that he would certainly be at home in the course of half + an hour. + </p> +<p> + “Being left to myself, I took the stuffed easy chair, covered with red + morocco, which stood by the fireside, and while my eyes watched the flames + dart from the glowing coals, and the cinders fall at intervals on the + hearth, my mind busied itself in conjectures concerning the meeting about + to take place. Amidst much that was doubtful in the subject of these + conjectures, there was one thing tolerably certain—I was in no + danger of encountering severe disappointment; from this, the moderation of + my expectations guaranteed me. I anticipated no overflowings of fraternal + tenderness; Edward’s letters had always been such as to prevent the + engendering or harbouring of delusions of this sort. Still, as I sat + awaiting his arrival, I felt eager—very eager—I cannot tell + you why; my hand, so utterly a stranger to the grasp of a kindred hand, + clenched itself to repress the tremor with which impatience would fain + have shaken it. + </p> +<p> + “I thought of my uncles; and as I was engaged in wondering whether + Edward’s indifference would equal the cold disdain I had always + experienced from them, I heard the avenue gates open: wheels approached + the house; Mr. Crimsworth was arrived; and after the lapse of some + minutes, and a brief dialogue between himself and his servant in the hall, + his tread drew near the library door—that tread alone announced the + master of the house. + </p> +<p> + “I still retained some confused recollection of Edward as he was ten years + ago—a tall, wiry, raw youth; <em>now</em>, as I rose from my seat and + turned towards the library door, I saw a fine-looking and powerful man, + light-complexioned, well-made, and of athletic proportions; the first + glance made me aware of an air of promptitude and sharpness, shown as well + in his movements as in his port, his eye, and the general expression of + his face. He greeted me with brevity, and, in the moment of shaking hands, + scanned me from head to foot; he took his seat in the morocco covered + arm-chair, and motioned me to another seat. + </p> +<p> + “‘I expected you would have called at the counting-house in the Close,’ + said he; and his voice, I noticed, had an abrupt accent, probably habitual + to him; he spoke also with a guttural northern tone, which sounded harsh + in my ears, accustomed to the silvery utterance of the South. + </p> +<p> + “‘The landlord of the inn, where the coach stopped, directed me here,’ + said I. ‘I doubted at first the accuracy of his information, not being + aware that you had such a residence as this.’ + </p> +<p> + “‘Oh, it is all right!’ he replied, ‘only I was kept half an hour behind + time, waiting for you—that is all. I thought you must be coming by + the eight o’clock coach.’ + </p> +<p> + “I expressed regret that he had had to wait; he made no answer, but + stirred the fire, as if to cover a movement of impatience; then he scanned + me again. + </p> +<p> + “I felt an inward satisfaction that I had not, in the first moment of + meeting, betrayed any warmth, any enthusiasm; that I had saluted this man + with a quiet and steady phlegm. + </p> +<p> + “‘Have you quite broken with Tynedale and Seacombe?’ he asked hastily. + </p> +<p> + “‘I do not think I shall have any further communication with them; my + refusal of their proposals will, I fancy, operate as a barrier against all + future intercourse.’ + </p> +<p> + “‘Why,’ said he, ‘I may as well remind you at the very outset of our + connection, that “no man can serve two masters.” Acquaintance with Lord + Tynedale will be incompatible with assistance from me.’ There was a kind + of gratuitous menace in his eye as he looked at me in finishing this + observation. + </p> +<p> + “Feeling no disposition to reply to him, I contented myself with an inward + speculation on the differences which exist in the constitution of men’s + minds. I do not know what inference Mr. Crimsworth drew from my + silence—whether he considered it a symptom of contumacity or an evidence + of my being cowed by his peremptory manner. After a long and hard stare at + me, he rose sharply from his seat. + </p> +<p> + “‘To-morrow,’ said he, ‘I shall call your attention to some other points; + but now it is supper time, and Mrs. Crimsworth is probably waiting; will + you come?’ + </p> +<p> + “He strode from the room, and I followed. In crossing the hall, I wondered + what Mrs. Crimsworth might be. ‘Is she,’ thought I, ‘as alien to what I + like as Tynedale, Seacombe, the Misses Seacombe—as the affectionate + relative now striding before me? or is she better than these? Shall I, in + conversing with her, feel free to show something of my real nature; or—’ + Further conjectures were arrested by my entrance into the dining-room. + </p> +<p> + “A lamp, burning under a shade of ground-glass, showed a handsome + apartment, wainscoted with oak; supper was laid on the table; by the + fire-place, standing as if waiting our entrance, appeared a lady; she was + young, tall, and well shaped; her dress was handsome and fashionable: so + much my first glance sufficed to ascertain. A gay salutation passed + between her and Mr. Crimsworth; she chid him, half playfully, half + poutingly, for being late; her voice (I always take voices into the + account in judging of character) was lively—it indicated, I thought, + good animal spirits. Mr. Crimsworth soon checked her animated scolding + with a kiss—a kiss that still told of the bridegroom (they had not + yet been married a year); she took her seat at the supper-table in + first-rate spirits. Perceiving me, she begged my pardon for not noticing + me before, and then shook hands with me, as ladies do when a flow of + good-humour disposes them to be cheerful to all, even the most indifferent + of their acquaintance. It was now further obvious to me that she had a + good complexion, and features sufficiently marked but agreeable; her hair + was red—quite red. She and Edward talked much, always in a vein of + playful contention; she was vexed, or pretended to be vexed, that he had + that day driven a vicious horse in the gig, and he made light of her + fears. Sometimes she appealed to me. + </p> +<p> + “‘Now, Mr. William, isn’t it absurd in Edward to talk so? He says he will + drive Jack, and no other horse, and the brute has thrown him twice + already. + </p> +<p> + “She spoke with a kind of lisp, not disagreeable, but childish. I soon saw + also that there was more than girlish—a somewhat infantine + expression in her by no means small features; this lisp and expression + were, I have no doubt, a charm in Edward’s eyes, and would be so to those + of most men, but they were not to mine. I sought her eye, desirous to read + there the intelligence which I could not discern in her face or hear in + her conversation; it was merry, rather small; by turns I saw vivacity, + vanity, coquetry, look out through its irid, but I watched in vain for a + glimpse of soul. I am no Oriental; white necks, carmine lips and cheeks, + clusters of bright curls, do not suffice for me without that Promethean + spark which will live after the roses and lilies are faded, the burnished + hair grown grey. In sunshine, in prosperity, the flowers are very well; + but how many wet days are there in life—November seasons of + disaster, when a man’s hearth and home would be cold indeed, without the + clear, cheering gleam of intellect. + </p> +<p> + “Having perused the fair page of Mrs. Crimsworth’s face, a deep, + involuntary sigh announced my disappointment; she took it as a homage to + her beauty, and Edward, who was evidently proud of his rich and handsome + young wife, threw on me a glance—half ridicule, half ire. + </p> +<p> + “I turned from them both, and gazing wearily round the room, I saw two + pictures set in the oak panelling—one on each side the mantel-piece. + Ceasing to take part in the bantering conversation that flowed on between + Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth, I bent my thoughts to the examination of these + pictures. They were portraits—a lady and a gentleman, both costumed + in the fashion of twenty years ago. The gentleman was in the shade. I + could not see him well. The lady had the benefit of a full beam from the + softly shaded lamp. I presently recognised her; I had seen this picture + before in childhood; it was my mother; that and the companion picture + being the only heir-looms saved out of the sale of my father’s property. + </p> +<p> + “The face, I remembered, had pleased me as a boy, but <em>then</em> I did + not understand it; <em>now</em> I knew how rare that class of face is in + the world, and I appreciated keenly its thoughtful, yet gentle expression. + The serious grey eye possessed for me a strong charm, as did certain lines + in the features indicative of most true and tender feeling. I was sorry it + was only a picture. + </p> +<p> + “I soon left Mr. and Mrs. Crimsworth to themselves; a servant conducted me + to my bed-room; in closing my chamber-door, I shut out all intruders—you, + Charles, as well as the rest. + </p> +<p> + “Good-bye for the present, + </p> +<p> + “WILLIAM CRIMSWORTH.” + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + To this letter I never got an answer; before my old friend received it, he + had accepted a Government appointment in one of the colonies, and was + already on his way to the scene of his official labours. What has become + of him since, I know not. + </p> +<p> + The leisure time I have at command, and which I intended to employ for his + private benefit, I shall now dedicate to that of the public at large. My + narrative is not exciting, and above all, not marvellous; but it may + interest some individuals, who, having toiled in the same vocation as + myself, will find in my experience frequent reflections of their own. The + above letter will serve as an introduction. I now proceed. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> +<p> + A FINE October morning succeeded to the foggy evening that had witnessed + my first introduction to Crimsworth Hall. I was early up and walking in + the large park-like meadow surrounding the house. The autumn sun, rising + over the ——shire hills, disclosed a pleasant country; woods + brown and mellow varied the fields from which the harvest had been lately + carried; a river, gliding between the woods, caught on its surface the + somewhat cold gleam of the October sun and sky; at frequent intervals + along the banks of the river, tall, cylindrical chimneys, almost like + slender round towers, indicated the factories which the trees half + concealed; here and there mansions, similar to Crimsworth Hall, occupied + agreeable sites on the hill-side; the country wore, on the whole, a + cheerful, active, fertile look. Steam, trade, machinery had long banished + from it all romance and seclusion. At a distance of five miles, a valley, + opening between the low hills, held in its cups the great town of X——. + A dense, permanent vapour brooded over this locality—there lay + Edward’s “Concern.” + </p> +<p> + I forced my eye to scrutinize this prospect, I forced my mind to dwell on + it for a time, and when I found that it communicated no pleasurable + emotion to my heart—that it stirred in me none of the hopes a man + ought to feel, when he sees laid before him the scene of his life’s + career—I said to myself, “William, you are a rebel against circumstances; + you are a fool, and know not what you want; you have chosen trade and you + shall be a tradesman. Look!” I continued mentally—“Look at the sooty smoke + in that hollow, and know that there is your post! There you cannot dream, + you cannot speculate and theorize—there you shall out and work!” + </p> +<p> + Thus self-schooled, I returned to the house. My brother was in the + breakfast-room. I met him collectedly—I could not meet him + cheerfully; he was standing on the rug, his back to the fire—how + much did I read in the expression of his eye as my glance encountered his, + when I advanced to bid him good morning; how much that was contradictory + to my nature! He said “Good morning” abruptly and nodded, and then he + snatched, rather than took, a newspaper from the table, and began to read + it with the air of a master who seizes a pretext to escape the bore of + conversing with an underling. It was well I had taken a resolution to + endure for a time, or his manner would have gone far to render + insupportable the disgust I had just been endeavouring to subdue. I looked + at him: I measured his robust frame and powerful proportions; I saw my own + reflection in the mirror over the mantel-piece; I amused myself with + comparing the two pictures. In face I resembled him, though I was not so + handsome; my features were less regular; I had a darker eye, and a broader + brow—in form I was greatly inferior—thinner, slighter, not so + tall. As an animal, Edward excelled me far; should he prove as paramount + in mind as in person I must be a slave—for I must expect from him no + lion-like generosity to one weaker than himself; his cold, avaricious eye, + his stern, forbidding manner told me he would not spare. Had I then force + of mind to cope with him? I did not know; I had never been tried. + </p> +<p> + Mrs. Crimsworth’s entrance diverted my thoughts for a moment. She looked + well, dressed in white, her face and her attire shining in morning and + bridal freshness. I addressed her with the degree of ease her last night’s + careless gaiety seemed to warrant, but she replied with coolness and + restraint: her husband had tutored her; she was not to be too familiar + with his clerk. + </p> +<p> + As soon as breakfast was over Mr. Crimsworth intimated to me that they + were bringing the gig round to the door, and that in five minutes he + should expect me to be ready to go down with him to X——. I did + not keep him waiting; we were soon dashing at a rapid rate along the road. + The horse he drove was the same vicious animal about which Mrs. Crimsworth + had expressed her fears the night before. Once or twice Jack seemed + disposed to turn restive, but a vigorous and determined application of the + whip from the ruthless hand of his master soon compelled him to + submission, and Edward’s dilated nostril expressed his triumph in the + result of the contest; he scarcely spoke to me during the whole of the + brief drive, only opening his lips at intervals to damn his horse. + </p> +<p> + X—— was all stir and bustle when we entered it; we left the + clean streets where there were dwelling-houses and shops, churches, and + public buildings; we left all these, and turned down to a region of mills + and warehouses; thence we passed through two massive gates into a great + paved yard, and we were in Bigben Close, and the mill was before us, + vomiting soot from its long chimney, and quivering through its thick brick + walls with the commotion of its iron bowels. Workpeople were passing to + and fro; a waggon was being laden with pieces. Mr. Crimsworth looked from + side to side, and seemed at one glance to comprehend all that was going + on; he alighted, and leaving his horse and gig to the care of a man who + hastened to take the reins from his hand, he bid me follow him to the + counting-house. We entered it; a very different place from the parlours of + Crimsworth Hall—a place for business, with a bare, planked floor, a + safe, two high desks and stools, and some chairs. A person was seated at + one of the desks, who took off his square cap when Mr. Crimsworth entered, + and in an instant was again absorbed in his occupation of writing or + calculating—I know not which. + </p> +<p> + Mr. Crimsworth, having removed his mackintosh, sat down by the fire. I + remained standing near the hearth; he said presently— + </p> +<p> + “Steighton, you may leave the room; I have some business to transact with + this gentleman. Come back when you hear the bell.” + </p> +<p> + The individual at the desk rose and departed, closing the door as he went + out. Mr. Crimsworth stirred the fire, then folded his arms, and sat a + moment thinking, his lips compressed, his brow knit. I had nothing to do + but to watch him—how well his features were cut! what a handsome man + he was! Whence, then, came that air of contraction—that narrow and + hard aspect on his forehead, in all his lineaments? + </p> +<p> + Turning to me he began abruptly: + </p> +<p> + “You are come down to ——shire to learn to be a tradesman?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, I am.” + </p> +<p> + “Have you made up your mind on the point? Let me know that at once.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, I am not bound to help you, but I have a place here vacant, if you + are qualified for it. I will take you on trial. What can you do? Do you + know anything besides that useless trash of college learning—Greek, + Latin, and so forth?” + </p> +<p> + “I have studied mathematics.” + </p> +<p> + “Stuff! I dare say you have.” + </p> +<p> + “I can read and write French and German.” + </p> +<p> + “Hum!” He reflected a moment, then opening a drawer in a desk near him + took out a letter, and gave it to me. + </p> +<p> + “Can you read that?” he asked. + </p> +<p> + It was a German commercial letter; I translated it; I could not tell + whether he was gratified or not—his countenance remained fixed. + </p> +<p> + “It is well,” he said, after a pause, “that you are acquainted with + something useful, something that may enable you to earn your board and + lodging: since you know French and German, I will take you as second clerk + to manage the foreign correspondence of the house. I shall give you a good + salary—£90 a year—and now,” he continued, raising his voice, + “hear once for all what I have to say about our relationship, and all that + sort of humbug! I must have no nonsense on that point; it would never suit + me. I shall excuse you nothing on the plea of being my brother; if I find + you stupid, negligent, dissipated, idle, or possessed of any faults + detrimental to the interests of the house, I shall dismiss you as I would + any other clerk. Ninety pounds a year are good wages, and I expect to have + the full value of my money out of you; remember, too, that things are on a + practical footing in my establishment—business-like habits, + feelings, and ideas, suit me best. Do you understand?” + </p> +<p> + “Partly,” I replied. “I suppose you mean that I am to do my work for my + wages; not to expect favour from you, and not to depend on you for any + help but what I earn; that suits me exactly, and on these terms I will + consent to be your clerk.” + </p> +<p> + I turned on my heel, and walked to the window; this time I did not consult + his face to learn his opinion: what it was I do not know, nor did I then + care. After a silence of some minutes he recommenced:— + </p> +<p> + “You perhaps expect to be accommodated with apartments at Crimsworth Hall, + and to go and come with me in the gig. I wish you, however, to be aware + that such an arrangement would be quite inconvenient to me. I like to have + the seat in my gig at liberty for any gentleman whom for business reasons + I may wish to take down to the hall for a night or so. You will seek out + lodgings in X——.” + </p> +<p> + Quitting the window, I walked back to the hearth. + </p> +<p> + “Of course I shall seek out lodgings in X——,” I answered. “It + would not suit me either to lodge at Crimsworth Hall.” + </p> +<p> + My tone was quiet. I always speak quietly. Yet Mr. Crimsworth’s blue eye + became incensed; he took his revenge rather oddly. Turning to me he said + bluntly— + </p> +<p> + “You are poor enough, I suppose; how do you expect to live till your + quarter’s salary becomes due?” + </p> +<p> + “I shall get on,” said I. + </p> +<p> + “How do you expect to live?” he repeated in a louder voice. + </p> +<p> + “As I can, Mr. Crimsworth.” + </p> +<p> + “Get into debt at your peril! that’s all,” he answered. “For aught I know + you may have extravagant aristocratic habits: if you have, drop them; I + tolerate nothing of the sort here, and I will never give you a shilling + extra, whatever liabilities you may incur—mind that.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, Mr. Crimsworth, you will find I have a good memory.” + </p> +<p> + I said no more. I did not think the time was come for much parley. I had + an instinctive feeling that it would be folly to let one’s temper + effervesce often with such a man as Edward. I said to myself, “I will + place my cup under this continual dropping; it shall stand there still and + steady; when full, it will run over of itself—meantime patience. Two + things are certain. I am capable of performing the work Mr. Crimsworth has + set me; I can earn my wages conscientiously, and those wages are + sufficient to enable me to live. As to the fact of my brother assuming + towards me the bearing of a proud, harsh master, the fault is his, not + mine; and shall his injustice, his bad feeling, turn me at once aside from + the path I have chosen? No; at least, ere I deviate, I will advance far + enough to see whither my career tends. As yet I am only pressing in at the + entrance—a strait gate enough; it ought to have a good terminus.” + While I thus reasoned, Mr. Crimsworth rang a bell; his first clerk, the + individual dismissed previously to our conference, re-entered. + </p> +<p> + “Mr. Steighton,” said he, “show Mr. William the letters from Voss, + Brothers, and give him English copies of the answers; he will translate + them.” + </p> +<p> + Mr. Steighton, a man of about thirty-five, with a face at once sly and + heavy, hastened to execute this order; he laid the letters on the desk, + and I was soon seated at it, and engaged in rendering the English answers + into German. A sentiment of keen pleasure accompanied this first effort to + earn my own living—a sentiment neither poisoned nor weakened by the + presence of the taskmaster, who stood and watched me for some time as I + wrote. I thought he was trying to read my character, but I felt as secure + against his scrutiny as if I had had on a casque with the visor down—or + rather I showed him my countenance with the confidence that one would show + an unlearned man a letter written in Greek; he might see lines, and trace + characters, but he could make nothing of them; my nature was not his + nature, and its signs were to him like the words of an unknown tongue. Ere + long he turned away abruptly, as if baffled, and left the counting-house; + he returned to it but twice in the course of that day; each time he mixed + and swallowed a glass of brandy-and-water, the materials for making which + he extracted from a cupboard on one side of the fireplace; having glanced + at my translations—he could read both French and German—he + went out again in silence. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> +<p> + I SERVED Edward as his second clerk faithfully, punctually, diligently. + What was given me to do I had the power and the determination to do well. + Mr. Crimsworth watched sharply for defects, but found none; he set Timothy + Steighton, his favourite and head man, to watch also. Tim was baffled; I + was as exact as himself, and quicker. Mr. Crimsworth made inquiries as to + how I lived, whether I got into debt—no, my accounts with my + landlady were always straight. I had hired small lodgings, which I + contrived to pay for out of a slender fund—the accumulated savings + of my Eton pocket-money; for as it had ever been abhorrent to my nature to + ask pecuniary assistance, I had early acquired habits of self-denying + economy; husbanding my monthly allowance with anxious care, in order to + obviate the danger of being forced, in some moment of future exigency, to + beg additional aid. I remember many called me miser at the time, and I + used to couple the reproach with this consolation—better to be + misunderstood now than repulsed hereafter. At this day I had my reward; I + had had it before, when on parting with my irritated uncles one of them + threw down on the table before me a £5 note, which I was able to leave + there, saying that my travelling expenses were already provided for. Mr. + Crimsworth employed Tim to find out whether my landlady had any complaint + to make on the score of my morals; she answered that she believed I was a + very religious man, and asked Tim, in her turn, if he thought I had any + intention of going into the Church some day; for, she said, she had had + young curates to lodge in her house who were nothing equal to me for + steadiness and quietness. Tim was “a religious man” himself; indeed, he + was “a joined Methodist,” which did not (be it understood) prevent him + from being at the same time an engrained rascal, and he came away much + posed at hearing this account of my piety. Having imparted it to Mr. + Crimsworth, that gentleman, who himself frequented no place of worship, + and owned no God but Mammon, turned the information into a weapon of + attack against the equability of my temper. He commenced a series of + covert sneers, of which I did not at first perceive the drift, till my + landlady happened to relate the conversation she had had with Mr. + Steighton; this enlightened me; afterwards I came to the counting-house + prepared, and managed to receive the millowner’s blasphemous sarcasms, + when next levelled at me, on a buckler of impenetrable indifference. Ere + long he tired of wasting his ammunition on a statue, but he did not throw + away the shafts—he only kept them quiet in his quiver. + </p> +<p> + Once during my clerkship I had an invitation to Crimsworth Hall; it was on + the occasion of a large party given in honour of the master’s birthday; he + had always been accustomed to invite his clerks on similar anniversaries, + and could not well pass me over; I was, however, kept strictly in the + background. Mrs. Crimsworth, elegantly dressed in satin and lace, blooming + in youth and health, vouchsafed me no more notice than was expressed by a + distant move; Crimsworth, of course, never spoke to me; I was introduced + to none of the band of young ladies, who, enveloped in silvery clouds of + white gauze and muslin, sat in array against me on the opposite side of a + long and large room; in fact, I was fairly isolated, and could but + contemplate the shining ones from afar, and when weary of such a dazzling + scene, turn for a change to the consideration of the carpet pattern. Mr. + Crimsworth, standing on the rug, his elbow supported by the marble + mantelpiece, and about him a group of very pretty girls, with whom he + conversed gaily—Mr. Crimsworth, thus placed, glanced at me; I looked + weary, solitary, kept down like some desolate tutor or governess; he was + satisfied. + </p> +<p> + Dancing began; I should have liked well enough to be introduced to some + pleasing and intelligent girl, and to have freedom and opportunity to show + that I could both feel and communicate the pleasure of social + intercourse—that I was not, in short, a block, or a piece of furniture, + but an acting, thinking, sentient man. Many smiling faces and graceful + figures glided past me, but the smiles were lavished on other eyes, the + figures sustained by other hands than mine. I turned away tantalized, left + the dancers, and wandered into the oak-panelled dining-room. No fibre of + sympathy united me to any living thing in this house; I looked for and + found my mother’s picture. I took a wax taper from a stand, and held it + up. I gazed long, earnestly; my heart grew to the image. My mother, I + perceived, had bequeathed to me much of her features and countenance—her + forehead, her eyes, her complexion. No regular beauty pleases egotistical + human beings so much as a softened and refined likeness of themselves; for + this reason, fathers regard with complacency the lineaments of their + daughters’ faces, where frequently their own similitude is found + flatteringly associated with softness of hue and delicacy of outline. I + was just wondering how that picture, to me so interesting, would strike an + impartial spectator, when a voice close behind me pronounced the words— + </p> +<p> + “Humph! there’s some sense in that face.” + </p> +<p> + I turned; at my elbow stood a tall man, young, though probably five or six + years older than I—in other respects of an appearance the opposite + to common place; though just now, as I am not disposed to paint his + portrait in detail, the reader must be content with the silhouette I have + just thrown off; it was all I myself saw of him for the moment: I did not + investigate the colour of his eyebrows, nor of his eyes either; I saw his + stature, and the outline of his shape; I saw, too, his fastidious-looking + <i lang="fr">retroussé</i> nose; these observations, few in number, and + general in character (the last excepted), sufficed, for they enabled me to + recognize him. + </p> +<p> + “Good evening, Mr. Hunsden,” muttered I with a bow, and then, like a shy + noodle as I was, I began moving away—and why? Simply because Mr. + Hunsden was a manufacturer and a millowner, and I was only a clerk, and my + instinct propelled me from my superior. I had frequently seen Hunsden in + Bigben Close, where he came almost weekly to transact business with Mr. + Crimsworth, but I had never spoken to him, nor he to me, and I owed him a + sort of involuntary grudge, because he had more than once been the tacit + witness of insults offered by Edward to me. I had the conviction that he + could only regard me as a poor-spirited slave, wherefore I now went about + to shun his presence and eschew his conversation. + </p> +<p> + “Where are you going?” asked he, as I edged off sideways. I had already + noticed that Mr. Hunsden indulged in abrupt forms of speech, and I + perversely said to myself— + </p> +<p> + “He thinks he may speak as he likes to a poor clerk; but my mood is not, + perhaps, so supple as he deems it, and his rough freedom pleases me not at + all.” + </p> +<p> + I made some slight reply, rather indifferent than courteous, and continued + to move away. He coolly planted himself in my path. + </p> +<p> + “Stay here awhile,” said he: “it is so hot in the dancing-room; besides, + you don’t dance; you have not had a partner to-night.” + </p> +<p> + He was right, and as he spoke neither his look, tone, nor manner + displeased me; my <i lang="fr">amour-propre</i> was propitiated; he had + not addressed me out of condescension, but because, having repaired to the + cool dining-room for refreshment, he now wanted some one to talk to, by + way of temporary amusement. I hate to be condescended to, but I like well + enough to oblige; I stayed. + </p> +<p> + “That is a good picture,” he continued, recurring to the portrait. + </p> +<p> + “Do you consider the face pretty?” I asked. + </p> +<p> + “Pretty! no—how can it be pretty, with sunk eyes and hollow cheeks? + but it is peculiar; it seems to think. You could have a talk with that + woman, if she were alive, on other subjects than dress, visiting, and + compliments.” + </p> +<p> + I agreed with him, but did not say so. He went on. + </p> +<p> + “Not that I admire a head of that sort; it wants character and force; + there’s too much of the sen-si-tive (so he articulated it, curling his lip + at the same time) in that mouth; besides, there is Aristocrat written on + the brow and defined in the figure; I hate your aristocrats.” + </p> +<p> + “You think, then, Mr. Hunsden, that patrician descent may be read in a + distinctive cast of form and features?” + </p> +<p> + “Patrician descent be hanged! Who doubts that your lordlings may have + their ‘distinctive cast of form and features’ as much as we ——shire + tradesmen have ours? But which is the best? Not theirs assuredly. As to + their women, it is a little different: they cultivate beauty from + childhood upwards, and may by care and training attain to a certain degree + of excellence in that point, just like the oriental odalisques. Yet even + this superiority is doubtful. Compare the figure in that frame with Mrs. + Edward Crimsworth—which is the finer animal?” + </p> +<p> + I replied quietly: “Compare yourself and Mr. Edward Crimsworth, Mr + Hunsden.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, Crimsworth is better filled up than I am, I know besides he has a + straight nose, arched eyebrows, and all that; but these advantages—if + they are advantages—he did not inherit from his mother, the + patrician, but from his father, old Crimsworth, who, <em>my</em> father + says, was as veritable a ——shire blue-dyer as ever put indigo in a vat + yet withal the handsomest man in the three Ridings. It is you, William, + who are the aristocrat of your family, and you are not as fine a fellow as + your plebeian brother by long chalk.” + </p> +<p> + There was something in Mr. Hunsden’s point-blank mode of speech which + rather pleased me than otherwise because it set me at my ease. I continued + the conversation with a degree of interest. + </p> +<p> + “How do you happen to know that I am Mr. Crimsworth’s brother? I thought + you and everybody else looked upon me only in the light of a poor clerk.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, and so we do; and what are you but a poor clerk? You do + Crimsworth’s work, and he gives you wages—shabby wages they are, + too.” + </p> +<p> + I was silent. Hunsden’s language now bordered on the impertinent, still + his manner did not offend me in the least—it only piqued my + curiosity; I wanted him to go on, which he did in a little while. + </p> +<p> + “This world is an absurd one,” said he. + </p> +<p> + “Why so, Mr. Hunsden?” + </p> +<p> + “I wonder you should ask: you are yourself a strong proof of the absurdity + I allude to.” + </p> +<p> + I was determined he should explain himself of his own accord, without my + pressing him so to do—so I resumed my silence. + </p> +<p> + “Is it your intention to become a tradesman?” he inquired presently. + </p> +<p> + “It was my serious intention three months ago.” + </p> +<p> + “Humph! the more fool you—you look like a tradesman! What a + practical business-like face you have!” + </p> +<p> + “My face is as the Lord made it, Mr. Hunsden.” + </p> +<p> + “The Lord never made either your face or head for X—— What + good can your bumps of ideality, comparison, self-esteem, + conscientiousness, do you here? But if you like Bigben Close, stay there; + it’s your own affair, not mine.” + </p> +<p> + “Perhaps I have no choice.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, I care nought about it—it will make little difference to me + what you do or where you go; but I’m cool now—I want to dance again; + and I see such a fine girl sitting in the corner of the sofa there by her + mamma; see if I don’t get her for a partner in a jiffy! There’s Waddy—Sam + Waddy making up to her; won’t I cut him out?” + </p> +<p> + And Mr. Hunsden strode away. I watched him through the open folding-doors; + he outstripped Waddy, applied for the hand of the fine girl, and led her + off triumphant. She was a tall, well-made, full-formed, dashingly-dressed + young woman, much in the style of Mrs. E. Crimsworth; Hunsden whirled her + through the waltz with spirit; he kept at her side during the remainder of + the evening, and I read in her animated and gratified countenance that he + succeeded in making himself perfectly agreeable. The mamma too (a stout + person in a turban—Mrs. Lupton by name) looked well pleased; + prophetic visions probably flattered her inward eye. The Hunsdens were of + an old stem; and scornful as Yorke (such was my late interlocutor’s name) + professed to be of the advantages of birth, in his secret heart he well + knew and fully appreciated the distinction his ancient, if not high + lineage conferred on him in a mushroom-place like X——, + concerning whose inhabitants it was proverbially said, that not one in a + thousand knew his own grandfather. Moreover the Hunsdens, once rich, were + still independent; and report affirmed that Yorke bade fair, by his + success in business, to restore to pristine prosperity the partially + decayed fortunes of his house. These circumstances considered, Mrs. + Lupton’s broad face might well wear a smile of complacency as she + contemplated the heir of Hunsden Wood occupied in paying assiduous court + to her darling Sarah Martha. I, however, whose observations being less + anxious, were likely to be more accurate, soon saw that the grounds for + maternal self-congratulation were slight indeed; the gentleman appeared to + me much more desirous of making, than susceptible of receiving an + impression. I know not what it was in Mr. Hunsden that, as I watched him + (I had nothing better to do), suggested to me, every now and then, the + idea of a foreigner. In form and features he might be pronounced English, + though even there one caught a dash of something Gallic; but he had no + English shyness: he had learnt somewhere, somehow, the art of setting + himself quite at his ease, and of allowing no insular timidity to + intervene as a barrier between him and his convenience or pleasure. + Refinement he did not affect, yet vulgar he could not be called; he was + not odd—no quiz—yet he resembled no one else I had ever seen + before; his general bearing intimated complete, sovereign satisfaction + with himself; yet, at times, an indescribable shade passed like an eclipse + over his countenance, and seemed to me like the sign of a sudden and + strong inward doubt of himself, his words and actions an energetic + discontent at his life or his social position, his future prospects or his + mental attainments—I know not which; perhaps after all it might only + be a bilious caprice. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> +<p> + No man likes to acknowledge that he has made a mistake in the choice of + his profession, and every man, worthy of the name, will row long against + wind and tide before he allows himself to cry out, “I am baffled!” and + submits to be floated passively back to land. From the first week of my + residence in X—— I felt my occupation irksome. The thing + itself—the work of copying and translating business-letters—was + a dry and tedious task enough, but had that been all, I should long have + borne with the nuisance; I am not of an impatient nature, and influenced + by the double desire of getting my living and justifying to myself and + others the resolution I had taken to become a tradesman, I should have + endured in silence the rust and cramp of my best faculties; I should not + have whispered, even inwardly, that I longed for liberty; I should have + pent in every sigh by which my heart might have ventured to intimate its + distress under the closeness, smoke, monotony and joyless tumult of Bigben + Close, and its panting desire for freer and fresher scenes; I should have + set up the image of Duty, the fetish of Perseverance, in my small bedroom + at Mrs. King’s lodgings, and they two should have been my household gods, + from which my darling, my cherished-in-secret, Imagination, the tender and + the mighty, should never, either by softness or strength, have severed me. + But this was not all; the antipathy which had sprung up between myself and + my employer striking deeper root and spreading denser shade daily, + excluded me from every glimpse of the sunshine of life; and I began to + feel like a plant growing in humid darkness out of the slimy walls of a + well. + </p> +<p> + Antipathy is the only word which can express the feeling Edward Crimsworth + had for me—a feeling, in a great measure, involuntary, and which was + liable to be excited by every, the most trifling movement, look, or word + of mine. My southern accent annoyed him; the degree of education evinced + in my language irritated him; my punctuality, industry, and accuracy, + fixed his dislike, and gave it the high flavour and poignant relish of + envy; he feared that I too should one day make a successful tradesman. Had + I been in anything inferior to him, he would not have hated me so + thoroughly, but I knew all that he knew, and, what was worse, he suspected + that I kept the padlock of silence on mental wealth in which he was no + sharer. If he could have once placed me in a ridiculous or mortifying + position, he would have forgiven me much, but I was guarded by three + faculties—Caution, Tact, Observation; and prowling and prying as was + Edward’s malignity, it could never baffle the lynx-eyes of these, my + natural sentinels. Day by day did his malice watch my tact, hoping it + would sleep, and prepared to steal snake-like on its slumber; but tact, if + it be genuine, never sleeps. + </p> +<p> + I had received my first quarter’s wages, and was returning to my lodgings, + possessed heart and soul with the pleasant feeling that the master who had + paid me grudged every penny of that hard-earned pittance—(I had long + ceased to regard Mr. Crimsworth as my brother—he was a hard, + grinding master; he wished to be an inexorable tyrant: that was all). + Thoughts, not varied but strong, occupied my mind; two voices spoke within + me; again and again they uttered the same monotonous phrases. One said: + “William, your life is intolerable.” The other: “What can you do to alter + it?” I walked fast, for it was a cold, frosty night in January; as I + approached my lodgings, I turned from a general view of my affairs to the + particular speculation as to whether my fire would be out; looking towards + the window of my sitting-room, I saw no cheering red gleam. + </p> +<p> + “That slut of a servant has neglected it as usual,” said I, “and I shall + see nothing but pale ashes if I go in; it is a fine starlight night—I + will walk a little farther.” + </p> +<p> + It <em>was</em> a fine night, and the streets were dry and even clean for + X——; there was a crescent curve of moonlight to be seen by the parish + church tower, and hundreds of stars shone keenly bright in all quarters of + the sky. + </p> +<p> + Unconsciously I steered my course towards the country; I had got into + Grove Street, and began to feel the pleasure of seeing dim trees at the + extremity, round a suburban house, when a person leaning over the iron + gate of one of the small gardens which front the neat dwelling-houses in + this street, addressed me as I was hurrying with quick stride past. + </p> +<p> + “What the deuce is the hurry? Just so must Lot have left Sodom, when he + expected fire to pour down upon it, out of burning brass clouds.” + </p> +<p> + I stopped short, and looked towards the speaker. I smelt the fragrance, + and saw the red spark of a cigar; the dusk outline of a man, too, bent + towards me over the wicket. + </p> +<p> + “You see I am meditating in the field at eventide,” continued this shade. + “God knows it’s cool work! especially as instead of Rebecca on a camel’s + hump, with bracelets on her arms and a ring in her nose, Fate sends me + only a counting-house clerk, in a grey tweed wrapper.” The voice was + familiar to me—its second utterance enabled me to seize the + speaker’s identity. + </p> +<p> + “Mr. Hunsden! good evening.” + </p> +<p> + “Good evening, indeed! yes, but you would have passed me without + recognition if I had not been so civil as to speak first.” + </p> +<p> + “I did not know you.” + </p> +<p> + “A famous excuse! You ought to have known me; I knew you, though you were + going ahead like a steam-engine. Are the police after you?” + </p> +<p> + “It wouldn’t be worth their while; I’m not of consequence enough to + attract them.” + </p> +<p> + “Alas, poor shepherd! Alack and well-a-day! What a theme for regret, and + how down in the mouth you must be, judging from the sound of your voice! + But since you’re not running from the police, from whom are you running? + the devil?” + </p> +<p> + “On the contrary, I am going post to him.” + </p> +<p> + “That is well—you’re just in luck: this is Tuesday evening; there + are scores of market gigs and carts returning to Dinneford to-night; and + he, or some of his, have a seat in all regularly; so, if you’ll step in + and sit half-an-hour in my bachelor’s parlour, you may catch him as he + passes without much trouble. I think though you’d better let him alone + to-night, he’ll have so many customers to serve; Tuesday is his busy day + in X—— and Dinneford; come in at all events.” + </p> +<p> + He swung the wicket open as he spoke. + </p> +<p> + “Do you really wish me to go in?” I asked. + </p> +<p> + “As you please—I’m alone; your company for an hour or two would be + agreeable to me; but, if you don’t choose to favour me so far, I’ll not + press the point. I hate to bore any one.” + </p> +<p> + It suited me to accept the invitation as it suited Hunsden to give it. I + passed through the gate, and followed him to the front door, which he + opened; thence we traversed a passage, and entered his parlour; the door + being shut, he pointed me to an arm-chair by the hearth; I sat down, and + glanced round me. + </p> +<p> + It was a comfortable room, at once snug and handsome; the bright grate was + filled with a genuine ——shire fire, red, clear, and generous, + no penurious South-of-England embers heaped in the corner of a grate. On + the table a shaded lamp diffused around a soft, pleasant, and equal light; + the furniture was almost luxurious for a young bachelor, comprising a + couch and two very easy chairs; bookshelves filled the recesses on each + side of the mantelpiece; they were well-furnished, and arranged with + perfect order. The neatness of the room suited my taste; I hate irregular + and slovenly habits. From what I saw I concluded that Hunsden’s ideas on + that point corresponded with my own. While he removed from the + centre-table to the side-board a few pamphlets and periodicals, I ran my + eye along the shelves of the book-case nearest me. French and German works + predominated, the old French dramatists, sundry modern authors, Thiers, + Villemain, Paul de Kock, George Sand, Eugene Sue; in German—Goëthe, + Schiller, Zschokke, Jean Paul Richter; in English there were works on + Political Economy. I examined no further, for Mr. Hunsden himself recalled + my attention. + </p> +<p> + “You shall have something,” said he, “for you ought to feel disposed for + refreshment after walking nobody knows how far on such a Canadian night as + this; but it shall not be brandy-and-water, and it shall not be a bottle + of port, nor ditto of sherry. I keep no such poison. I have Rhein-wein for + my own drinking, and you may choose between that and coffee.” + </p> +<p> + Here again Hunsden suited me: if there was one generally received practice + I abhorred more than another, it was the habitual imbibing of spirits and + strong wines. I had, however, no fancy for his acid German nectar, but I + liked coffee, so I responded— + </p> +<p> + “Give me some coffee, Mr. Hunsden.” + </p> +<p> + I perceived my answer pleased him; he had doubtless expected to see a + chilling effect produced by his steady announcement that he would give me + neither wine nor spirits; he just shot one searching glance at my face to + ascertain whether my cordiality was genuine or a mere feint of politeness. + I smiled, because I quite understood him; and, while I honoured his + conscientious firmness, I was amused at his mistrust; he seemed satisfied, + rang the bell, and ordered coffee, which was presently brought; for + himself, a bunch of grapes and half a pint of something sour sufficed. My + coffee was excellent; I told him so, and expressed the shuddering pity + with which his anchorite fare inspired me. He did not answer, and I + scarcely think heard my remark. At that moment one of those momentary + eclipses I before alluded to had come over his face, extinguishing his + smile, and replacing, by an abstracted and alienated look, the customarily + shrewd, bantering glance of his eye. I employed the interval of silence in + a rapid scrutiny of his physiognomy. I had never observed him closely + before; and, as my sight is very short, I had gathered only a vague, + general idea of his appearance; I was surprised now, on examination, to + perceive how small, and even feminine, were his lineaments; his tall + figure, long and dark locks, his voice and general bearing, had impressed + me with the notion of something powerful and massive; not at all:—my + own features were cast in a harsher and squarer mould than his. I + discerned that there would be contrasts between his inward and outward + man; contentions, too; for I suspected his soul had more of will and + ambition than his body had of fibre and muscle. Perhaps, in these + incompatibilities of the “physique” with the “morale,” lay the secret of + that fitful gloom; he <em>would</em> but <em>could</em> not, and the + athletic mind scowled + scorn on its more fragile companion. As to his good looks, I should have + liked to have a woman’s opinion on that subject; it seemed to me that his + face might produce the same effect on a lady that a very piquant and + interesting, though scarcely pretty, female face would on a man. I have + mentioned his dark locks—they were brushed sideways above a white + and sufficiently expansive forehead; his cheek had a rather hectic + freshness; his features might have done well on canvas, but indifferently + in marble: they were plastic; character had set a stamp upon each; + expression re-cast them at her pleasure, and strange metamorphoses she + wrought, giving him now the mien of a morose bull, and anon that of an + arch and mischievous girl; more frequently, the two semblances were blent, + and a queer, composite countenance they made. + </p> +<p> + Starting from his silent fit, he began:— + </p> +<p> + “William! what a fool you are to live in those dismal lodgings of Mrs. + King’s, when you might take rooms here in Grove Street, and have a garden + like me!” + </p> +<p> + “I should be too far from the mill.” + </p> +<p> + “What of that? It would do you good to walk there and back two or three + times a day; besides, are you such a fossil that you never wish to see a + flower or a green leaf?” + </p> +<p> + “I am no fossil.” + </p> +<p> + “What are you then? You sit at that desk in Crimsworth’s counting-house + day by day and week by week, scraping with a pen on paper, just like an + automaton; you never get up; you never say you are tired; you never ask + for a holiday; you never take change or relaxation; you give way to no + excess of an evening; you neither keep wild company, nor indulge in strong + drink.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you, Mr. Hunsden?” + </p> +<p> + “Don’t think to pose me with short questions; your case and mine are + diametrically different, and it is nonsense attempting to draw a parallel. + I say, that when a man endures patiently what ought to be unendurable, he + is a fossil.” + </p> +<p> + “Whence do you acquire the knowledge of my patience?” + </p> +<p> + “Why, man, do you suppose you are a mystery? The other night you seemed + surprised at my knowing to what family you belonged; now you find subject + for wonderment in my calling you patient. What do you think I do with my + eyes and ears? I’ve been in your counting-house more than once when + Crimsworth has treated you like a dog; called for a book, for instance, + and when you gave him the wrong one, or what he chose to consider the + wrong one, flung it back almost in your face; desired you to shut or open + the door as if you had been his flunkey; to say nothing of your position + at the party about a month ago, where you had neither place nor partner, + but hovered about like a poor, shabby hanger-on; and how patient you were + under each and all of these circumstances!” + </p> +<p> + “Well, Mr. Hunsden, what then?” + </p> +<p> + “I can hardly tell you what then; the conclusion to be drawn as to your + character depends upon the nature of the motives which guide your conduct; + if you are patient because you expect to make something eventually out of + Crimsworth, notwithstanding his tyranny, or perhaps by means of it, you + are what the world calls an interested and mercenary, but may be a very + wise fellow; if you are patient because you think it a duty to meet insult + with submission, you are an essential sap, and in no shape the man for my + money; if you are patient because your nature is phlegmatic, flat, + inexcitable, and that you cannot get up to the pitch of resistance, why, + God made you to be crushed; and lie down by all means, and lie flat, and + let Juggernaut ride well over you.” + </p> +<p> + Mr. Hunsden’s eloquence was not, it will be perceived, of the smooth and + oily order. As he spoke, he pleased me ill. I seem to recognize in him one + of those characters who, sensitive enough themselves, are selfishly + relentless towards the sensitiveness of others. Moreover, though he was + neither like Crimsworth nor Lord Tynedale, yet he was acrid, and, I + suspected, overbearing in his way: there was a tone of despotism in the + urgency of the very reproaches by which he aimed at goading the oppressed + into rebellion against the oppressor. Looking at him still more fixedly + than I had yet done, I saw written in his eye and mien a resolution to + arrogate to himself a freedom so unlimited that it might often trench on + the just liberty of his neighbours. I rapidly ran over these thoughts, and + then I laughed a low and involuntary laugh, moved thereto by a slight + inward revelation of the inconsistency of man. It was as I thought: + Hunsden had expected me to take with calm his incorrect and offensive + surmises, his bitter and haughty taunts; and himself was chafed by a + laugh, scarce louder than a whisper. + </p> +<p> + His brow darkened, his thin nostril dilated a little. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” he began, “I told you that you were an aristocrat, and who but an + aristocrat would laugh such a laugh as that, and look such a look? A laugh + frigidly jeering; a look lazily mutinous; gentlemanlike irony, patrician + resentment. What a nobleman you would have made, William Crimsworth! You + are cut out for one; pity Fortune has baulked Nature! Look at the + features, figure, even to the hands—distinction all over—ugly + distinction! Now, if you’d only an estate and a mansion, and a park, and a + title, how you could play the exclusive, maintain the rights of your + class, train your tenantry in habits of respect to the peerage, oppose at + every step the advancing power of the people, support your rotten order, + and be ready for its sake to wade knee-deep in churls’ blood; as it is, + you’ve no power; you can do nothing; you’re wrecked and stranded on the + shores of commerce; forced into collision with practical men, with whom + you cannot cope, for <em>you’ll never be a tradesman</em>.” + </p> +<p> + The first part of Hunsden’s speech moved me not at all, or, if it did, it + was only to wonder at the perversion into which prejudice had twisted his + judgment of my character; the concluding sentence, however, not only + moved, but shook me; the blow it gave was a severe one, because Truth + wielded the weapon. If I smiled now, it, was only in disdain of myself. + </p> +<p> + Hunsden saw his advantage; he followed it up. + </p> +<p> + “You’ll make nothing by trade,” continued he; “nothing more than the crust + of dry bread and the draught of fair water on which you now live; your + only chance of getting a competency lies in marrying a rich widow, or + running away with an heiress.” + </p> +<p> + “I leave such shifts to be put in practice by those who devise them,” said + I, rising. + </p> +<p> + “And even that is hopeless,” he went on coolly. “What widow would have + you? Much less, what heiress? You’re not bold and venturesome enough for + the one, nor handsome and fascinating enough for the other. You think + perhaps you look intelligent and polished; carry your intellect and + refinement to market, and tell me in a private note what price is bid for + them.” + </p> +<p> + Mr. Hunsden had taken his tone for the night; the string he struck was out + of tune, he would finger no other. Averse to discord, of which I had + enough every day and all day long, I concluded, at last, that silence and + solitude were preferable to jarring converse; I bade him good-night. + </p> +<p> + “What! Are you going, lad? Well, good-night: you’ll find the door.” And he + sat still in front of the fire, while I left the room and the house. I had + got a good way on my return to my lodgings before I found out that I was + walking very fast, and breathing very hard, and that my nails were almost + stuck into the palms of my clenched hands, and that my teeth were set + fast; on making this discovery, I relaxed both my pace, fists, and jaws, + but I could not so soon cause the regrets rushing rapidly through my mind + to slacken their tide. Why did I make myself a tradesman? Why did I enter + Hunsden’s house this evening? Why, at dawn to-morrow, must I repair to + Crimsworth’s mill? All that night did I ask myself these questions, and + all that night fiercely demanded of my soul an answer. I got no sleep; my + head burned, my feet froze; at last the factory bells rang, and I sprang + from my bed with other slaves. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> +<p> + THERE is a climax to everything, to every state of feeling as well as to + every position in life. I turned this truism over in my mind as, in the + frosty dawn of a January morning, I hurried down the steep and now icy + street which descended from Mrs. King’s to the Close. The factory + workpeople had preceded me by nearly an hour, and the mill was all lighted + up and in full operation when I reached it. I repaired to my post in the + counting-house as usual; the fire there, but just lit, as yet only smoked; + Steighton had not yet arrived. I shut the door and sat down at the desk; + my hands, recently washed in half-frozen water, were still numb; I could + not write till they had regained vitality, so I went on thinking, and + still the theme of my thoughts was the “climax.” Self-dissatisfaction + troubled exceedingly the current of my meditations. + </p> +<p> + “Come, William Crimsworth,” said my conscience, or whatever it is that + within ourselves takes ourselves to task—“come, get a clear notion + of what you would have, or what you would not have. You talk of a climax; + pray has your endurance reached its climax? It is not four months old. + What a fine resolute fellow you imagined yourself to be when you told + Tynedale you would tread in your father’s steps, and a pretty treading you + are likely to make of it! How well you like X——! Just at this + moment how redolent of pleasant associations are its streets, its shops, + its warehouses, its factories! How the prospect of this day cheers you! + Letter-copying till noon, solitary dinner at your lodgings, letter-copying + till evening, solitude; for you neither find pleasure in Brown’s, nor + Smith’s, nor Nicholl’s, nor Eccle’s company; and as to Hunsden, you + fancied there was pleasure to be derived from his society—he! he! + how did you like the taste you had of him last night? was it sweet? Yet he + is a talented, an original-minded man, and even he does not like you; your + self-respect defies you to like him; he has always seen you to + disadvantage; he always will see you to disadvantage; your positions are + unequal, and were they on the same level your minds could not assimilate; + never hope, then, to gather the honey of friendship out of that + thorn-guarded plant. Hello, Crimsworth! where are your thoughts tending? + You leave the recollection of Hunsden as a bee would a rock, as a bird a + desert; and your aspirations spread eager wings towards a land of visions + where, now in advancing daylight—in X—— daylight—you + dare to dream of congeniality, repose, union. Those three you will never + meet in this world; they are angels. The souls of just men made perfect + may encounter them in heaven, but your soul will never be made perfect. + Eight o’clock strikes! your hands are thawed, get to work!” + </p> +<p> + “Work? why should I work?” said I sullenly: “I cannot please though I toil + like a slave.” “Work, work!” reiterated the inward voice. “I may work, it + will do no good,” I growled; but nevertheless I drew out a packet of + letters and commenced my task—task thankless and bitter as that of + the Israelite crawling over the sun-baked fields of Egypt in search of + straw and stubble wherewith to accomplish his tale of bricks. + </p> +<p> + About ten o’clock I heard Mr. Crimsworth’s gig turn into the yard, and in + a minute or two he entered the counting-house. It was his custom to glance + his eye at Steighton and myself, to hang up his mackintosh, stand a minute + with his back to the fire, and then walk out. Today he did not deviate + from his usual habits; the only difference was that when he looked at me, + his brow, instead of being merely hard, was surly; his eye, instead of + being cold, was fierce. He studied me a minute or two longer than usual, + but went out in silence. + </p> +<p> + Twelve o’clock arrived; the bell rang for a suspension of labour; the + workpeople went off to their dinners; Steighton, too, departed, desiring + me to lock the counting-house door, and take the key with me. I was tying + up a bundle of papers, and putting them in their place, preparatory to + closing my desk, when Crimsworth reappeared at the door, and entering + closed it behind him. + </p> +<p> + “You’ll stay here a minute,” said he, in a deep, brutal voice, while his + nostrils distended and his eye shot a spark of sinister fire. + </p> +<p> + Alone with Edward I remembered our relationship, and remembering that + forgot the difference of position; I put away deference and careful forms + of speech; I answered with simple brevity. + </p> +<p> + “It is time to go home,” I said, turning the key in my desk. + </p> +<p> + “You’ll stay here!” he reiterated. “And take your hand off that key! leave + it in the lock!” + </p> +<p> + “Why?” asked I. “What cause is there for changing my usual plans?” + </p> +<p> + “Do as I order,” was the answer, “and no questions! You are my servant, + obey me! What have you been about—?” He was going on in the same + breath, when an abrupt pause announced that rage had for the moment got + the better of articulation. + </p> +<p> + “You may look, if you wish to know,” I replied. “There is the open desk, + there are the papers.” + </p> +<p> + “Confound your insolence! What have you been about?” + </p> +<p> + “Your work, and have done it well.” + </p> +<p> + “Hypocrite and twaddler! Smooth-faced, snivelling greasehorn!” (This last + term is, I believe, purely ——shire, and alludes to the horn of + black, rancid whale-oil, usually to be seen suspended to cart-wheels, and + employed for greasing the same.) + </p> +<p> + “Come, Edward Crimsworth, enough of this. It is time you and I wound up + accounts. I have now given your service three months’ trial, and I find it + the most nauseous slavery under the sun. Seek another clerk. I stay no + longer.” + </p> +<p> + “What! do you dare to give me notice? Stop at least for your wages.” He + took down the heavy gig whip hanging beside his mackintosh. + </p> +<p> + I permitted myself to laugh with a degree of scorn I took no pains to + temper or hide. His fury boiled up, and when he had sworn half-a-dozen + vulgar, impious oaths, without, however, venturing to lift the whip, he + continued: + </p> +<p> + “I’ve found you out and know you thoroughly, you mean, whining + lickspittle! What have you been saying all over X—— about me? + answer me that!” + </p> +<p> + “You? I have neither inclination nor temptation to talk about you.” + </p> +<p> + “You lie! It is your practice to talk about me; it is your constant habit + to make public complaint of the treatment you receive at my hands. You + have gone and told it far and near that I give you low wages and knock you + about like a dog. I wish you were a dog! I’d set-to this minute, and never + stir from the spot till I’d cut every strip of flesh from your bones with + this whip.” + </p> +<p> + He flourished his tool. The end of the lash just touched my forehead. A + warm excited thrill ran through my veins, my blood seemed to give a bound, + and then raced fast and hot along its channels. I got up nimbly, came + round to where he stood, and faced him. + </p> +<p> + “Down with your whip!” said I, “and explain this instant what you mean.” + </p> +<p> + “Sirrah! to whom are you speaking?” + </p> +<p> + “To you. There is no one else present, I think. You say I have been + calumniating you—complaining of your low wages and bad treatment. + Give your grounds for these assertions.” + </p> +<p> + Crimsworth had no dignity, and when I sternly demanded an explanation, he + gave one in a loud, scolding voice. + </p> +<p> + “Grounds! you shall have them; and turn to the light that I may see your + brazen face blush black, when you hear yourself proved to be a liar and a + hypocrite. At a public meeting in the Town-hall yesterday, I had the + pleasure of hearing myself insulted by the speaker opposed to me in the + question under discussion, by allusions to my private affairs; by cant + about monsters without natural affection, family despots, and such trash; + and when I rose to answer, I was met by a shout from the filthy mob, where + the mention of your name enabled me at once to detect the quarter in which + this base attack had originated. When I looked round, I saw that + treacherous villain, Hunsden acting as fugleman. I detected you in close + conversation with Hunsden at my house a month ago, and I know that you + were at Hunsden’s rooms last night. Deny it if you dare.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, I shall not deny it! And if Hunsden hounded on the people to hiss + you, he did quite right. You deserve popular execration; for a worse man, + a harder master, a more brutal brother than you are has seldom existed.” + </p> +<p> + “Sirrah! sirrah!” reiterated Crimsworth; and to complete his apostrophe, + he cracked the whip straight over my head. + </p> +<p> + A minute sufficed to wrest it from him, break it in two pieces, and throw + it under the grate. He made a headlong rush at me, which I evaded, and + said— + </p> +<p> + “Touch me, and I’ll have you up before the nearest magistrate.” + </p> +<p> + Men like Crimsworth, if firmly and calmly resisted, always abate something + of their exorbitant insolence; he had no mind to be brought before a + magistrate, and I suppose he saw I meant what I said. After an odd and + long stare at me, at once bull-like and amazed, he seemed to bethink + himself that, after all, his money gave him sufficient superiority over a + beggar like me, and that he had in his hands a surer and more dignified + mode of revenge than the somewhat hazardous one of personal chastisement. + </p> +<p> + “Take your hat,” said he. “Take what belongs to you, and go out at that + door; get away to your parish, you pauper: beg, steal, starve, get + transported, do what you like; but at your peril venture again into my + sight! If ever I hear of your setting foot on an inch of ground belonging + to me, I’ll hire a man to cane you.” + </p> +<p> + “It is not likely you’ll have the chance; once off your premises, what + temptation can I have to return to them? I leave a prison, I leave a + tyrant; I leave what is worse than the worst that can lie before me, so no + fear of my coming back.” + </p> +<p> + “Go, or I’ll make you!” exclaimed Crimsworth. + </p> +<p> + I walked deliberately to my desk, took out such of its contents as were my + own property, put them in my pocket, locked the desk, and placed the key + on the top. + </p> +<p> + “What are you abstracting from that desk?” demanded the millowner. “Leave + all behind in its place, or I’ll send for a policeman to search you.” + </p> +<p> + “Look sharp about it, then,” said I, and I took down my hat, drew on my + gloves, and walked leisurely out of the counting-house—walked out of + it to enter it no more. + </p> +<p> + I recollect that when the mill-bell rang the dinner hour, before Mr. + Crimsworth entered, and the scene above related took place, I had had + rather a sharp appetite, and had been waiting somewhat impatiently to hear + the signal of feeding time. I forgot it now, however; the images of + potatoes and roast mutton were effaced from my mind by the stir and tumult + which the transaction of the last half-hour had there excited. I only + thought of walking, that the action of my muscles might harmonize with the + action of my nerves; and walk I did, fast and far. How could I do + otherwise? A load was lifted off my heart; I felt light and liberated. I + had got away from Bigben Close without a breach of resolution; without + injury to my self-respect. I had not forced circumstances; circumstances + had freed me. Life was again open to me; no longer was its horizon limited + by the high black wall surrounding Crimsworth’s mill. Two hours had + elapsed before my sensations had so far subsided as to leave me calm + enough to remark for what wider and clearer boundaries I had exchanged + that sooty girdle. When I did look up, lo! straight before me lay + Grovetown, a village of villas about five miles out of X——. + The short winter day, as I perceived from the far-declined sun, was + already approaching its close; a chill frost-mist was rising from the + river on which X—— stands, and along whose banks the road I + had taken lay; it dimmed the earth, but did not obscure the clear icy blue + of the January sky. There was a great stillness near and far; the time of + the day favoured tranquillity, as the people were all employed + within-doors, the hour of evening release from the factories not being yet + arrived; a sound of full-flowing water alone pervaded the air, for the + river was deep and abundant, swelled by the melting of a late snow. I + stood awhile, leaning over a wall; and looking down at the current: I + watched the rapid rush of its waves. I desired memory to take a clear and + permanent impression of the scene, and treasure it for future years. + Grovetown church clock struck four; looking up, I beheld the last of that + day’s sun, glinting red through the leafless boughs of some very old oak + trees surrounding the church—its light coloured and characterized + the picture as I wished. I paused yet a moment, till the sweet, slow sound + of the bell had quite died out of the air; then ear, eye and feeling + satisfied, I quitted the wall and once more turned my face towards X——. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> +<p> + I RE-ENTERED the town a hungry man; the dinner I had forgotten recurred + seductively to my recollection; and it was with a quick step and sharp + appetite I ascended the narrow street leading to my lodgings. It was dark + when I opened the front door and walked into the house. I wondered how my + fire would be; the night was cold, and I shuddered at the prospect of a + grate full of sparkless cinders. To my joyful surprise, I found, on + entering my sitting-room, a good fire and a clean hearth. I had hardly + noticed this phenomenon, when I became aware of another subject for + wonderment; the chair I usually occupied near the hearth was already + filled; a person sat there with his arms folded on his chest, and his legs + stretched out on the rug. Short-sighted as I am, doubtful as was the gleam + of the firelight, a moment’s examination enabled me to recognize in this + person my acquaintance, Mr. Hunsden. I could not of course be much pleased + to see him, considering the manner in which I had parted from him the + night before, and as I walked to the hearth, stirred the fire, and said + coolly, “Good evening,” my demeanour evinced as little cordiality as I + felt; yet I wondered in my own mind what had brought him there; and I + wondered, also, what motives had induced him to interfere so actively + between me and Edward; it was to him, it appeared, that I owed my welcome + dismissal; still I could not bring myself to ask him questions, to show + any eagerness of curiosity; if he chose to explain, he might, but the + explanation should be a perfectly voluntary one on his part; I thought he + was entering upon it. + </p> +<p> + “You owe me a debt of gratitude,” were his first words. + </p> +<p> + “Do I?” said I; “I hope it is not a large one, for I am much too poor to + charge myself with heavy liabilities of any kind.” + </p> +<p> + “Then declare yourself bankrupt at once, for this liability is a ton + weight at least. When I came in I found your fire out, and I had it lit + again, and made that sulky drab of a servant stay and blow at it with the + bellows till it had burnt up properly; now, say ‘Thank you!’” + </p> +<p> + “Not till I have had something to eat; I can thank nobody while I am so + famished.” + </p> +<p> + I rang the bell and ordered tea and some cold meat. + </p> +<p> + “Cold meat!” exclaimed Hunsden, as the servant closed the door, “what a + glutton you are; man! Meat with tea! you’ll die of eating too much.” + </p> +<p> + “No, Mr. Hunsden, I shall not.” I felt a necessity for contradicting him; + I was irritated with hunger, and irritated at seeing him there, and + irritated at the continued roughness of his manner. + </p> +<p> + “It is over-eating that makes you so ill-tempered,” said he. + </p> +<p> + “How do you know?” I demanded. “It is like you to give a pragmatical + opinion without being acquainted with any of the circumstances of the + case; I have had no dinner.” + </p> +<p> + What I said was petulant and snappish enough, and Hunsden only replied by + looking in my face and laughing. + </p> +<p> + “Poor thing!” he whined, after a pause. “It has had no dinner, has it? + What! I suppose its master would not let it come home. Did Crimsworth + order you to fast by way of punishment, William!” + </p> +<p> + “No, Mr. Hunsden.” Fortunately at this sulky juncture, tea, was brought + in, and I fell to upon some bread and butter and cold beef directly. + Having cleared a plateful, I became so far humanized as to intimate to Mr. + Hunsden that he need not sit there staring, but might come to the table + and do as I did, if he liked. + </p> +<p> + “But I don’t like in the least,” said he, and therewith he summoned the + servant by a fresh pull of the bell-rope, and intimated a desire to have a + glass of toast-and-water. “And some more coal,” he added; “Mr. Crimsworth + shall keep a good fire while I stay.” + </p> +<p> + His orders being executed, he wheeled his chair round to the table, so as + to be opposite me. + </p> +<p> + “Well,” he proceeded. “You are out of work, I suppose.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” said I; and not disposed to show the satisfaction I felt on this + point, I, yielding to the whim of the moment, took up the subject as + though I considered myself aggrieved rather than benefited by what had + been done. “Yes—thanks to you, I am. Crimsworth turned me off at a + minute’s notice, owing to some interference of yours at a public meeting, + I understand.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah! what! he mentioned that? He observed me signalling the lads, did he? + What had he to say about his friend Hunsden—anything sweet?” + </p> +<p> + “He called you a treacherous villain.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, he hardly knows me yet! I’m one of those shy people who don’t come + out all at once, and he is only just beginning to make my acquaintance, + but he’ll find I’ve some good qualities—excellent ones! The Hunsdens + were always unrivalled at tracking a rascal; a downright, dishonourable + villain is their natural prey—they could not keep off him wherever + they met him; you used the word pragmatical just now—that word is + the property of our family; it has been applied to us from generation to + generation; we have fine noses for abuses; we scent a scoundrel a mile + off; we are reformers born, radical reformers; and it was impossible for + me to live in the same town with Crimsworth, to come into weekly contact + with him, to witness some of his conduct to you (for whom personally I + care nothing; I only consider the brutal injustice with which he violated + your natural claim to equality)—I say it was impossible for me to be + thus situated and not feel the angel or the demon of my race at work + within me. I followed my instinct, opposed a tyrant, and broke a chain.” + </p> +<p> + Now this speech interested me much, both because it brought out Hunsden’s + character, and because it explained his motives; it interested me so much + that I forgot to reply to it, and sat silent, pondering over a throng of + ideas it had suggested. + </p> +<p> + “Are you grateful to me?” he asked, presently. + </p> +<p> + In fact I was grateful, or almost so, and I believe I half liked him at + the moment, notwithstanding his proviso that what he had done was not out + of regard for me. But human nature is perverse. Impossible to answer his + blunt question in the affirmative, so I disclaimed all tendency to + gratitude, and advised him if he expected any reward for his championship, + to look for it in a better world, as he was not likely to meet with it + here. In reply he termed me “a dry-hearted aristocratic scamp,” whereupon + I again charged him with having taken the bread out of my mouth. + </p> +<p> + “Your bread was dirty, man!” cried Hunsden—“dirty and unwholesome! + It came through the hands of a tyrant, for I tell you Crimsworth is a + tyrant,—a tyrant to his workpeople, a tyrant to his clerks, and will + some day be a tyrant to his wife.” + </p> +<p> + “Nonsense! bread is bread, and a salary is a salary. I’ve lost mine, and + through your means.” + </p> +<p> + “There’s sense in what you say, after all,” rejoined Hunsden. “I must say + I am rather agreeably surprised to hear you make so practical an + observation as that last. I had imagined now, from my previous observation + of your character, that the sentimental delight you would have taken in + your newly regained liberty would, for a while at least, have effaced all + ideas of forethought and prudence. I think better of you for looking + steadily to the needful.” + </p> +<p> + “Looking steadily to the needful! How can I do otherwise? I must live, and + to live I must have what you call ‘the needful,’ which I can only get by + working. I repeat it, you have taken my work from me.” + </p> +<p> + “What do you mean to do?” pursued Hunsden coolly. “You have influential + relations; I suppose they’ll soon provide you with another place.” + </p> +<p> + “Influential relations? Who? I should like to know their names.” + </p> +<p> + “The Seacombes.” + </p> +<p> + “Stuff! I have cut them.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden looked at me incredulously. + </p> +<p> + “I have,” said I, “and that definitively.” + </p> +<p> + “You must mean they have cut you, William.” + </p> +<p> + “As you please. They offered me their patronage on condition of my + entering the Church; I declined both the terms and the recompence; I + withdrew from my cold uncles, and preferred throwing myself into my elder + brother’s arms, from whose affectionate embrace I am now torn by the cruel + intermeddling of a stranger—of yourself, in short.” + </p> +<p> + I could not repress a half-smile as I said this; a similar + demi-manifestation of feeling appeared at the same moment on Hunsden’s + lips. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, I see!” said he, looking into my eyes, and it was evident he + <em>did</em> see right down into my heart. Having sat a minute or two with + his chin resting on his hand, diligently occupied in the continued perusal + of my countenance, he went on: + </p> +<p> + “Seriously, have you then nothing to expect from the Seacombes?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, rejection and repulsion. Why do you ask me twice? How can hands + stained with the ink of a counting-house, soiled with the grease of a + wool-warehouse, ever again be permitted to come into contact with + aristocratic palms?” + </p> +<p> + “There would be a difficulty, no doubt; still you are such a complete + Seacombe in appearance, feature, language, almost manner, I wonder they + should disown you.” + </p> +<p> + “They have disowned me; so talk no more about it.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you regret it, William?” + </p> +<p> + “No.” + </p> +<p> + “Why not, lad?” + </p> +<p> + “Because they are not people with whom I could ever have had any + sympathy.” + </p> +<p> + “I say you are one of them.” + </p> +<p> + “That merely proves that you know nothing at all about it; I am my + mother’s son, but not my uncles’ nephew.” + </p> +<p> + “Still—one of your uncles is a lord, though rather an obscure and + not a very wealthy one, and the other a right honourable: you should + consider worldly interest.” + </p> +<p> + “Nonsense, Mr. Hunsden. You know or may know that even had I desired to be + submissive to my uncles, I could not have stooped with a good enough grace + ever to have won their favour. I should have sacrificed my own comfort and + not have gained their patronage in return.” + </p> +<p> + “Very likely—so you calculated your wisest plan was to follow your + own devices at once?” + </p> +<p> + “Exactly. I must follow my own devices—I must, till the day of my + death; because I can neither comprehend, adopt, nor work out those of + other people.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden yawned. “Well,” said he, “in all this, I see but one thing + clearly—that is, that the whole affair is no business of mine.” He + stretched himself and again yawned. “I wonder what time it is,” he went + on: “I have an appointment for seven o’clock.” + </p> +<p> + “Three quarters past six by my watch.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, then I’ll go.” He got up. “You’ll not meddle with trade again?” + said he, leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece. + </p> +<p> + “No; I think not.” + </p> +<p> + “You would be a fool if you did. Probably, after all, you’ll think better + of your uncles’ proposal and go into the Church.” + </p> +<p> + “A singular regeneration must take place in my whole inner and outer man + before I do that. A good clergyman is one of the best of men.” + </p> +<p> + “Indeed! Do you think so?” interrupted Hunsden, scoffingly. + </p> +<p> + “I do, and no mistake. But I have not the peculiar points which go to make + a good clergyman; and rather than adopt a profession for which I have no + vocation, I would endure extremities of hardship from poverty.” + </p> +<p> + “You’re a mighty difficult customer to suit. You won’t be a tradesman or a + parson; you can’t be a lawyer, or a doctor, or a gentleman, because you’ve + no money. I’d recommend you to travel.” + </p> +<p> + “What! without money?” + </p> +<p> + “You must travel in search of money, man. You can speak French—with + a vile English accent, no doubt—still, you can speak it. Go on to + the Continent, and see what will turn up for you there.” + </p> +<p> + “God knows I should like to go!” exclaimed I with involuntary ardour. + </p> +<p> + “Go: what the deuce hinders you? You may get to Brussels, for instance, + for five or six pounds, if you know how to manage with economy.” + </p> +<p> + “Necessity would teach me if I didn’t.” + </p> +<p> + “Go, then, and let your wits make a way for you when you get there. I know + Brussels almost as well as I know X——, and I am sure it would + suit such a one as you better than London.” + </p> +<p> + “But occupation, Mr. Hunsden! I must go where occupation is to be had; and + how could I get recommendation, or introduction, or employment at + Brussels?” + </p> +<p> + “There speaks the organ of caution. You hate to advance a step before you + know every inch of the way. You haven’t a sheet of paper and a + pen-and-ink?” + </p> +<p> + “I hope so,” and I produced writing materials with alacrity; for I guessed + what he was going to do. He sat down, wrote a few lines, folded, sealed, + and addressed a letter, and held it out to me. + </p> +<p> + “There, Prudence, there’s a pioneer to hew down the first rough + difficulties of your path. I know well enough, lad, you are not one of + those who will run their neck into a noose without seeing how they are to + get it out again, and you’re right there. A reckless man is my aversion, + and nothing should ever persuade me to meddle with the concerns of such a + one. Those who are reckless for themselves are generally ten times more so + for their friends.” + </p> +<p> + “This is a letter of introduction, I suppose?” said I, taking the epistle. + </p> +<p> + “Yes. With that in your pocket you will run no risk of finding yourself in + a state of absolute destitution, which, I know, you will regard as a + degradation—so should I, for that matter. The person to whom you + will present it generally has two or three respectable places depending + upon his recommendation.” + </p> +<p> + “That will just suit me,” said I. + </p> +<p> + “Well, and where’s your gratitude?” demanded Mr. Hunsden; “don’t you know + how to say ‘Thank you?’” + </p> +<p> + “I’ve fifteen pounds and a watch, which my godmother, whom I never saw, + gave me eighteen years ago,” was my rather irrelevant answer; and I + further avowed myself a happy man, and professed that I did not envy any + being in Christendom. + </p> +<p> + “But your gratitude?” + </p> +<p> + “I shall be off presently, Mr. Hunsden—to-morrow, if all be well: + I’ll not stay a day longer in X—— than I’m obliged.” + </p> +<p> + “Very good—but it will be decent to make due acknowledgment for the + assistance you have received; be quick! It is just going to strike seven: + I’m waiting to be thanked.” + </p> +<p> + “Just stand out of the way, will you, Mr. Hunsden: I want a key there is + on the corner of the mantelpiece. I’ll pack my portmanteau before I go to + bed.” + </p> +<p> + The house clock struck seven. + </p> +<p> + “The lad is a heathen,” said Hunsden, and taking his hat from a sideboard, + he left the room, laughing to himself. I had half an inclination to follow + him: I really intended to leave X—— the next morning, and + should certainly not have another opportunity of bidding him good-bye. The + front door banged to. + </p> +<p> + “Let him go,” said I, “we shall meet again some day.” + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> +<p> + READER, perhaps you were never in Belgium? Haply you don’t know the + physiognomy of the country? You have not its lineaments defined upon your + memory, as I have them on mine? + </p> +<p> + Three—nay four—pictures line the four-walled cell where are + stored for me the records of the past. First, Eton. All in that picture is + in far perspective, receding, diminutive; but freshly coloured, green, + dewy, with a spring sky, piled with glittering yet showery clouds; for my + childhood was not all sunshine—it had its overcast, its cold, its + stormy hours. Second, X——, huge, dingy; the canvas cracked and + smoked; a yellow sky, sooty clouds; no sun, no azure; the verdure of the + suburbs blighted and sullied—a very dreary scene. + </p> +<p> + Third, Belgium; and I will pause before this landscape. As to the fourth, + a curtain covers it, which I may hereafter withdraw, or may not, as suits + my convenience and capacity. At any rate, for the present it must hang + undisturbed. Belgium! name unromantic and unpoetic, yet name that whenever + uttered has in my ear a sound, in my heart an echo, such as no other + assemblage of syllables, however sweet or classic, can produce. Belgium! I + repeat the word, now as I sit alone near midnight. It stirs my world of + the past like a summons to resurrection; the graves unclose, the dead are + raised; thoughts, feelings, memories that slept, are seen by me ascending + from the clods—haloed most of them—but while I gaze on their + vapoury forms, and strive to ascertain definitely their outline, the sound + which wakened them dies, and they sink, each and all, like a light wreath + of mist, absorbed in the mould, recalled to urns, resealed in monuments. + Farewell, luminous phantoms! + </p> +<p> + This is Belgium, reader. Look! don’t call the picture a flat or a dull + one—it was neither flat nor dull to me when I first beheld it. When I left + Ostend on a mild February morning, and found myself on the road to + Brussels, nothing could look vapid to me. My sense of enjoyment possessed + an edge whetted to the finest, untouched, keen, exquisite. I was young; I + had good health; pleasure and I had never met; no indulgence of hers had + enervated or sated one faculty of my nature. Liberty I clasped in my arms + for the first time, and the influence of her smile and embrace revived my + life like the sun and the west wind. Yes, at that epoch I felt like a + morning traveller who doubts not that from the hill he is ascending he + shall behold a glorious sunrise; what if the track be strait, steep, and + stony? he sees it not; his eyes are fixed on that summit, flushed already, + flushed and gilded, and having gained it he is certain of the scene + beyond. He knows that the sun will face him, that his chariot is even now + coming over the eastern horizon, and that the herald breeze he feels on + his cheek is opening for the god’s career a clear, vast path of azure, + amidst clouds soft as pearl and warm as flame. Difficulty and toil were to + be my lot, but sustained by energy, drawn on by hopes as bright as vague, + I deemed such a lot no hardship. I mounted now the hill in shade; there + were pebbles, inequalities, briars in my path, but my eyes were fixed on + the crimson peak above; my imagination was with the refulgent firmament + beyond, and I thought nothing of the stones turning under my feet, or of + the thorns scratching my face and hands. + </p> +<p> + I gazed often, and always with delight, from the window of the diligence + (these, be it remembered, were not the days of trains and railroads). + Well! and what did I see? I will tell you faithfully. Green, reedy swamps; + fields fertile but flat, cultivated in patches that made them look like + magnified kitchen-gardens; belts of cut trees, formal as pollard willows, + skirting the horizon; narrow canals, gliding slow by the road-side; + painted Flemish farmhouses; some very dirty hovels; a gray, dead sky; wet + road, wet fields, wet house-tops: not a beautiful, scarcely a picturesque + object met my eye along the whole route; yet to me, all was beautiful, all + was more than picturesque. It continued fair so long as daylight lasted, + though the moisture of many preceding damp days had sodden the whole + country; as it grew dark, however, the rain recommenced, and it was + through streaming and starless darkness my eye caught the first gleam of + the lights of Brussels. I saw little of the city but its lights that + night. Having alighted from the diligence, a fiacre conveyed me to the + Hotel de ——, where I had been advised by a fellow-traveller to + put up; having eaten a traveller’s supper, I retired to bed, and slept a + traveller’s sleep. + </p> +<p> + Next morning I awoke from prolonged and sound repose with the impression + that I was yet in X——, and perceiving it to be broad daylight + I started up, imagining that I had overslept myself and should be behind + time at the counting-house. The momentary and painful sense of restraint + vanished before the revived and reviving consciousness of freedom, as, + throwing back the white curtains of my bed, I looked forth into a wide, + lofty foreign chamber; how different from the small and dingy, though not + uncomfortable, apartment I had occupied for a night or two at a + respectable inn in London while waiting for the sailing of the packet! Yet + far be it from me to profane the memory of that little dingy room! It, + too, is dear to my soul; for there, as I lay in quiet and darkness, I + first heard the great bell of St. Paul’s telling London it was midnight, + and well do I recall the deep, deliberate tones, so full charged with + colossal phlegm and force. From the small, narrow window of that room, I + first saw <em>the</em> dome, looming through a London mist. I suppose the + sensations, stirred by those first sounds, first sights, are felt but + once; treasure them, Memory; seal them in urns, and keep them in safe + niches! Well—I rose. Travellers talk of the apartments in foreign + dwellings being bare and uncomfortable; I thought my chamber looked + stately and cheerful. It had such large windows—<i lang="fr">croisées</i> + that opened like doors, with such broad, clear panes of glass; such a + great looking-glass stood on my dressing-table—such a fine mirror + glittered over the mantelpiece—the painted floor looked so clean and + glossy; when I had dressed and was descending the stairs, the broad marble + steps almost awed me, and so did the lofty hall into which they conducted. + On the first landing I met a Flemish housemaid: she had wooden shoes, a + short red petticoat, a printed cotton bedgown, her face was broad, her + physiognomy eminently stupid; when I spoke to her in French, she answered + me in Flemish, with an air the reverse of civil; yet I thought her + charming; if she was not pretty or polite, she was, I conceived, very + picturesque; she reminded me of the female figures in certain Dutch + paintings I had seen in other years at Seacombe Hall. + </p> +<p> + I repaired to the public room; that, too, was very large and very lofty, + and warmed by a stove; the floor was black, and the stove was black, and + most of the furniture was black: yet I never experienced a freer sense of + exhilaration than when I sat down at a very long, black table (covered, + however, in part by a white cloth), and, having ordered breakfast, began + to pour out my coffee from a little black coffee-pot. The stove might be + dismal-looking to some eyes, not to mine, but it was indisputably very + warm, and there were two gentlemen seated by it talking in French; + impossible to follow their rapid utterance, or comprehend much of the + purport of what they said—yet French, in the mouths of Frenchmen, or + Belgians (I was not then sensible of the horrors of the Belgian accent) + was as music to my ears. One of these gentlemen presently discerned me to + be an Englishman—no doubt from the fashion in which I addressed the + waiter; for I would persist in speaking French in my execrable + South-of-England style, though the man understood English. The gentleman, + after looking towards me once or twice, politely accosted me in very good + English; I remember I wished to God that I could speak French as well; his + fluency and correct pronunciation impressed me for the first time with a + due notion of the cosmopolitan character of the capital I was in; it was + my first experience of that skill in living languages I afterwards found + to be so general in Brussels. + </p> +<p> + I lingered over my breakfast as long as I could; while it was there on the + table, and while that stranger continued talking to me, I was a free, + independent traveller; but at last the things were removed, the two + gentlemen left the room; suddenly the illusion ceased, reality and + business came back. I, a bondsman just released from the yoke, freed for + one week from twenty-one years of constraint, must, of necessity, resume + the fetters of dependency. Hardly had I tasted the delight of being + without a master when duty issued her stern mandate: “Go forth and seek + another service.” I never linger over a painful and necessary task; I + never take pleasure before business, it is not in my nature to do so; + impossible to enjoy a leisurely walk over the city, though I perceived the + morning was very fine, until I had first presented Mr. Hunsden’s letter of + introduction, and got fairly on to the track of a new situation. Wrenching + my mind from liberty and delight, I seized my hat, and forced my reluctant + body out of the Hotel de —— into the foreign street. + </p> +<p> + It was a fine day, but I would not look at the blue sky or at the stately + houses round me; my mind was bent on one thing, finding out “Mr. Brown, + Numero —, Rue Royale,” for so my letter was addressed. By dint of + inquiry I succeeded; I stood at last at the desired door, knocked, asked + for Mr. Brown, and was admitted. + </p> +<p> + Being shown into a small breakfast-room, I found myself in the presence of + an elderly gentleman—very grave, business-like, and + respectable-looking. I presented Mr. Hunsden’s letter; he received me very + civilly. After a little desultory conversation he asked me if there was + anything in which his advice or experience could be of use. I said, “Yes,” + and then proceeded to tell him that I was not a gentleman of fortune, + travelling for pleasure, but an ex-counting-house clerk, who wanted + employment of some kind, and that immediately too. He replied that as a + friend of Mr. Hunsden’s he would be willing to assist me as well as he + could. After some meditation he named a place in a mercantile house at + Liege, and another in a bookseller’s shop at Louvain. + </p> +<p> + “Clerk and shopman!” murmured I to myself. “No.” I shook my head. I had + tried the high stool; I hated it; I believed there were other occupations + that would suit me better; besides I did not wish to leave Brussels. + </p> +<p> + “I know of no place in Brussels,” answered Mr. Brown, “unless indeed you + were disposed to turn your attention to teaching. I am acquainted with the + director of a large establishment who is in want of a professor of English + and Latin.” + </p> +<p> + I thought two minutes, then I seized the idea eagerly. + </p> +<p> + “The very thing, sir!” said I. + </p> +<p> + “But,” asked he, “do you understand French well enough to teach Belgian + boys English?” + </p> +<p> + Fortunately I could answer this question in the affirmative; having + studied French under a Frenchman, I could speak the language intelligibly + though not fluently. I could also read it well, and write it decently. + </p> +<p> + “Then,” pursued Mr. Brown, “I think I can promise you the place, for + Monsieur Pelet will not refuse a professor recommended by me; but come + here again at five o’clock this afternoon, and I will introduce you to + him.” + </p> +<p> + The word “professor” struck me. “I am not a professor,” said I. + </p> +<p> + “Oh,” returned Mr. Brown, “professor, here in Belgium, means a teacher, + that is all.” + </p> +<p> + My conscience thus quieted, I thanked Mr. Brown, and, for the present, + withdrew. This time I stepped out into the street with a relieved heart; + the task I had imposed on myself for that day was executed. I might now + take some hours of holiday. I felt free to look up. For the first time I + remarked the sparkling clearness of the air, the deep blue of the sky, the + gay clean aspect of the white-washed or painted houses; I saw what a fine + street was the Rue Royale, and, walking leisurely along its broad + pavement, I continued to survey its stately hotels, till the palisades, + the gates, and trees of the park appearing in sight, offered to my eye a + new attraction. I remember, before entering the park, I stood awhile to + contemplate the statue of General Belliard, and then I advanced to the top + of the great staircase just beyond, and I looked down into a narrow back + street, which I afterwards learnt was called the Rue d’Isabelle. I well + recollect that my eye rested on the green door of a rather large house + opposite, where, on a brass plate, was inscribed, “Pensionnat de + Demoiselles.” Pensionnat! The word excited an uneasy sensation in my mind; + it seemed to speak of restraint. Some of the demoiselles, externats no + doubt, were at that moment issuing from the door—I looked for a + pretty face amongst them, but their close, little French bonnets hid their + features; in a moment they were gone. + </p> +<p> + I had traversed a good deal of Brussels before five o’clock arrived, but + punctually as that hour struck I was again in the Rue Royale. Re-admitted + to Mr. Brown’s breakfast-room, I found him, as before, seated at the + table, and he was not alone—a gentleman stood by the hearth. Two + words of introduction designated him as my future master. “M. Pelet, Mr. + Crimsworth; Mr. Crimsworth, M. Pelet,” a bow on each side finished the + ceremony. I don’t know what sort of a bow I made; an ordinary one, I + suppose, for I was in a tranquil, commonplace frame of mind; I felt none + of the agitation which had troubled my first interview with Edward + Crimsworth. M. Pelet’s bow was extremely polite, yet not theatrical, + scarcely French; he and I were presently seated opposite to each other. In + a pleasing voice, low, and, out of consideration to my foreign ears, very + distinct and deliberate, M. Pelet intimated that he had just been + receiving from “le respectable M. Brown,” an account of my attainments and + character, which relieved him from all scruple as to the propriety of + engaging me as professor of English and Latin in his establishment; + nevertheless, for form’s sake, he would put a few questions to test my + powers. He did, and expressed in flattering terms his satisfaction at my + answers. The subject of salary next came on; it was fixed at one thousand + francs per annum, besides board and lodging. “And in addition,” suggested + M. Pelet, “as there will be some hours in each day during which your + services will not be required in my establishment, you may, in time, + obtain employment in other seminaries, and thus turn your vacant moments + to profitable account.” + </p> +<p> + I thought this very kind, and indeed I found afterwards that the terms on + which M. Pelet had engaged me were really liberal for Brussels; + instruction being extremely cheap there on account of the number of + teachers. It was further arranged that I should be installed in my new + post the very next day, after which M. Pelet and I parted. + </p> +<p> + Well, and what was he like? and what were my impressions concerning him? + He was a man of about forty years of age, of middle size, and rather + emaciated figure; his face was pale, his cheeks were sunk, and his eyes + hollow; his features were pleasing and regular, they had a French turn + (for M. Pelet was no Fleming, but a Frenchman both by birth and + parentage), yet the degree of harshness inseparable from Gallic lineaments + was, in his case, softened by a mild blue eye, and a melancholy, almost + suffering, expression of countenance; his physiognomy was “fine et + spirituelle.” I use two French words because they define better than any + English terms the species of intelligence with which his features were + imbued. He was altogether an interesting and prepossessing personage. I + wondered only at the utter absence of all the ordinary characteristics of + his profession, and almost feared he could not be stern and resolute + enough for a schoolmaster. Externally at least M. Pelet presented an + absolute contrast to my late master, Edward Crimsworth. + </p> +<p> + Influenced by the impression I had received of his gentleness, I was a + good deal surprised when, on arriving the next day at my new employer’s + house, and being admitted to a first view of what was to be the sphere of + my future labours, namely the large, lofty, and well-lighted schoolrooms, + I beheld a numerous assemblage of pupils, boys of course, whose collective + appearance showed all the signs of a full, flourishing, and + well-disciplined seminary. As I traversed the classes in company with M. + Pelet, a profound silence reigned on all sides, and if by chance a murmur + or a whisper arose, one glance from the pensive eye of this most gentle + pedagogue stilled it instantly. It was astonishing, I thought, how so mild + a check could prove so effectual. When I had perambulated the length and + breadth of the classes, M. Pelet turned and said to me— + </p> +<p> + “Would you object to taking the boys as they are, and testing their + proficiency in English?” + </p> +<p> + The proposal was unexpected. I had thought I should have been allowed at + least three days to prepare; but it is a bad omen to commence any career + by hesitation, so I just stepped to the professor’s desk near which we + stood, and faced the circle of my pupils. I took a moment to collect my + thoughts, and likewise to frame in French the sentence by which I proposed + to open business. I made it as short as possible:— + </p> +<p> + “Messieurs, prenez vos livres de lecture.” + </p> +<p> + “Anglais ou Français, monsieur?” demanded a thickset, moon-faced young + Flamand in a blouse. The answer was fortunately easy:— + </p> +<p> + “Anglais.” + </p> +<p> + I determined to give myself as little trouble as possible in this lesson; + it would not do yet to trust my unpractised tongue with the delivery of + explanations; my accent and idiom would be too open to the criticisms of + the young gentlemen before me, relative to whom I felt already it would be + necessary at once to take up an advantageous position, and I proceeded to + employ means accordingly. + </p> +<p> + “Commencez!” cried I, when they had all produced their books. The + moon-faced youth (by name Jules Vanderkelkov, as I afterwards learnt) took + the first sentence. The “livre de lecture” was the “Vicar of Wakefield,” + much used in foreign schools because it is supposed to contain prime + samples of conversational English; it might, however, have been a Runic + scroll for any resemblance the words, as enunciated by Jules, bore to the + language in ordinary use amongst the natives of Great Britain. My God! how + he did snuffle, snort, and wheeze! All he said was said in his throat and + nose, for it is thus the Flamands speak, but I heard him to the end of his + paragraph without proffering a word of correction, whereat he looked + vastly self-complacent, convinced, no doubt, that he had acquitted himself + like a real born and bred “Anglais.” In the same unmoved silence I + listened to a dozen in rotation, and when the twelfth had concluded with + splutter, hiss, and mumble, I solemnly laid down the book. + </p> +<p> + “Arrêtez!” said I. There was a pause, during which I regarded them all + with a steady and somewhat stern gaze; a dog, if stared at hard enough and + long enough, will show symptoms of embarrassment, and so at length did my + bench of Belgians. Perceiving that some of the faces before me were + beginning to look sullen, and others ashamed, I slowly joined my hands, + and ejaculated in a deep “voix de poitrine”— + </p> +<p> + “Comme c’est affreux!” + </p> +<p> + They looked at each other, pouted, coloured, swung their heels; they were + not pleased, I saw, but they were impressed, and in the way I wished them + to be. Having thus taken them down a peg in their self-conceit, the next + step was to raise myself in their estimation; not a very easy thing, + considering that I hardly dared to speak for fear of betraying my own + deficiencies. + </p> +<p> + “Ecoutez, messieurs!” said I, and I endeavoured to throw into my accents + the compassionate tone of a superior being, who, touched by the extremity + of the helplessness, which at first only excited his scorn, deigns at + length to bestow aid. I then began at the very beginning of the “Vicar of + Wakefield,” and read, in a slow, distinct voice, some twenty pages, they + all the while sitting mute and listening with fixed attention; by the time + I had done nearly an hour had elapsed. I then rose and said:— + </p> +<p> + “C’est assez pour aujourd’hui, messieurs; demain nous recommençerons, et + j’espère que tout ira bien.” + </p> +<p> + With this oracular sentence I bowed, and in company with M. Pelet quitted + the school-room. + </p> +<p> + “C’est bien! c’est très bien!” said my principal as we entered his + parlour. “Je vois que monsieur a de l’adresse; cela, me plait, car, dans + l’instruction, l’adresse fait tout autant que le savoir.” + </p> +<p> + From the parlour M. Pelet conducted me to my apartment, my “chambre,” as + Monsieur said with a certain air of complacency. It was a very small room, + with an excessively small bed, but M. Pelet gave me to understand that I + was to occupy it quite alone, which was of course a great comfort. Yet, + though so limited in dimensions, it had two windows. Light not being taxed + in Belgium, the people never grudge its admission into their houses; just + here, however, this observation is not very <em>apropos</em>, for one of + these windows was boarded up; the open windows looked into the boys’ + playground. I glanced at the other, as wondering what aspect it would + present if disencumbered of the boards. M. Pelet read, I suppose, the + expression of my eye; he explained:— + </p> +<p> + “La fenêtre fermée donne sur un jardin appartenant a un pensionnat de + demoiselles,” said he, “et les convenances exigent—enfin, vous + comprenez—n’est-ce pas, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “Oui, oui,” was my reply, and I looked of course quite satisfied; but when + M. Pelet had retired and closed the door after him, the first thing I did + was to scrutinize closely the nailed boards, hoping to find some chink or + crevice which I might enlarge, and so get a peep at the consecrated + ground. My researches were vain, for the boards were well joined and + strongly nailed. It is astonishing how disappointed I felt. I thought it + would have been so pleasant to have looked out upon a garden planted with + flowers and trees, so amusing to have watched the demoiselles at their + play; to have studied female character in a variety of phases, myself the + while sheltered from view by a modest muslin curtain, whereas, owing + doubtless to the absurd scruples of some old duenna of a directress, I had + now only the option of looking at a bare gravelled court, with an enormous + “pas de geant” in the middle, and the monotonous walls and windows of a + boys’ school-house round. Not only then, but many a time after, especially + in moments of weariness and low spirits, did I look with dissatisfied eyes + on that most tantalizing board, longing to tear it away and get a glimpse + of the green region which I imagined to lie beyond. I knew a tree grew + close up to the window, for though there were as yet no leaves to rustle, + I often heard at night the tapping of branches against the panes. In the + daytime, when I listened attentively, I could hear, even through the + boards, the voices of the demoiselles in their hours of recreation, and, + to speak the honest truth, my sentimental reflections were occasionally a + trifle disarranged by the not quite silvery, in fact the too often brazen + sounds, which, rising from the unseen paradise below, penetrated + clamorously into my solitude. Not to mince matters, it really seemed to me + a doubtful case whether the lungs of Mdlle. Reuter’s girls or those of M. + Pelet’s boys were the strongest, and when it came to shrieking the girls + indisputably beat the boys hollow. I forgot to say, by-the-by, that Reuter + was the name of the old lady who had had my window bearded up. I say old, + for such I, of course, concluded her to be, judging from her cautious, + chaperon-like proceedings; besides, nobody ever spoke of her as young. I + remember I was very much amused when I first heard her Christian name; it + was Zoraïde—Mademoiselle Zoraïde Reuter. But the continental nations + do allow themselves vagaries in the choice of names, such as we sober + English never run into. I think, indeed, we have too limited a list to + choose from. + </p> +<p> + Meantime my path was gradually growing smooth before me. I, in a few + weeks, conquered the teasing difficulties inseparable from the + commencement of almost every career. Ere long I had acquired as much + facility in speaking French as set me at my ease with my pupils; and as I + had encountered them on a right footing at the very beginning, and + continued tenaciously to retain the advantage I had early gained, they + never attempted mutiny, which circumstance, all who are in any degree + acquainted with the ongoings of Belgian schools, and who know the relation + in which professors and pupils too frequently stand towards each other in + those establishments, will consider an important and uncommon one. Before + concluding this chapter I will say a word on the system I pursued with + regard to my classes: my experience may possibly be of use to others. + </p> +<p> + It did not require very keen observation to detect the character of the + youth of Brabant, but it needed a certain degree of tact to adopt one’s + measures to their capacity. Their intellectual faculties were generally + weak, their animal propensities strong; thus there was at once an + impotence and a kind of inert force in their natures; they were dull, but + they were also singularly stubborn, heavy as lead and, like lead, most + difficult to move. Such being the case, it would have been truly absurd to + exact from them much in the way of mental exertion; having short memories, + dense intelligence, feeble reflective powers, they recoiled with + repugnance from any occupation that demanded close study or deep thought. + Had the abhorred effort been extorted from them by injudicious and + arbitrary measures on the part of the Professor, they would have resisted + as obstinately, as clamorously, as desperate swine; and though not brave + singly, they were relentless acting <i lang="fr">en masse</i>. + </p> +<p> + I understood that before my arrival in M. Pelet’s establishment, the + combined insubordination of the pupils had effected the dismissal of more + than one English master. It was necessary then to exact only the most + moderate application from natures so little qualified to apply—to + assist, in every practicable way, understandings so opaque and + contracted—to be ever gentle, considerate, yielding even, to a certain + point, with dispositions so irrationally perverse; but, having reached + that culminating point of indulgence, you must fix your foot, plant it, + root it in rock—become immutable as the towers of Ste. Gudule; for a + step—but half a step farther, and you would plunge headlong into the gulf + of imbecility; there lodged, you would speedily receive proofs of Flemish + gratitude and magnanimity in showers of Brabant saliva and handfuls of Low + Country mud. You might smooth to the utmost the path of learning, remove + every pebble from the track; but then you must finally insist with + decision on the pupil taking your arm and allowing himself to be led + quietly along the prepared road. When I had brought down my lesson to the + lowest level of my dullest pupil’s capacity—when I had shown myself + the mildest, the most tolerant of masters—a word of impertinence, a + movement of disobedience, changed me at once into a despot. I offered then + but one alternative—submission and acknowledgment of error, or + ignominious expulsion. This system answered, and my influence, by degrees, + became established on a firm basis. “The boy is father to the man,” it is + said; and so I often thought when I looked at my boys and remembered the + political history of their ancestors. Pelet’s school was merely an epitome + of the Belgian nation. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> +<p> + AND Pelet himself? How did I continue to like him? Oh, extremely well! + Nothing could be more smooth, gentlemanlike, and even friendly, than his + demeanour to me. I had to endure from him neither cold neglect, irritating + interference, nor pretentious assumption of superiority. I fear, however, + two poor, hard-worked Belgian ushers in the establishment could not have + said as much; to them the director’s manner was invariably dry, stern, and + cool. I believe he perceived once or twice that I was a little shocked at + the difference he made between them and me, and accounted for it by + saying, with a quiet sarcastic smile— + </p> +<p> + “Ce ne sont que des Flamands—allez!” + </p> +<p> + And then he took his cigar gently from his lips and spat on the painted + floor of the room in which we were sitting. Flamands certainly they were, + and both had the true Flamand physiognomy, where intellectual inferiority + is marked in lines none can mistake; still they were men, and, in the + main, honest men; and I could not see why their being aboriginals of the + flat, dull soil should serve as a pretext for treating them with perpetual + severity and contempt. This idea of injustice somewhat poisoned the + pleasure I might otherwise have derived from Pelet’s soft affable manner + to myself. Certainly it was agreeable, when the day’s work was over, to + find one’s employer an intelligent and cheerful companion; and if he was + sometimes a little sarcastic and sometimes a little too insinuating, and + if I did discover that his mildness was more a matter of appearance than + of reality—if I did occasionally suspect the existence of flint or + steel under an external covering of velvet—still we are none of us + perfect; and weary as I was of the atmosphere of brutality and insolence + in which I had constantly lived at X——, I had no inclination + now, on casting anchor in calmer regions, to institute at once a prying + search after defects that were scrupulously withdrawn and carefully veiled + from my view. I was willing to take Pelet for what he seemed—to + believe him benevolent and friendly until some untoward event should prove + him otherwise. He was not married, and I soon perceived he had all a + Frenchman’s, all a Parisian’s notions about matrimony and women. I + suspected a degree of laxity in his code of morals, there was something so + cold and <i lang="fr">blasé</I> in his tone whenever he alluded to what he + called “le beau sexe;” but he was too gentlemanlike to intrude topics I + did not invite, and as he was really intelligent and really fond of + intellectual subjects of discourse, he and I always found enough to talk + about, without seeking themes in the mire. I hated his fashion of + mentioning love; I abhorred, from my soul, mere licentiousness. He felt + the difference of our notions, and, by mutual consent, we kept off ground + debateable. + </p> +<p> + Pelet’s house was kept and his kitchen managed by his mother, a real old + Frenchwoman; she had been handsome—at least she told me so, and I + strove to believe her; she was now ugly, as only continental old women can + be; perhaps, though, her style of dress made her look uglier than she + really was. Indoors she would go about without cap, her grey hair + strangely dishevelled; then, when at home, she seldom wore a gown—only + a shabby cotton camisole; shoes, too, were strangers to her feet, and in + lieu of them she sported roomy slippers, trodden down at the heels. On the + other hand, whenever it was her pleasure to appear abroad, as on Sundays + and fête-days, she would put on some very brilliant-coloured dress, + usually of thin texture, a silk bonnet with a wreath of flowers, and a + very fine shawl. She was not, in the main, an ill-natured old woman, but + an incessant and most indiscreet talker; she kept chiefly in and about the + kitchen, and seemed rather to avoid her son’s august presence; of him, + indeed, she evidently stood in awe. When he reproved her, his reproofs + were bitter and unsparing; but he seldom gave himself that trouble. + </p> +<p> + Madame Pelet had her own society, her own circle of chosen visitors, whom, + however, I seldom saw, as she generally entertained them in what she + called her “cabinet,” a small den of a place adjoining the kitchen, and + descending into it by one or two steps. On these steps, by-the-by, I have + not unfrequently seen Madame Pelet seated with a trencher on her knee, + engaged in the threefold employment of eating her dinner, gossiping with + her favourite servant, the housemaid, and scolding her antagonist, the + cook; she never dined, and seldom indeed took any meal with her son; and + as to showing her face at the boys’ table, that was quite out of the + question. These details will sound very odd in English ears, but Belgium + is not England, and its ways are not our ways. + </p> +<p> + Madame Pelet’s habits of life, then, being taken into consideration, I was + a good deal surprised when, one Thursday evening (Thursday was always a + half-holiday), as I was sitting all alone in my apartment, correcting a + huge pile of English and Latin exercises, a servant tapped at the door, + and, on its being opened, presented Madame Pelet’s compliments, and she + would be happy to see me to take my “goûter” (a meal which answers to our + English “tea”) with her in the dining-room. + </p> +<p> + “Plait-il?” said I, for I thought I must have misunderstood, the message + and invitation were so unusual; the same words were repeated. I accepted, + of course, and as I descended the stairs, I wondered what whim had entered + the old lady’s brain; her son was out—gone to pass the evening at + the Salle of the Grande Harmonie or some other club of which he was a + member. Just as I laid my hand on the handle of the dining-room door, a + queer idea glanced across my mind. + </p> +<p> + “Surely she’s not going to make love to me,” said I. “I’ve heard of old + Frenchwomen doing odd things in that line; and the goûter? They generally + begin such affairs with eating and drinking, I believe.” + </p> +<p> + There was a fearful dismay in this suggestion of my excited imagination, + and if I had allowed myself time to dwell upon it, I should no doubt have + cut there and then, rushed back to my chamber, and bolted myself in; but + whenever a danger or a horror is veiled with uncertainty, the primary wish + of the mind is to ascertain first the naked truth, reserving the expedient + of flight for the moment when its dread anticipation shall be realized. I + turned the door-handle, and in an instant had crossed the fatal threshold, + closed the door behind me, and stood in the presence of Madame Pelet. + </p> +<p> + Gracious heavens! The first view of her seemed to confirm my worst + apprehensions. There she sat, dressed out in a light green muslin gown, on + her head a lace cap with flourishing red roses in the frill; her table was + carefully spread; there were fruit, cakes, and coffee, with a bottle of + something—I did not know what. Already the cold sweat started on my + brow, already I glanced back over my shoulder at the closed door, when, to + my unspeakable relief, my eye, wandering mildly in the direction of the + stove, rested upon a second figure, seated in a large fauteuil beside it. + This was a woman, too, and, moreover, an old woman, and as fat and as + rubicund as Madame Pelet was meagre and yellow; her attire was likewise + very fine, and spring flowers of different hues circled in a bright wreath + the crown of her violet-coloured velvet bonnet. + </p> +<p> + I had only time to make these general observations when Madame Pelet, + coming forward with what she intended should be a graceful and elastic + step, thus accosted me: + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur is indeed most obliging to quit his books, his studies, at the + request of an insignificant person like me—will Monsieur complete + his kindness by allowing me to present him to my dear friend Madame + Reuter, who resides in the neighbouring house—the young ladies’ + school.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah!” thought I, “I knew she was old,” and I bowed and took my seat. + Madame Reuter placed herself at the table opposite to me. + </p> +<p> + “How do you like Belgium, Monsieur?” asked she, in an accent of the + broadest Bruxellois. I could now well distinguish the difference between + the fine and pure Parisian utterance of M. Pelet, for instance, and the + guttural enunciation of the Flamands. I answered politely, and then + wondered how so coarse and clumsy an old woman as the one before me should + be at the head of a ladies’ seminary, which I had always heard spoken of + in terms of high commendation. In truth there was something to wonder at. + Madame Reuter looked more like a joyous, free-living old Flemish fermière, + or even a maîtresse d’auberge, than a staid, grave, rigid directrice de + pensionnat. In general the continental, or at least the Belgian old women + permit themselves a licence of manners, speech, and aspect, such as our + venerable granddames would recoil from as absolutely disreputable, and + Madame Reuter’s jolly face bore evidence that she was no exception to the + rule of her country; there was a twinkle and leer in her left eye; her + right she kept habitually half shut, which I thought very odd indeed. + After several vain attempts to comprehend the motives of these two droll + old creatures for inviting me to join them at their goûter, I at last + fairly gave it up, and resigning myself to inevitable mystification, I sat + and looked first at one, then at the other, taking care meantime to do + justice to the confitures, cakes, and coffee, with which they amply + supplied me. They, too, ate, and that with no delicate appetite, and + having demolished a large portion of the solids, they proposed a “petit + verre.” I declined. Not so Mesdames Pelet and Reuter; each mixed herself + what I thought rather a stiff tumbler of punch, and placing it on a stand + near the stove, they drew up their chairs to that convenience, and invited + me to do the same. I obeyed; and being seated fairly between them, I was + thus addressed first by Madame Pelet, then by Madame Reuter. + </p> +<p> + “We will now speak of business,” said Madame Pelet, and she went on to + make an elaborate speech, which, being interpreted, was to the effect that + she had asked for the pleasure of my company that evening in order to give + her friend Madame Reuter an opportunity of broaching an important + proposal, which might turn out greatly to my advantage. + </p> +<p> + “Pourvu que vous soyez sage,” said Madame Reuter, “et à vrai dire, vous en + avez bien l’air. Take one drop of the punch” (or ponche, as she pronounced + it); “it is an agreeable and wholesome beverage after a full meal.” + </p> +<p> + I bowed, but again declined it. She went on: + </p> +<p> + “I feel,” said she, after a solemn sip—“I feel profoundly the + importance of the commission with which my dear daughter has entrusted me, + for you are aware, Monsieur, that it is my daughter who directs the + establishment in the next house?” + </p> +<p> + “Ah! I thought it was yourself, madame.” Though, indeed, at that moment I + recollected that it was called Mademoiselle, not Madame Reuter’s + pensionnat. + </p> +<p> + “I! Oh, no! I manage the house and look after the servants, as my friend + Madame Pelet does for Monsieur her son—nothing more. Ah! you thought + I gave lessons in class—did you?” + </p> +<p> + And she laughed loud and long, as though the idea tickled her fancy + amazingly. + </p> +<p> + “Madame is in the wrong to laugh,” I observed; “if she does not give + lessons, I am sure it is not because she cannot;” and I whipped out a + white pocket-handkerchief and wafted it, with a French grace, past my + nose, bowing at the same time. + </p> +<p> + “Quel charmant jeune homme!” murmured Madame Pelet in a low voice. Madame + Reuter, being less sentimental, as she was Flamand and not French, only + laughed again. + </p> +<p> + “You are a dangerous person, I fear,” said she; “if you can forge + compliments at that rate, Zoraïde will positively be afraid of you; but if + you are good, I will keep your secret, and not tell her how well you can + flatter. Now, listen what sort of a proposal she makes to you. She has + heard that you are an excellent professor, and as she wishes to get the + very best masters for her school (car Zoraïde fait tout comme une reine, + c’est une véritable maîtresse-femme), she has commissioned me to step over + this afternoon, and sound Madame Pelet as to the possibility of engaging + you. Zoraïde is a wary general; she never advances without first examining + well her ground. I don’t think she would be pleased if she knew I had + already disclosed her intentions to you; she did not order me to go so + far, but I thought there would be no harm in letting you into the secret, + and Madame Pelet was of the same opinion. Take care, however, you don’t + betray either of us to Zoraïde—to my daughter, I mean; she is so + discreet and circumspect herself, she cannot understand that one should + find a pleasure in gossiping a little—” + </p> +<p> + “C’est absolument comme mon fils!” cried Madame Pelet. + </p> +<p> + “All the world is so changed since our girlhood!” rejoined the other: + “young people have such old heads now. But to return, Monsieur. Madame + Pelet will mention the subject of your giving lessons in my daughter’s + establishment to her son, and he will speak to you; and then to-morrow, + you will step over to our house, and ask to see my daughter, and you will + introduce the subject as if the first intimation of it had reached you + from M. Pelet himself, and be sure you never mention my name, for I would + not displease Zoraïde on any account.” + </p> +<p> + “Bien! bien!” interrupted I—for all this chatter and circumlocution + began to bore me very much; “I will consult M. Pelet, and the thing shall + be settled as you desire. Good evening, mesdames—I am infinitely + obliged to you.” + </p> +<p> + “Comment! vous vous en allez déjà?” exclaimed Madame Pelet. + </p> +<p> + “Prenez encore quelquechose, monsieur; une pomme cuite, des biscuits, + encore une tasse de café?” + </p> +<p> + “Merci, merci, madame—au revoir.” And I backed at last out of the + apartment. + </p> +<p> + Having regained my own room, I set myself to turn over in my mind the + incident of the evening. It seemed a queer affair altogether, and queerly + managed; the two old women had made quite a little intricate mess of it; + still I found that the uppermost feeling in my mind on the subject was one + of satisfaction. In the first place it would be a change to give lessons + in another seminary, and then to teach young ladies would be an occupation + so interesting—to be admitted at all into a ladies’ boarding-school + would be an incident so new in my life. Besides, thought I, as I glanced + at the boarded window, “I shall now at last see the mysterious garden: I + shall gaze both on the angels and their Eden.” + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> +<p> + M. PELET could not of course object to the proposal made by Mdlle. Reuter; + permission to accept such additional employment, should it offer, having + formed an article of the terms on which he had engaged me. It was, + therefore, arranged in the course of next day that I should be at liberty + to give lessons in Mdlle. Reuter’s establishment four afternoons in every + week. + </p> +<p> + When evening came I prepared to step over in order to seek a conference + with Mademoiselle herself on the subject; I had not had time to pay the + visit before, having been all day closely occupied in class. I remember + very well that before quitting my chamber, I held a brief debate with + myself as to whether I should change my ordinary attire for something + smarter. At last I concluded it would be a waste of labour. “Doubtless,” + thought I, “she is some stiff old maid; for though the daughter of Madame + Reuter, she may well number upwards of forty winters; besides, if it were + otherwise, if she be both young and pretty, I am not handsome, and no + dressing can make me so, therefore I’ll go as I am.” And off I started, + cursorily glancing sideways as I passed the toilet-table, surmounted by a + looking-glass: a thin irregular face I saw, with sunk, dark eyes under a + large, square forehead, complexion destitute of bloom or attraction; + something young, but not youthful, no object to win a lady’s love, no butt + for the shafts of Cupid. + </p> +<p> + I was soon at the entrance of the pensionnat, in a moment I had pulled the + bell; in another moment the door was opened, and within appeared a passage + paved alternately with black and white marble; the walls were painted in + imitation of marble also; and at the far end opened a glass door, through + which I saw shrubs and a grass-plat, looking pleasant in the sunshine of + the mild spring evening—for it was now the middle of April. + </p> +<p> + This, then, was my first glimpse of <em>the</em> garden; + but I had not time to look + long, the portress, after having answered in the affirmative my question + as to whether her mistress was at home, opened the folding-doors of a room + to the left, and having ushered me in, closed them behind me. I found + myself in a salon with a very well-painted, highly varnished floor; chairs + and sofas covered with white draperies, a green porcelain stove, walls + hung with pictures in gilt frames, a gilt pendule and other ornaments on + the mantelpiece, a large lustre pendent from the centre of the ceiling, + mirrors, consoles, muslin curtains, and a handsome centre table completed + the inventory of furniture. All looked extremely clean and glittering, but + the general effect would have been somewhat chilling had not a second + large pair of folding-doors, standing wide open, and disclosing another + and smaller salon, more snugly furnished, offered some relief to the eye. + This room was carpeted, and therein was a piano, a couch, a + chiffonniere—above all, it contained a lofty window with a crimson + curtain, which, being undrawn, afforded another glimpse of the garden, + through the large, clear panes, round which some leaves of ivy, some + tendrils of vine were trained. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur Creemsvort, n’est ce pas?” said a voice behind me; and, starting + involuntarily, I turned. I had been so taken up with the contemplation of + the pretty little salon that I had not noticed the entrance of a person + into the larger room. It was, however, Mdlle. Reuter who now addressed me, + and stood close beside me; and when I had bowed with instantaneously + recovered <i lang="fr">sang froid</i>—for I am not easily embarrassed—I + commenced the conversation by remarking on the pleasant aspect of her + little cabinet, and the advantage she had over M. Pelet in possessing a + garden. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” she said, “she often thought so;” and added, “it is my garden, + monsieur, which makes me retain this house, otherwise I should probably + have removed to larger and more commodious premises long since; but you + see I could not take my garden with me, and I should scarcely find one so + large and pleasant anywhere else in town.” + </p> +<p> + I approved her judgment. + </p> +<p> + “But you have not seen it yet,” said she, rising; “come to the window and + take a better view.” I followed her; she opened the sash, and leaning out + I saw in full the enclosed demesne which had hitherto been to me an + unknown region. It was a long, not very broad strip of cultured ground, + with an alley bordered by enormous old fruit trees down the middle; there + was a sort of lawn, a parterre of rose-trees, some flower-borders, and, on + the far side, a thickly planted copse of lilacs, laburnums, and acacias. + It looked pleasant, to me—very pleasant, so long a time had elapsed + since I had seen a garden of any sort. But it was not only on Mdlle. + Reuter’s garden that my eyes dwelt; when I had taken a view of her + well-trimmed beds and budding shrubberies, I allowed my glance to come + back to herself, nor did I hastily withdraw it. + </p> +<p> + I had thought to see a tall, meagre, yellow, conventual image in black, + with a close white cap, bandaged under the chin like a nun’s head-gear; + whereas, there stood by me a little and roundly formed woman, who might + indeed be older than I, but was still young; she could not, I thought, be + more than six or seven and twenty; she was as fair as a fair Englishwoman; + she had no cap; her hair was nut-brown, and she wore it in curls; pretty + her features were not, nor very soft, nor very regular, but neither were + they in any degree plain, and I already saw cause to deem them expressive. + What was their predominant cast? Was it sagacity?—sense? Yes, I + thought so; but I could scarcely as yet be sure. I discovered, however, + that there was a certain serenity of eye, and freshness of complexion, + most pleasing to behold. The colour on her cheek was like the bloom on a + good apple, which is as sound at the core as it is red on the rind. + </p> +<p> + Mdlle. Reuter and I entered upon business. She said she was not absolutely + certain of the wisdom of the step she was about to take, because I was so + young, and parents might possibly object to a professor like me for their + daughters: “But it is often well to act on one’s own judgment,” said she, + “and to lead parents, rather than be led by them. The fitness of a + professor is not a matter of age; and, from what I have heard, and from + what I observe myself, I would much rather trust you than M. Ledru, the + music-master, who is a married man of near fifty.” + </p> +<p> + I remarked that I hoped she would find me worthy of her good opinion; that + if I knew myself, I was incapable of betraying any confidence reposed in + me. “Du reste,” said she, “the surveillance will be strictly attended to.” + And then she proceeded to discuss the subject of terms. She was very + cautious, quite on her guard; she did not absolutely bargain, but she + warily sounded me to find out what my expectations might be; and when she + could not get me to name a sum, she reasoned and reasoned with a fluent + yet quiet circumlocution of speech, and at last nailed me down to five + hundred francs per annum—not too much, but I agreed. Before the + negotiation was completed, it began to grow a little dusk. I did not + hasten it, for I liked well enough to sit and hear her talk; I was amused + with the sort of business talent she displayed. Edward could not have + shown himself more practical, though he might have evinced more coarseness + and urgency; and then she had so many reasons, so many explanations; and, + after all, she succeeded in proving herself quite disinterested and even + liberal. At last she concluded, she could say no more, because, as I + acquiesced in all things, there was no further ground for the exercise of + her parts of speech. I was obliged to rise. I would rather have sat a + little longer; what had I to return to but my small empty room? And my + eyes had a pleasure in looking at Mdlle. Reuter, especially now, when the + twilight softened her features a little, and, in the doubtful dusk, I + could fancy her forehead as open as it was really elevated, her mouth + touched with turns of sweetness as well as defined in lines of sense. When + I rose to go, I held out my hand, on purpose, though I knew it was + contrary to the etiquette of foreign habits; she smiled, and said— + </p> +<p> + “Ah! c’est comme tous les Anglais,” but gave me her hand very kindly. + </p> +<p> + “It is the privilege of my country, Mademoiselle,” said I; “and, remember, + I shall always claim it.” + </p> +<p> + She laughed a little, quite good-naturedly, and with the sort of + tranquillity obvious in all she did—a tranquillity which soothed and + suited me singularly, at least I thought so that evening. Brussels seemed + a very pleasant place to me when I got out again into the street, and it + appeared as if some cheerful, eventful, upward-tending career were even + then opening to me, on that selfsame mild, still April night. So + impressionable a being is man, or at least such a man as I was in those + days. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> +<p> + NEXT day the morning hours seemed to pass very slowly at M. Pelet’s; I + wanted the afternoon to come that I might go again to the neighbouring + pensionnat and give my first lesson within its pleasant precincts; for + pleasant they appeared to me. At noon the hour of recreation arrived; at + one o’clock we had lunch; this got on the time, and at last St. Gudule’s + deep bell, tolling slowly two, marked the moment for which I had been + waiting. + </p> +<p> + At the foot of the narrow back-stairs that descended from my room, I met + M. Pelet. + </p> +<p> + “Comme vous avez l’air rayonnant!” said he. “Je ne vous ai jamais vu aussi + gai. Que s’est-il donc passé?” + </p> +<p> + “Apparemment que j’aime les changements,” replied I. + </p> +<p> + “Ah! je comprends—c’est cela—soyez sage seulement. Vous êtes bien + jeune—trop jeune pour le rôle que vous allez jouer; il faut prendre + garde—savez-vous?” + </p> +<p> + “Mais quel danger y a-t-il?” + </p> +<p> + “Je n’en sais rien—ne vous laissez pas aller à de vives impressions—voila + tout.” + </p> +<p> + I laughed: a sentiment of exquisite pleasure played over my nerves at the + thought that “vives impressions” were likely to be created; it was the + deadness, the sameness of life’s daily ongoings that had hitherto been my + bane; my blouse-clad “élèves” in the boys’ seminary never stirred in me + any “vives impressions” except it might be occasionally some of anger. I + broke from M. Pelet, and as I strode down the passage he followed me with + one of his laughs—a very French, rakish, mocking sound. + </p> +<p> + Again I stood at the neighbouring door, and soon was re-admitted into the + cheerful passage with its clear dove-colour imitation marble walls. I + followed the portress, and descending a step, and making a turn, I found + myself in a sort of corridor; a side-door opened, Mdlle. Reuter’s little + figure, as graceful as it was plump, appeared. I could now see her dress + in full daylight; a neat, simple mousseline-laine gown fitted her compact + round shape to perfection—delicate little collar and manchettes of + lace, trim Parisian brodequins showed her neck, wrists, and feet, to + complete advantage; but how grave was her face as she came suddenly upon + me! Solicitude and business were in her eye—on her forehead; she + looked almost stern. Her “Bon jour, monsieur,” was quite polite, but so + orderly, so commonplace, it spread directly a cool, damp towel over my + “vives impressions.” The servant turned back when her mistress appeared, + and I walked slowly along the corridor, side by side with Mdlle. Reuter. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur will give a lesson in the first class to-day,” said she; + “dictation or reading will perhaps be the best thing to begin with, for + those are the easiest forms of communicating instruction in a foreign + language; and, at the first, a master naturally feels a little unsettled.” + </p> +<p> + She was quite right, as I had found from experience; it only remained for + me to acquiesce. We proceeded now in silence. The corridor terminated in a + hall, large, lofty, and square; a glass door on one side showed within a + long narrow refectory, with tables, an armoire, and two lamps; it was + empty; large glass doors, in front, opened on the playground and garden; a + broad staircase ascended spirally on the opposite side; the remaining wall + showed a pair of great folding-doors, now closed, and admitting, + doubtless, to the classes. + </p> +<p> + Mdlle. Reuter turned her eye laterally on me, to ascertain, probably, + whether I was collected enough to be ushered into her sanctum sanctorum. I + suppose she judged me to be in a tolerable state of self-government, for + she opened the door, and I followed her through. A rustling sound of + uprising greeted our entrance; without looking to the right or left, I + walked straight up the lane between two sets of benches and desks, and + took possession of the empty chair and isolated desk raised on an estrade, + of one step high, so as to command one division; the other division being + under the surveillance of a maîtresse similarly elevated. At the back of + the estrade, and attached to a moveable partition dividing this schoolroom + from another beyond, was a large tableau of wood painted black and + varnished; a thick crayon of white chalk lay on my desk for the + convenience of elucidating any grammatical or verbal obscurity which might + occur in my lessons by writing it upon the tableau; a wet sponge appeared + beside the chalk, to enable me to efface the marks when they had served + the purpose intended. + </p> +<p> + I carefully and deliberately made these observations before allowing + myself to take one glance at the benches before me; having handled the + crayon, looked back at the tableau, fingered the sponge in order to + ascertain that it was in a right state of moisture, I found myself cool + enough to admit of looking calmly up and gazing deliberately round me. + </p> +<p> + And first I observed that Mdlle. Reuter had already glided away, she was + nowhere visible; a maîtresse or teacher, the one who occupied the + corresponding estrade to my own, alone remained to keep guard over me; she + was a little in the shade, and, with my short sight, I could only see that + she was of a thin bony figure and rather tallowy complexion, and that her + attitude, as she sat, partook equally of listlessness and affectation. + More obvious, more prominent, shone on by the full light of the large + window, were the occupants of the benches just before me, of whom some + were girls of fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, some young women from eighteen + (as it appeared to me) up to twenty; the most modest attire, the simplest + fashion of wearing the hair, were apparent in all; and good features, + ruddy, blooming complexions, large and brilliant eyes, forms full, even to + solidity, seemed to abound. I did not bear the first view like a stoic; I + was dazzled, my eyes fell, and in a voice somewhat too low I murmured— + </p> +<p> + “Prenez vos cahiers de dictée, mesdemoiselles.” + </p> +<p> + Not so had I bid the boys at Pelet’s take their reading-books. A rustle + followed, and an opening of desks; behind the lifted lids which + momentarily screened the heads bent down to search for exercise-books, I + heard tittering and whispers. + </p> +<p> + “Eulalie, je suis prête à pâmer de rire,” observed one. + </p> +<p> + “Comme il a rougi en parlant!” + </p> +<p> + “Oui, c’est un véritable blanc-bec.” + </p> +<p> + “Tais-toi, Hortense—il nous écoute.” + </p> +<p> + And now the lids sank and the heads reappeared; I had marked three, the + whisperers, and I did not scruple to take a very steady look at them as + they emerged from their temporary eclipse. It is astonishing what ease and + courage their little phrases of flippancy had given me; the idea by which + I had been awed was that the youthful beings before me, with their dark + nun-like robes and softly braided hair, were a kind of half-angels. The + light titter, the giddy whisper, had already in some measure relieved my + mind of that fond and oppressive fancy. + </p> +<p> + The three I allude to were just in front, within half a yard of my + estrade, and were among the most womanly-looking present. Their names I + knew afterwards, and may as well mention now; they were Eulalie, Hortense, + Caroline. Eulalie was tall, and very finely shaped: she was fair, and her + features were those of a Low Country Madonna; many a “figure de Vierge” + have I seen in Dutch pictures exactly resembling hers; there were no + angles in her shape or in her face, all was curve and roundness—neither + thought, sentiment, nor passion disturbed by line or flush the equality of + her pale, clear skin; her noble bust heaved with her regular breathing, + her eyes moved a little—by these evidences of life alone could I + have distinguished her from some large handsome figure moulded in wax. + Hortense was of middle size and stout, her form was ungraceful, her face + striking, more alive and brilliant than Eulalie’s, her hair was dark + brown, her complexion richly coloured; there were frolic and mischief in + her eye: consistency and good sense she might possess, but none of her + features betokened those qualities. + </p> +<p> + Caroline was little, though evidently full grown; raven-black hair, very + dark eyes, absolutely regular features, with a colourless olive + complexion, clear as to the face and sallow about the neck, formed in her + that assemblage of points whose union many persons regard as the + perfection of beauty. How, with the tintless pallor of her skin and the + classic straightness of her lineaments, she managed to look sensual, I + don’t know. I think her lips and eyes contrived the affair between them, + and the result left no uncertainty on the beholder’s mind. She was sensual + now, and in ten years’ time she would be coarse—promise plain was + written in her face of much future folly. + </p> +<p> + If I looked at these girls with little scruple, they looked at me with + still less. Eulalie raised her unmoved eye to mine, and seemed to expect, + passively but securely, an impromptu tribute to her majestic charms. + Hortense regarded me boldly, and giggled at the same time, while she said, + with an air of impudent freedom— + </p> +<p> + “Dictez-nous quelquechose de facile pour commençer, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + Caroline shook her loose ringlets of abundant but somewhat coarse hair + over her rolling black eyes; parting her lips, as full as those of a + hot-blooded Maroon, she showed her well-set teeth sparkling between them, + and treated me at the same time to a smile “de sa façon.” Beautiful as + Pauline Borghese, she looked at the moment scarcely purer than Lucrece de + Borgia. Caroline was of noble family. I heard her lady-mother’s character + afterwards, and then I ceased to wonder at the precocious accomplishments + of the daughter. These three, I at once saw, deemed themselves the queens + of the school, and conceived that by their splendour they threw all the + rest into the shade. In less than five minutes they had thus revealed to + me their characters, and in less than five minutes I had buckled on a + breast-plate of steely indifference, and let down a visor of impassible + austerity. + </p> +<p> + “Take your pens and commence writing,” said I, in as dry and trite a voice + as if I had been addressing only Jules Vanderkelkov and Co. + </p> +<p> + The dictée now commenced. My three belles interrupted me perpetually with + little silly questions and uncalled-for remarks, to some of which I made + no answer, and to others replied very quietly and briefly. “Comment dit-on + point et virgule en Anglais, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “Semi-colon, mademoiselle.” + </p> +<p> + “Semi-collong? Ah, comme c’est drôle!” (giggle.) + </p> +<p> + “J’ai une si mauvaise plume—impossible d’écrire!” + </p> +<p> + “Mais, monsieur—je ne sais pas suivre—vous allez si vîte.” + </p> +<p> + “Je n’ai rien compris, moi!” + </p> +<p> + Here a general murmur arose, and the teacher, opening her lips for the + first time, ejaculated— + </p> +<p> + “Silence, mesdemoiselles!” + </p> +<p> + No silence followed—on the contrary, the three ladies in front began + to talk more loudly. + </p> +<p> + “C’est si difficile, l’Anglais!” + </p> +<p> + “Je déteste la dictée.” + </p> +<p> + “Quel ennui d’écrire quelquechose que l’on ne comprend pas!” + </p> +<p> + Some of those behind laughed: a degree of confusion began to pervade the + class; it was necessary to take prompt measures. + </p> +<p> + “Donnez-moi vôtre cahier,” said I to Eulalie in an abrupt tone; and + bending over, I took it before she had time to give it. + </p> +<p> + “Et vous, mademoiselle—donnez-moi le vôtre,” continued I, more mildly, + addressing a little pale, plain looking girl who sat in the first row of + the other division, and whom I had remarked as being at once the ugliest + and the most attentive in the room; she rose up, walked over to me, and + delivered her book with a grave, modest curtsey. I glanced over the two + dictations; Eulalie’s was slurred, blotted, and full of silly + mistakes—Sylvie’s (such was the name of the ugly little girl) was clearly + written, it contained no error against sense, and but few faults of + orthography. I coolly read aloud both exercises, marking the faults—then + I looked at Eulalie: + </p> +<p> + “C’est honteux!” said I, and I deliberately tore her dictation in four + parts, and presented her with the fragments. I returned Sylvie her book + with a smile, saying— + </p> +<p> + “C’est bien—je suis content de vous.” + </p> +<p> + Sylvie looked calmly pleased, Eulalie swelled like an incensed turkey, but + the mutiny was quelled: the conceited coquetry and futile flirtation of + the first bench were exchanged for a taciturn sullenness, much more + convenient to me, and the rest of my lesson passed without interruption. + </p> +<p> + A bell clanging out in the yard announced the moment for the cessation of + school labours. I heard our own bell at the same time, and that of a + certain public college immediately after. Order dissolved instantly; up + started every pupil, I hastened to seize my hat, bow to the maîtresse, and + quit the room before the tide of externats should pour from the inner + class, where I knew near a hundred were prisoned, and whose rising tumult + I already heard. + </p> +<p> + I had scarcely crossed the hall and gained the corridor, when Mdlle. + Reuter came again upon me. + </p> +<p> + “Step in here a moment,” said she, and she held open the door of the side + room from whence she had issued on my arrival; it was a + <i lang="fr">salle-à-manger</i>, as + appeared from the beaufet and the armoire vitrée, filled with glass and + china, which formed part of its furniture. Ere she had closed the door on + me and herself, the corridor was already filled with day-pupils, tearing + down their cloaks, bonnets, and cabas from the wooden pegs on which they + were suspended; the shrill voice of a maîtresse was heard at intervals + vainly endeavouring to enforce some sort of order; vainly, I say: + discipline there was none in these rough ranks, and yet this was + considered one of the best-conducted schools in Brussels. + </p> +<p> + “Well, you have given your first lesson,” began Mdlle. Reuter in the most + calm, equable voice, as though quite unconscious of the chaos from which + we were separated only by a single wall. + </p> +<p> + “Were you satisfied with your pupils, or did any circumstance in their + conduct give you cause for complaint? Conceal nothing from me, repose in + me entire confidence.” + </p> +<p> + Happily, I felt in myself complete power to manage my pupils without aid; + the enchantment, the golden haze which had dazzled my perspicuity at + first, had been a good deal dissipated. I cannot say I was chagrined or + downcast by the contrast which the reality of a pensionnat de demoiselles + presented to my vague ideal of the same community; I was only enlightened + and amused; consequently, I felt in no disposition to complain to Mdlle. + Reuter, and I received her considerate invitation to confidence with a + smile. + </p> +<p> + “A thousand thanks, mademoiselle, all has gone very smoothly.” + </p> +<p> + She looked more than doubtful. + </p> +<p> + “Et les trois demoiselles du premier banc?” said she. + </p> +<p> + “Ah! tout va au mieux!” was my answer, and Mdlle. Reuter ceased to + question me; but her eye—not large, not brilliant, not melting, or + kindling, but astute, penetrating, practical, showed she was even with me; + it let out a momentary gleam, which said plainly, “Be as close as you + like, I am not dependent on your candour; what you would conceal I already + know.” + </p> +<p> + By a transition so quiet as to be scarcely perceptible, the directress’s + manner changed; the anxious business-air passed from her face, and she + began chatting about the weather and the town, and asking in neighbourly + wise after M. and Madame Pelet. I answered all her little questions; she + prolonged her talk, I went on following its many little windings; she sat + so long, said so much, varied so often the topics of discourse, that it + was not difficult to perceive she had a particular aim in thus detaining + me. Her mere words could have afforded no clue to this aim, but her + countenance aided; while her lips uttered only affable commonplaces, her + eyes reverted continually to my face. Her glances were not given in full, + but out of the corners, so quietly, so stealthily, yet I think I lost not + one. I watched her as keenly as she watched me; I perceived soon that she + was feeling after my real character; she was searching for salient points, + and weak points, and eccentric points; she was applying now this test, + now that, hoping in the end to find some chink, some niche, where she + could put in her little firm foot and stand upon my neck—mistress of + my nature. Do not mistake me, reader, it was no amorous influence she + wished to gain—at that time it was only the power of the politician + to which she aspired; I was now installed as a professor in her + establishment, and she wanted to know where her mind was superior to + mine—by what feeling or opinion she could lead me. + </p> +<p> + I enjoyed the game much, and did not hasten its conclusion; sometimes I + gave her hopes, beginning a sentence rather weakly, when her shrewd eye + would light up—she thought she had me; having led her a little way, + I delighted to turn round and finish with sound, hard sense, whereat her + countenance would fall. At last a servant entered to announce dinner; the + conflict being thus necessarily terminated, we parted without having + gained any advantage on either side: Mdlle. Reuter had not even given me + an opportunity of attacking her with feeling, and I had managed to baffle + her little schemes of craft. It was a regular drawn battle. I again held + out my hand when I left the room, she gave me hers; it was a small and + white hand, but how cool! I met her eye too in full—obliging her to + give me a straightforward look; this last test went against me: it left + her as it found her—moderate, temperate, tranquil; me it + disappointed. + </p> +<p> + “I am growing wiser,” thought I, as I walked back to M. Pelet’s. “Look at + this little woman; is she like the women of novelists and romancers? To + read of female character as depicted in Poetry and Fiction, one would + think it was made up of sentiment, either for good or bad—here is a + specimen, and a most sensible and respectable specimen, too, whose staple + ingredient is abstract reason. No Talleyrand was ever more passionless + than Zoraïde Reuter!” So I thought then; I found afterwards that blunt + susceptibilities are very consistent with strong propensities. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> +<p> + I HAD indeed had a very long talk with the crafty little politician, and + on regaining my quarters, I found that dinner was half over. To be late at + meals was against a standing rule of the establishment, and had it been + one of the Flemish ushers who thus entered after the removal of the soup + and the commencement of the first course, M. Pelet would probably have + greeted him with a public rebuke, and would certainly have mulcted him + both of soup and fish; as it was, that polite though partial gentleman + only shook his head, and as I took my place, unrolled my napkin, and said + my heretical grace to myself, he civilly despatched a servant to the + kitchen, to bring me a plate of “purée aux carrottes” (for this was a + maigre-day), and before sending away the first course, reserved for me a + portion of the stock-fish of which it consisted. Dinner being over, the + boys rushed out for their evening play; Kint and Vandam (the two ushers) + of course followed them. Poor fellows! if they had not looked so very + heavy, so very soulless, so very indifferent to all things in heaven above + or in the earth beneath, I could have pitied them greatly for the + obligation they were under to trail after those rough lads everywhere and + at all times; even as it was, I felt disposed to scout myself as a + privileged prig when I turned to ascend to my chamber, sure to find there, + if not enjoyment, at least liberty; but this evening (as had often + happened before) I was to be still farther distinguished. + </p> +<p> + “Eh bien, mauvais sujet!” said the voice of M. Pelet behind me, as I set + my foot on the first step of the stair. “Où allez-vous? Venez à la + salle-à-manger, que je vous gronde un peu.” + </p> +<p> + “I beg pardon, monsieur,” said I, as I followed him to his private + sitting-room, “for having returned so late—it was not my fault.” + </p> +<p> + “That is just what I want to know,” rejoined M. Pelet, as he ushered me + into the comfortable parlour with a good wood-fire—for the stove had + now been removed for the season. Having rung the bell he ordered “Coffee + for two,” and presently he and I were seated, almost in English comfort, + one on each side of the hearth, a little round table between us, with a + coffee-pot, a sugar-basin, and two large white china cups. While M. Pelet + employed himself in choosing a cigar from a box, my thoughts reverted to + the two outcast ushers, whose voices I could hear even now crying hoarsely + for order in the playground. + </p> +<p> + “C’est une grande responsabilité, que la surveillance,” observed I. + </p> +<p> + “Plait-il?” dit M. Pelet. + </p> +<p> + I remarked that I thought Messieurs Vandam and Kint must sometimes be a + little fatigued with their labours. + </p> +<p> + “Des bêtes de somme—des bêtes de somme,” murmured scornfully the + director. Meantime I offered him his cup of coffee. + </p> +<p> + “Servez-vous mon garçon,” said he blandly, when I had put a couple of huge + lumps of continental sugar into his cup. “And now tell me why you stayed + so long at Mdlle. Reuter’s. I know that lessons conclude, in her + establishment as in mine, at four o’clock, and when you returned it was + past five.” + </p> +<p> + “Mdlle. wished to speak with me, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Indeed! on what subject? if one may ask.” + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle talked about nothing, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “A fertile topic! and did she discourse thereon in the schoolroom, before + the pupils?” + </p> +<p> + “No; like you, monsieur, she asked me to walk into her parlour.” + </p> +<p> + “And Madame Reuter—the old duenna—my mother’s gossip, was + there, of course?” + </p> +<p> + “No, monsieur; I had the honour of being quite alone with mademoiselle.” + </p> +<p> + “C’est joli—cela,” observed M. Pelet, and he smiled and looked into + the fire. + </p> +<p> + “Honi soit qui mal y pense,” murmured I, significantly. + </p> +<p> + “Je connais un peu ma petite voisine—voyez-vous.” + </p> +<p> + “In that case, monsieur will be able to aid me in finding out what was + mademoiselle’s reason for making me sit before her sofa one mortal hour, + listening to the most copious and fluent dissertation on the merest + frivolities.” + </p> +<p> + “She was sounding your character.” + </p> +<p> + “I thought so, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Did she find out your weak point?” + </p> +<p> + “What is my weak point?” + </p> +<p> + “Why, the sentimental. Any woman sinking her shaft deep enough, will at + last reach a fathomless spring of sensibility in thy breast, Crimsworth.” + </p> +<p> + I felt the blood stir about my heart and rise warm to my cheek. + </p> +<p> + “Some women might, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Is Mdlle. Reuter of the number? Come, speak frankly, mon fils; elle est + encore jeune, plus agée que toi peut-être, mais juste assez pour unir la + tendresse d’une petite maman à l’amour d’une epouse dévouée; n’est-ce pas + que cela t’irait supérieurement?” + </p> +<p> + “No, monsieur; I should like my wife to be my wife, and not half my + mother.” + </p> +<p> + “She is then a little too old for you?” + </p> +<p> + “No, monsieur, not a day too old if she suited me in other things.” + </p> +<p> + “In what does she not suit you, William? She is personally agreeable, is + she not?” + </p> +<p> + “Very; her hair and complexion are just what I admire; and her turn of + form, though quite Belgian, is full of grace.” + </p> +<p> + “Bravo! and her face? her features? How do you like them?” + </p> +<p> + “A little harsh, especially her mouth.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah, yes! her mouth,” said M. Pelet, and he chuckled inwardly. “There is + character about her mouth—firmness—but she has a very pleasant + smile; don’t you think so?” + </p> +<p> + “Rather crafty.” + </p> +<p> + “True, but that expression of craft is owing to her eyebrows; have you + remarked her eyebrows?” + </p> +<p> + I answered that I had not. + </p> +<p> + “You have not seen her looking down then?” said he. + </p> +<p> + “No.” + </p> +<p> + “It is a treat, notwithstanding. Observe her when she has some knitting, + or some other woman’s work in hand, and sits the image of peace, calmly + intent on her needles and her silk, some discussion meantime going on + around her, in the course of which peculiarities of character are being + developed, or important interests canvassed; she takes no part in it; her + humble, feminine mind is wholly with her knitting; none of her features + move; she neither presumes to smile approval, nor frown disapprobation; + her little hands assiduously ply their unpretending task; if she can only + get this purse finished, or this bonnet-grec completed, it is enough for + her. If gentlemen approach her chair, a deeper quiescence, a meeker + modesty settles on her features, and clothes her general mien; observe + then her eyebrows, et dîtes-moi s’il n’y a pas du chat dans l’un et du + renard dans l’autre.” + </p> +<p> + “I will take careful notice the first opportunity,” said I. + </p> +<p> + “And then,” continued M. Pelet, “the eyelid will flicker, the + light-coloured lashes be lifted a second, and a blue eye, glancing out + from under the screen, will take its brief, sly, searching survey, and + retreat again.” + </p> +<p> + I smiled, and so did Pelet, and after a few minutes’ silence, I asked: + </p> +<p> + “Will she ever marry, do you think?” + </p> +<p> + “Marry! Will birds pair? Of course it is both her intention and resolution + to marry when she finds a suitable match, and no one is better aware than + herself of the sort of impression she is capable of producing; no one + likes better to captivate in a quiet way. I am mistaken if she will not + yet leave the print of her stealing steps on thy heart, Crimsworth.” + </p> +<p> + “Of her steps? Confound it, no! My heart is not a plank to be walked on.” + </p> +<p> + “But the soft touch of a patte de velours will do it no harm.” + </p> +<p> + “She offers me no patte de velours; she is all form and reserve with me.” + </p> +<p> + “That to begin with; let respect be the foundation, affection the first + floor, love the superstructure; Mdlle. Reuter is a skilful architect.” + </p> +<p> + “And interest, M. Pelet—interest. Will not mademoiselle consider + that point?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, yes, no doubt; it will be the cement between every stone. And now we + have discussed the directress, what of the pupils? N’y a-t-il pas de + belles études parmi ces jeunes têtes?” + </p> +<p> + “Studies of character? Yes; curious ones, at least, I imagine; but one + cannot divine much from a first interview.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah, you affect discretion; but tell me now, were you not a little abashed + before these blooming young creatures?” + </p> +<p> + “At first, yes; but I rallied and got through with all due sang-froid.” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t believe you.” + </p> +<p> + “It is true, notwithstanding. At first I thought them angels, but they did + not leave me long under that delusion; three of the eldest and handsomest + undertook the task of setting me right, and they managed so cleverly that + in five minutes I knew <em>them</em>, at least, for what they were—three + arrant coquettes.” + </p> +<p> + “Je les connais!” exclaimed M. Pelet. “Elles sont toujours au premier rang + à l’eglise et à la promenade; une blonde superbe, une jolie espiègle, une + belle brune.” + </p> +<p> + “Exactly.” + </p> +<p> + “Lovely creatures all of them—heads for artists; what a group they + would make, taken together! Eulalie (I know their names), with her smooth + braided hair and calm ivory brow. Hortense, with her rich chesnut locks so + luxuriantly knotted, plaited, twisted, as if she did not know how to + dispose of all their abundance, with her vermilion lips, damask cheek, and + roguish laughing eye. And Caroline de Blemont! Ah, there is beauty! beauty + in perfection. What a cloud of sable curls about the face of a houri! What + fascinating lips! What glorious black eyes! Your Byron would have + worshipped her, and you—you cold, frigid islander!—you played + the austere, the insensible in the presence of an Aphrodite so exquisite?” + </p> +<p> + I might have laughed at the director’s enthusiasm had I believed it real, + but there was something in his tone which indicated got-up raptures. I + felt he was only affecting fervour in order to put me off my guard, to + induce me to come out in return, so I scarcely even smiled. He went on: + </p> +<p> + “Confess, William, do not the mere good looks of Zoraïde Reuter appear + dowdyish and commonplace compared with the splendid charms of some of her + pupils?” + </p> +<p> + The question discomposed me, but I now felt plainly that my principal was + endeavouring (for reasons best known to himself—at that time I could + not fathom them) to excite ideas and wishes in my mind alien to what was + right and honourable. The iniquity of the instigation proved its antidote, + and when he further added:— + </p> +<p> + “Each of those three beautiful girls will have a handsome fortune; and + with a little address, a gentlemanlike, intelligent young fellow like you + might make himself master of the hand, heart, and purse of any one of the + trio.” + </p> +<p> + I replied by a look and an interrogative “Monsieur?” which startled him. + </p> +<p> + He laughed a forced laugh, affirmed that he had only been joking, and + demanded whether I could possibly have thought him in earnest. Just then + the bell rang; the play-hour was over; it was an evening on which M. Pelet + was accustomed to read passages from the drama and the belles lettres to + his pupils. He did not wait for my answer, but rising, left the room, + humming as he went some gay strain of Béranger’s. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> +<p> + DAILY, as I continued my attendance at the seminary of Mdlle. Reuter, did + I find fresh occasions to compare the ideal with the real. What had I + known of female character previously to my arrival at Brussels? Precious + little. And what was my notion of it? Something vague, slight, gauzy, + glittering; now when I came in contact with it I found it to be a palpable + substance enough; very hard too sometimes, and often heavy; there was + metal in it, both lead and iron. + </p> +<p> + Let the idealists, the dreamers about earthly angel and human flowers, + just look here while I open my portfolio and show them a sketch or two, + pencilled after nature. I took these sketches in the second-class + schoolroom of Mdlle. Reuter’s establishment, where about a hundred + specimens of the genus “jeune fille” collected together offered a fertile + variety of subject. A miscellaneous assortment they were, differing both + in caste and country; as I sat on my estrade and glanced over the long + range of desks, I had under my eye French, English, Belgians, Austrians, + and Prussians. The majority belonged to the class bourgeois; but there + were many countesses, there were the daughters of two generals and of + several colonels, captains, and government <i lang="fr">employés</i>: + these ladies sat side + by side with young females destined to be demoiselles de magasins, and + with some Flamandes, genuine aborigines of the country. In dress all were + nearly similar, and in manners there was small difference; exceptions + there were to the general rule, but the majority gave the tone to the + establishment, and that tone was rough, boisterous, masked by a + point-blank disregard of all forbearance towards each other or their + teachers; an eager pursuit by each individual of her own interest and + convenience; and a coarse indifference to the interest and convenience of + every one else. Most of them could lie with audacity when it appeared + advantageous to do so. All understood the art of speaking fair when a + point was to be gained, and could with consummate skill and at a moment’s + notice turn the cold shoulder the instant civility ceased to be + profitable. Very little open quarrelling ever took place amongst them; but + backbiting and talebearing were universal. Close friendships were + forbidden by the rules of the school, and no one girl seemed to cultivate + more regard for another than was just necessary to secure a companion when + solitude would have been irksome. They were each and all supposed to have + been reared in utter unconsciousness of vice. The precautions used to keep + them ignorant, if not innocent, were innumerable. How was it, then, that + scarcely one of those girls having attained the age of fourteen could look + a man in the face with modesty and propriety? An air of bold, impudent + flirtation, or a loose, silly leer, was sure to answer the most ordinary + glance from a masculine eye. I know nothing of the arcana of the Roman + Catholic religion, and I am not a bigot in matters of theology, but I + suspect the root of this precocious impurity, so obvious, so general in + Popish countries, is to be found in the discipline, if not the doctrines + of the Church of Rome. I record what I have seen: these girls belonged to + what are called the respectable ranks of society; they had all been + carefully brought up, yet was the mass of them mentally depraved. So much + for the general view: now for one or two selected specimens. + </p> +<p> + The first picture is a full length of Aurelia Koslow, a German fraulein, + or rather a half-breed between German and Russian. She is eighteen years + of age, and has been sent to Brussels to finish her education; she is of + middle size, stiffly made, body long, legs short, bust much developed but + not compactly moulded, waist disproportionately compressed by an inhumanly + braced corset, dress carefully arranged, large feet tortured into small + bottines, head small, hair smoothed, braided, oiled, and gummed to + perfection; very low forehead, very diminutive and vindictive grey eyes, + somewhat Tartar features, rather flat nose, rather high-cheek bones, yet + the ensemble not positively ugly; tolerably good complexion. So much for + person. As to mind, deplorably ignorant and ill-informed: incapable of + writing or speaking correctly even German, her native tongue, a dunce in + French, and her attempts at learning English a mere farce, yet she has + been at school twelve years; but as she invariably gets her exercises, of + every description, done by a fellow pupil, and reads her lessons off a + book concealed in her lap, it is not wonderful that her progress has been + so snail-like. I do not know what Aurelia’s daily habits of life are, + because I have not the opportunity of observing her at all times; but from + what I see of the state of her desk, books, and papers, I should say she + is slovenly and even dirty; her outward dress, as I have said, is well + attended to, but in passing behind her bench, I have remarked that her + neck is gray for want of washing, and her hair, so glossy with gum and + grease, is not such as one feels tempted to pass the hand over, much less + to run the fingers through. Aurelia’s conduct in class, at least when I am + present, is something extraordinary, considered as an index of girlish + innocence. The moment I enter the room, she nudges her next neighbour and + indulges in a half-suppressed laugh. As I take my seat on the estrade, she + fixes her eye on me; she seems resolved to attract, and, if possible, + monopolize my notice: to this end she launches at me all sorts of looks, + languishing, provoking, leering, laughing. As I am found quite proof + against this sort of artillery—for we scorn what, unasked, is + lavishly offered—she has recourse to the expedient of making noises; + sometimes she sighs, sometimes groans, sometimes utters inarticulate + sounds, for which language has no name. If, in walking up the schoolroom, + I pass near her, she puts out her foot that it may touch mine; if I do not + happen to observe the manoeuvre, and my boot comes in contact with her + brodequin, she affects to fall into convulsions of suppressed laughter; if + I notice the snare and avoid it, she expresses her mortification in sullen + muttering, where I hear myself abused in bad French, pronounced with an + intolerable Low German accent. + </p> +<p> + Not far from Mdlle. Koslow sits another young lady by name Adèle Dronsart: + this is a Belgian, rather low of stature, in form heavy, with broad waist, + short neck and limbs, good red and white complexion, features well + chiselled and regular, well-cut eyes of a clear brown colour, light brown + hair, good teeth, age not much above fifteen, but as full-grown as a stout + young Englishwoman of twenty. This portrait gives the idea of a somewhat + dumpy but good-looking damsel, does it not? Well, when I looked along the + row of young heads, my eye generally stopped at this of Adèle’s; her gaze + was ever waiting for mine, and it frequently succeeded in arresting it. + She was an unnatural-looking being—so young, fresh, blooming, yet so + Gorgon-like. Suspicion, sullen ill-temper were on her forehead, vicious + propensities in her eye, envy and panther-like deceit about her mouth. In + general she sat very still; her massive shape looked as if it could not + bend much, nor did her large head—so broad at the base, so narrow + towards the top—seem made to turn readily on her short neck. She had + but two varieties of expression; the prevalent one a forbidding, + dissatisfied scowl, varied sometimes by a most pernicious and perfidious + smile. She was shunned by her fellow-pupils, for, bad as many of them + were, few were as bad as she. + </p> +<p> + Aurelia and Adèle were in the first division of the second class; the + second division was headed by a pensionnaire named Juanna Trista. This + girl was of mixed Belgian and Spanish origin; her Flemish mother was dead, + her Catalonian father was a merchant residing in the —— Isles, + where Juanna had been born and whence she was sent to Europe to be + educated. I wonder that any one, looking at that girl’s head and + countenance, would have received her under their roof. She had precisely + the same shape of skull as Pope Alexander the Sixth; her organs of + benevolence, veneration, conscientiousness, adhesiveness, were singularly + small, those of self-esteem, firmness, destructiveness, combativeness, + preposterously large; her head sloped up in the penthouse shape, was + contracted about the forehead, and prominent behind; she had rather good, + though large and marked features; her temperament was fibrous and bilious, + her complexion pale and dark, hair and eyes black, form angular and rigid + but proportionate, age fifteen. + </p> +<p> + Juanna was not very thin, but she had a gaunt visage, and her “regard” was + fierce and hungry; narrow as was her brow, it presented space enough for + the legible graving of two words, Mutiny and Hate; in some one of her + other lineaments—I think the eye—cowardice had also its distinct + cipher. Mdlle. Trista thought fit to trouble my first lessons with a + coarse work-day sort of turbulence; she made noises with her mouth like a + horse, she ejected her saliva, she uttered brutal expressions; behind and + below her were seated a band of very vulgar, inferior-looking Flamandes, + including two or three examples of that deformity of person and imbecility + of intellect whose frequency in the Low Countries would seem to furnish + proof that the climate is such as to induce degeneracy of the human mind + and body; these, I soon found, were completely under her influence, and + with their aid she got up and sustained a swinish tumult, which I was + constrained at last to quell by ordering her and two of her tools to rise + from their seats, and, having kept them standing five minutes, turning + them bodily out of the schoolroom: the accomplices into a large place + adjoining called the grands salle; the principal into a cabinet, of which + I closed the door and pocketed the key. This judgment I executed in the + presence of Mdlle. Reuter, who looked much aghast at beholding so decided + a proceeding—the most severe that had ever been ventured on in her + establishment. Her look of affright I answered with one of composure, and + finally with a smile, which perhaps flattered, and certainly soothed her. + Juanna Trista remained in Europe long enough to repay, by malevolence and + ingratitude, all who had ever done her a good turn; and she then went to + join her father in the —— Isles, exulting in the thought that + she should there have slaves, whom, as she said, she could kick and strike + at will. + </p> +<p> + These three pictures are from the life. I possess others, as marked and as + little agreeable, but I will spare my reader the exhibition of them. + </p> +<p> + Doubtless it will be thought that I ought now, by way of contrast, to show + something charming; some gentle virgin head, circled with a halo, some + sweet personification of innocence, clasping the dove of peace to her + bosom. No: I saw nothing of the sort, and therefore cannot portray it. The + pupil in the school possessing the happiest disposition was a young girl + from the country, Louise Path; she was sufficiently benevolent and + obliging, but not well taught nor well mannered; moreover, the plague-spot + of dissimulation was in her also; honour and principle were unknown to + her, she had scarcely heard their names. The least exceptionable pupil was + the poor little Sylvie I have mentioned once before. Sylvie was gentle in + manners, intelligent in mind; she was even sincere, as far as her religion + would permit her to be so, but her physical organization was defective; + weak health stunted her growth and chilled her spirits, and then, destined + as she was for the cloister, her whole soul was warped to a conventual + bias, and in the tame, trained subjection of her manner, one read that she + had already prepared herself for her future course of life, by giving up + her independence of thought and action into the hands of some despotic + confessor. She permitted herself no original opinion, no preference of + companion or employment; in everything she was guided by another. With a + pale, passive, automaton air, she went about all day long doing what she + was bid; never what she liked, or what, from innate conviction, she + thought it right to do. The poor little future religieuse had been early + taught to make the dictates of her own reason and conscience quite + subordinate to the will of her spiritual director. She was the model pupil + of Mdlle. Reuter’s establishment; pale, blighted image, where life + lingered feebly, but whence the soul had been conjured by Romish + wizard-craft! + </p> +<p> + A few English pupils there were in this school, and these might be divided + into two classes. 1st. The continental English—the daughters chiefly + of broken adventurers, whom debt or dishonour had driven from their own + country. These poor girls had never known the advantages of settled homes, + decorous example, or honest Protestant education; resident a few months + now in one Catholic school, now in another, as their parents wandered from + land to land—from France to Germany, from Germany to Belgium—they + had picked up some scanty instruction, many bad habits, losing every + notion even of the first elements of religion and morals, and acquiring an + imbecile indifference to every sentiment that can elevate humanity; they + were distinguishable by an habitual look of sullen dejection, the result + of crushed self-respect and constant browbeating from their Popish + fellow-pupils, who hated them as English, and scorned them as heretics. + </p> +<p> + The second class were British English. Of these I did not encounter half a + dozen during the whole time of my attendance at the seminary; their + characteristics were clean but careless dress, ill-arranged hair (compared + with the tight and trim foreigners), erect carriage, flexible figures, + white and taper hands, features more irregular, but also more intellectual + than those of the Belgians, grave and modest countenances, a general air + of native propriety and decency; by this last circumstance alone I could + at a glance distinguish the daughter of Albion and nursling of + Protestantism from the foster-child of Rome, the <i lang="fr">protégé</i> + of Jesuistry: + proud, too, was the aspect of these British girls; at once envied and + ridiculed by their continental associates, they warded off insult with + austere civility, and met hate with mute disdain; they eschewed + company-keeping, and in the midst of numbers seemed to dwell isolated. + </p> +<p> + The teachers presiding over this mixed multitude were three in number, all + French—their names Mdlles. Zéphyrine, Pélagie, and Suzette; the two + last were commonplace personages enough; their look was ordinary, their + manner was ordinary, their temper was ordinary, their thoughts, feelings, + and views were all ordinary—were I to write a chapter on the subject + I could not elucidate it further. Zéphyrine was somewhat more + distinguished in appearance and deportment than Pélagie and Suzette, but + in character genuine Parisian coquette, perfidious, mercenary, and + dry-hearted. A fourth maîtresse I sometimes saw who seemed to come daily + to teach needlework, or netting, or lace-mending, or some such flimsy art; + but of her I never had more than a passing glimpse, as she sat in the + <i lang="fr">carré</i>, with her frames and some dozen of the elder pupils + about her, + consequently I had no opportunity of studying her character, or even of + observing her person much; the latter, I remarked, had a very English air + for a maîtresse, otherwise it was not striking; of character I should + think she possessed but little, as her pupils seemed constantly “en + revolte” against her authority. She did not reside in the house; her name, + I think, was Mdlle. Henri. + </p> +<p> + Amidst this assemblage of all that was insignificant and defective, much + that was vicious and repulsive (by that last epithet many would have + described the two or three stiff, silent, decently behaved, ill-dressed + British girls), the sensible, sagacious, affable directress shone like a + steady star over a marsh full of Jack-o’-lanthorns; profoundly aware of + her superiority, she derived an inward bliss from that consciousness which + sustained her under all the care and responsibility inseparable from her + position; it kept her temper calm, her brow smooth, her manner tranquil. + She liked—as who would not?—on entering the school-room, to + feel that her sole presence sufficed to diffuse that order and quiet which + all the remonstrances, and even commands, of her underlings frequently + failed to enforce; she liked to stand in comparison, or rather—contrast, + with those who surrounded her, and to know that in personal as well as + mental advantages, she bore away the undisputed palm of preference—(the + three teachers were all plain.) Her pupils she managed with such + indulgence and address, taking always on herself the office of recompenser + and eulogist, and abandoning to her subalterns every invidious task of + blame and punishment, that they all regarded her with deference, if not + with affection; her teachers did not love her, but they submitted because + they were her inferiors in everything; the various masters who attended + her school were each and all in some way or other under her influence; + over one she had acquired power by her skilful management of his bad + temper; over another by little attentions to his petty caprices; a third + she had subdued by flattery; a fourth—a timid man—she kept in + awe by a sort of austere decision of mien; me, she still watched, still + tried by the most ingenious tests—she roved round me, baffled, yet + persevering; I believe she thought I was like a smooth and bare precipice, + which offered neither jutting stone nor tree-root, nor tuft of grass to + aid the climber. Now she flattered with exquisite tact, now she moralized, + now she tried how far I was accessible to mercenary motives, then she + disported on the brink of affection—knowing that some men are won by + weakness—anon, she talked excellent sense, aware that others have + the folly to admire judgment. I found it at once pleasant and easy to + evade all these efforts; it was sweet, when she thought me nearly won, to + turn round and to smile in her very eyes, half scornfully, and then to + witness her scarcely veiled, though mute mortification. Still she + persevered, and at last, I am bound to confess it, her finger, essaying, + proving every atom of the casket, touched its secret spring, and for a + moment the lid sprung open; she laid her hand on the jewel within; whether + she stole and broke it, or whether the lid shut again with a snap on her + fingers, read on, and you shall know. + </p> +<p> + It happened that I came one day to give a lesson when I was indisposed; I + had a bad cold and a cough; two hours’ incessant talking left me very + hoarse and tired; as I quitted the schoolroom, and was passing along the + corridor, I met Mdlle. Reuter; she remarked, with an anxious air, that I + looked very pale and tired. “Yes,” I said, “I was fatigued;” and then, + with increased interest, she rejoined, “You shall not go away till you + have had some refreshment.” She persuaded me to step into the parlour, and + was very kind and gentle while I stayed. The next day she was kinder + still; she came herself into the class to see that the windows were + closed, and that there was no draught; she exhorted me with friendly + earnestness not to over-exert myself; when I went away, she gave me her + hand unasked, and I could not but mark, by a respectful and gentle + pressure, that I was sensible of the favour, and grateful for it. My + modest demonstration kindled a little merry smile on her countenance; I + thought her almost charming. During the remainder of the evening, my mind + was full of impatience for the afternoon of the next day to arrive, that I + might see her again. + </p> +<p> + I was not disappointed, for she sat in the class during the whole of my + subsequent lesson, and often looked at me almost with affection. At four + o’clock she accompanied me out of the schoolroom, asking with solicitude + after my health, then scolding me sweetly because I spoke too loud and + gave myself too much trouble; I stopped at the glass-door which led into + the garden, to hear her lecture to the end; the door was open, it was a + very fine day, and while I listened to the soothing reprimand, I looked at + the sunshine and flowers, and felt very happy. The day-scholars began to + pour from the schoolrooms into the passage. + </p> +<p> + “Will you go into the garden a minute or two,” asked she, “till they are + gone?” + </p> +<p> + I descended the steps without answering, but I looked back as much as to + say— + </p> +<p> + “You will come with me?” + </p> +<p> + In another minute I and the directress were walking side by side down the + alley bordered with fruit-trees, whose white blossoms were then in full + blow as well as their tender green leaves. The sky was blue, the air + still, the May afternoon was full of brightness and fragrance. Released + from the stifling class, surrounded with flowers and foliage, with a + pleasing, smiling, affable woman at my side—how did I feel? Why, + very enviably. It seemed as if the romantic visions my imagination had + suggested of this garden, while it was yet hidden from me by the jealous + boards, were more than realized; and, when a turn in the alley shut out + the view of the house, and some tall shrubs excluded M. Pelet’s mansion, + and screened us momentarily from the other houses, rising + amphitheatre-like round this green spot, I gave my arm to Mdlle. Reuter, + and led her to a garden-chair, nestled under some lilacs near. She sat + down; I took my place at her side. She went on talking to me with that + ease which communicates ease, and, as I listened, a revelation dawned in + my mind that I was on the brink of falling in love. The dinner-bell rang, + both at her house and M. Pelet’s; we were obliged to part; I detained her + a moment as she was moving away. + </p> +<p> + “I want something,” said I. + </p> +<p> + “What?” asked Zoraïde naively. + </p> +<p> + “Only a flower.” + </p> +<p> + “Gather it then—or two, or twenty, if you like.” + </p> +<p> + “No—one will do—but you must gather it, and give it to me.” + </p> +<p> + “What a caprice!” she exclaimed, but she raised herself on her tip-toes, + and, plucking a beautiful branch of lilac, offered it to me with grace. I + took it, and went away, satisfied for the present, and hopeful for the + future. + </p> +<p> + Certainly that May day was a lovely one, and it closed in moonlight night + of summer warmth and serenity. I remember this well; for, having sat up + late that evening, correcting devoirs, and feeling weary and a little + oppressed with the closeness of my small room, I opened the + often-mentioned boarded window, whose boards, however, I had persuaded old + Madame Pelet to have removed since I had filled the post of professor in + the pensionnat de demoiselles, as, from that time, it was no longer + “inconvenient” for me to overlook my own pupils at their sports. I sat + down in the window-seat, rested my arm on the sill, and leaned out: above + me was the clear-obscure of a cloudless night sky—splendid moonlight + subdued the tremulous sparkle of the stars—below lay the garden, + varied with silvery lustre and deep shade, and all fresh with dew—a + grateful perfume exhaled from the closed blossoms of the fruit-trees—not + a leaf stirred, the night was breezeless. My window looked directly down + upon a certain walk of Mdlle. Reuter’s garden, called “l’allée défendue,” + so named because the pupils were forbidden to enter it on account of its + proximity to the boys’ school. It was here that the lilacs and laburnums + grew especially thick; this was the most sheltered nook in the enclosure, + its shrubs screened the garden-chair where that afternoon I had sat with + the young directress. I need not say that my thoughts were chiefly with + her as I leaned from the lattice, and let my eye roam, now over the walks + and borders of the garden, now along the many-windowed front of the house + which rose white beyond the masses of foliage. I wondered in what part of + the building was situated her apartment; and a single light, shining + through the persiennes of one croisée, seemed to direct me to it. + </p> +<p> + “She watches late,” thought I, “for it must be now near midnight. She is a + fascinating little woman,” I continued in voiceless soliloquy; “her image + forms a pleasant picture in memory; I know she is not what the world calls + pretty—no matter, there is harmony in her aspect, and I like it; her + brown hair, her blue eye, the freshness of her cheek, the whiteness of her + neck, all suit my taste. Then I respect her talent; the idea of marrying a + doll or a fool was always abhorrent to me: I know that a pretty doll, a + fair fool, might do well enough for the honeymoon; but when passion + cooled, how dreadful to find a lump of wax and wood laid in my bosom, a + half idiot clasped in my arms, and to remember that I had made of this my + equal—nay, my idol—to know that I must pass the rest of my + dreary life with a creature incapable of understanding what I said, of + appreciating what I thought, or of sympathizing with what I felt! “Now, + Zoraïde Reuter,” thought I, “has tact, <i lang="fr">caractère</i>, + judgment, discretion; + has she heart? What a good, simple little smile played about her lips when + she gave me the branch of lilacs! I have thought her crafty, dissembling, + interested sometimes, it is true; but may not much that looks like cunning + and dissimulation in her conduct be only the efforts made by a bland + temper to traverse quietly perplexing difficulties? And as to interest, + she wishes to make her way in the world, no doubt, and who can blame her? + Even if she be truly deficient in sound principle, is it not rather her + misfortune than her fault? She has been brought up a Catholic: had she + been born an Englishwoman, and reared a Protestant, might she not have + added straight integrity to all her other excellences? Supposing she were + to marry an English and Protestant husband, would she not, rational, + sensible as she is, quickly acknowledge the superiority of right over + expediency, honesty over policy? It would be worth a man’s while to try + the experiment; to-morrow I will renew my observations. She knows that I + watch her: how calm she is under scrutiny! it seems rather to gratify than + annoy her.” Here a strain of music stole in upon my monologue, and + suspended it; it was a bugle, very skilfully played, in the neighbourhood + of the park, I thought, or on the Place Royale. So sweet were the tones, + so subduing their effect at that hour, in the midst of silence and under + the quiet reign of moonlight, I ceased to think, that I might listen more + intently. The strain retreated, its sound waxed fainter and was soon gone; + my ear prepared to repose on the absolute hush of midnight once more. No. + What murmur was that which, low, and yet near and approaching nearer, + frustrated the expectation of total silence? It was some one + conversing—yes, evidently, an audible, though subdued voice spoke in the + garden immediately below me. Another answered; the first voice was that of + a man, the second that of a woman; and a man and a woman I saw coming + slowly down the alley. Their forms were at first in shade, I could but + discern a dusk outline of each, but a ray of moonlight met them at the + termination of the walk, when they were under my very nose, and revealed + very plainly, very unequivocally, Mdlle. Zoraïde Reuter, arm-in-arm, or + hand-in-hand (I forget which) with my principal, confidant, and + counsellor, M. François Pelet. And M. Pelet was saying— + </p> +<p> + “A quand donc le jour des noces, ma bien-aimée?” + </p> +<p> + And Mdlle. Reuter answered— + </p> +<p> + “Mais, François, tu sais bien qu’il me serait impossible de me marier + avant les vacances.” + </p> +<p> + “June, July, August, a whole quarter!” exclaimed the director. “How can I + wait so long?—I who am ready, even now, to expire at your feet with + impatience!” + </p> +<p> + “Ah! if you die, the whole affair will be settled without any trouble + about notaries and contracts; I shall only have to order a slight mourning + dress, which will be much sooner prepared than the nuptial trousseau.” + </p> +<p> + “Cruel Zoraïde! you laugh at the distress of one who loves you so + devotedly as I do: my torment is your sport; you scruple not to stretch my + soul on the rack of jealousy; for, deny it as you will, I am certain you + have cast encouraging glances on that school-boy, Crimsworth; he has + presumed to fall in love, which he dared not have done unless you had + given him room to hope.” + </p> +<p> + “What do you say, François? Do you say Crimsworth is in love with me?” + </p> +<p> + “Over head and ears.” + </p> +<p> + “Has he told you so?” + </p> +<p> + “No—but I see it in his face: he blushes whenever your name is + mentioned.” A little laugh of exulting coquetry announced Mdlle. Reuter’s + gratification at this piece of intelligence (which was a lie, by-the-by—I + had never been so far gone as that, after all). M. Pelet proceeded to ask + what she intended to do with me, intimating pretty plainly, and not very + gallantly, that it was nonsense for her to think of taking such a + “blanc-bec” as a husband, since she must be at least ten years older than + I (was she then thirty-two? I should not have thought it). I heard her + disclaim any intentions on the subject—the director, however, still + pressed her to give a definite answer. + </p> +<p> + “François,” said she, “you are jealous,” and still she laughed; then, as + if suddenly recollecting that this coquetry was not consistent with the + character for modest dignity she wished to establish, she proceeded, in a + demure voice: “Truly, my dear François, I will not deny that this young + Englishman may have made some attempts to ingratiate himself with me; but, + so far from giving him any encouragement, I have always treated him with + as much reserve as it was possible to combine with civility; affianced as + I am to you, I would give no man false hopes; believe me, dear friend.” + Still Pelet uttered murmurs of distrust—so I judged, at least, from + her reply. + </p> +<p> + “What folly! How could I prefer an unknown foreigner to you? And then—not + to flatter your vanity—Crimsworth could not bear comparison with you + either physically or mentally; he is not a handsome man at all; some may + call him gentleman-like and intelligent-looking, but for my part—” + </p> +<p> + The rest of the sentence was lost in the distance, as the pair, rising + from the chair in which they had been seated, moved away. I waited their + return, but soon the opening and shutting of a door informed me that they + had re-entered the house; I listened a little longer, all was perfectly + still; I listened more than an hour—at last I heard M. Pelet come in + and ascend to his chamber. Glancing once more towards the long front of + the garden-house, I perceived that its solitary light was at length + extinguished; so, for a time, was my faith in love and friendship. I went + to bed, but something feverish and fiery had got into my veins which + prevented me from sleeping much that night. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> +<p> + NEXT morning I rose with the dawn, and having dressed myself and stood + half-an-hour, my elbow leaning on the chest of drawers, considering what + means I should adopt to restore my spirits, fagged with sleeplessness, to + their ordinary tone—for I had no intention of getting up a scene + with M. Pelet, reproaching him with perfidy, sending him a challenge, or + performing other gambadoes of the sort—I hit at last on the + expedient of walking out in the cool of the morning to a neighbouring + establishment of baths, and treating myself to a bracing plunge. The + remedy produced the desired effect. I came back at seven o’clock steadied + and invigorated, and was able to greet M. Pelet, when he entered to + breakfast, with an unchanged and tranquil countenance; even a cordial + offering of the hand and the flattering appellation of “mon fils,” + pronounced in that caressing tone with which Monsieur had, of late days + especially, been accustomed to address me, did not elicit any external + sign of the feeling which, though subdued, still glowed at my heart. Not + that I nursed vengeance—no; but the sense of insult and treachery + lived in me like a kindling, though as yet smothered coal. God knows I am + not by nature vindictive; I would not hurt a man because I can no longer + trust or like him; but neither my reason nor feelings are of the + vacillating order—they are not of that sand-like sort where + impressions, if soon made, are as soon effaced. Once convinced that my + friend’s disposition is incompatible with my own, once assured that he is + indelibly stained with certain defects obnoxious to my principles, and I + dissolve the connection. I did so with Edward. As to Pelet, the discovery + was yet new; should I act thus with him? It was the question I placed + before my mind as I stirred my cup of coffee with a half-pistolet (we + never had spoons), Pelet meantime being seated opposite, his pallid face + looking as knowing and more haggard than usual, his blue eye turned, now + sternly on his boys and ushers, and now graciously on me. + </p> +<p> + “Circumstances must guide me,” said I; and meeting Pelet’s false glance + and insinuating smile, I thanked heaven that I had last night opened my + window and read by the light of a full moon the true meaning of that + guileful countenance. I felt half his master, because the reality of his + nature was now known to me; smile and flatter as he would, I saw his soul + lurk behind his smile, and heard in every one of his smooth phrases a + voice interpreting their treacherous import. + </p> +<p> + But Zoraïde Reuter? Of course her defection had cut me to the quick? That + stint must have gone too deep for any consolations of philosophy to be + available in curing its smart? Not at all. The night fever over, I looked + about for balm to that wound also, and found some nearer home than at + Gilead. Reason was my physician; she began by proving that the prize I had + missed was of little value: she admitted that, physically, Zoraïde might + have suited me, but affirmed that our souls were not in harmony, and that + discord must have resulted from the union of her mind with mine. She then + insisted on the suppression of all repining, and commanded me rather to + rejoice that I had escaped a snare. Her medicament did me good. I felt its + strengthening effect when I met the directress the next day; its stringent + operation on the nerves suffered no trembling, no faltering; it enabled me + to face her with firmness, to pass her with ease. She had held out her + hand to me—that I did not choose to see. She had greeted me with a + charming smile—it fell on my heart like light on stone. I passed on + to the estrade, she followed me; her eye, fastened on my face, demanded of + every feature the meaning of my changed and careless manner. “I will give + her an answer,” thought I; and, meeting her gaze full, arresting, fixing + her glance, I shot into her eyes, from my own, a look, where there was no + respect, no love, no tenderness, no gallantry; where the strictest + analysis could detect nothing but scorn, hardihood, irony. I made her bear + it, and feel it; her steady countenance did not change, but her colour + rose, and she approached me as if fascinated. She stepped on to the + estrade, and stood close by my side; she had nothing to say. I would not + relieve her embarrassment, and negligently turned over the leaves of a + book. + </p> +<p> + “I hope you feel quite recovered to-day,” at last she said, in a low tone. + </p> +<p> + “And I, mademoiselle, hope that you took no cold last night in consequence + of your late walk in the garden.” + </p> +<p> + Quick enough of comprehension, she understood me directly; her face became + a little blanched—a very little—but no muscle in her rather + marked features moved; and, calm and self-possessed, she retired from the + estrade, taking her seat quietly at a little distance, and occupying + herself with netting a purse. I proceeded to give my lesson; it was a + “Composition,” i.e., I dictated certain general questions, of which the + pupils were to compose the answers from memory, access to books being + forbidden. While Mdlle. Eulalie, Hortense, Caroline, &c., were + pondering over the string of rather abstruse grammatical interrogatories I + had propounded, I was at liberty to employ the vacant half hour in further + observing the directress herself. The green silk purse was progressing + fast in her hands; her eyes were bent upon it; her attitude, as she sat + netting within two yards of me, was still yet guarded; in her whole person + were expressed at once, and with equal clearness, vigilance and repose—a + rare union! Looking at her, I was forced, as I had often been before, to + offer her good sense, her wondrous self-control, the tribute of + involuntary admiration. She had felt that I had withdrawn from her my + esteem; she had seen contempt and coldness in my eye, and to her, who + coveted the approbation of all around her, who thirsted after universal + good opinion, such discovery must have been an acute wound. I had + witnessed its effect in the momentary pallor of her cheek--cheek unused to + vary; yet how quickly, by dint of self-control, had she recovered her + composure! With what quiet dignity she now sat, almost at my side, + sustained by her sound and vigorous sense; no trembling in her somewhat + lengthened, though shrewd upper lip, no coward shame on her austere + forehead! + </p> +<p> + “There is metal there,” I said, as I gazed. “Would that there were fire + also, living ardour to make the steel glow—then I could love her.” + </p> +<p> + Presently I discovered that she knew I was watching her, for she stirred + not, she lifted not her crafty eyelid; she had glanced down from her + netting to her small foot, peeping from the soft folds of her purple + merino gown; thence her eye reverted to her hand, ivory white, with a + bright garnet ring on the forefinger, and a light frill of lace round the + wrist; with a scarcely perceptible movement she turned her head, causing + her nut-brown curls to wave gracefully. In these slight signs I read that + the wish of her heart, the design of her brain, was to lure back the game + she had scared. A little incident gave her the opportunity of addressing + me again. + </p> +<p> + While all was silence in the class—silence, but for the rustling of + copy-books and the travelling of pens over their pages—a leaf of the + large folding-door, opening from the hall, unclosed, admitting a pupil + who, after making a hasty obeisance, ensconced herself with some + appearance of trepidation, probably occasioned by her entering so late, in + a vacant seat at the desk nearest the door. Being seated, she proceeded, + still with an air of hurry and embarrassment, to open her cabas, to take + out her books; and, while I was waiting for her to look up, in order to + make out her identity—for, shortsighted as I was, I had not + recognized her at her entrance—Mdlle. Reuter, leaving her chair, + approached the estrade. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur Creemsvort,” said she, in a whisper: for when the schoolrooms + were silent, the directress always moved with velvet tread, and spoke in + the most subdued key, enforcing order and stillness fully as much by + example as precept: “Monsieur Creemsvort, that young person, who has just + entered, wishes to have the advantage of taking lessons with you in + English; she is not a pupil of the house; she is, indeed, in one sense, a + teacher, for she gives instruction in lace-mending, and in little + varieties of ornamental needle-work. She very properly proposes to qualify + herself for a higher department of education, and has asked permission to + attend your lessons, in order to perfect her knowledge of English, in + which language she has, I believe, already made some progress; of course + it is my wish to aid her in an effort so praiseworthy; you will permit her + then to benefit by your instruction—n’est ce pas, monsieur?” And + Mdlle. Reuter’s eyes were raised to mine with a look at once naive, + benign, and beseeching. + </p> +<p> + I replied, “Of course,” very laconically, almost abruptly. + </p> +<p> + “Another word,” she said, with softness: “Mdlle. Henri has not received a + regular education; perhaps her natural talents are not of the highest + order: but I can assure you of the excellence of her intentions, and even + of the amiability of her disposition. Monsieur will then, I am sure, have + the goodness to be considerate with her at first, and not expose her + backwardness, her inevitable deficiencies, before the young ladies, who, + in a sense, are her pupils. Will Monsieur Creemsvort favour me by + attending to this hint?” I nodded. She continued with subdued earnestness— + </p> +<p> + “Pardon me, monsieur, if I venture to add that what I have just said is of + importance to the poor girl; she already experiences great difficulty in + impressing these giddy young things with a due degree of deference for her + authority, and should that difficulty be increased by new discoveries of + her incapacity, she might find her position in my establishment too + painful to be retained; a circumstance I should much regret for her sake, + as she can ill afford to lose the profits of her occupation here.” + </p> +<p> + Mdlle. Reuter possessed marvellous tact; but tact the most exclusive, + unsupported by sincerity, will sometimes fail of its effect; thus, on this + occasion, the longer she preached about the necessity of being indulgent + to the governess pupil, the more impatient I felt as I listened. I + discerned so clearly that while her professed motive was a wish to aid the + dull, though well-meaning Mdlle. Henri, her real one was no other than a + design to impress me with an idea of her own exalted goodness and tender + considerateness; so having again hastily nodded assent to her remarks, I + obviated their renewal by suddenly demanding the compositions, in a sharp + accent, and stepping from the estrade, I proceeded to collect them. As I + passed the governess-pupil, I said to her— + </p> +<p> + “You have come in too late to receive a lesson to-day; try to be more + punctual next time.” + </p> +<p> + I was behind her, and could not read in her face the effect of my not very + civil speech. Probably I should not have troubled myself to do so, had I + been full in front; but I observed that she immediately began to slip her + books into her cabas again; and, presently, after I had returned to the + estrade, while I was arranging the mass of compositions, I heard the + folding-door again open and close; and, on looking up, I perceived her + place vacant. I thought to myself, “She will consider her first attempt at + taking a lesson in English something of a failure;” and I wondered whether + she had departed in the sulks, or whether stupidity had induced her to + take my words too literally, or, finally, whether my irritable tone had + wounded her feelings. The last notion I dismissed almost as soon as I had + conceived it, for not having seen any appearance of sensitiveness in any + human face since my arrival in Belgium, I had begun to regard it almost as + a fabulous quality. Whether her physiognomy announced it I could not tell, + for her speedy exit had allowed me no time to ascertain the circumstance. + I had, indeed, on two or three previous occasions, caught a passing view + of her (as I believe has been mentioned before); but I had never stopped + to scrutinize either her face or person, and had but the most vague idea + of her general appearance. Just as I had finished rolling up the + compositions, the four o’clock bell rang; with my accustomed alertness in + obeying that signal, I grasped my hat and evacuated the premises. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> +<p> + IF I was punctual in quitting Mdlle. Reuter’s domicile, I was at least + equally punctual in arriving there; I came the next day at five minutes + before two, and on reaching the schoolroom door, before I opened it, I + heard a rapid, gabbling sound, which warned me that the “prière du midi” + was not yet concluded. I waited the termination thereof; it would have + been impious to intrude my heretical presence during its progress. How the + repeater of the prayer did cackle and splutter! I never before or since + heard language enounced with such steam-engine haste. “Notre Père qui êtes + au ciel” went off like a shot; then followed an address to Marie “vièrge + céleste, reine des anges, maison d’or, tour d’ivoire!” and then an + invocation to the saint of the day; and then down they all sat, and the + solemn (?) rite was over; and I entered, flinging the door wide and + striding in fast, as it was my wont to do now; for I had found that in + entering with aplomb, and mounting the estrade with emphasis, consisted + the grand secret of ensuring immediate silence. The folding-doors between + the two classes, opened for the prayer, were instantly closed; a + maîtresse, work-box in hand, took her seat at her appropriate desk; the + pupils sat still with their pens and books before them; my three beauties + in the van, now well humbled by a demeanour of consistent coolness, sat + erect with their hands folded quietly on their knees; they had given up + giggling and whispering to each other, and no longer ventured to utter + pert speeches in my presence; they now only talked to me occasionally with + their eyes, by means of which organs they could still, however, say very + audacious and coquettish things. Had affection, goodness, modesty, real + talent, ever employed those bright orbs as interpreters, I do not think I + could have refrained from giving a kind and encouraging, perhaps an ardent + reply now and then; but as it was, I found pleasure in answering the + glance of vanity with the gaze of stoicism. Youthful, fair, brilliant, as + were many of my pupils, I can truly say that in me they never saw any + other bearing than such as an austere, though just guardian, might have + observed towards them. If any doubt the accuracy of this assertion, as + inferring more conscientious self-denial or Scipio-like self-control than + they feel disposed to give me credit for, let them take into consideration + the following circumstances, which, while detracting from my merit, + justify my veracity. + </p> +<p> + Know, O incredulous reader! that a master stands in a somewhat different + relation towards a pretty, light-headed, probably ignorant girl, to that + occupied by a partner at a ball, or a gallant on the promenade. A + professor does not meet his pupil to see her dressed in satin and muslin, + with hair perfumed and curled, neck scarcely shaded by aerial lace, round + white arms circled with bracelets, feet dressed for the gliding dance. It + is not his business to whirl her through the waltz, to feed her with + compliments, to heighten her beauty by the flush of gratified vanity. + Neither does he encounter her on the smooth-rolled, tree shaded Boulevard, + in the green and sunny park, whither she repairs clad in her becoming + walking dress, her scarf thrown with grace over her shoulders, her little + bonnet scarcely screening her curls, the red rose under its brim adding a + new tint to the softer rose on her cheek; her face and eyes, too, + illumined with smiles, perhaps as transient as the sunshine of the + gala-day, but also quite as brilliant; it is not his office to walk by her + side, to listen to her lively chat, to carry her parasol, scarcely larger + than a broad green leaf, to lead in a ribbon her Blenheim spaniel or + Italian greyhound. No: he finds her in the schoolroom, plainly dressed, + with books before her. Owing to her education or her nature books are to + her a nuisance, and she opens them with aversion, yet her teacher must + instil into her mind the contents of these books; that mind resists the + admission of grave information, it recoils, it grows restive, sullen + tempers are shown, disfiguring frowns spoil the symmetry of the face, + sometimes coarse gestures banish grace from the deportment, while muttered + expressions, redolent of native and ineradicable vulgarity, desecrate the + sweetness of the voice. Where the temperament is serene though the + intellect be sluggish, an unconquerable dullness opposes every effort to + instruct. Where there is cunning but not energy, dissimulation, falsehood, + a thousand schemes and tricks are put in play to evade the necessity of + application; in short, to the tutor, female youth, female charms are like + tapestry hangings, of which the wrong side is continually turned towards + him; and even when he sees the smooth, neat external surface he so well + knows what knots, long stitches, and jagged ends are behind that he has + scarce a temptation to admire too fondly the seemly forms and bright + colours exposed to general view. + </p> +<p> + Our likings are regulated by our circumstances. The artist prefers a hilly + country because it is picturesque; the engineer a flat one because it is + convenient; the man of pleasure likes what he calls “a fine woman”—she + suits him; the fashionable young gentleman admires the fashionable young + lady—she is of his kind; the toil-worn, fagged, probably irritable + tutor, blind almost to beauty, insensible to airs and graces, glories + chiefly in certain mental qualities: application, love of knowledge, + natural capacity, docility, truthfulness, gratefulness, are the charms + that attract his notice and win his regard. These he seeks, but seldom + meets; these, if by chance he finds, he would fain retain for ever, and + when separation deprives him of them he feels as if some ruthless hand had + snatched from him his only ewe-lamb. Such being the case, and the case it + is, my readers will agree with me that there was nothing either very + meritorious or very marvellous in the integrity and moderation of my + conduct at Mdlle. Reuter’s pensionnat de demoiselles. + </p> +<p> + My first business this afternoon consisted in reading the list of places + for the month, determined by the relative correctness of the compositions + given the preceding day. The list was headed, as usual, by the name of + Sylvie, that plain, quiet little girl I have described before as being at + once the best and ugliest pupil in the establishment; the second place had + fallen to the lot of a certain Léonie Ledru, a diminutive, sharp-featured, + and parchment-skinned creature of quick wits, frail conscience, and + indurated feelings; a lawyer-like thing, of whom I used to say that, had + she been a boy, she would have made a model of an unprincipled, clever + attorney. Then came Eulalie, the proud beauty, the Juno of the school, + whom six long years of drilling in the simple grammar of the English + language had compelled, despite the stiff phlegm of her intellect, to + acquire a mechanical acquaintance with most of its rules. No smile, no + trace of pleasure or satisfaction appeared in Sylvie’s nun-like and + passive face as she heard her name read first. I always felt saddened by + the sight of that poor girl’s absolute quiescence on all occasions, and it + was my custom to look at her, to address her, as seldom as possible; her + extreme docility, her assiduous perseverance, would have recommended her + warmly to my good opinion; her modesty, her intelligence, would have + induced me to feel most kindly—most affectionately towards her, + notwithstanding the almost ghastly plainness of her features, the + disproportion of her form, the corpse-like lack of animation in her + countenance, had I not been aware that every friendly word, every kindly + action, would be reported by her to her confessor, and by him + misinterpreted and poisoned. Once I laid my hand on her head, in token of + approbation; I thought Sylvie was going to smile, her dim eye almost + kindled; but, presently, she shrank from me; I was a man and a heretic; + she, poor child! a destined nun and devoted Catholic: thus a four-fold + wall of separation divided her mind from mine. A pert smirk, and a hard + glance of triumph, was Léonie’s method of testifying her gratification; + Eulalie looked sullen and envious—she had hoped to be first. + Hortense and Caroline exchanged a reckless grimace on hearing their names + read out somewhere near the bottom of the list; the brand of mental + inferiority was considered by them as no disgrace, their hopes for the + future being based solely on their personal attractions. + </p> +<p> + This affair arranged, the regular lesson followed. During a brief + interval, employed by the pupils in ruling their books, my eye, ranging + carelessly over the benches, observed, for the first time, that the + farthest seat in the farthest row—a seat usually vacant—was + again filled by the new scholar, the Mdlle. Henri so ostentatiously + recommended to me by the directress. To-day I had on my spectacles; her + appearance, therefore, was clear to me at the first glance; I had not to + puzzle over it. She looked young; yet, had I been required to name her + exact age, I should have been somewhat nonplussed; the slightness of her + figure might have suited seventeen; a certain anxious and pre-occupied + expression of face seemed the indication of riper years. She was dressed, + like all the rest, in a dark stuff gown and a white collar; her features + were dissimilar to any there, not so rounded, more defined, yet scarcely + regular. The shape of her head too was different, the superior part more + developed, the base considerably less. I felt assured, at first sight, + that she was not a Belgian; her complexion, her countenance, her + lineaments, her figure, were all distinct from theirs, and, evidently, the + type of another race—of a race less gifted with fullness of flesh + and plenitude of blood; less jocund, material, unthinking. When I first + cast my eyes on her, she sat looking fixedly down, her chin resting on her + hand, and she did not change her attitude till I commenced the lesson. + None of the Belgian girls would have retained one position, and that a + reflective one, for the same length of time. Yet, having intimated that + her appearance was peculiar, as being unlike that of her Flemish + companions, I have little more to say respecting it; I can pronounce no + encomiums on her beauty, for she was not beautiful; nor offer condolence + on her plainness, for neither was she plain; a careworn character of + forehead, and a corresponding moulding of the mouth, struck me with a + sentiment resembling surprise, but these traits would probably have passed + unnoticed by any less crotchety observer. + </p> +<p> + Now, reader, though I have spent more than a page in describing Mdlle. + Henri, I know well enough that I have left on your mind’s eye no distinct + picture of her; I have not painted her complexion, nor her eyes, nor her + hair, nor even drawn the outline of her shape. You cannot tell whether her + nose was aquiline or retroussé, whether her chin was long or short, her + face square or oval; nor could I the first day, and it is not my intention + to communicate to you at once a knowledge I myself gained by little and + little. + </p> +<p> + I gave a short exercise which they all wrote down. I saw the new pupil + was puzzled at first with the novelty of the form and language; once or + twice she looked at me with a sort of painful solicitude, as not + comprehending at all what I meant; then she was not ready when the others + were, she could not write her phrases so fast as they did; I would not + help her, I went on relentless. She looked at me; her eye said most + plainly, “I cannot follow you.” I disregarded the appeal, and, carelessly + leaning back in my chair, glancing from time to time with a + <i lang="fr">nonchalant</i> air + out of the window, I dictated a little faster. On looking towards her + again, I perceived her face clouded with embarrassment, but she was still + writing on most diligently; I paused a few seconds; she employed the + interval in hurriedly re-perusing what she had written, and shame and + discomfiture were apparent in her countenance; she evidently found she had + made great nonsense of it. In ten minutes more the dictation was complete, + and, having allowed a brief space in which to correct it, I took their + books; it was with a reluctant hand Mdlle. Henri gave up hers, but, having + once yielded it to my possession, she composed her anxious face, as if, + for the present she had resolved to dismiss regret, and had made up her + mind to be thought unprecedentedly stupid. Glancing over her exercise, I + found that several lines had been omitted, but what was written contained + very few faults; I instantly inscribed “Bon” at the bottom of the page, + and returned it to her; she smiled, at first incredulously, then as if + reassured, but did not lift her eyes; she could look at me, it seemed, + when perplexed and bewildered, but not when gratified; I thought that + scarcely fair. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> +<p> + SOME time elapsed before I again gave a lesson in the first class; the + holiday of Whitsuntide occupied three days, and on the fourth it was the + turn of the second division to receive my instructions. As I made the + transit of the <i lang="fr">carré</i>, I observed, as usual, the band of + sewers surrounding + Mdlle. Henri; there were only about a dozen of them, but they made as much + noise as might have sufficed for fifty; they seemed very little under her + control; three or four at once assailed her with importunate requirements; + she looked harassed, she demanded silence, but in vain. She saw me, and I + read in her eye pain that a stranger should witness the insubordination of + her pupils; she seemed to entreat order—her prayers were useless; + then I remarked that she compressed her lips and contracted her brow; and + her countenance, if I read it correctly, said—“I have done my best; + I seem to merit blame notwithstanding; blame me then who will.” I passed + on; as I closed the school-room door, I heard her say, suddenly and + sharply, addressing one of the eldest and most turbulent of the lot— + </p> +<p> + “Amélie Mullenberg, ask me no question, and request of me no assistance, + for a week to come; during that space of time I will neither speak to you + nor help you.” + </p> +<p> + The words were uttered with emphasis—nay, with vehemence—and a + comparative silence followed; whether the calm was permanent, I know not; + two doors now closed between me and the <i lang="fr">carré</i>. + </p> +<p> + Next day was appropriated to the first class; on my arrival, I found the + directress seated, as usual, in a chair between the two estrades, and + before her was standing Mdlle. Henri, in an attitude (as it seemed to me) + of somewhat reluctant attention. The directress was knitting and talking + at the same time. Amidst the hum of a large school-room, it was easy so to + speak in the ear of one person, as to be heard by that person alone, and + it was thus Mdlle. Reuter parleyed with her teacher. The face of the + latter was a little flushed, not a little troubled; there was vexation in + it, whence resulting I know not, for the directress looked very placid + indeed; she could not be scolding in such gentle whispers, and with so + equable a mien; no, it was presently proved that her discourse had been of + the most friendly tendency, for I heard the closing words— + </p> +<p> + “C’est assez, ma bonne amie; à present je ne veux pas vous retenir + davantage.” + </p> +<p> + Without reply, Mdlle. Henri turned away; dissatisfaction was plainly + evinced in her face, and a smile, slight and brief, but bitter, + distrustful, and, I thought, scornful, curled her lip as she took her + place in the class; it was a secret, involuntary smile, which lasted but a + second; an air of depression succeeded, chased away presently by one of + attention and interest, when I gave the word for all the pupils to take + their reading-books. In general I hated the reading-lesson, it was such a + torture to the ear to listen to their uncouth mouthing of my native + tongue, and no effort of example or precept on my part ever seemed to + effect the slightest improvement in their accent. To-day, each in her + appropriate key, lisped, stuttered, mumbled, and jabbered as usual; about + fifteen had racked me in turn, and my auricular nerve was expecting with + resignation the discords of the sixteenth, when a full, though low voice, + read out, in clear correct English. + </p> +<p> + “On his way to Perth, the king was met by a Highland woman, calling + herself a prophetess; she stood at the side of the ferry by which he was + about to travel to the north, and cried with a loud voice, ‘My lord the + king, if you pass this water you will never return again alive!’” + (<i lang="la">Vide</i> the history of Scotland.) + </p> +<p> + I looked up in amazement; the voice was a voice of Albion; the accent was + pure and silvery; it only wanted firmness, and assurance, to be the + counterpart of what any well-educated lady in Essex or Middlesex might + have enounced, yet the speaker or reader was no other than Mdlle. Henri, + in whose grave, joyless face I saw no mark of consciousness that she had + performed any extraordinary feat. No one else evinced surprise either. + Mdlle. Reuter knitted away assiduously; I was aware, however, that at the + conclusion of the paragraph, she had lifted her eyelid and honoured me + with a glance sideways; she did not know the full excellency of the + teacher’s style of reading, but she perceived that her accent was not that + of the others, and wanted to discover what I thought; I masked my visage + with indifference, and ordered the next girl to proceed. + </p> +<p> + When the lesson was over, I took advantage of the confusion caused by + breaking up, to approach Mdlle. Henri; she was standing near the window + and retired as I advanced; she thought I wanted to look out, and did not + imagine that I could have anything to say to her. I took her + exercise-book out of her hand; as I turned over the leaves I addressed + her:— + </p> +<p> + “You have had lessons in English before?” I asked. + </p> +<p> + “No, sir.” + </p> +<p> + “No! you read it well; you have been in England?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, no!” with some animation. + </p> +<p> + “You have been in English families?” + </p> +<p> + Still the answer was “No.” Here my eye, resting on the flyleaf of the + book, saw written, “Frances Evan Henri.” + </p> +<p> + “Your name?” I asked + </p> +<p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> + My interrogations were cut short; I heard a little rustling behind me, and + close at my back was the directress, professing to be examining the + interior of a desk. + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle,” said she, looking up and addressing the teacher, “Will you + have the goodness to go and stand in the corridor, while the young ladies + are putting on their things, and try to keep some order?” + </p> +<p> + Mdlle. Henri obeyed. + </p> +<p> + “What splendid weather!” observed the directress cheerfully, glancing at + the same time from the window. I assented and was withdrawing. “What of + your new pupil, monsieur?” continued she, following my retreating steps. + “Is she likely to make progress in English?” + </p> +<p> + “Indeed I can hardly judge. She possesses a pretty good accent; of her + real knowledge of the language I have as yet had no opportunity of forming + an opinion.” + </p> +<p> + “And her natural capacity, monsieur? I have had my fears about that: can + you relieve me by an assurance at least of its average power?” + </p> +<p> + “I see no reason to doubt its average power, mademoiselle, but really I + scarcely know her, and have not had time to study the calibre of her + capacity. I wish you a very good afternoon.” + </p> +<p> + She still pursued me. “You will observe, monsieur, and tell me what you + think; I could so much better rely on your opinion than on my own; women + cannot judge of these things as men can, and, excuse my pertinacity, + monsieur, but it is natural I should feel interested about this poor + little girl (pauvre petite); she has scarcely any relations, her own + efforts are all she has to look to, her acquirements must be her sole + fortune; her present position has once been mine, or nearly so; it is then + but natural I should sympathize with her; and sometimes when I see the + difficulty she has in managing pupils, I feel quite chagrined. I doubt not + she does her best, her intentions are excellent; but, monsieur, she wants + tact and firmness. I have talked to her on the subject, but I am not + fluent, and probably did not express myself with clearness; she never + appears to comprehend me. Now, would you occasionally, when you see an + opportunity, slip in a word of advice to her on the subject; men have so + much more influence than women have—they argue so much more + logically than we do; and you, monsieur, in particular, have so paramount + a power of making yourself obeyed; a word of advice from you could not but + do her good; even if she were sullen and headstrong (which I hope she is + not), she would scarcely refuse to listen to you; for my own part, I can + truly say that I never attend one of your lessons without deriving benefit + from witnessing your management of the pupils. The other masters are a + constant source of anxiety to me; they cannot impress the young ladies + with sentiments of respect, nor restrain the levity natural to youth: in + you, monsieur, I feel the most absolute confidence; try then to put this + poor child into the way of controlling our giddy, high-spirited + Brabantoises. But, monsieur, I would add one word more; don’t alarm her + <i lang="fr">amour propre</i>; beware of inflicting a wound there. I + reluctantly admit that in that particular she is blameably—some would say + ridiculously—susceptible. I fear I have touched this sore point + inadvertently, and she cannot get over it.” + </p> +<p> + During the greater part of this harangue my hand was on the lock of the + outer door; I now turned it. + </p> +<p> + “Au revoir, mademoiselle,” said I, and I escaped. I saw the directress’s + stock of words was yet far from exhausted. She looked after me, she would + fain have detained me longer. Her manner towards me had been altered ever + since I had begun to treat her with hardness and indifference: she almost + cringed to me on every occasion; she consulted my countenance incessantly, + and beset me with innumerable little officious attentions. Servility + creates despotism. This slavish homage, instead of softening my heart, + only pampered whatever was stern and exacting in its mood. The very + circumstance of her hovering round me like a fascinated bird, seemed to + transform me into a rigid pillar of stone; her flatteries irritated my + scorn, her blandishments confirmed my reserve. At times I wondered what + she meant by giving herself such trouble to win me, when the more + profitable Pelet was already in her nets, and when, too, she was aware + that I possessed her secret, for I had not scrupled to tell her as much: + but the fact is that as it was her nature to doubt the reality and + under-value the worth of modesty, affection, disinterestedness—to + regard these qualities as foibles of character—so it was equally her + tendency to consider pride, hardness, selfishness, as proofs of strength. + She would trample on the neck of humility, she would kneel at the feet of + disdain; she would meet tenderness with secret contempt, indifference she + would woo with ceaseless assiduities. Benevolence, devotedness, + enthusiasm, were her antipathies; for dissimulation and self-interest she + had a preference—they were real wisdom in her eyes; moral and + physical degradation, mental and bodily inferiority, she regarded with + indulgence; they were foils capable of being turned to good account as + set-offs for her own endowments. To violence, injustice, tyranny, she + succumbed—they were her natural masters; she had no propensity to + hate, no impulse to resist them; the indignation their behests awake in + some hearts was unknown in hers. From all this it resulted that the false + and selfish called her wise, the vulgar and debased termed her charitable, + the insolent and unjust dubbed her amiable, the conscientious and + benevolent generally at first accepted as valid her claim to be considered + one of themselves; but ere long the plating of pretension wore off, the + real material appeared below, and they laid her aside as a deception. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> +<p> + In the course of another fortnight I had seen sufficient of Frances Evans + Henri, to enable me to form a more definite opinion of her character. I + found her possessed in a somewhat remarkable degree of at least two good + points, viz., perseverance and a sense of duty; I found she was really + capable of applying to study, of contending with difficulties. At first I + offered her the same help which I had always found it necessary to confer + on the others; I began with unloosing for her each knotty point, but I + soon discovered that such help was regarded by my new pupil as degrading; + she recoiled from it with a certain proud impatience. Hereupon I appointed + her long lessons, and left her to solve alone any perplexities they might + present. She set to the task with serious ardour, and having quickly + accomplished one labour, eagerly demanded more. So much for her + perseverance; as to her sense of duty, it evinced itself thus: she liked + to learn, but hated to teach; her progress as a pupil depended upon + herself, and I saw that on herself she could calculate with certainty; her + success as a teacher rested partly, perhaps chiefly, upon the will of + others; it cost her a most painful effort to enter into conflict with this + foreign will, to endeavour to bend it into subjection to her own; for in + what regarded people in general the action of her will was impeded by many + scruples; it was as unembarrassed as strong where her own affairs were + concerned, and to it she could at any time subject her inclination, if + that inclination went counter to her convictions of right; yet when called + upon to wrestle with the propensities, the habits, the faults of others, + of children especially, who are deaf to reason, and, for the most part, + insensate to persuasion, her will sometimes almost refused to act; then + came in the sense of duty, and forced the reluctant will into operation. A + wasteful expense of energy and labour was frequently the consequence; + Frances toiled for and with her pupils like a drudge, but it was long ere + her conscientious exertions were rewarded by anything like docility on + their part, because they saw that they had power over her, inasmuch as by + resisting her painful attempts to convince, persuade, control—by + forcing her to the employment of coercive measures—they could + inflict upon her exquisite suffering. Human beings—human children + especially—seldom deny themselves the pleasure of exercising a power + which they are conscious of possessing, even though that power consist + only in a capacity to make others wretched; a pupil whose sensations are + duller than those of his instructor, while his nerves are tougher and his + bodily strength perhaps greater, has an immense advantage over that + instructor, and he will generally use it relentlessly, because the very + young, very healthy, very thoughtless, know neither how to sympathize nor + how to spare. Frances, I fear, suffered much; a continual weight seemed to + oppress her spirits; I have said she did not live in the house, and + whether in her own abode, wherever that might be, she wore the same + preoccupied, unsmiling, sorrowfully resolved air that always shaded her + features under the roof of Mdlle. Reuter, I could not tell. + </p> +<p> + One day I gave, as a devoir, the trite little anecdote of Alfred tending + cakes in the herdsman’s hut, to be related with amplifications. A singular + affair most of the pupils made of it; brevity was what they had chiefly + studied; the majority of the narratives were perfectly unintelligible; + those of Sylvie and Léonie Ledru alone pretended to anything like sense + and connection. Eulalie, indeed, had hit, upon a clever expedient for at + once ensuring accuracy and saving trouble; she had obtained access somehow + to an abridged history of England, and had copied the anecdote out fair. I + wrote on the margin of her production “Stupid and deceitful,” and then + tore it down the middle. + </p> +<p> + Last in the pile of single-leaved devoirs, I found one of several sheets, + neatly written out and stitched together; I knew the hand, and scarcely + needed the evidence of the signature “Frances Evans Henri” to confirm my + conjecture as to the writer’s identity. + </p> +<p> + Night was my usual time for correcting devoirs, and my own room the usual + scene of such task—task most onerous hitherto; and it seemed strange + to me to feel rising within me an incipient sense of interest, as I + snuffed the candle and addressed myself to the perusal of the poor + teacher’s manuscript. + </p> +<p> + “Now,” thought I, “I shall see a glimpse of what she really is; I shall + get an idea of the nature and extent of her powers; not that she can be + expected to express herself well in a foreign tongue, but still, if she + has any mind, here will be a reflection of it.” + </p> +<p> + The narrative commenced by a description of a Saxon peasant’s hut, + situated within the confines of a great, leafless, winter forest; it + represented an evening in December; flakes of snow were falling, and the + herdsman foretold a heavy storm; he summoned his wife to aid him in + collecting their flock, roaming far away on the pastoral banks of the + Thone; he warns her that it will be late ere they return. The good woman + is reluctant to quit her occupation of baking cakes for the evening meal; + but acknowledging the primary importance of securing the herds and flocks, + she puts on her sheep-skin mantle; and, addressing a stranger who rests + half reclined on a bed of rushes near the hearth, bids him mind the bread + till her return. + </p> +<p> + “Take care, young man,” she continues, “that you fasten the door well + after us; and, above all, open to none in our absence; whatever sound you + hear, stir not, and look not out. The night will soon fall; this forest is + most wild and lonely; strange noises are often heard therein after sunset; + wolves haunt these glades, and Danish warriors infest the country; worse + things are talked of; you might chance to hear, as it were, a child cry, + and on opening the door to afford it succour, a great black bull, or a + shadowy goblin dog, might rush over the threshold; or, more awful still, + if something flapped, as with wings, against the lattice, and then a raven + or a white dove flew in and settled on the hearth, such a visitor would be + a sure sign of misfortune to the house; therefore, heed my advice, and + lift the latchet for nothing.” + </p> +<p> + Her husband calls her away, both depart. The stranger, left alone, listens + awhile to the muffled snow-wind, the remote, swollen sound of the river, + and then he speaks. + </p> +<p> + “It is Christmas Eve,” says he, “I mark the date; here I sit alone on a + rude couch of rushes, sheltered by the thatch of a herdsman’s hut; I, + whose inheritance was a kingdom, owe my night’s harbourage to a poor serf; + my throne is usurped, my crown presses the brow of an invader; I have no + friends; my troops wander broken in the hills of Wales; reckless robbers + spoil my country; my subjects lie prostrate, their breasts crushed by the + heel of the brutal Dane. Fate! thou hast done thy worst, and now thou + standest before me resting thy hand on thy blunted blade. Ay; I see thine + eye confront mine and demand why I still live, why I still hope. Pagan + demon, I credit not thine omnipotence, and so cannot succumb to thy power. + My God, whose Son, as on this night, took on Him the form of man, and for + man vouchsafed to suffer and bleed, controls thy hand, and without His + behest thou canst not strike a stroke. My God is sinless, eternal, + all-wise—in Him is my trust; and though stripped and crushed by + thee—though naked, desolate, void of resource—I do not despair, I cannot + despair: were the lance of Guthrum now wet with my blood, I should not + despair. I watch, I toil, I hope, I pray; Jehovah, in his own time, will + aid.” + </p> +<p> + I need not continue the quotation; the whole devoir was in the same + strain. There were errors of orthography, there were foreign idioms, there + were some faults of construction, there were verbs irregular transformed + into verbs regular; it was mostly made up, as the above example shows, of + short and somewhat rude sentences, and the style stood in great need of + polish and sustained dignity; yet such as it was, I had hitherto seen + nothing like it in the course of my professorial experience. The girl’s + mind had conceived a picture of the hut, of the two peasants, of the + crownless king; she had imagined the wintry forest, she had recalled the + old Saxon ghost-legends, she had appreciated Alfred’s courage under + calamity, she had remembered his Christian education, and had shown him, + with the rooted confidence of those primitive days, relying on the + scriptural Jehovah for aid against the mythological Destiny. This she had + done without a hint from me: I had given the subject, but not said a word + about the manner of treating it. + </p> +<p> + “I will find, or make, an opportunity of speaking to her,” I said to + myself as I rolled the devoir up; “I will learn what she has of English in + her besides the name of Frances Evans; she is no novice in the language, + that is evident, yet she told me she had neither been in England, nor + taken lessons in English, nor lived in English families.” + </p> +<p> + In the course of my next lesson, I made a report of the other devoirs, + dealing out praise and blame in very small retail parcels, according to my + custom, for there was no use in blaming severely, and high encomiums were + rarely merited. I said nothing of Mdlle. Henri’s exercise, and, spectacles + on nose, I endeavoured to decipher in her countenance her sentiments at + the omission. I wanted to find out whether in her existed a consciousness + of her own talents. “If she thinks she did a clever thing in composing + that devoir, she will now look mortified,” thought I. Grave as usual, + almost sombre, was her face; as usual, her eyes were fastened on the + cahier open before her; there was something, I thought, of expectation in + her attitude, as I concluded a brief review of the last devoir, and when, + casting it from me and rubbing my hands, I bade them take their grammars, + some slight change did pass over her air and mien, as though she now + relinquished a faint prospect of pleasant excitement; she had been waiting + for something to be discussed in which she had a degree of interest; the + discussion was not to come on, so expectation sank back, shrunk and sad, + but attention, promptly filling up the void, repaired in a moment the + transient collapse of feature; still, I felt, rather than saw, during the + whole course of the lesson, that a hope had been wrenched from her, and + that if she did not show distress, it was because she would not. + </p> +<p> + At four o’clock, when the bell rang and the room was in immediate tumult, + instead of taking my hat and starting from the estrade, I sat still a + moment. I looked at Frances, she was putting her books into her cabas; + having fastened the button, she raised her head; encountering my eye, she + made a quiet, respectful obeisance, as bidding good afternoon, and was + turning to depart:— + </p> +<p> + “Come here,” said I, lifting my finger at the same time. She hesitated; + she could not hear the words amidst the uproar now pervading both + school-rooms; I repeated the sign; she approached; again she paused within + half a yard of the estrade, and looked shy, and still doubtful whether she + had mistaken my meaning. + </p> +<p> + “Step up,” I said, speaking with decision. It is the only way of dealing + with diffident, easily embarrassed characters, and with some slight manual + aid I presently got her placed just where I wanted her to be, that is, + between my desk and the window, where she was screened from the rush of + the second division, and where no one could sneak behind her to listen. + </p> +<p> + “Take a seat,” I said, placing a tabouret; and I made her sit down. I knew + what I was doing would be considered a very strange thing, and, what was + more, I did not care. Frances knew it also, and, I fear, by an appearance + of agitation and trembling, that she cared much. I drew from my pocket the + rolled-up devoir. + </p> +<p> + “This is yours, I suppose?” said I, addressing her in English, for I now + felt sure she could speak English. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” she answered distinctly; and as I unrolled it and laid it out flat + on the desk before her with my hand upon it, and a pencil in that hand, I + saw her moved, and, as it were, kindled; her depression beamed as a cloud + might behind which the sun is burning. + </p> +<p> + “This devoir has numerous faults,” said I. “It will take you some years of + careful study before you are in a condition to write English with absolute + correctness. Attend: I will point out some principal defects.” And I went + through it carefully, noting every error, and demonstrating why they were + errors, and how the words or phrases ought to have been written. In the + course of this sobering process she became calm. I now went on: + </p> +<p> + “As to the substance of your devoir, Mdlle. Henri, it has surprised me; I + perused it with pleasure, because I saw in it some proofs of taste and + fancy. Taste and fancy are not the highest gifts of the human mind, but + such as they are you possess them—not probably in a paramount + degree, but in a degree beyond what the majority can boast. You may then + take courage; cultivate the faculties that God and nature have bestowed on + you, and do not fear in any crisis of suffering, under any pressure of + injustice, to derive free and full consolation from the consciousness of + their strength and rarity.” + </p> +<p> + “Strength and rarity!” I repeated to myself; “ay, the words are probably + true,” for on looking up, I saw the sun had dissevered its screening + cloud, her countenance was transfigured, a smile shone in her eyes—a + smile almost triumphant; it seemed to say— + </p> +<p> + “I am glad you have been forced to discover so much of my nature; you need + not so carefully moderate your language. Do you think I am myself a + stranger to myself? What you tell me in terms so qualified, I have known + fully from a child.” + </p> +<p> + She did say this as plainly as a frank and flashing glance could, but in a + moment the glow of her complexion, the radiance of her aspect, had + subsided; if strongly conscious of her talents, she was equally conscious + of her harassing defects, and the remembrance of these obliterated for a + single second, now reviving with sudden force, at once subdued the too + vivid characters in which her sense of her powers had been expressed. So + quick was the revulsion of feeling, I had not time to check her triumph by + reproof; ere I could contract my brows to a frown she had become serious + and almost mournful-looking. + </p> +<p> + “Thank you, sir,” said she, rising. There was gratitude both in her voice + and in the look with which she accompanied it. It was time, indeed, for + our conference to terminate; for, when I glanced around, behold all the + boarders (the day-scholars had departed) were congregated within a yard or + two of my desk, and stood staring with eyes and mouths wide open; the + three maîtresses formed a whispering knot in one corner, and, close at my + elbow, was the directress, sitting on a low chair, calmly clipping the + tassels of her finished purse. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> +<p> + AFTER all I had profited but imperfectly by the opportunity I had so + boldly achieved of speaking to Mdlle. Henri; it was my intention to ask + her how she came to be possessed of two English baptismal names, Frances + and Evans, in addition to her French surname, also whence she derived her + good accent. I had forgotten both points, or, rather, our colloquy had + been so brief that I had not had time to bring them forward; moreover, I + had not half tested her powers of speaking English; all I had drawn from + her in that language were the words “Yes,” and “Thank you, sir.” “No + matter,” I reflected. “What has been left incomplete now, shall be + finished another day.” Nor did I fail to keep the promise thus made to + myself. It was difficult to get even a few words of particular + conversation with one pupil among so many; but, according to the old + proverb, “Where there is a will, there is a way;” and again and again I + managed to find an opportunity for exchanging a few words with Mdlle. + Henri, regardless that envy stared and detraction whispered whenever I + approached her. + </p> +<p> + “Your book an instant.” Such was the mode in which I often began these + brief dialogues; the time was always just at the conclusion of the lesson; + and motioning to her to rise, I installed myself in her place, allowing + her to stand deferentially at my side; for I esteemed it wise and right in + her case to enforce strictly all forms ordinarily in use between master + and pupil; the rather because I perceived that in proportion as my manner + grew austere and magisterial, hers became easy and self-possessed—an + odd contradiction, doubtless, to the ordinary effect in such cases; but so + it was. + </p> +<p> + “A pencil,” said I, holding out my hand without looking at her. (I am now + about to sketch a brief report of the first of these conferences.) She + gave me one, and while I underlined some errors in a grammatical exercise + she had written, I observed— + </p> +<p> + “You are not a native of Belgium?” + </p> +<p> + “No.” + </p> +<p> + “Nor of France?” + </p> +<p> + “No.” + </p> +<p> + “Where, then, is your birthplace?” + </p> +<p> + “I was born at Geneva.” + </p> +<p> + “You don’t call Frances and Evans Swiss names, I presume?” + </p> +<p> + “No, sir; they are English names.” + </p> +<p> + “Just so; and is it the custom of the Genevese to give their children + English appellatives?” + </p> +<p> + “Non, Monsieur; mais—” + </p> +<p> + “Speak English, if you please.” + </p> +<p> + “Mais—” + </p> +<p> + “English—” + </p> +<p> + “But” (slowly and with embarrassment) “my parents were not all the two + Genevese.” + </p> +<p> + “Say <em>both</em>, instead of ‘all the two,’ mademoiselle.” + </p> +<p> + “Not <em>both</em> Swiss: my mother was English.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah! and of English extraction?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes—her ancestors were all English.” + </p> +<p> + “And your father?” + </p> +<p> + “He was Swiss.” + </p> +<p> + “What besides? What was his profession?” + </p> +<p> + “Ecclesiastic—pastor—he had a church.” + </p> +<p> + “Since your mother is an Englishwoman, why do you not speak English with + more facility?” + </p> +<p> + “Maman est morte, il y a dix ans.” + </p> +<p> + “And you do homage to her memory by forgetting her language. Have the + goodness to put French out of your mind so long as I converse with + you—keep to English.” + </p> +<p> + “C’est si difficile, monsieur, quand on n’en a plus l’habitude.” + </p> +<p> + “You had the habitude formerly, I suppose? Now answer me in your mother + tongue.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, sir, I spoke the English more than the French when I was a child.” + </p> +<p> + “Why do you not speak it now?” + </p> +<p> + “Because I have no English friends.” + </p> +<p> + “You live with your father, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> + “My father is dead.” + </p> +<p> + “You have brothers and sisters?” + </p> +<p> + “Not one.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you live alone?” + </p> +<p> + “No—I have an aunt—ma tante Julienne.” + </p> +<p> + “Your father’s sister?” + </p> +<p> + “Justement, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Is that English?” + </p> +<p> + “No—but I forget—” + </p> +<p> + “For which, mademoiselle, if you were a child I should certainly devise + some slight punishment; at your age—you must be two or three and + twenty, I should think?” + </p> +<p> + “Pas encore, monsieur—en un mois j’aurai dix-neuf ans.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, nineteen is a mature age, and, having attained it, you ought to be + so solicitous for your own improvement, that it should not be needful for + a master to remind you twice of the expediency of your speaking English + whenever practicable.” + </p> +<p> + To this wise speech I received no answer; and, when I looked up, my pupil + was smiling to herself a much-meaning, though not very gay smile; it + seemed to say, “He talks of he knows not what:” it said this so plainly, + that I determined to request information on the point concerning which my + ignorance seemed to be thus tacitly affirmed. + </p> +<p> + “Are you solicitous for your own improvement?” + </p> +<p> + “Rather.” + </p> +<p> + “How do you prove it, mademoiselle?” + </p> +<p> + An odd question, and bluntly put; it excited a second smile. + </p> +<p> + “Why, monsieur, I am not inattentive—am I? I learn my lessons well—” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, a child can do that! and what more do you do?” + </p> +<p> + “What more can I do?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, certainly, not much; but you are a teacher, are you not, as well as a + pupil?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “You teach lace-mending?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “A dull, stupid occupation; do you like it?” + </p> +<p> + “No—it is tedious.” + </p> +<p> + “Why do you pursue it? Why do you not rather teach history, geography, + grammar, even arithmetic?” + </p> +<p> + “Is monsieur certain that I am myself thoroughly acquainted with these + studies?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know; you ought to be at your age.” + </p> +<p> + “But I never was at school, monsieur—” + </p> +<p> + “Indeed! What then were your friends—what was your aunt about? She + is very much to blame.” + </p> +<p> + “No monsieur, no—my aunt is good—she is not to blame—she + does what she can; she lodges and nourishes me” (I report Mdlle. Henri’s + phrases literally, and it was thus she translated from the French). “She + is not rich; she has only an annuity of twelve hundred francs, and it + would be impossible for her to send me to school.” + </p> +<p> + “Rather,” thought I to myself on hearing this, but I continued, in the + dogmatical tone I had adopted:— + </p> +<p> + “It is sad, however, that you should be brought up in ignorance of the + most ordinary branches of education; had you known something of history + and grammar you might, by degrees, have relinquished your lace-mending + drudgery, and risen in the world.” + </p> +<p> + “It is what I mean to do.” + </p> +<p> + “How? By a knowledge of English alone? That will not suffice; no + respectable family will receive a governess whose whole stock of knowledge + consists in a familiarity with one foreign language.” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, I know other things.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, yes, you can work with Berlin wools, and embroider handkerchiefs and + collars—that will do little for you.” + </p> +<p> + Mdlle. Henri’s lips were unclosed to answer, but she checked herself, as + thinking the discussion had been sufficiently pursued, and remained + silent. + </p> +<p> + “Speak,” I continued, impatiently; “I never like the appearance of + acquiescence when the reality is not there; and you had a contradiction at + your tongue’s end.” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, I have had many lessons both in grammar, history, geography, + and arithmetic. I have gone through a course of each study.” + </p> +<p> + “Bravo! but how did you manage it, since your aunt could not afford to + send you to school?” + </p> +<p> + “By lace-mending; by the thing monsieur despises so much.” + </p> +<p> + “Truly! And now, mademoiselle, it will be a good exercise for you to + explain to me in English how such a result was produced by such means.” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, I begged my aunt to have me taught lace-mending soon after we + came to Brussels, because I knew it was a métier, a trade which was easily + learnt, and by which I could earn some money very soon. I learnt it in a + few days, and I quickly got work, for all the Brussels ladies have old + lace—very precious—which must be mended all the times it is + washed. I earned money a little, and this money I gave for lessons in the + studies I have mentioned; some of it I spent in buying books, English + books especially; soon I shall try to find a place of governess, or + school-teacher, when I can write and speak English well; but it will be + difficult, because those who know I have been a lace-mender will despise + me, as the pupils here despise me. Pourtant j’ai mon projet,” she added in + a lower tone. + </p> +<p> + “What is it?” + </p> +<p> + “I will go and live in England; I will teach French there.” + </p> +<p> + The words were pronounced emphatically. She said “England” as you might + suppose an Israelite of Moses’ days would have said Canaan. + </p> +<p> + “Have you a wish to see England?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, and an intention.” + </p> +<p> + And here a voice, the voice of the directress, interposed: + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle Henri, je crois qu’il va pleuvoir; vous feriez bien, ma + bonne amie, de retourner chez vous tout de suite.” + </p> +<p> + In silence, without a word of thanks for this officious warning, Mdlle. + Henri collected her books; she moved to me respectfully, endeavoured to + move to her superior, though the endeavour was almost a failure, for her + head seemed as if it would not bend, and thus departed. + </p> +<p> + Where there is one grain of perseverance or wilfulness in the composition, + trifling obstacles are ever known rather to stimulate than discourage. + Mdlle. Reuter might as well have spared herself the trouble of giving that + intimation about the weather (by-the-by her prediction was falsified by + the event—it did not rain that evening). At the close of the next + lesson I was again at Mdlle. Henri’s desk. Thus did I accost her:— + </p> +<p> + “What is your idea of England, mademoiselle? Why do you wish to go there?” + </p> +<p> + Accustomed by this time to the calculated abruptness of my manner, it no + longer discomposed or surprised her, and she answered with only so much of + hesitation as was rendered inevitable by the difficulty she experienced in + improvising the translation of her thoughts from French to English. + </p> +<p> + “England is something unique, as I have heard and read; my idea of it is + vague, and I want to go there to render my idea clear, definite.” + </p> +<p> + “Hum! How much of England do you suppose you could see if you went there + in the capacity of a teacher? A strange notion you must have of getting a + clear and definite idea of a country! All you could see of Great Britain + would be the interior of a school, or at most of one or two private + dwellings.” + </p> +<p> + “It would be an English school; they would be English dwellings.” + </p> +<p> + “Indisputably; but what then? What would be the value of observations made + on a scale so narrow?” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, might not one learn something by analogy? An—échantillon—a—a + sample often serves to give an idea of the whole; besides, narrow and wide + are words comparative, are they not? All my life would perhaps seem narrow + in your eyes—all the life of a—that little animal subterranean—une + taupe—comment dit-on?” + </p> +<p> + “Mole.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes—a mole, which lives underground would seem narrow even to me.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, mademoiselle—what then? Proceed.” + </p> +<p> + “Mais, monsieur, vous me comprenez.” + </p> +<p> + “Not in the least; have the goodness to explain.” + </p> +<p> + “Why, monsieur, it is just so. In Switzerland I have done but little, + learnt but little, and seen but little; my life there was in a circle; I + walked the same round every day; I could not get out of it; had I + rested—remained there even till my death, I should never have enlarged it, + because I am poor and not skilful, I have not great acquirements; when I + was quite tired of this round, I begged my aunt to go to Brussels; my + existence is no larger here, because I am no richer or higher; I walk in + as narrow a limit, but the scene is changed; it would change again if I + went to England. I knew something of the bourgeois of Geneva, now I know + something of the bourgeois of Brussels; if I went to London, I would know + something of the bourgeois of London. Can you make any sense out of what I + say, monsieur, or is it all obscure?” + </p> +<p> + “I see, I see—now let us advert to another subject; you propose to + devote your life to teaching, and you are a most unsuccessful teacher; you + cannot keep your pupils in order.” + </p> +<p> + A flush of painful confusion was the result of this harsh remark; she bent + her head to the desk, but soon raising it replied— + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, I am not a skilful teacher, it is true, but practice improves; + besides, I work under difficulties; here I only teach sewing, I can show + no power in sewing, no superiority—it is a subordinate art; then I + have no associates in this house, I am isolated; I am too a heretic, which + deprives me of influence.” + </p> +<p> + “And in England you would be a foreigner; that too would deprive you of + influence, and would effectually separate you from all round you; in + England you would have as few connections, as little importance as you + have here.” + </p> +<p> + “But I should be learning something; for the rest, there are probably + difficulties for such as I everywhere, and if I must contend, and perhaps + be conquered, I would rather submit to English pride than to Flemish + coarseness; besides, monsieur—” + </p> +<p> + She stopped—not evidently from any difficulty in finding words to + express herself, but because discretion seemed to say, “You have said + enough.” + </p> +<p> + “Finish your phrase,” I urged. + </p> +<p> + “Besides, monsieur, I long to live once more among Protestants; they are + more honest than Catholics; a Romish school is a building with porous + walls, a hollow floor, a false ceiling; every room in this house, + monsieur, has eyeholes and ear-holes, and what the house is, the + inhabitants are, very treacherous; they all think it lawful to tell lies; + they all call it politeness to profess friendship where they feel hatred.” + </p> +<p> + “All?” said I; “you mean the pupils—the mere children—inexperienced, + giddy things, who have not learnt to distinguish the difference between + right and wrong?” + </p> +<p> + “On the contrary, monsieur—the children are the most sincere; they + have not yet had time to become accomplished in duplicity; they will tell + lies, but they do it inartificially, and you know they are lying; but the + grown-up people are very false; they deceive strangers, they deceive each + other—” + </p> +<p> + A servant here entered:— + </p> +<p> + “Mdlle. Henri—Mdlle. Reuter vous prie de vouloir bien conduire la + petite de Dorlodot chez elle, elle vous attend dans le cabinet de Rosalie + la portière—c’est que sa bonne n’est pas venue la chercher—voyez-vous.” + </p> +<p> + “Eh bien! est-ce que je suis sa bonne—moi?” demanded Mdlle. Henri; + then smiling, with that same bitter, derisive smile I had seen on her lips + once before, she hastily rose and made her exit. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> +<p> + THE young Anglo-Swiss evidently derived both pleasure and profit from the + study of her mother-tongue. In teaching her I did not, of course, confine + myself to the ordinary school routine; I made instruction in English a + channel for instruction in literature. I prescribed to her a course of + reading; she had a little selection of English classics, a few of which + had been left her by her mother, and the others she had purchased with her + own penny-fee. I lent her some more modern works; all these she read with + avidity, giving me, in writing, a clear summary of each work when she had + perused it. Composition, too, she delighted in. Such occupation seemed the + very breath of her nostrils, and soon her improved productions wrung from + me the avowal that those qualities in her I had termed taste and fancy + ought rather to have been denominated judgment and imagination. When I + intimated so much, which I did as usual in dry and stinted phrase, I + looked for the radiant and exulting smile my one word of eulogy had + elicited before; but Frances coloured. If she did smile, it was very + softly and shyly; and instead of looking up to me with a conquering + glance, her eyes rested on my hand, which, stretched over her shoulder, + was writing some directions with a pencil on the margin of her book. + </p> +<p> + “Well, are you pleased that I am satisfied with your progress?” I asked. + </p> +<p> + “Yes,” said she slowly, gently, the blush that had half subsided + returning. + </p> +<p> + “But I do not say enough, I suppose?” I continued. “My praises are too + cool?” + </p> +<p> + She made no answer, and, I thought, looked a little sad. I divined her + thoughts, and should much have liked to have responded to them, had it + been expedient so to do. She was not now very ambitious of my + admiration—not eagerly desirous of dazzling me; a little affection—ever so + little—pleased her better than all the panegyrics in the world. Feeling + this, I stood a good while behind her, writing on the margin of her book. + I could hardly quit my station or relinquish my occupation; something + retained me bending there, my head very near hers, and my hand near hers + too; but the margin of a copy-book is not an illimitable space—so, + doubtless, the directress thought; and she took occasion to walk past in + order to ascertain by what art I prolonged so disproportionately the + period necessary for filling it. I was obliged to go. Distasteful + effort—to leave what we most prefer! + </p> +<p> + Frances did not become pale or feeble in consequence of her sedentary + employment; perhaps the stimulus it communicated to her mind + counterbalanced the inaction it imposed on her body. She changed, indeed, + changed obviously and rapidly; but it was for the better. When I first saw + her, her countenance was sunless, her complexion colourless; she looked + like one who had no source of enjoyment, no store of bliss anywhere in the + world; now the cloud had passed from her mien, leaving space for the dawn + of hope and interest, and those feelings rose like a clear morning, + animating what had been depressed, tinting what had been pale. Her eyes, + whose colour I had not at first known, so dim were they with repressed + tears, so shadowed with ceaseless dejection, now, lit by a ray of the + sunshine that cheered her heart, revealed irids of bright hazel—irids + large and full, screened with long lashes; and pupils instinct with fire. + That look of wan emaciation which anxiety or low spirits often + communicates to a thoughtful, thin face, rather long than round, having + vanished from hers, a clearness of skin almost bloom, and a plumpness + almost embonpoint, softened the decided lines of her features. Her figure + shared in this beneficial change; it became rounder, and as the harmony of + her form was complete and her stature of the graceful middle height, one + did not regret (or at least <em>I</em> did not regret) the absence of + confirmed fulness, in contours, still slight, though compact, elegant, + flexible—the exquisite turning of waist, wrist, hand, foot, and ankle + satisfied completely my notions of symmetry, and allowed a lightness and + freedom of movement which corresponded with my ideas of grace. + </p> +<p> + Thus improved, thus wakened to life, Mdlle. Henri began to take a new + footing in the school; her mental power, manifested gradually but + steadily, ere long extorted recognition even from the envious; and when + the young and healthy saw that she could smile brightly, converse gaily, + move with vivacity and alertness, they acknowledged in her a sisterhood of + youth and health, and tolerated her as of their kind accordingly. + </p> +<p> + To speak truth, I watched this change much as a gardener watches the + growth of a precious plant, and I contributed to it too, even as the said + gardener contributes to the development of his favourite. To me it was not + difficult to discover how I could best foster my pupil, cherish her + starved feelings, and induce the outward manifestation of that inward + vigour which sunless drought and blighting blast had hitherto forbidden to + expand. Constancy of attention—a kindness as mute as watchful, + always standing by her, cloaked in the rough garb of austerity, and making + its real nature known only by a rare glance of interest, or a cordial and + gentle word; real respect masked with seeming imperiousness, directing, + urging her actions, yet helping her too, and that with devoted care: these + were the means I used, for these means best suited Frances’ feelings, as + susceptible as deep vibrating—her nature at once proud and shy. + </p> +<p> + The benefits of my system became apparent also in her altered demeanour as + a teacher; she now took her place amongst her pupils with an air of spirit + and firmness which assured them at once that she meant to be obeyed—and + obeyed she was. They felt they had lost their power over her. If any girl + had rebelled, she would no longer have taken her rebellion to heart; she + possessed a source of comfort they could not drain, a pillar of support + they could not overthrow: formerly, when insulted, she wept; now, she + smiled. + </p> +<p> + The public reading of one of her devoirs achieved the revelation of her + talents to all and sundry; I remember the subject—it was an + emigrant’s letter to his friends at home. It opened with simplicity; some + natural and graphic touches disclosed to the reader the scene of virgin + forest and great, New-World river—barren of sail and flag—amidst + which the epistle was supposed to be indited. The difficulties and dangers + that attend a settler’s life, were hinted at; and in the few words said on + that subject, Mdlle. Henri failed not to render audible the voice of + resolve, patience, endeavour. The disasters which had driven him from his + native country were alluded to; stainless honour, inflexible independence, + indestructible self-respect there took the word. Past days were spoken of; + the grief of parting, the regrets of absence, were touched upon; feeling, + forcible and fine, breathed eloquent in every period. At the close, + consolation was suggested; religious faith became there the speaker, and + she spoke well. + </p> +<p> + The devoir was powerfully written in language at once chaste and choice, + in a style nerved with vigour and graced with harmony. + </p> +<p> + Mdlle. Reuter was quite sufficiently acquainted with English to understand + it when read or spoken in her presence, though she could neither speak nor + write it herself. During the perusal of this devoir, she sat placidly + busy, her eyes and fingers occupied with the formation of a “rivière” or + open-work hem round a cambric handkerchief; she said nothing, and her face + and forehead, clothed with a mask of purely negative expression, were as + blank of comment as her lips. As neither surprise, pleasure, approbation, + nor interest were evinced in her countenance, so no more were disdain, + envy, annoyance, weariness; if that inscrutable mien said anything, it was + simply this— + </p> +<p> + “The matter is too trite to excite an emotion, or call forth an opinion.” + </p> +<p> + As soon as I had done, a hum rose; several of the pupils, pressing round + Mdlle. Henri, began to beset her with compliments; the composed voice of + the directress was now heard:— + </p> +<p> + “Young ladies, such of you as have cloaks and umbrellas will hasten to + return home before the shower becomes heavier” (it was raining a little), + “the remainder will wait till their respective servants arrive to fetch + them.” And the school dispersed, for it was four o’clock. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, a word,” said Mdlle. Reuter, stepping on to the estrade, and + signifying, by a movement of the hand, that she wished me to relinquish, + for an instant, the castor I had clutched. + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle, I am at your service.” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, it is of course an excellent plan to encourage effort in young + people by making conspicuous the progress of any particularly industrious + pupil; but do you not think that in the present instance, Mdlle. Henri can + hardly be considered as a concurrent with the other pupils? She is older + than most of them, and has had advantages of an exclusive nature for + acquiring a knowledge of English; on the other hand, her sphere of life is + somewhat beneath theirs; under these circumstances, a public distinction, + conferred upon Mdlle. Henri, may be the means of suggesting comparisons, + and exciting feelings such as would be far from advantageous to the + individual forming their object. The interest I take in Mdlle. Henri’s + real welfare makes me desirous of screening her from annoyances of this + sort; besides, monsieur, as I have before hinted to you, the sentiment of + <i lang="fr">amour-propre</i> has a somewhat marked preponderance in her + character; celebrity has a tendency to foster this sentiment, and in her + it should be rather repressed—she rather needs keeping down than bringing + forward; and then I think, monsieur—it appears to me that ambition, + <em>literary</em> ambition especially, is not a feeling to be cherished in + the mind of a woman: would not Mdlle. Henri be much safer and happier if + taught to believe that in the quiet discharge of social duties consists + her real vocation, than if stimulated to aspire after applause and + publicity? She may never marry; scanty as are her resources, obscure as + are her connections, uncertain as is her health (for I think her + consumptive, her mother died of that complaint), it is more than probable + she never will. I do not see how she can rise to a position, whence such a + step would be possible; but even in celibacy it would be better for her to + retain the character and habits of a respectable decorous female.” + </p> +<p> + “Indisputably, mademoiselle,” was my answer. “Your opinion admits of no + doubt;” and, fearful of the harangue being renewed, I retreated under + cover of that cordial sentence of assent. + </p> +<p> + At the date of a fortnight after the little incident noted above, I find + it recorded in my diary that a hiatus occurred in Mdlle. Henri’s usually + regular attendance in class. The first day or two I wondered at her + absence, but did not like to ask an explanation of it; I thought indeed + some chance word might be dropped which would afford me the information I + wished to obtain, without my running the risk of exciting silly smiles and + gossiping whispers by demanding it. But when a week passed and the seat at + the desk near the door still remained vacant, and when no allusion was + made to the circumstance by any individual of the class—when, on the + contrary, I found that all observed a marked silence on the point—I + determined, <i lang="fr">coûte qui coûte</i>, to break the ice of this + silly reserve. I selected Sylvie as my informant, because from her I knew + that I should at least get a sensible answer, unaccompanied by wriggle, + titter, or other flourish of folly. + </p> +<p> + “Où donc est Mdlle. Henri?” I said one day as I returned an exercise-book + I had been examining. + </p> +<p> + “Elle est partie, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Partie? et pour combien de temps? Quand reviendra-t-elle?” + </p> +<p> + “Elle est partie pour toujours, monsieur; elle ne reviendra plus.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah!” was my involuntary exclamation; then after a pause:— + </p> +<p> + “En êtes-vous bien sûre, Sylvie?” + </p> +<p> + “Oui, oui, monsieur, mademoiselle la directrice nous l’a dit elle-même il + y a deux ou trois jours.” + </p> +<p> + And I could pursue my inquiries no further; time, place, and circumstances + forbade my adding another word. I could neither comment on what had been + said, nor demand further particulars. A question as to the reason of the + teacher’s departure, as to whether it had been voluntary or otherwise, was + indeed on my lips, but I suppressed it—there were listeners all + round. An hour after, in passing Sylvie in the corridor as she was putting + on her bonnet, I stopped short and asked:— + </p> +<p> + “Sylvie, do you know Mdlle. Henri’s address? I have some books of hers,” I + added carelessly, “and I should wish to send them to her.” + </p> +<p> + “No, monsieur,” replied Sylvie; “but perhaps Rosalie, the portress, will + be able to give it you.” + </p> +<p> + Rosalie’s cabinet was just at hand; I stepped in and repeated the inquiry. + Rosalie—a smart French grisette—looked up from her work with a + knowing smile, precisely the sort of smile I had been so desirous to avoid + exciting. Her answer was prepared; she knew nothing whatever of Mdlle. + Henri’s address—had never known it. Turning from her with impatience—for + I believed she lied and was hired to lie—I almost knocked down some + one who had been standing at my back; it was the directress. My abrupt + movement made her recoil two or three steps. I was obliged to apologize, + which I did more concisely than politely. No man likes to be dogged, and + in the very irritable mood in which I then was the sight of Mdlle. Reuter + thoroughly incensed me. At the moment I turned her countenance looked + hard, dark, and inquisitive; her eyes were bent upon me with an expression + of almost hungry curiosity. I had scarcely caught this phase of + physiognomy ere it had vanished; a bland smile played on her features; my + harsh apology was received with good-humoured facility. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, don’t mention it, monsieur; you only touched my hair with your elbow; + it is no worse, only a little dishevelled.” She shook it back, and passing + her fingers through her curls, loosened them into more numerous and + flowing ringlets. Then she went on with vivacity: + </p> +<p> + “Rosalie, I was coming to tell you to go instantly and close the windows + of the salon; the wind is rising, and the muslin curtains will be covered + with dust.” + </p> +<p> + Rosalie departed. “Now,” thought I, “this will not do; Mdlle. Reuter + thinks her meanness in eaves-dropping is screened by her art in devising a + pretext, whereas the muslin curtains she speaks of are not more + transparent than this same pretext.” An impulse came over me to thrust the + flimsy screen aside, and confront her craft boldly with a word or two of + plain truth. “The rough-shod foot treads most firmly on slippery ground,” + thought I; so I began: + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle Henri has left your establishment—been dismissed, I + presume?” + </p> +<p> + “Ah, I wished to have a little conversation with you, monsieur,” replied + the directress with the most natural and affable air in the world; “but we + cannot talk quietly here; will Monsieur step into the garden a minute?” + And she preceded me, stepping out through the glass-door I have before + mentioned. + </p> +<p> + “There,” said she, when we had reached the centre of the middle alley, and + when the foliage of shrubs and trees, now in their summer pride, closing + behind and around us, shut out the view of the house, and thus imparted a + sense of seclusion even to this little plot of ground in the very core of + a capital. + </p> +<p> + “There, one feels quiet and free when there are only pear-trees and + rose-bushes about one; I dare say you, like me, monsieur, are sometimes + tired of being eternally in the midst of life; of having human faces + always round you, human eyes always upon you, human voices always in your + ear. I am sure I often wish intensely for liberty to spend a whole month + in the country at some little farm-house, bien gentille, bien propre, tout + entourée de champs et de bois; quelle vie charmante que la vie champêtre! + N’est-ce pas, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “Cela dépend, mademoiselle.” + </p> +<p> + “Que le vent est bon et frais!” continued the directress; and she was + right there, for it was a south wind, soft and sweet. I carried my hat in + my hand, and this gentle breeze, passing through my hair, soothed my + temples like balm. Its refreshing effect, however, penetrated no deeper + than the mere surface of the frame; for as I walked by the side of Mdlle. + Reuter, my heart was still hot within me, and while I was musing the fire + burned; then spake I with my tongue:— + </p> +<p> + “I understand Mdlle. Henri is gone from hence, and will not return?” + </p> +<p> + “Ah, true! I meant to have named the subject to you some days ago, but my + time is so completely taken up, I cannot do half the things I wish: have + you never experienced what it is, monsieur, to find the day too short by + twelve hours for your numerous duties?” + </p> +<p> + “Not often. Mdlle. Henri’s departure was not voluntary, I presume? If it + had been, she would certainly have given me some intimation of it, being + my pupil.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, did she not tell you? that was strange; for my part, I never thought + of adverting to the subject; when one has so many things to attend to, one + is apt to forget little incidents that are not of primary importance.” + </p> +<p> + “You consider Mdlle. Henri’s dismission, then, as a very insignificant + event?” + </p> +<p> + “Dismission? Ah! she was not dismissed; I can say with truth, monsieur, + that since I became the head of this establishment no master or teacher + has ever been <em>dismissed</em> from it.” + </p> +<p> + “Yet some have left it, mademoiselle?” + </p> +<p> + “Many; I have found it necessary to change frequently—a change of + instructors is often beneficial to the interests of a school; it gives + life and variety to the proceedings; it amuses the pupils, and suggests to + the parents the idea of exertion and progress.” + </p> +<p> + “Yet when you are tired of a professor or maîtresse, you scruple to + dismiss them?” + </p> +<p> + “No need to have recourse to such extreme measures, I assure you. Allons, + monsieur le professeur—asseyons-nous; je vais vous donner une petite + leçon dans votre état d’instituteur.” (I wish I might write all she said + to me in French—it loses sadly by being translated into English.) We + had now reached <em>the</em> garden-chair; the directress sat down, and + signed to me to sit by her, but I only rested my knee on the seat, and + stood leaning my head and arm against the embowering branch of a huge + laburnum, whose golden flowers, blent with the dusky green leaves of a + lilac-bush, formed a mixed arch of shade and sunshine over the retreat. + Mdlle. Reuter sat silent a moment; some novel movements were evidently + working in her mind, and they showed their nature on her astute brow; she + was meditating some <i lang="fr">chef d’oeuvre</i> of policy. Convinced by + several months’ experience that the affectation of virtues she did not + possess was unavailing to ensnare me—aware that I had read her real + nature, and would believe nothing of the character she gave out as being + hers—she had determined, at last, to try a new key, and see if the lock of + my heart would yield to that; a little audacity, a word of truth, a + glimpse of the real. “Yes, I will try,” was her inward resolve; and then + her blue eye glittered upon me—it did not flash—nothing of flame ever + kindled in its temperate gleam. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur fears to sit by me?” she inquired playfully. + </p> +<p> + “I have no wish to usurp Pelet’s place,” I answered, for I had got the + habit of speaking to her bluntly—a habit begun in anger, but + continued because I saw that, instead of offending, it fascinated her. She + cast down her eyes, and drooped her eyelids; she sighed uneasily; she + turned with an anxious gesture, as if she would give me the idea of a bird + that flutters in its cage, and would fain fly from its jail and jailer, + and seek its natural mate and pleasant nest. + </p> +<p> + “Well—and your lesson?” I demanded briefly. + </p> +<p> + “Ah!” she exclaimed, recovering herself, “you are so young, so frank and + fearless, so talented, so impatient of imbecility, so disdainful of + vulgarity, you need a lesson; here it is then: far more is to be done in + this world by dexterity than by strength; but, perhaps, you knew that + before, for there is delicacy as well as power in your character—policy, + as well as pride?” + </p> +<p> + “Go on,” said I; and I could hardly help smiling, the flattery was so + piquant, so finely seasoned. She caught the prohibited smile, though I + passed my hand over my mouth to conceal it; and again she made room for me + to sit beside her. I shook my head, though temptation penetrated to my + senses at the moment, and once more I told her to go on. + </p> +<p> + “Well, then, if ever you are at the head of a large establishment, dismiss + nobody. To speak truth, monsieur (and to you I will speak truth), I + despise people who are always making rows, blustering, sending off one to + the right, and another to the left, urging and hurrying circumstances. + I’ll tell you what I like best to do, monsieur, shall I?” She looked up + again; she had compounded her glance well this time—much archness, + more deference, a spicy dash of coquetry, an unveiled consciousness of + capacity. I nodded; she treated me like the great Mogul; so I became the + great Mogul as far as she was concerned. + </p> +<p> + “I like, monsieur, to take my knitting in my hands, and to sit quietly + down in my chair; circumstances defile past me; I watch their march; so + long as they follow the course I wish, I say nothing, and do nothing; I + don’t clap my hands, and cry out ‘Bravo! How lucky I am!’ to attract the + attention and envy of my neighbours—I am merely passive; but when + events fall out ill—when circumstances become adverse—I watch + very vigilantly; I knit on still, and still I hold my tongue; but every + now and then, monsieur, I just put my toe out—so—and give the + rebellious circumstance a little secret push, without noise, which sends + it the way I wish, and I am successful after all, and nobody has seen my + expedient. So, when teachers or masters become troublesome and + inefficient—when, in short, the interests of the school would suffer from + their retaining their places—I mind my knitting, events progress, + circumstances glide past; I see one which, if pushed ever so little awry, + will render untenable the post I wish to have vacated—the deed is done—the + stumbling-block removed—and no one saw me: I have not made an enemy, + I am rid of an incumbrance.” + </p> +<p> + A moment since, and I thought her alluring; this speech concluded, I + looked on her with distaste. “Just like you,” was my cold answer. “And in + this way you have ousted Mdlle. Henri? You wanted her office, therefore + you rendered it intolerable to her?” + </p> +<p> + “Not at all, monsieur, I was merely anxious about Mdlle. Henri’s health; + no, your moral sight is clear and piercing, but there you have failed to + discover the truth. I took—I have always taken a real interest in + Mdlle. Henri’s welfare; I did not like her going out in all weathers; I + thought it would be more advantageous for her to obtain a permanent + situation; besides, I considered her now qualified to do something more + than teach sewing. I reasoned with her; left the decision to herself; she + saw the correctness of my views, and adopted them.” + </p> +<p> + “Excellent! and now, mademoiselle, you will have the goodness to give me + her address.” + </p> +<p> + “Her address!” and a sombre and stony change came over the mien of the + directress. “Her address? Ah?—well—I wish I could oblige you, + monsieur, but I cannot, and I will tell you why; whenever I myself asked + her for her address, she always evaded the inquiry. I thought—I may + be wrong—but I <em>thought</em> her motive for doing so, was a natural, + though mistaken reluctance to introduce me to some, probably, very poor + abode; her means were narrow, her origin obscure; she lives somewhere, + doubtless, in the ‘basse ville.’” + </p> +<p> + “I’ll not lose sight of my best pupil yet,” said I, “though she were born + of beggars and lodged in a cellar; for the rest, it is absurd to make a + bugbear of her origin to me—I happen to know that she was a Swiss + pastor’s daughter, neither more nor less; and, as to her narrow means, I + care nothing for the poverty of her purse so long as her heart overflows + with affluence.” + </p> +<p> + “Your sentiments are perfectly noble, monsieur,” said the directress, + affecting to suppress a yawn; her sprightliness was now extinct, her + temporary candour shut up; the little, red-coloured, piratical-looking + pennon of audacity she had allowed to float a minute in the air, was + furled, and the broad, sober-hued flag of dissimulation again hung low + over the citadel. I did not like her thus, so I cut short the + <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> and departed. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XIX. + </h2> +<p> + NOVELISTS should never allow themselves to weary of the study of real + life. If they observed this duty conscientiously, they would give us fewer + pictures chequered with vivid contrasts of light and shade; they would + seldom elevate their heroes and heroines to the heights of rapture—still + seldomer sink them to the depths of despair; for if we rarely taste the + fulness of joy in this life, we yet more rarely savour the acrid + bitterness of hopeless anguish; unless, indeed, we have plunged like + beasts into sensual indulgence, abused, strained, stimulated, again + overstrained, and, at last, destroyed our faculties for enjoyment; then, + truly, we may find ourselves without support, robbed of hope. Our agony is + great, and how can it end? We have broken the spring of our powers; life + must be all suffering—too feeble to conceive faith—death must + be darkness—God, spirits, religion can have no place in our + collapsed minds, where linger only hideous and polluting recollections of + vice; and time brings us on to the brink of the grave, and dissolution + flings us in—a rag eaten through and through with disease, wrung + together with pain, stamped into the churchyard sod by the inexorable heel + of despair. + </p> +<p> + But the man of regular life and rational mind never despairs. He loses his + property—it is a blow—he staggers a moment; then, his + energies, roused by the smart, are at work to seek a remedy; activity soon + mitigates regret. Sickness affects him; he takes patience—endures + what he cannot cure. Acute pain racks him; his writhing limbs know not + where to find rest; he leans on Hope’s anchors. Death takes from him what + he loves; roots up, and tears violently away the stem round which his + affections were twined—a dark, dismal time, a frightful wrench—but + some morning Religion looks into his desolate house with sunrise, and + says, that in another world, another life, he shall meet his kindred + again. She speaks of that world as a place unsullied by sin—of that + life, as an era unembittered by suffering; she mightily strengthens her + consolation by connecting with it two ideas—which mortals cannot + comprehend, but on which they love to repose—Eternity, Immortality; + and the mind of the mourner, being filled with an image, faint yet + glorious, of heavenly hills all light and peace—of a spirit resting + there in bliss—of a day when his spirit shall also alight there, + free and disembodied—of a reunion perfected by love, purified from + fear—he takes courage—goes out to encounter the necessities + and discharge the duties of life; and, though sadness may never lift her + burden from his mind, Hope will enable him to support it. + </p> +<p> + Well—and what suggested all this? and what is the inference to be + drawn therefrom? What suggested it, is the circumstance of my best + pupil—my treasure—being snatched from my hands, and put away out of my + reach; the inference to be drawn from it is—that, being a steady, + reasonable man, I did not allow the resentment, disappointment, and grief, + engendered in my mind by this evil chance, to grow there to any monstrous + size; nor did I allow them to monopolize the whole space of my heart; I + pent them, on the contrary, in one strait and secret nook. In the daytime, + too, when I was about my duties, I put them on the silent system; and it + was only after I had closed the door of my chamber at night that I + somewhat relaxed my severity towards these morose nurslings, and allowed + vent to their language of murmurs; then, in revenge, they sat on my + pillow, haunted my bed, and kept me awake with their long, midnight cry. + </p> +<p> + A week passed. I had said nothing more to Mdlle. Reuter. I had been calm + in my demeanour to her, though stony cold and hard. When I looked at her, + it was with the glance fitting to be bestowed on one who I knew had + consulted jealousy as an adviser, and employed treachery as an + instrument—the glance of quiet disdain and rooted distrust. On Saturday + evening, ere I left the house, I stept into the + <i lang="fr">salle-à-manger</i>, where she was sitting alone, and, placing + myself before her, I asked, with the same tranquil tone and manner that I + should have used had I put the question for the first time— + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle, will you have the goodness to give me the address of + Frances Evans Henri?” + </p> +<p> + A little surprised, but not disconcerted, she smilingly disclaimed any + knowledge of that address, adding, “Monsieur has perhaps forgotten that I + explained all about that circumstance before—a week ago?” + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle,” I continued, “you would greatly oblige me by directing me + to that young person’s abode.” + </p> +<p> + She seemed somewhat puzzled; and, at last, looking up with an admirably + counterfeited air of naivete, she demanded, “Does Monsieur think I am + telling an untruth?” + </p> +<p> + Still avoiding to give her a direct answer, I said, “It is not then your + intention, mademoiselle, to oblige me in this particular?” + </p> +<p> + “But, monsieur, how can I tell you what I do not know?” + </p> +<p> + “Very well; I understand you perfectly, mademoiselle, and now I have only + two or three words to say. This is the last week in July; in another month + the vacation will commence, have the goodness to avail yourself of the + leisure it will afford you to look out for another English master—at + the close of August, I shall be under the necessity of resigning my post + in your establishment.” + </p> +<p> + I did not wait for her comments on this announcement, but bowed and + immediately withdrew. + </p> +<p> + That same evening, soon after dinner, a servant brought me a small packet; + it was directed in a hand I knew, but had not hoped so soon to see again; + being in my own apartment and alone, there was nothing to prevent my + immediately opening it; it contained four five-franc pieces, and a note in + English. + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + “MONSIEUR, + </p> +<p> + “I came to Mdlle. Reuter’s house yesterday, at the time when I knew you + would be just about finishing your lesson, and I asked if I might go into + the schoolroom and speak to you. Mdlle. Reuter came out and said you were + already gone; it had not yet struck four, so I thought she must be + mistaken, but concluded it would be vain to call another day on the same + errand. In one sense a note will do as well—it will wrap up the 20 + francs, the price of the lessons I have received from you; and if it will + not fully express the thanks I owe you in addition—if it will not + bid you good-bye as I could wish to have done—if it will not tell + you, as I long to do, how sorry I am that I shall probably never see you + more—why, spoken words would hardly be more adequate to the task. + Had I seen you, I should probably have stammered out something feeble and + unsatisfactory—something belying my feelings rather than explaining + them; so it is perhaps as well that I was denied admission to your + presence. You often remarked, monsieur, that my devoirs dwelt a great deal + on fortitude in bearing grief—you said I introduced that theme too + often: I find indeed that it is much easier to write about a severe duty + than to perform it, for I am oppressed when I see and feel to what a + reverse fate has condemned me; you were kind to me, monsieur—very + kind; I am afflicted—I am heart-broken to be quite separated from + you; soon I shall have no friend on earth. But it is useless troubling you + with my distresses. What claim have I on your sympathy? None; I will then + say no more. + </p> +<p> + “Farewell, Monsieur. + </p> +<p> + “F. E. HENRI.” + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + I put up the note in my pocket-book. I slipped the five-franc pieces into + my purse—then I took a turn through my narrow chamber. + </p> +<p> + “Mdlle. Reuter talked about her poverty,” said I, “and she is poor; yet + she pays her debts and more. I have not yet given her a quarter’s lessons, + and she has sent me a quarter’s due. I wonder of what she deprived herself + to scrape together the twenty francs—I wonder what sort of a place + she has to live in, and what sort of a woman her aunt is, and whether she + is likely to get employment to supply the place she has lost. No doubt she + will have to trudge about long enough from school to school, to inquire + here, and apply there—be rejected in this place, disappointed in + that. Many an evening she’ll go to her bed tired and unsuccessful. And the + directress would not let her in to bid me good-bye? I might not have the + chance of standing with her for a few minutes at a window in the + schoolroom and exchanging some half-dozen of sentences—getting to + know where she lived—putting matters in train for having all things + arranged to my mind? No address on the note”—I continued, drawing it + again from the pocket-book and examining it on each side of the two + leaves: “women are women, that is certain, and always do business like + women; men mechanically put a date and address to their communications. + And these five-franc pieces?”—(I hauled them forth from my purse)—“if + she had offered me them herself instead of tying them up with a thread of + green silk in a kind of Lilliputian packet, I could have thrust them back + into her little hand, and shut up the small, taper fingers over + them—so—and compelled her shame, her pride, her shyness, all to yield to a + little bit of determined Will—now where is she? How can I get at her?” + </p> +<p> + Opening my chamber door I walked down into the kitchen. + </p> +<p> + “Who brought the packet?” I asked of the servant who had delivered it to + me. + </p> +<p> + “Un petit commissionaire, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Did he say anything?” + </p> +<p> + “Rien.” + </p> +<p> + And I wended my way up the back-stairs, wondrously the wiser for my + inquiries. + </p> +<p> + “No matter,” said I to myself, as I again closed the door. “No matter—I’ll + seek her through Brussels.” + </p> +<p> + And I did. I sought her day by day whenever I had a moment’s leisure, for + four weeks; I sought her on Sundays all day long; I sought her on the + Boulevards, in the Allée Verte, in the Park; I sought her in Ste. Gudule + and St. Jacques; I sought her in the two Protestant chapels; I attended + these latter at the German, French, and English services, not doubting + that I should meet her at one of them. All my researches were absolutely + fruitless; my security on the last point was proved by the event to be + equally groundless with my other calculations. I stood at the door of each + chapel after the service, and waited till every individual had come out, + scrutinizing every gown draping a slender form, peering under every bonnet + covering a young head. In vain; I saw girlish figures pass me, drawing + their black scarfs over their sloping shoulders, but none of them had the + exact turn and air of Mdlle. Henri’s; I saw pale and thoughtful faces + “encadrees” in bands of brown hair, but I never found her forehead, her + eyes, her eyebrows. All the features of all the faces I met seemed + frittered away, because my eye failed to recognize the peculiarities it + was bent upon; an ample space of brow and a large, dark, and serious eye, + with a fine but decided line of eyebrow traced above. + </p> +<p> + “She has probably left Brussels—perhaps is gone to England, as she + said she would,” muttered I inwardly, as on the afternoon of the fourth + Sunday, I turned from the door of the chapel-royal which the door-keeper + had just closed and locked, and followed in the wake of the last of the + congregation, now dispersed and dispersing over the square. I had soon + outwalked the couples of English gentlemen and ladies. (Gracious goodness! + why don’t they dress better? My eye is yet filled with visions of the + high-flounced, slovenly, and tumbled dresses in costly silk and satin, of + the large unbecoming collars in expensive lace; of the ill-cut coats and + strangely fashioned pantaloons which every Sunday, at the English service, + filled the choirs of the chapel-royal, and after it, issuing forth into + the square, came into disadvantageous contrast with freshly and trimly + attired foreign figures, hastening to attend salut at the church of + Coburg.) I had passed these pairs of Britons, and the groups of pretty + British children, and the British footmen and waiting-maids; I had crossed + the Place Royale, and got into the Rue Royale, thence I had diverged into + the Rue de Louvain—an old and quiet street. I remember that, feeling + a little hungry, and not desiring to go back and take my share of the + “goûter,” now on the refectory-table at Pelet’s—to wit, pistolets + and water—I stepped into a baker’s and refreshed myself on a + <i>couc</i> (?)—it is a Flemish word, I don’t know how to spell + it—<i lang="fr">à Corinthe—Anglice</i>, + a currant bun—and a cup of coffee; and then I strolled on towards + the Porte de Louvain. Very soon I was out of the city, and slowly mounting + the hill, which ascends from the gate, I took my time; for the afternoon, + though cloudy, was very sultry, and not a breeze stirred to refresh the + atmosphere. No inhabitant of Brussels need wander far to search for + solitude; let him but move half a league from his own city and he will + find her brooding still and blank over the wide fields, so drear though so + fertile, spread out treeless and trackless round the capital of Brabant. + Having gained the summit of the hill, and having stood and looked long + over the cultured but lifeless campaign, I felt a wish to quit the high + road, which I had hitherto followed, and get in among those tilled + grounds—fertile as the beds of a Brobdignagian kitchen-garden—spreading + far and wide even to the boundaries of the horizon, where, from a dusk + green, distance changed them to a sullen blue, and confused their tints + with those of the livid and thunderous-looking sky. + Accordingly I turned up a by-path to the + right; I had not followed it far ere it brought me, as I expected, into + the fields, amidst which, just before me, stretched a long and lofty white + wall enclosing, as it seemed from the foliage showing above, some thickly + planted nursery of yew and cypress, for of that species were the branches + resting on the pale parapets, and crowding gloomily about a massive cross, + planted doubtless on a central eminence and extending its arms, which + seemed of black marble, over the summits of those sinister trees. I + approached, wondering to what house this well-protected garden + appertained; I turned the angle of the wall, thinking to see some stately + residence; I was close upon great iron gates; there was a hut serving for + a lodge near, but I had no occasion to apply for the key—the gates + were open; I pushed one leaf back—rain had rusted its hinges, for it + groaned dolefully as they revolved. Thick planting embowered the entrance. + Passing up the avenue, I saw objects on each hand which, in their own mute + language of inscription and sign, explained clearly to what abode I had + made my way. This was the house appointed for all living; crosses, + monuments, and garlands of everlastings announced, “The Protestant + Cemetery, outside the gate of Louvain.” + </p> +<p> + The place was large enough to afford half an hour’s strolling without the + monotony of treading continually the same path; and, for those who love to + peruse the annals of graveyards, here was variety of inscription enough to + occupy the attention for double or treble that space of time. Hither + people of many kindreds, tongues, and nations, had brought their dead for + interment; and here, on pages of stone, of marble, and of brass, were + written names, dates, last tributes of pomp or love, in English, in + French, in German, and Latin. Here the Englishman had erected a marble + monument over the remains of his Mary Smith or Jane Brown, and inscribed + it only with her name. There the French widower had shaded the grave of + his Elmire or Celestine with a brilliant thicket of roses, amidst which a + little tablet rising, bore an equally bright testimony to her countless + virtues. Every nation, tribe, and kindred, mourned after its own fashion; + and how soundless was the mourning of all! My own tread, though slow and + upon smooth-rolled paths, seemed to startle, because it formed the sole + break to a silence otherwise total. Not only the winds, but the very + fitful, wandering airs, were that afternoon, as by common consent, all + fallen asleep in their various quarters; the north was hushed, the south + silent, the east sobbed not, nor did the west whisper. The clouds in + heaven were condensed and dull, but apparently quite motionless. Under the + trees of this cemetery nestled a warm breathless gloom, out of which the + cypresses stood up straight and mute, above which the willows hung low and + still; where the flowers, as languid as fair, waited listless for night + dew or thunder-shower; where the tombs, and those they hid, lay impassible + to sun or shadow, to rain or drought. + </p> +<p> + Importuned by the sound of my own footsteps, I turned off upon the turf, + and slowly advanced to a grove of yews; I saw something stir among the + stems; I thought it might be a broken branch swinging, my short-sighted + vision had caught no form, only a sense of motion; but the dusky shade + passed on, appearing and disappearing at the openings in the avenue. I + soon discerned it was a living thing, and a human thing; and, drawing + nearer, I perceived it was a woman, pacing slowly to and fro, and + evidently deeming herself alone as I had deemed myself alone, and + meditating as I had been meditating. Ere long she returned to a seat which + I fancy she had but just quitted, or I should have caught sight of her + before. It was in a nook, screened by a clump of trees; there was the + white wall before her, and a little stone set up against the wall, and, at + the foot of the stone, was an allotment of turf freshly turned up, a + new-made grave. I put on my spectacles, and passed softly close behind + her; glancing at the inscription on the stone, I read, “Julienne Henri, + died at Brussels, aged sixty. August 10th, 18—.” Having perused the + inscription, I looked down at the form sitting bent and thoughtful just + under my eyes, unconscious of the vicinity of any living thing; it was a + slim, youthful figure in mourning apparel of the plainest black stuff, + with a little simple, black crape bonnet; I felt, as well as saw, who it + was; and, moving neither hand nor foot, I stood some moments enjoying the + security of conviction. I had sought her for a month, and had never + discovered one of her traces—never met a hope, or seized a chance of + encountering her anywhere. I had been forced to loosen my grasp on + expectation; and, but an hour ago, had sunk slackly under the discouraging + thought that the current of life, and the impulse of destiny, had swept + her for ever from my reach; and, behold, while bending suddenly earthward + beneath the pressure of despondency—while following with my eyes the + track of sorrow on the turf of a graveyard—here was my lost jewel + dropped on the tear-fed herbage, nestling in the messy and mouldy roots of + yew-trees. + </p> +<p> + Frances sat very quiet, her elbow on her knee, and her head on her hand. I + knew she could retain a thinking attitude a long time without change; at + last, a tear fell; she had been looking at the name on the stone before + her, and her heart had no doubt endured one of those constrictions with + which the desolate living, regretting the dead, are, at times, so sorely + oppressed. Many tears rolled down, which she wiped away, again and again, + with her handkerchief; some distressed sobs escaped her, and then, the + paroxysm over, she sat quiet as before. I put my hand gently on her + shoulder; no need further to prepare her, for she was neither hysterical + nor liable to fainting-fits; a sudden push, indeed, might have startled + her, but the contact of my quiet touch merely woke attention as I wished; + and, though she turned quickly, yet so lightning-swift is thought—in + some minds especially—I believe the wonder of what—the + consciousness of who it was that thus stole unawares on her solitude, had + passed through her brain, and flashed into her heart, even before she had + effected that hasty movement; at least, Amazement had hardly opened her + eyes and raised them to mine, ere Recognition informed their irids with + most speaking brightness. Nervous surprise had hardly discomposed her + features ere a sentiment of most vivid joy shone clear and warm on her + whole countenance. I had hardly time to observe that she was wasted and + pale, ere called to feel a responsive inward pleasure by the sense of most + full and exquisite pleasure glowing in the animated flush, and shining in + the expansive light, now diffused over my pupil’s face. It was the summer + sun flashing out after the heavy summer shower; and what fertilizes more + rapidly than that beam, burning almost like fire in its ardour? + </p> +<p> + I hate boldness—that boldness which is of the brassy brow and + insensate nerves; but I love the courage of the strong heart, the fervour + of the generous blood; I loved with passion the light of Frances Evans’ + clear hazel eye when it did not fear to look straight into mine; I loved + the tones with which she uttered the words— + </p> +<p> + “Mon maître! mon maître!” + </p> +<p> + I loved the movement with which she confided her hand to my hand; I loved + her as she stood there, penniless and parentless; for a sensualist + charmless, for me a treasure—my best object of sympathy on earth, + thinking such thoughts as I thought, feeling such feelings as I felt; my + ideal of the shrine in which to seal my stores of love; personification of + discretion and forethought, of diligence and perseverance, of self-denial + and self-control—those guardians, those trusty keepers of the gift I + longed to confer on her—the gift of all my affections; model of + truth and honour, of independence and conscientiousness—those + refiners and sustainers of an honest life; silent possessor of a well of + tenderness, of a flame, as genial as still, as pure as quenchless, of + natural feeling, natural passion—those sources of refreshment and + comfort to the sanctuary of home. I knew how quietly and how deeply the + well bubbled in her heart; I knew how the more dangerous flame burned + safely under the eye of reason; I had seen when the fire shot up a moment + high and vivid, when the accelerated heat troubled life’s current in its + channels; I had seen reason reduce the rebel, and humble its blaze to + embers. I had confidence in Frances Evans; I had respect for her, and as I + drew her arm through mine, and led her out of the cemetery, I felt I had + another sentiment, as strong as confidence, as firm as respect, more + fervid than either—that of love. + </p> +<p> + “Well, my pupil,” said I, as the ominous sounding gate swung to behind + us—“Well, I have found you again: a month’s search has seemed long, and I + little thought to have discovered my lost sheep straying amongst graves.” + </p> +<p> + Never had I addressed her but as “Mademoiselle” before, and to speak thus + was to take up a tone new to both her and me. Her answer suprised me that + this language ruffled none of her feelings, woke no discord in her heart: + </p> +<p> + “Mon maître,” she said, “have you troubled yourself to seek me? I little + imagined you would think much of my absence, but I grieved bitterly to be + taken away from you. I was sorry for that circumstance when heavier + troubles ought to have made me forget it.” + </p> +<p> + “Your aunt is dead?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, a fortnight since, and she died full of regret, which I could not + chase from her mind; she kept repeating, even during the last night of her + existence, ‘Frances, you will be so lonely when I am gone, so friendless:’ + she wished too that she could have been buried in Switzerland, and it was + I who persuaded her in her old age to leave the banks of Lake Leman, and + to come, only as it seems to die, in this flat region of Flanders. + Willingly would I have observed her last wish, and taken her remains back + to our own country, but that was impossible; I was forced to lay her + here.” + </p> +<p> + “She was ill but a short time, I presume?” + </p> +<p> + “But three weeks. When she began to sink I asked Mdlle. Reuter’s leave to + stay with her and wait on her; I readily got leave.” + </p> +<p> + “Do you return to the pensionnat!” I demanded hastily. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, when I had been at home a week Mdlle. Reuter called one + evening, just after I had got my aunt to bed; she went into her room to + speak to her, and was extremely civil and affable, as she always is; + afterwards she came and sat with me a long time, and just as she rose to + go away, she said: “Mademoiselle, I shall not soon cease to regret your + departure from my establishment, though indeed it is true that you have + taught your class of pupils so well that they are all quite accomplished + in the little works you manage so skilfully, and have not the slightest + need of further instruction; my second teacher must in future supply your + place, with regard to the younger pupils, as well as she can, though she + is indeed an inferior artiste to you, and doubtless it will be your part + now to assume a higher position in your calling; I am sure you will + everywhere find schools and families willing to profit by your talents.’ + And then she paid me my last quarter’s salary. I asked, as mademoiselle + would no doubt think, very bluntly, if she designed to discharge me from + the establishment. She smiled at my inelegance of speech, and answered + that ‘our connection as employer and employed was certainly dissolved, but + that she hoped still to retain the pleasure of my acquaintance; she should + always be happy to see me as a friend;’ and then she said something about + the excellent condition of the streets, and the long continuance of fine + weather, and went away quite cheerful.” + </p> +<p> + I laughed inwardly; all this was so like the directress—so like what + I had expected and guessed of her conduct; and then the exposure and proof + of her lie, unconsciously afforded by Frances:—“She had frequently + applied for Mdlle. Henri’s address,” forsooth; “Mdlle. Henri had always + evaded giving it,” &c., &c., and here I found her a visitor at the + very house of whose locality she had professed absolute ignorance! + </p> +<p> + Any comments I might have intended to make on my pupil’s communication, + were checked by the plashing of large rain-drops on our faces and on the + path, and by the muttering of a distant but coming storm. The warning + obvious in stagnant air and leaden sky had already induced me to take the + road leading back to Brussels, and now I hastened my own steps and those + of my companion, and, as our way lay downhill, we got on rapidly. There + was an interval after the fall of the first broad drops before heavy rain + came on; in the meantime we had passed through the Porte de Louvain, and + were again in the city. + </p> +<p> + “Where do you live?” I asked; “I will see you safe home.” + </p> +<p> + “Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges,” answered Frances. + </p> +<p> + It was not far from the Rue de Louvain, and we stood on the doorsteps of + the house we sought ere the clouds, severing with loud peal and shattered + cataract of lightning, emptied their livid folds in a torrent, heavy, + prone, and broad. + </p> +<p> + “Come in! come in!” said Frances, as, after putting her into the house, I + paused ere I followed: the word decided me; I stepped across the + threshold, shut the door on the rushing, flashing, whitening storm, and + followed her upstairs to her apartments. Neither she nor I were wet; a + projection over the door had warded off the straight-descending flood; + none but the first, large drops had touched our garments; one minute more + and we should not have had a dry thread on us. + </p> +<p> + Stepping over a little mat of green wool, I found myself in a small room + with a painted floor and a square of green carpet in the middle; the + articles of furniture were few, but all bright and exquisitely clean; + order reigned through its narrow limits—such order as it soothed my + punctilious soul to behold. And I had hesitated to enter the abode, + because I apprehended after all that Mdlle. Reuter’s hint about its + extreme poverty might be too well-founded, and I feared to embarrass the + lace-mender by entering her lodgings unawares! Poor the place might be; + poor truly it was; but its neatness was better than elegance, and had but + a bright little fire shone on that clean hearth, I should have deemed it + more attractive than a palace. No fire was there, however, and no fuel + laid ready to light; the lace-mender was unable to allow herself that + indulgence, especially now when, deprived by death of her sole relative, + she had only her own unaided exertions to rely on. Frances went into an + inner room to take off her bonnet, and she came out a model of frugal + neatness, with her well-fitting black stuff dress, so accurately defining + her elegant bust and taper waist, with her spotless white collar turned + back from a fair and shapely neck, with her plenteous brown hair arranged + in smooth bands on her temples, and in a large Grecian plait behind: + ornaments she had none—neither brooch, ring, nor ribbon; she did + well enough without them—perfection of fit, proportion of form, + grace of carriage, agreeably supplied their place. Her eye, as she + re-entered the small sitting-room, instantly sought mine, which was just + then lingering on the hearth; I knew she read at once the sort of inward + ruth and pitying pain which the chill vacancy of that hearth stirred in my + soul: quick to penetrate, quick to determine, and quicker to put in + practice, she had in a moment tied a holland apron round her waist; then + she disappeared, and reappeared with a basket; it had a cover; she opened + it, and produced wood and coal; deftly and compactly she arranged them in + the grate. + </p> +<p> + “It is her whole stock, and she will exhaust it out of hospitality,” + thought I. + </p> +<p> + “What are you going to do?” I asked: “not surely to light a fire this hot + evening? I shall be smothered.” + </p> +<p> + “Indeed, monsieur, I feel it very chilly since the rain began; besides, I + must boil the water for my tea, for I take tea on Sundays; you will be + obliged to try and bear the heat.” + </p> +<p> + She had struck a light; the wood was already in a blaze; and truly, when + contrasted with the darkness, the wild tumult of the tempest without, that + peaceful glow which began to beam on the now animated hearth, seemed very + cheering. A low, purring sound, from some quarter, announced that another + being, besides myself, was pleased with the change; a black cat, roused by + the light from its sleep on a little cushioned foot-stool, came and rubbed + its head against Frances’ gown as she knelt; she caressed it, saying it + had been a favourite with her “pauvre tante Julienne.” + </p> +<p> + The fire being lit, the hearth swept, and a small kettle of a very antique + pattern, such as I thought I remembered to have seen in old farmhouses in + England, placed over the now ruddy flame, Frances’ hands were washed, and + her apron removed in an instant; then she opened a cupboard, and took out + a tea-tray, on which she had soon arranged a china tea-equipage, whose + pattern, shape, and size, denoted a remote antiquity; a little, + old-fashioned silver spoon was deposited in each saucer; and a pair of + silver tongs, equally old-fashioned, were laid on the sugar-basin; from + the cupboard, too, was produced a tidy silver cream-ewer, not larger then + an egg-shell. While making these preparations, she chanced to look up, + and, reading curiosity in my eyes, she smiled and asked— + </p> +<p> + “Is this like England, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “Like the England of a hundred years ago,” I replied. + </p> +<p> + “Is it truly? Well, everything on this tray is at least a hundred years + old: these cups, these spoons, this ewer, are all heirlooms; my + great-grandmother left them to my grandmother, she to my mother, and my + mother brought them with her from England to Switzerland, and left them to + me; and, ever since I was a little girl, I have thought I should like to + carry them back to England, whence they came.” + </p> +<p> + She put some pistolets on the table; she made the tea, as foreigners do + make tea—i.e., at the rate of a teaspoonful to half-a-dozen cups; + she placed me a chair, and, as I took it, she asked, with a sort of + exaltation— + </p> +<p> + “Will it make you think yourself at home for a moment?” + </p> +<p> + “If I had a home in England, I believe it would recall it,” I answered; + and, in truth, there was a sort of illusion in seeing the + fair-complexioned English-looking girl presiding at the English meal, and + speaking in the English language. + </p> +<p> + “You have then no home?” was her remark. + </p> +<p> + “None, nor ever have had. If ever I possess a home, it must be of my own + making, and the task is yet to begin.” And, as I spoke, a pang, new to me, + shot across my heart: it was a pang of mortification at the humility of my + position, and the inadequacy of my means; while with that pang was born a + strong desire to do more, earn more, be more, possess more; and in the + increased possessions, my roused and eager spirit panted to include the + home I had never had, the wife I inwardly vowed to win. + </p> +<p> + Frances’ tea was little better than hot water, sugar, and milk; and her + pistolets, with which she could not offer me butter, were sweet to my + palate as manna. + </p> +<p> + The repast over, and the treasured plate and porcelain being washed and + put by, the bright table rubbed still brighter, “le chat de ma tante + Julienne” also being fed with provisions brought forth on a plate for its + special use, a few stray cinders, and a scattering of ashes too, being + swept from the hearth, Frances at last sat down; and then, as she took a + chair opposite to me, she betrayed, for the first time, a little + embarrassment; and no wonder, for indeed I had unconsciously watched her + rather too closely, followed all her steps and all her movements a little + too perseveringly with my eyes, for she mesmerized me by the grace and + alertness of her action—by the deft, cleanly, and even decorative + effect resulting from each touch of her slight and fine fingers; and when, + at last, she subsided to stillness, the intelligence of her face seemed + beauty to me, and I dwelt on it accordingly. Her colour, however, rising, + rather than settling with repose, and her eyes remaining downcast, though + I kept waiting for the lids to be raised that I might drink a ray of the + light I loved—a light where fire dissolved in softness, where + affection tempered penetration, where, just now at least, pleasure played + with thought—this expectation not being gratified, I began at last + to suspect that I had probably myself to blame for the disappointment; I + must cease gazing, and begin talking, if I wished to break the spell under + which she now sat motionless; so recollecting the composing effect which + an authoritative tone and manner had ever been wont to produce on her, I + said— + </p> +<p> + “Get one of your English books, mademoiselle, for the rain yet falls + heavily, and will probably detain me half an hour longer.” + </p> +<p> + Released, and set at ease, up she rose, got her book, and accepted at once + the chair I placed for her at my side. She had selected “Paradise Lost” + from her shelf of classics, thinking, I suppose, the religious character + of the book best adapted it to Sunday; I told her to begin at the + beginning, and while she read Milton’s invocation to that heavenly muse, + who on the “secret top of Oreb or Sinai” had taught the Hebrew shepherd + how in the womb of chaos, the conception of a world had originated and + ripened, I enjoyed, undisturbed, the treble pleasure of having her near + me, hearing the sound of her voice—a sound sweet and satisfying in + my ear—and looking, by intervals, at her face: of this last + privilege, I chiefly availed myself when I found fault with an intonation, + a pause, or an emphasis; as long as I dogmatized, I might also gaze, + without exciting too warm a flush. + </p> +<p> + “Enough,” said I, when she had gone through some half dozen pages (a work + of time with her, for she read slowly and paused often to ask and receive + information)—“enough; and now the rain is ceasing, and I must soon + go.” For indeed, at that moment, looking towards the window, I saw it all + blue; the thunder-clouds were broken and scattered, and the setting August + sun sent a gleam like the reflection of rubies through the lattice. I got + up; I drew on my gloves. + </p> +<p> + “You have not yet found another situation to supply the place of that from + which you were dismissed by Mdlle. Reuter?” + </p> +<p> + “No, monsieur; I have made inquiries everywhere, but they all ask me for + references; and to speak truth, I do not like to apply to the directress, + because I consider she acted neither justly nor honourably towards me; she + used underhand means to set my pupils against me, and thereby render me + unhappy while I held my place in her establishment, and she eventually + deprived me of it by a masked and hypocritical manoeuvre, pretending that + she was acting for my good, but really snatching from me my chief means of + subsistence, at a crisis when not only my own life, but that of another, + depended on my exertions: of her I will never more ask a favour.” + </p> +<p> + “How, then, do you propose to get on? How do you live now?” + </p> +<p> + “I have still my lace-mending trade; with care it will keep me from + starvation, and I doubt not by dint of exertion to get better employment + yet; it is only a fortnight since I began to try; my courage or hopes are + by no means worn out yet.” + </p> +<p> + “And if you get what you wish, what then? what are your ultimate views?” + </p> +<p> + “To save enough to cross the Channel: I always look to England as my + Canaan.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, well—ere long I shall pay you another visit; good evening + now,” and I left her rather abruptly; I had much ado to resist a strong + inward impulse, urging me to take a warmer, more expressive leave: what so + natural as to fold her for a moment in a close embrace, to imprint one + kiss on her cheek or forehead? I was not unreasonable—that was all I + wanted; satisfied in that point, I could go away content; and Reason + denied me even this; she ordered me to turn my eyes from her face, and my + steps from her apartment—to quit her as dryly and coldly as I would + have quitted old Madame Pelet. I obeyed, but I swore rancorously to be + avenged one day. “I’ll earn a right to do as I please in this matter, or + I’ll die in the contest. I have one object before me now—to get that + Genevese girl for my wife; and my wife she shall be—that is, + provided she has as much, or half as much regard for her master as he has + for her. And would she be so docile, so smiling, so happy under my + instructions if she had not? would she sit at my side when I dictate or + correct, with such a still, contented, halcyon mien?” for I had ever + remarked, that however sad or harassed her countenance might be when I + entered a room, yet after I had been near her, spoken to her a few words, + given her some directions, uttered perhaps some reproofs, she would, all + at once, nestle into a nook of happiness, and look up serene and revived. + The reproofs suited her best of all: while I scolded she would chip away + with her pen-knife at a pencil or a pen; fidgetting a little, pouting a + little, defending herself by monosyllables, and when I deprived her of the + pen or pencil, fearing it would be all cut away, and when I interdicted + even the monosyllabic defence, for the purpose of working up the subdued + excitement a little higher, she would at last raise her eyes and give me a + certain glance, sweetened with gaiety, and pointed with defiance, which, + to speak truth, thrilled me as nothing had ever done, and made me, in a + fashion (though happily she did not know it), her subject, if not her + slave. After such little scenes her spirits would maintain their flow, + often for some hours, and, as I remarked before, her health therefrom took + a sustenance and vigour which, previously to the event of her aunt’s death + and her dismissal, had almost recreated her whole frame. + </p> +<p> + It has taken me several minutes to write these last sentences; but I had + thought all their purport during the brief interval of descending the + stairs from Frances’ room. Just as I was opening the outer door, I + remembered the twenty francs which I had not restored; I paused: + impossible to carry them away with me; difficult to force them back on + their original owner; I had now seen her in her own humble abode, + witnessed the dignity of her poverty, the pride of order, the fastidious + care of conservatism, obvious in the arrangement and economy of her little + home; I was sure she would not suffer herself to be excused paying her + debts; I was certain the favour of indemnity would be accepted from no + hand, perhaps least of all from mine: yet these four five-franc pieces + were a burden to my self-respect, and I must get rid of them. An + expedient—a clumsy one no doubt, but the best I could devise—suggested + itself to me. I darted up the stairs, knocked, re-entered the room as if + in haste:— + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle, I have forgotten one of my gloves; I must have left it + here.” + </p> +<p> + She instantly rose to seek it; as she turned her back, I—being now + at the hearth—noiselessly lifted a little vase, one of a set of + china ornaments, as old-fashioned as the tea-cups—slipped the money + under it, then saying—“Oh here is my glove! I had dropped it within + the fender; good evening, mademoiselle,” I made my second exit. + </p> +<p> + Brief as my impromptu return had been, it had afforded me time to pick up + a heart-ache; I remarked that Frances had already removed the red embers + of her cheerful little fire from the grate: forced to calculate every + item, to save in every detail, she had instantly on my departure + retrenched a luxury too expensive to be enjoyed alone. + </p> +<p> + “I am glad it is not yet winter,” thought I; “but in two months more come + the winds and rains of November; would to God that before then I could + earn the right, and the power, to shovel coals into that grate + <i lang="la">ad libitum</i>!” + </p> +<p> + Already the pavement was drying; a balmy and fresh breeze stirred the air, + purified by lightning; I felt the West behind me, where spread a sky like + opal; azure immingled with crimson: the enlarged sun, glorious in Tyrian + tints, dipped his brim already; stepping, as I was, eastward, I faced a + vast bank of clouds, but also I had before me the arch of an evening + rainbow; a perfect rainbow—high, wide, vivid. I looked long; my eye + drank in the scene, and I suppose my brain must have absorbed it; for that + night, after lying awake in pleasant fever a long time, watching the + silent sheet-lightning, which still played among the retreating clouds, + and flashed silvery over the stars, I at last fell asleep; and then in a + dream were reproduced the setting sun, the bank of clouds, the mighty + rainbow. I stood, methought, on a terrace; I leaned over a parapeted wall; + there was space below me, depth I could not fathom, but hearing an endless + dash of waves, I believed it to be the sea; sea spread to the horizon; sea + of changeful green and intense blue: all was soft in the distance; all + vapour-veiled. A spark of gold glistened on the line between water and + air, floated up, approached, enlarged, changed; the object hung midway + between heaven and earth, under the arch of the rainbow; the soft but dusk + clouds diffused behind. It hovered as on wings; pearly, fleecy, gleaming + air streamed like raiment round it; light, tinted with carnation, coloured + what seemed face and limbs; a large star shone with still lustre on an + angel’s forehead; an upraised arm and hand, glancing like a ray, pointed + to the bow overhead, and a voice in my heart whispered— + </p> +<p> + “Hope smiles on Effort!” + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XX. + </h2> +<p> + A COMPETENCY was what I wanted; a competency it was now my aim and resolve + to secure; but never had I been farther from the mark. With August the + school-year (l’année scolaire) closed, the examinations concluded, the + prizes were adjudged, the schools dispersed, the gates of all colleges, + the doors of all pensionnats shut, not to be reopened till the beginning + or middle of October. The last day of August was at hand, and what was my + position? Had I advanced a step since the commencement of the past + quarter? On the contrary, I had receded one. By renouncing my engagement + as English master in Mdlle. Reuter’s establishment, I had voluntarily cut + off £20 from my yearly income; I had diminished my £60 per annum to + £40, and even that sum I now held by a very precarious tenure. + </p> +<p> + It is some time since I made any reference to M. Pelet. The moonlight walk + is, I think, the last incident recorded in this narrative where that + gentleman cuts any conspicuous figure: the fact is, since that event, a + change had come over the spirit of our intercourse. He, indeed, ignorant + that the still hour, a cloudless moon, and an open lattice, had revealed + to me the secret of his selfish love and false friendship, would have + continued smooth and complaisant as ever; but I grew spiny as a porcupine, + and inflexible as a blackthorn cudgel; I never had a smile for his + raillery, never a moment for his society; his invitations to take coffee + with him in his parlour were invariably rejected, and very stiffly and + sternly rejected too; his jesting allusions to the directress (which he + still continued) were heard with a grim calm very different from the + petulant pleasure they were formerly wont to excite. For a long time Pelet + bore with my frigid demeanour very patiently; he even increased his + attentions; but finding that even a cringing politeness failed to thaw or + move me, he at last altered too; in his turn he cooled; his invitations + ceased; his countenance became suspicious and overcast, and I read in the + perplexed yet brooding aspect of his brow, a constant examination and + comparison of premises, and an anxious endeavour to draw thence some + explanatory inference. Ere long, I fancy, he succeeded, for he was not + without penetration; perhaps, too, Mdlle. Zoraïde might have aided him in + the solution of the enigma; at any rate I soon found that the uncertainty + of doubt had vanished from his manner; renouncing all pretence of + friendship and cordiality, he adopted a reserved, formal, but still + scrupulously polite deportment. This was the point to which I had wished + to bring him, and I was now again comparatively at my ease. I did not, it + is true, like my position in his house; but being freed from the annoyance + of false professions and double-dealing I could endure it, especially as + no heroic sentiment of hatred or jealousy of the director distracted my + philosophical soul; he had not, I found, wounded me in a very tender + point, the wound was so soon and so radically healed, leaving only a sense + of contempt for the treacherous fashion in which it had been inflicted, + and a lasting mistrust of the hand which I had detected attempting to stab + in the dark. + </p> +<p> + This state of things continued till about the middle of July, and then + there was a little change; Pelet came home one night, an hour after his + usual time, in a state of unequivocal intoxication, a thing anomalous with + him; for if he had some of the worst faults of his countrymen, he had also + one at least of their virtues, i.e. sobriety. So drunk, however, was he + upon this occasion, that after having roused the whole establishment + (except the pupils, whose dormitory being over the classes in a building + apart from the dwelling-house, was consequently out of the reach of + disturbance) by violently ringing the hall-bell and ordering lunch to be + brought in immediately, for he imagined it was noon, whereas the city + bells had just tolled midnight; after having furiously rated the servants + for their want of punctuality, and gone near to chastise his poor old + mother, who advised him to go to bed, he began raving dreadfully about “le + maudit Anglais, Creemsvort.” I had not yet retired; some German books I + had got hold of had kept me up late; I heard the uproar below, and could + distinguish the director’s voice exalted in a manner as appalling as it + was unusual. Opening my door a little, I became aware of a demand on his + part for “Creemsvort” to be brought down to him that he might cut his + throat on the hall-table and wash his honour, which he affirmed to be in a + dirty condition, in infernal British blood. “He is either mad or drunk,” + thought I, “and in either case the old woman and the servants will be the + better of a man’s assistance,” so I descended straight to the hall. I + found him staggering about, his eyes in a fine frenzy rolling—a + pretty sight he was, a just medium between the fool and the lunatic. + </p> +<p> + “Come, M. Pelet,” said I, “you had better go to bed,” and I took hold of + his arm. His excitement, of course, increased greatly at sight and touch + of the individual for whose blood he had been making application: he + struggled and struck with fury—but a drunken man is no match for a + sober one; and, even in his normal state, Pelet’s worn out frame could not + have stood against my sound one. I got him up-stairs, and, in process of + time, to bed. During the operation he did not fail to utter comminations + which, though broken, had a sense in them; while stigmatizing me as the + treacherous spawn of a perfidious country, he, in the same breath, + anathematized Zoraïde Reuter; he termed her “femme sotte et vicieuse,” + who, in a fit of lewd caprice, had thrown herself away on an unprincipled + adventurer; directing the point of the last appellation by a furious blow, + obliquely aimed at me. I left him in the act of bounding elastically out + of the bed into which I had tucked him; but, as I took the precaution of + turning the key in the door behind me, I retired to my own room, assured + of his safe custody till the morning, and free to draw undisturbed + conclusions from the scene I had just witnessed. + </p> +<p> + Now, it was precisely about this time that the directress, stung by my + coldness, bewitched by my scorn, and excited by the preference she + suspected me of cherishing for another, had fallen into a snare of her own + laying—was herself caught in the meshes of the very passion with + which she wished to entangle me. Conscious of the state of things in that + quarter, I gathered, from the condition in which I saw my employer, that + his lady-love had betrayed the alienation of her affections—inclinations, + rather, I would say; affection is a word at once too warm and too pure for + the subject—had let him see that the cavity of her hollow heart, + emptied of his image, was now occupied by that of his usher. It was not + without some surprise that I found myself obliged to entertain this view + of the case; Pelet, with his old-established school, was so convenient, so + profitable a match—Zoraïde was so calculating, so interested a woman—I + wondered mere personal preference could, in her mind, have prevailed for a + moment over worldly advantage: yet, it was evident, from what Pelet said, + that, not only had she repulsed him, but had even let slip expressions of + partiality for me. One of his drunken exclamations was, “And the jade + doats on your youth, you raw blockhead! and talks of your noble + deportment, as she calls your accursed English formality—and your + pure morals, forsooth! des moeurs de Caton a-t-elle dit—sotte!” + Hers, I thought, must be a curious soul, where in spite of a strong, + natural tendency to estimate unduly advantages of wealth and station, the + sardonic disdain of a fortuneless subordinate had wrought a deeper + impression than could be imprinted by the most flattering assiduities of a + prosperous <i lang="fr">chef d’institution</i>. I smiled inwardly; and + strange to say, though my <i lang="fr">amour propre</i> was excited not + disagreeably by the conquest, my + better feelings remained untouched. Next day, when I saw the directress, + and when she made an excuse to meet me in the corridor, and besought my + notice by a demeanour and look subdued to Helot humility, I could not + love, I could scarcely pity her. To answer briefly and dryly some + interesting inquiry about my health—to pass her by with a stern bow—was + all I could; her presence and manner had then, and for some time + previously and consequently, a singular effect upon me: they sealed up all + that was good, elicited all that was noxious in my nature; sometimes they + enervated my senses, but they always hardened my heart. I was aware of the + detriment done, and quarrelled with myself for the change. I had ever + hated a tyrant; and, behold, the possession of a slave, self-given, went + near to transform me into what I abhorred! There was at once a sort of low + gratification in receiving this luscious incense from an attractive and + still young worshipper; and an irritating sense of degradation in the very + experience of the pleasure. When she stole about me with the soft step of + a slave, I felt at once barbarous and sensual as a pasha. I endured her + homage sometimes; sometimes I rebuked it. My indifference or harshness + served equally to increase the evil I desired to check. + </p> +<p> + “Que le dédain lui sied bien!” I once overheard her say to her mother: “il + est beau comme Apollon quand il sourit de son air hautain.” + </p> +<p> + And the jolly old dame laughed, and said she thought her daughter was + bewitched, for I had no point of a handsome man about me, except being + straight and without deformity. “Pour moi,” she continued, “il me fait + tout l’effet d’un chat-huant, avec ses bésicles.” + </p> +<p> + Worthy old girl! I could have gone and kissed her had she not been a + little too old, too fat, and too red-faced; her sensible, truthful words + seemed so wholesome, contrasted with the morbid illusions of her daughter. + </p> +<p> + When Pelet awoke on the morning after his frenzy fit, he retained no + recollection of what had happened the previous night, and his mother + fortunately had the discretion to refrain from informing him that I had + been a witness of his degradation. He did not again have recourse to wine + for curing his griefs, but even in his sober mood he soon showed that the + iron of jealousy had entered into his soul. A thorough Frenchman, the + national characteristic of ferocity had not been omitted by nature in + compounding the ingredients of his character; it had appeared first in his + access of drunken wrath, when some of his demonstrations of hatred to my + person were of a truly fiendish character, and now it was more covertly + betrayed by momentary contractions of the features, and flashes of + fierceness in his light blue eyes, when their glance chanced to encounter + mine. He absolutely avoided speaking to me; I was now spared even the + falsehood of his politeness. In this state of our mutual relations, my + soul rebelled sometimes almost ungovernably, against living in the house + and discharging the service of such a man; but who is free from the + constraint of circumstances? At that time, I was not: I used to rise each + morning eager to shake off his yoke, and go out with my portmanteau under + my arm, if a beggar, at least a freeman; and in the evening, when I came + back from the pensionnat de demoiselles, a certain pleasant voice in my + ear; a certain face, so intelligent, yet so docile, so reflective, yet so + soft, in my eyes; a certain cast of character, at once proud and pliant, + sensitive and sagacious, serious and ardent, in my head; a certain tone of + feeling, fervid and modest, refined and practical, pure and powerful, + delighting and troubling my memory—visions of new ties I longed to + contract, of new duties I longed to undertake, had taken the rover and the + rebel out of me, and had shown endurance of my hated lot in the light of a + Spartan virtue. + </p> +<p> + But Pelet’s fury subsided; a fortnight sufficed for its rise, progress, + and extinction: in that space of time the dismissal of the obnoxious + teacher had been effected in the neighbouring house, and in the same + interval I had declared my resolution to follow and find out my pupil, and + upon my application for her address being refused, I had summarily + resigned my own post. This last act seemed at once to restore Mdlle. + Reuter to her senses; her sagacity, her judgment, so long misled by a + fascinating delusion, struck again into the right track the moment that + delusion vanished. By the right track, I do not mean the steep and + difficult path of principle—in that path she never trod; but the + plain highway of common sense, from which she had of late widely diverged. + When there she carefully sought, and having found, industriously pursued + the trail of her old suitor, M. Pelet. She soon overtook him. What arts + she employed to soothe and blind him I know not, but she succeeded both in + allaying his wrath, and hoodwinking his discernment, as was soon proved by + the alteration in his mien and manner; she must have managed to convince + him that I neither was, nor ever had been, a rival of his, for the + fortnight of fury against me terminated in a fit of exceeding graciousness + and amenity, not unmixed with a dash of exulting self-complacency, more + ludicrous than irritating. Pelet’s bachelor’s life had been passed in + proper French style with due disregard to moral restraint, and I thought + his married life promised to be very French also. He often boasted to me + what a terror he had been to certain husbands of his acquaintance; I + perceived it would not now be difficult to pay him back in his own coin. + </p> +<p> + The crisis drew on. No sooner had the holidays commenced than note of + preparation for some momentous event sounded all through the premises of + Pelet: painters, polishers, and upholsterers were immediately set to work, + and there was talk of “la chambre de Madame,” “le salon de Madame.” Not + deeming it probable that the old duenna at present graced with that title + in our house, had inspired her son with such enthusiasm of filial piety, + as to induce him to fit up apartments expressly for her use, I concluded, + in common with the cook, the two housemaids, and the kitchen-scullion, + that a new and more juvenile Madame was destined to be the tenant of these + gay chambers. + </p> +<p> + Presently official announcement of the coming event was put forth. In + another week’s time M. François Pelet, directeur, and Mdlle. Zoraïde + Reuter, directrice, were to be joined together in the bands of matrimony. + Monsieur, in person, heralded the fact to me; terminating his + communication by an obliging expression of his desire that I should + continue, as heretofore, his ablest assistant and most trusted friend; and + a proposition to raise my salary by an additional two hundred francs per + annum. I thanked him, gave no conclusive answer at the time, and, when he + had left me, threw off my blouse, put on my coat, and set out on a long + walk outside the Porte de Flandre, in order, as I thought, to cool my + blood, calm my nerves, and shake my disarranged ideas into some order. In + fact, I had just received what was virtually my dismissal. I could not + conceal, I did not desire to conceal from myself the conviction that, + being now certain that Mdlle. Reuter was destined to become Madame Pelet + it would not do for me to remain a dependent dweller in the house which + was soon to be hers. Her present demeanour towards me was deficient + neither in dignity nor propriety; but I knew her former feeling was + unchanged. Decorum now repressed, and Policy masked it, but Opportunity + would be too strong for either of these—Temptation would shiver + their restraints. + </p> +<p> + I was no pope—I could not boast infallibility: in short, if I + stayed, the probability was that, in three months’ time, a practical + modern French novel would be in full process of concoction under the roof + of the unsuspecting Pelet. Now, modern French novels are not to my taste, + either practically or theoretically. Limited as had yet been my experience + of life, I had once had the opportunity of contemplating, near at hand, an + example of the results produced by a course of interesting and romantic + domestic treachery. No golden halo of fiction was about this example, I + saw it bare and real, and it was very loathsome. I saw a mind degraded by + the practice of mean subterfuge, by the habit of perfidious deception, and + a body depraved by the infectious influence of the vice-polluted soul. I + had suffered much from the forced and prolonged view of this spectacle; + those sufferings I did not now regret, for their simple recollection acted + as a most wholesome antidote to temptation. They had inscribed on my + reason the conviction that unlawful pleasure, trenching on another’s + rights, is delusive and envenomed pleasure—its hollowness + disappoints at the time, its poison cruelly tortures afterwards, its + effects deprave for ever. + </p> +<p> + From all this resulted the conclusion that I must leave Pelet’s, and that + instantly; “but,” said Prudence, “you know not where to go, nor how to + live;” and then the dream of true love came over me: Frances Henri seemed + to stand at my side; her slender waist to invite my arm; her hand to court + my hand; I felt it was made to nestle in mine; I could not relinquish my + right to it, nor could I withdraw my eyes for ever from hers, where I saw + so much happiness, such a correspondence of heart with heart; over whose + expression I had such influence; where I could kindle bliss, infuse awe, + stir deep delight, rouse sparkling spirit, and sometimes waken pleasurable + dread. My hopes to will and possess, my resolutions to merit and rise, + rose in array against me; and here I was about to plunge into the gulf of + absolute destitution; “and all this,” suggested an inward voice, “because + you fear an evil which may never happen!” “It will happen; you + <em>know</em> it will,” answered that stubborn monitor, Conscience. “Do + what you feel is right; obey me, and even in the sloughs of want I will + plant for you firm footing.” And then, as I walked fast along the road, + there rose upon me a strange, inly-felt idea of some Great Being, unseen, + but all present, who in His beneficence desired only my welfare, and now + watched the struggle of good and evil in my heart, and waited to see + whether I should obey His voice, heard in the whispers of my conscience, + or lend an ear to the sophisms by which His enemy and mine—the Spirit of + Evil—sought to lead me astray. + Rough and steep was the path indicated by divine + suggestion; mossy and declining the green way along which Temptation + strewed flowers; but whereas, methought, the Deity of Love, the Friend of + all that exists, would smile well-pleased were I to gird up my loins and + address myself to the rude ascent; so, on the other hand, each inclination + to the velvet declivity seemed to kindle a gleam of triumph on the brow of + the man-hating, God-defying demon. Sharp and short I turned round; fast I + retraced my steps; in half an hour I was again at M. Pelet’s: I sought him + in his study; brief parley, concise explanation sufficed; my manner proved + that I was resolved; he, perhaps, at heart approved my decision. After + twenty minutes’ conversation, I re-entered my own room, self-deprived of + the means of living, self-sentenced to leave my present home, with the + short notice of a week in which to provide another. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XXI. + </h2> +<p> + DIRECTLY as I closed the door, I saw laid on the table two letters; my + thought was, that they were notes of invitation from the friends of some + of my pupils; I had received such marks of attention occasionally, and + with me, who had no friends, correspondence of more interest was out of + the question; the postman’s arrival had never yet been an event of + interest to me since I came to Brussels. I laid my hand carelessly on the + documents, and coldly and slowly glancing at them, I prepared to break the + seals; my eye was arrested and my hand too; I saw what excited me, as if I + had found a vivid picture where I expected only to discover a blank page: + on one cover was an English postmark; on the other, a lady’s clear, fine + autograph; the last I opened first:— + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + “MONSIEUR, + </p> +<p> + “I found out what you had done the very morning after your visit to me; + you might be sure I should dust the china, every day; and, as no one but + you had been in my room for a week, and as fairy-money is not current in + Brussels, I could not doubt who left the twenty francs on the + chimney-piece. I thought I heard you stir the vase when I was stooping to + look for your glove under the table, and I wondered you should imagine it + had got into such a little cup. Now, monsieur, the money is not mine, and + I shall not keep it; I will not send it in this note because it might be + lost—besides, it is heavy; but I will restore it to you the first + time I see you, and you must make no difficulties about taking it; + because, in the first place, I am sure, monsieur, you can understand that + one likes to pay one’s debts; that it is satisfactory to owe no man + anything; and, in the second place, I can now very well afford to be + honest, as I am provided with a situation. This last circumstance is, + indeed, the reason of my writing to you, for it is pleasant to communicate + good news; and, in these days, I have only my master to whom I can tell + anything. + </p> +<p> + “A week ago, monsieur, I was sent for by a Mrs. Wharton, an English lady; + her eldest daughter was going to be married, and some rich relation having + made her a present of a veil and dress in costly old lace, as precious, + they said, almost as jewels, but a little damaged by time, I was + commissioned to put them in repair. I had to do it at the house; they gave + me, besides, some embroidery to complete, and nearly a week elapsed before + I had finished everything. While I worked, Miss Wharton often came into + the room and sat with me, and so did Mrs. Wharton; they made me talk + English; asked how I had learned to speak it so well; then they inquired + what I knew besides—what books I had read; soon they seemed to make + a sort of wonder of me, considering me no doubt as a learned grisette. One + afternoon, Mrs. Wharton brought in a Parisian lady to test the accuracy of + my knowledge of French; the result of it was that, owing probably in a + great degree to the mother’s and daughter’s good humour about the + marriage, which inclined them to do beneficent deeds, and partly, I think, + because they are naturally benevolent people, they decided that the wish I + had expressed to do something more than mend lace was a very legitimate + one; and the same day they took me in their carriage to Mrs. D.‘s, who is + the directress of the first English school at Brussels. It seems she + happened to be in want of a French lady to give lessons in geography, + history, grammar, and composition, in the French language. Mrs. Wharton + recommended me very warmly; and, as two of her younger daughters are + pupils in the house, her patronage availed to get me the place. It was + settled that I am to attend six hours daily (for, happily, it was not + required that I should live in the house; I should have been sorry to + leave my lodgings), and, for this, Mrs. D. will give me twelve hundred + francs per annum. + </p> +<p> + “You see, therefore, monsieur, that I am now rich; richer almost than I + ever hoped to be: I feel thankful for it, especially as my sight was + beginning to be injured by constant working at fine lace; and I was + getting, too, very weary of sitting up late at nights, and yet not being + able to find time for reading or study. I began to fear that I should fall + ill, and be unable to pay my way; this fear is now, in a great measure, + removed; and, in truth, monsieur, I am very grateful to God for the + relief; and I feel it necessary, almost, to speak of my happiness to some + one who is kind-hearted enough to derive joy from seeing others joyful. I + could not, therefore, resist the temptation of writing to you; I argued + with myself it is very pleasant for me to write, and it will not be + exactly painful, though it may be tiresome to monsieur to read. Do not be + too angry with my circumlocution and inelegancies of expression, and, + believe me + </p> +<p> + “Your attached pupil, + </p> +<p> + “F. E. HENRI.” + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + Having read this letter, I mused on its contents for a few moments—whether + with sentiments pleasurable or otherwise I will hereafter note—and + then took up the other. It was directed in a hand to me unknown—small, + and rather neat; neither masculine nor exactly feminine; the seal bore a + coat of arms, concerning which I could only decipher that it was not that + of the Seacombe family, consequently the epistle could be from none of my + almost forgotten, and certainly quite forgetting patrician relations. From + whom, then, was it? I removed the envelope; the note folded within ran as + follows: + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + “I have no doubt in the world that you are doing well in that greasy + Flanders; living probably on the fat of the unctuous land; sitting like a + black-haired, tawny-skinned, long-nosed Israelite by the flesh-pots of + Egypt; or like a rascally son of Levi near the brass cauldrons of the + sanctuary, and every now and then plunging in a consecrated hook, and + drawing out of the sea of broth the fattest of heave-shoulders and the + fleshiest of wave-breasts. I know this, because you never write to any one + in England. Thankless dog that you are! I, by the sovereign efficacy of my + recommendation, got you the place where you are now living in clover, and + yet not a word of gratitude, or even acknowledgment, have you ever offered + in return; but I am coming to see you, and small conception can you, with + your addled aristocratic brains, form of the sort of moral kicking I have, + ready packed in my carpet-bag, destined to be presented to you immediately + on my arrival. + </p> +<p> + “Meantime I know all about your affairs, and have just got information, by + Brown’s last letter, that you are said to be on the point of forming an + advantageous match with a pursy, little Belgian schoolmistress—a + Mdlle. Zénobie, or some such name. Won’t I have a look at her when I come + over! And this you may rely on: if she pleases my taste, or if I think it + worth while in a pecuniary point of view, I’ll pounce on your prize and + bear her away triumphant in spite of your teeth. Yet I don’t like dumpies + either, and Brown says she is little and stout—the better fitted for + a wiry, starved-looking chap like you. “Be on the look-out, for you know + neither the day nor hour when your ——” (I don’t wish to + blaspheme, so I’ll leave a blank)—cometh. + </p> +<p> + “Yours truly, + </p> +<p> + “HUNSDEN YORKE HUNSDEN.” + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + “Humph!” said I; and ere I laid the letter down, I again glanced at the + small, neat handwriting, not a bit like that of a mercantile man, nor, + indeed, of any man except Hunsden himself. They talk of affinities between + the autograph and the character: what affinity was there here? I recalled + the writer’s peculiar face and certain traits I suspected, rather than + knew, to appertain to his nature, and I answered, “A great deal.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden, then, was coming to Brussels, and coming I knew not when; coming + charged with the expectation of finding me on the summit of prosperity, + about to be married, to step into a warm nest, to lie comfortably down by + the side of a snug, well-fed little mate. + </p> +<p> + “I wish him joy of the fidelity of the picture he has painted,” thought I. + “What will he say when, instead of a pair of plump turtle doves, billing + and cooing in a bower of roses, he finds a single lean cormorant, standing + mateless and shelterless on poverty’s bleak cliff? Oh, confound him! Let + him come, and let him laugh at the contrast between rumour and fact. Were + he the devil himself, instead of being merely very like him, I’d not + condescend to get out of his way, or to forge a smile or a cheerful word + wherewith to avert his sarcasm.” + </p> +<p> + Then I recurred to the other letter: that struck a chord whose sound I + could not deaden by thrusting my fingers into my ears, for it vibrated + within; and though its swell might be exquisite music, its cadence was a + groan. + </p> +<p> + That Frances was relieved from the pressure of want, that the curse of + excessive labour was taken off her, filled me with happiness; that her + first thought in prosperity should be to augment her joy by sharing it + with me, met and satisfied the wish of my heart. Two results of her letter + were then pleasant, sweet as two draughts of nectar; but applying my lips + for the third time to the cup, and they were excoriated as with vinegar + and gall. + </p> +<p> + Two persons whose desires are moderate may live well enough in Brussels on + an income which would scarcely afford a respectable maintenance for one in + London: and that, not because the necessaries of life are so much dearer + in the latter capital, or taxes so much higher than in the former, but + because the English surpass in folly all the nations on God’s earth, and + are more abject slaves to custom, to opinion, to the desire to keep up a + certain appearance, than the Italians are to priestcraft, the French to + vain-glory, the Russians to their Czar, or the Germans to black beer. I + have seen a degree of sense in the modest arrangement of one homely + Belgian household, that might put to shame the elegance, the + superfluities, the luxuries, the strained refinements of a hundred genteel + English mansions. In Belgium, provided you can make money, you may save + it; this is scarcely possible in England; ostentation there lavishes in a + month what industry has earned in a year. More shame to all classes in + that most bountiful and beggarly country for their servile following of + Fashion; I could write a chapter or two on this subject, but must forbear, + at least for the present. Had I retained my £60 per annum I could, now + that Frances was in possession of £50, have gone straight to her this + very evening, and spoken out the words which, repressed, kept fretting my + heart with fever; our united income would, as we should have managed it, + have sufficed well for our mutual support; since we lived in a country + where economy was not confounded with meanness, where frugality in dress, + food, and furniture, was not synonymous with vulgarity in these various + points. But the placeless usher, bare of resource, and unsupported by + connections, must not think of this; such a sentiment as love, such a word + as marriage, were misplaced in his heart, and on his lips. Now for the + first time did I truly feel what it was to be poor; now did the sacrifice + I had made in casting from me the means of living put on a new aspect; + instead of a correct, just, honourable act, it seemed a deed at once light + and fanatical; I took several turns in my room, under the goading + influence of most poignant remorse; I walked a quarter of an hour from the + wall to the window; and at the window, self-reproach seemed to face me; at + the wall, self-disdain: all at once out spoke Conscience:— + </p> +<p> + “Down, stupid tormenters!” cried she; “the man has done his duty; you + shall not bait him thus by thoughts of what might have been; he + relinquished a temporary and contingent good to avoid a permanent and + certain evil; he did well. Let him reflect now, and when your blinding + dust and deafening hum subside, he will discover a path.” + </p> +<p> + I sat down; I propped my forehead on both my hands; I thought and thought + an hour—two hours; vainly. I seemed like one sealed in a subterranean + vault, who gazes at utter blackness; at blackness ensured by yard-thick + stone walls around, and by piles of building above, expecting light to + penetrate through granite, and through cement firm as granite. But there + are chinks, or there may be chinks, in the best adjusted masonry; there + was a chink in my cavernous cell; for, eventually, I saw, or seemed to + see, a ray—pallid, indeed, and cold, and doubtful, but still a ray, + for it showed that narrow path which conscience had promised after two, + three hours’ torturing research in brain and memory, I disinterred certain + remains of circumstances, and conceived a hope that by putting them + together an expedient might be framed, and a resource discovered. The + circumstances were briefly these: + </p> +<p> + Some three months ago M. Pelet had, on the occasion of his + <i lang="fr">fête</i>, given the + boys a treat, which treat consisted in a party of pleasure to a certain + place of public resort in the outskirts of Brussels, of which I do not at + this moment remember the name, but near it were several of those lakelets + called étangs; and there was one étang, larger than the rest, where on + holidays people were accustomed to amuse themselves by rowing round it in + little boats. The boys having eaten an unlimited quantity of “gaufres,” + and drank several bottles of Louvain beer, amid the shades of a garden + made and provided for such crams, petitioned the director for leave to + take a row on the étang. Half a dozen of the eldest succeeded in obtaining + leave, and I was commissioned to accompany them as surveillant. Among the + half dozen happened to be a certain Jean Baptiste Vandenhuten, a most + ponderous young Flamand, not tall, but even now, at the early age of + sixteen, possessing a breadth and depth of personal development truly + national. It chanced that Jean was the first lad to step into the boat; he + stumbled, rolled to one side, the boat revolted at his weight and + capsized. Vandenhuten sank like lead, rose, sank again. My coat and + waistcoat were off in an instant; I had not been brought up at Eton and + boated and bathed and swam there ten long years for nothing; it was a + natural and easy act for me to leap to the rescue. The lads and the + boatmen yelled; they thought there would be two deaths by drowning instead + of one; but as Jean rose the third time, I clutched him by one leg and the + collar, and in three minutes more both he and I were safe landed. To speak + heaven’s truth, my merit in the action was small indeed, for I had run no + risk, and subsequently did not even catch cold from the wetting; but when + M. and Madame Vandenhuten, of whom Jean Baptiste was the sole hope, came + to hear of the exploit, they seemed to think I had evinced a bravery and + devotion which no thanks could sufficiently repay. Madame, in particular, + was “certain I must have dearly loved their sweet son, or I would not thus + have hazarded my own life to save his.” Monsieur, an honest-looking, + though phlegmatic man, said very little, but he would not suffer me to + leave the room, till I had promised that in case I ever stood in need of + help I would, by applying to him, give him a chance of discharging the + obligation under which he affirmed I had laid him. These words, then, were + my glimmer of light; it was here I found my sole outlet; and in truth, + though the cold light roused, it did not cheer me; nor did the outlet seem + such as I should like to pass through. Right I had none to M. + Vandenhuten’s good offices; it was not on the ground of merit I could + apply to him; no, I must stand on that of necessity: I had no work; I + wanted work; my best chance of obtaining it lay in securing his + recommendation. This I knew could be had by asking for it; not to ask, + because the request revolted my pride and contradicted my habits, would, I + felt, be an indulgence of false and indolent fastidiousness. I might + repent the omission all my life; I would not then be guilty of it. + </p> +<p> + That evening I went to M. Vandenhuten’s; but I had bent the bow and + adjusted the shaft in vain; the string broke. I rang the bell at the great + door (it was a large, handsome house in an expensive part of the town); a + manservant opened; I asked for M. Vandenhuten; M. Vandenhuten and family + were all out of town—gone to Ostend—did not know when they + would be back. I left my card, and retraced my steps. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> +<p> + A WEEK is gone; <i lang="fr">le jour des noces</i> arrived; the marriage + was solemnized at St. Jacques; Mdlle. Zoraïde became Madame Pelet, + <i lang="fr">née</i> Reuter; and, in about + an hour after this transformation, “the happy pair,” as newspapers phrase + it, were on their way to Paris; where, according to previous arrangement, + the honeymoon was to be spent. The next day I quitted the pensionnat. + Myself and my chattels (some books and clothes) were soon transferred to a + modest lodging I had hired in a street not far off. In half an hour my + clothes were arranged in a commode, my books on a shelf, and the + “flitting” was effected. I should not have been unhappy that day had not + one pang tortured me—a longing to go to the Rue Notre Dame aux + Neiges, resisted, yet irritated by an inward resolve to avoid that street + till such time as the mist of doubt should clear from my prospects. + </p> +<p> + It was a sweet September evening—very mild, very still; I had + nothing to do; at that hour I knew Frances would be equally released from + occupation; I thought she might possibly be wishing for her master, I knew + I wished for my pupil. Imagination began with her low whispers, infusing + into my soul the soft tale of pleasures that might be. + </p> +<p> + “You will find her reading or writing,” said she; “you can take your seat + at her side; you need not startle her peace by undue excitement; you need + not embarrass her manner by unusual action or language. Be as you always + are; look over what she has written; listen while she reads; chide her, or + quietly approve; you know the effect of either system; you know her smile + when pleased, you know the play of her looks when roused; you have the + secret of awakening what expression you will, and you can choose amongst + that pleasant variety. With you she will sit silent as long as it suits + you to talk alone; you can hold her under a potent spell: intelligent as + she is, eloquent as she can be, you can seal her lips, and veil her bright + countenance with diffidence; yet, you know, she is not all monotonous + mildness; you have seen, with a sort of strange pleasure, revolt, scorn, + austerity, bitterness, lay energetic claim to a place in her feelings and + physiognomy; you know that few could rule her as you do; you know she + might break, but never bend under the hand of Tyranny and Injustice, but + Reason and Affection can guide her by a sign. Try their influence now. + Go—they are not passions; you may handle them safely.” + </p> +<p> + “I will <em>not</em> go,” was my answer to the sweet temptress. A man is + master of himself to a certain point, but not beyond it. Could I seek + Frances to-night, could I sit with her alone in a quiet room, and address + her only in the language of Reason and Affection?” + </p> +<p> + “No,” was the brief, fervent reply of that Love which had conquered and + now controlled me. + </p> +<p> + Time seemed to stagnate; the sun would not go down; my watch ticked, but I + thought the hands were paralyzed. + </p> +<p> + “What a hot evening!” I cried, throwing open the lattice; for, indeed, I + had seldom felt so feverish. Hearing a step ascending the common stair, I + wondered whether the “locataire,” now mounting to his apartments, were as + unsettled in mind and condition as I was, or whether he lived in the calm + of certain resources, and in the freedom of unfettered feelings. What! was + he coming in person to solve the problem hardly proposed in inaudible + thought? He had actually knocked at the door—at <em>my</em> door; a smart, + prompt rap; and, almost before I could invite him in, he was over the + threshold, and had closed the door behind him. + </p> +<p> + “And how are you?” asked an indifferent, quiet voice, in the English + language; while my visitor, without any sort of bustle or introduction, + put his hat on the table, and his gloves into his hat, and drawing the + only armchair the room afforded a little forward, seated himself + tranquilly therein. + </p> +<p> + “Can’t you speak?” he inquired in a few moments, in a tone whose + nonchalance seemed to intimate that it was much the same thing whether I + answered or not. The fact is, I found it desirable to have recourse to my + good friends “les bésicles;” not exactly to ascertain the identity of my + visitor—for I already knew him, confound his impudence! but to see + how he looked—to get a clear notion of his mien and countenance. I + wiped the glasses very deliberately, and put them on quite as + deliberately; adjusting them so as not to hurt the bridge of my nose or + get entangled in my short tufts of dun hair. I was sitting in the + window-seat, with my back to the light, and I had him + <i lang="fr">vis-à-vis</i>; a position he would much rather have had + reversed; for, at any time, he preferred scrutinizing to being + scrutinized. Yes, it was <em>he</em>, and no mistake, with his six feet + of length arranged in a sitting attitude; with his dark travelling surtout + with its velvet collar, his gray pantaloons, his black stock, and + <em>his</em> face, the most original one Nature ever modelled, + yet the least obtrusively so; not one feature that could be termed marked + or odd, yet the effect of the whole unique. There is no use in attempting + to describe what is indescribable. Being in no hurry to address him, I sat + and stared at my ease. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, that’s your game—is it?” said he at last. “Well, we’ll see + which is soonest tired.” And he slowly drew out a fine cigar-case, picked + one to his taste, lit it, took a book from the shelf convenient to his + hand, then leaning back, proceeded to smoke and read as tranquilly as if + he had been in his own room, in Grove-street, X—-shire, England. I + knew he was capable of continuing in that attitude till midnight, if he + conceived the whim, so I rose, and taking the book from his hand, I said,— + </p> +<p> + “You did not ask for it, and you shall not have it.” + </p> +<p> + “It is silly and dull,” he observed, “so I have not lost much;” then the + spell being broken, he went on: “I thought you lived at Pelet’s; I went + there this afternoon expecting to be starved to death by sitting in a + boarding-school drawing-room, and they told me you were gone, had departed + this morning; you had left your address behind you though, which I + wondered at; it was a more practical and sensible precaution than I should + have imagined you capable of. Why did you leave?” + </p> +<p> + “Because M. Pelet has just married the lady whom you and Mr. Brown + assigned to me as my wife.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, indeed!” replied Hunsden with a short laugh; “so you’ve lost both + your wife and your place?” + </p> +<p> + “Precisely so.” + </p> +<p> + I saw him give a quick, covert glance all round my room; he marked its + narrow limits, its scanty furniture: in an instant he had comprehended the + state of matters—had absolved me from the crime of prosperity. A + curious effect this discovery wrought in his strange mind; I am morally + certain that if he had found me installed in a handsome parlour, lounging + on a soft couch, with a pretty, wealthy wife at my side, he would have + hated me; a brief, cold, haughty visit, would in such a case have been the + extreme limit of his civilities, and never would he have come near me + more, so long as the tide of fortune bore me smoothly on its surface; but + the painted furniture, the bare walls, the cheerless solitude of my room + relaxed his rigid pride, and I know not what softening change had taken + place both in his voice and look ere he spoke again. + </p> +<p> + “You have got another place?” + </p> +<p> + “No.” + </p> +<p> + “You are in the way of getting one?” + </p> +<p> + “No.” + </p> +<p> + “That is bad; have you applied to Brown?” + </p> +<p> + “No, indeed.” + </p> +<p> + “You had better; he often has it in his power to give useful information + in such matters.” + </p> +<p> + “He served me once very well; I have no claim on him, and am not in the + humour to bother him again.” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, if you’re bashful, and dread being intrusive, you need only + commission me. I shall see him to-night; I can put in a word.” + </p> +<p> + “I beg you will not, Mr. Hunsden; I am in your debt already; you did me an + important service when I was at X——; got me out of a den where + I was dying: that service I have never repaid, and at present I decline + positively adding another item to the account.” + </p> +<p> + “If the wind sits that way, I’m satisfied. I thought my unexampled + generosity in turning you out of that accursed counting-house would be + duly appreciated some day: ‘Cast your bread on the waters, and it shall be + found after many days,’ say the Scriptures. Yes, that’s right, lad—make + much of me—I’m a nonpareil: there’s nothing like me in the common + herd. In the meantime, to put all humbug aside and talk sense for a few + moments, you would be greatly the better of a situation, and what is more, + you are a fool if you refuse to take one from any hand that offers it.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well, Mr. Hunsden; now you have settled that point, talk of + something else. What news from X——?” + </p> +<p> + “I have not settled that point, or at least there is another to settle + before we get to X——. Is this Miss Zénobie” (Zoraïde, + interposed I)—“well, Zoraïde—is she really married to Pelet?” + </p> +<p> + “I tell you yes—and if you don’t believe me, go and ask the curé of + St. Jacques.” + </p> +<p> + “And your heart is broken?” + </p> +<p> + “I am not aware that it is; it feels all right—beats as usual.” + </p> +<p> + “Then your feelings are less superfine than I took them to be; you must be + a coarse, callous character, to bear such a thwack without staggering + under it.” + </p> +<p> + “Staggering under it? What the deuce is there to stagger under in the + circumstance of a Belgian schoolmistress marrying a French schoolmaster? + The progeny will doubtless be a strange hybrid race; but that’s their + look-out—not mine.” + </p> +<p> + “He indulges in scurrilous jests, and the bride was his affianced one!” + </p> +<p> + “Who said so?” + </p> +<p> + “Brown.” + </p> +<p> + “I’ll tell you what, Hunsden—Brown is an old gossip.” + </p> +<p> + “He is; but in the meantime, if his gossip be founded on less than fact—if + you took no particular interest in Miss Zoraïde—why, O youthful + pedagogue! did you leave your place in consequence of her becoming Madame + Pelet?” + </p> +<p> + “Because—” I felt my face grow a little hot; “because—in + short, Mr. Hunsden, I decline answering any more questions,” and I plunged + my hands deep in my breeches pocket. + </p> +<p> + Hunsden triumphed: his eyes—his laugh announced victory. + </p> +<p> + “What the deuce are you laughing at, Mr. Hunsden?” + </p> +<p> + “At your exemplary composure. Well, lad, I’ll not bore you; I see how it + is: Zoraïde has jilted you—married some one richer, as any sensible + woman would have done if she had had the chance.” + </p> +<p> + I made no reply—I let him think so, not feeling inclined to enter + into an explanation of the real state of things, and as little to forge a + false account; but it was not easy to blind Hunsden; my very silence, + instead of convincing him that he had hit the truth, seemed to render him + doubtful about it; he went on:— + </p> +<p> + “I suppose the affair has been conducted as such affairs always are + amongst rational people: you offered her your youth and your talents—such + as they are—in exchange for her position and money: I don’t suppose you + took appearance, or what is called <em>love</em>, into the account—for I + understand she is older than you, and Brown says, rather sensible-looking + than beautiful. She, having then no chance of making a better bargain, + was at first inclined to come to terms with you, but Pelet—the head of a + flourishing school—stepped in with a higher bid; she accepted, and + he has got her: a correct transaction—perfectly so—business-like + and legitimate. And now we’ll talk of something else.” + </p> +<p> + “Do,” said I, very glad to dismiss the topic, and especially glad to have + baffled the sagacity of my cross-questioner—if, indeed, I had + baffled it; for though his words now led away from the dangerous point, + his eyes, keen and watchful, seemed still preoccupied with the former + idea. + </p> +<p> + “You want to hear news from X——? And what interest can you + have in X——? You left no friends there, for you made none. + Nobody ever asks after you—neither man nor woman; and if I mention + your name in company, the men look as if I had spoken of Prester John; and + the women sneer covertly. Our X—— belles must have disliked + you. How did you excite their displeasure?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know. I seldom spoke to them—they were nothing to me. I + considered them only as something to be glanced at from a distance; their + dresses and faces were often pleasing enough to the eye: but I could not + understand their conversation, nor even read their countenances. When I + caught snatches of what they said, I could never make much of it; and the + play of their lips and eyes did not help me at all.” + </p> +<p> + “That was your fault, not theirs. There are sensible, as well as handsome + women in X——; women it is worth any man’s while to talk to, + and with whom I can talk with pleasure: but you had and have no pleasant + address; there is nothing in you to induce a woman to be affable. I have + remarked you sitting near the door in a room full of company, bent on + hearing, not on speaking; on observing, not on entertaining; looking + frigidly shy at the commencement of a party, confusingly vigilant about + the middle, and insultingly weary towards the end. Is that the way, do you + think, ever to communicate pleasure or excite interest? No; and if you are + generally unpopular, it is because you deserve to be so.” + </p> +<p> + “Content!” I ejaculated. + </p> +<p> + “No, you are not content; you see beauty always turning its back on you; + you are mortified and then you sneer. I verily believe all that is + desirable on earth—wealth, reputation, love—will for ever to + you be the ripe grapes on the high trellis: you’ll look up at them; they + will tantalize in you the lust of the eye; but they are out of reach: you + have not the address to fetch a ladder, and you’ll go away calling them + sour.” + </p> +<p> + Cutting as these words might have been under some circumstances, they drew + no blood now. My life was changed; my experience had been varied since I + left X——, but Hunsden could not know this; he had seen me only + in the character of Mr. Crimsworth’s clerk—a dependant amongst + wealthy strangers, meeting disdain with a hard front, conscious of an + unsocial and unattractive exterior, refusing to sue for notice which I was + sure would be withheld, declining to evince an admiration which I knew + would be scorned as worthless. He could not be aware that since then youth + and loveliness had been to me everyday objects; that I had studied them at + leisure and closely, and had seen the plain texture of truth under the + embroidery of appearance; nor could he, keen-sighted as he was, penetrate + into my heart, search my brain, and read my peculiar sympathies and + antipathies; he had not known me long enough, or well enough, to perceive + how low my feelings would ebb under some influences, powerful over most + minds; how high, how fast they would flow under other influences, that + perhaps acted with the more intense force on me, because they acted on me + alone. Neither could he suspect for an instant the history of my + communications with Mdlle. Reuter; secret to him and to all others was the + tale of her strange infatuation; her blandishments, her wiles had been + seen but by me, and to me only were they known; but they had changed me, + for they had proved that I <em>could</em> impress. A sweeter secret + nestled deeper + in my heart; one full of tenderness and as full of strength: it took the + sting out of Hunsden’s sarcasm; it kept me unbent by shame, and unstirred + by wrath. But of all this I could say nothing—nothing decisive at + least; uncertainty sealed my lips, and during the interval of silence by + which alone I replied to Mr. Hunsden, I made up my mind to be for the + present wholly misjudged by him, and misjudged I was; he thought he had + been rather too hard upon me, and that I was crushed by the weight of his + upbraidings; so to re-assure me he said, doubtless I should mend some day; + I was only at the beginning of life yet; and since happily I was not quite + without sense, every false step I made would be a good lesson. + </p> +<p> + Just then I turned my face a little to the light; the approach of + twilight, and my position in the window-seat, had, for the last ten + minutes, prevented him from studying my countenance; as I moved, however, + he caught an expression which he thus interpreted:— + </p> +<p> + “Confound it! How doggedly self-approving the lad looks! I thought he was + fit to die with shame, and there he sits grinning smiles, as good as to + say, ‘Let the world wag as it will, I’ve the philosopher’s stone in my + waist-coat pocket, and the elixir of life in my cupboard; I’m independent + of both Fate and Fortune.’” + </p> +<p> + “Hunsden—you spoke of grapes; I was thinking of a fruit I like + better than your X—— hot-house grapes—an unique fruit, + growing wild, which I have marked as my own, and hope one day to gather + and taste. It is of no use your offering me the draught of bitterness, or + threatening me with death by thirst: I have the anticipation of sweetness + on my palate; the hope of freshness on my lips; I can reject the + unsavoury, and endure the exhausting.” + </p> +<p> + “For how long?” + </p> +<p> + “Till the next opportunity for effort; and as the prize of success will be + a treasure after my own heart, I’ll bring a bull’s strength to the + struggle.” + </p> +<p> + “Bad luck crushes bulls as easily as bullaces; and, I believe, the fury + dogs you: you were born with a wooden spoon in your mouth, depend on it.” + </p> +<p> + “I believe you; and I mean to make my wooden spoon do the work of some + people’s silver ladles: grasped firmly, and handled nimbly, even a wooden + spoon will shovel up broth.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden rose: “I see,” said he; “I suppose you’re one of those who develop + best unwatched, and act best unaided—work your own way. Now, I’ll go.” + And, without another word, he was going; at the door he turned:— + </p> +<p> + “Crimsworth Hall is sold,” said he. + </p> +<p> + “Sold!” was my echo. + </p> +<p> + “Yes; you know, of course, that your brother failed three months ago?” + </p> +<p> + “What! Edward Crimsworth?” + </p> +<p> + “Precisely; and his wife went home to her father’s; when affairs went + awry, his temper sympathized with them; he used her ill; I told you he + would be a tyrant to her some day; as to him—” + </p> +<p> + “Ay, as to him—what is become of him?” + </p> +<p> + “Nothing extraordinary—don’t be alarmed; he put himself under the + protection of the court, compounded with his creditors—tenpence in + the pound; in six weeks set up again, coaxed back his wife, and is + flourishing like a green bay-tree.” + </p> +<p> + “And Crimsworth Hall—was the furniture sold too?” + </p> +<p> + “Everything—from the grand piano down to the rolling-pin.” + </p> +<p> + “And the contents of the oak dining-room—were they sold?” + </p> +<p> + “Of course; why should the sofas and chairs of that room be held more + sacred than those of any other?” + </p> +<p> + “And the pictures?” + </p> +<p> + “What pictures? Crimsworth had no special collection that I know of—he + did not profess to be an amateur.” + </p> +<p> + “There were two portraits, one on each side the mantelpiece; you cannot + have forgotten them, Mr. Hunsden; you once noticed that of the lady—” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, I know—the thin-faced gentlewoman with a shawl put on like + drapery. Why, as a matter of course, it would be sold among the other + things. If you had been rich, you might have bought it, for I remember you + said it represented your mother: you see what it is to be without a sou.” + </p> +<p> + I did. “But surely,” I thought to myself, “I shall not always be so + poverty-stricken; I may one day buy it back yet. Who purchased it? + do you know?” I asked. + </p> +<p> + “How is it likely? I never inquired who purchased anything; there spoke + the unpractical man—to imagine all the world is interested in what + interests himself! Now, good night—I’m off for Germany to-morrow + morning; I shall be back here in six weeks, and possibly I may call and + see you again; I wonder whether you’ll be still out of place!” he laughed, + as mockingly, as heartlessly as Mephistopheles, and so laughing, vanished. + </p> +<p> + Some people, however indifferent they may become after a considerable + space of absence, always contrive to leave a pleasant impression just at + parting; not so Hunsden, a conference with him affected one like a draught + of Peruvian bark; it seemed a concentration of the specially harsh, + stringent, bitter; whether, like bark, it invigorated, I scarcely knew. + </p> +<p> + A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow; I slept little on the night after + this interview; towards morning I began to doze, but hardly had my slumber + become sleep, when I was roused from it by hearing a noise in my sitting + room, to which my bed-room adjoined—a step, and a shoving of + furniture; the movement lasted barely two minutes; with the closing of the + door it ceased. I listened; not a mouse stirred; perhaps I had dreamt it; + perhaps a <i lang="fr">locataire</i> had made a mistake, and entered my + apartment instead of his own. It was yet but five o’clock; neither I nor + the day were wide awake; I turned, and was soon unconscious. When I did + rise, about two hours later, I had forgotten the circumstance; the first + thing I saw, however, on quitting my chamber, recalled it; just pushed in + at the door of my sitting-room, and still standing on end, was a wooden + packing-case—a rough deal affair, wide but shallow; a porter had doubtless + shoved it forward, but seeing no occupant of the room, had left it at the + entrance. + </p> +<p> + “That is none of mine,” thought I, approaching; “it must be meant for + somebody else.” I stooped to examine the address:— + </p> +<p> + “Wm. Crimsworth, Esq., No —, — St., Brussels.” + </p> +<p> + I was puzzled, but concluding that the best way to obtain information was + to ask within, I cut the cords and opened the case. Green baize enveloped + its contents, sewn carefully at the sides; I ripped the pack-thread with + my pen-knife, and still, as the seam gave way, glimpses of gilding + appeared through the widening interstices. Boards and baize being at + length removed, I lifted from the case a large picture, in a magnificent + frame; leaning it against a chair, in a position where the light from the + window fell favourably upon it, I stepped back—already I had mounted + my spectacles. A portrait-painter’s sky (the most sombre and threatening + of welkins), and distant trees of a conventional depth of hue, raised in + full relief a pale, pensive-looking female face, shadowed with soft dark + hair, almost blending with the equally dark clouds; large, solemn eyes + looked reflectively into mine; a thin cheek rested on a delicate little + hand; a shawl, artistically draped, half hid, half showed a slight figure. + A listener (had there been one) might have heard me, after ten minutes’ + silent gazing, utter the word “Mother!” I might have said more—but + with me, the first word uttered aloud in soliloquy rouses consciousness; + it reminds me that only crazy people talk to themselves, and then I think + out my monologue, instead of speaking it. I had thought a long while, and + a long while had contemplated the intelligence, the sweetness, and—alas! + the sadness also of those fine, grey eyes, the mental power of that + forehead, and the rare sensibility of that serious mouth, when my glance, + travelling downwards, fell on a narrow billet, stuck in the corner of the + picture, between the frame and the canvas. Then I first asked, “Who sent + this picture? Who thought of me, saved it out of the wreck of Crimsworth + Hall, and now commits it to the care of its natural keeper?” I took the + note from its niche; thus it spoke:— + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + “There is a sort of stupid pleasure in giving a child sweets, a fool his + bells, a dog a bone. You are repaid by seeing the child besmear his face + with sugar; by witnessing how the fool’s ecstasy makes a greater fool of + him than ever; by watching the dog’s nature come out over his bone. In + giving William Crimsworth his mother’s picture, I give him sweets, bells, + and bone all in one; what grieves me is, that I cannot behold the result; + I would have added five shillings more to my bid if the auctioneer could + only have promised me that pleasure. + </p> +<p> + “H. Y. H. + </p> +<p> + “P.S.—You said last night you positively declined adding another + item to your account with me; don’t you think I’ve saved you that + trouble?” + </p> +<p class="topspace"> + I muffled the picture in its green baize covering, restored it to the + case, and having transported the whole concern to my bed-room, put it out + of sight under my bed. My pleasure was now poisoned by pungent pain; I + determined to look no more till I could look at my ease. If Hunsden had + come in at that moment, I should have said to him, “I owe you nothing, + Hunsden—not a fraction of a farthing: you have paid yourself in + taunts!” + </p> +<p> + Too anxious to remain any longer quiescent, I had no sooner breakfasted, + than I repaired once more to M. Vandenhuten’s, scarcely hoping to find him + at home; for a week had barely elapsed since my first call: but fancying I + might be able to glean information as to the time when his return was + expected. A better result awaited me than I had anticipated, for though + the family were yet at Ostend, M. Vandenhuten had come over to Brussels on + business for the day. He received me with the quiet kindness of a sincere + though not excitable man. I had not sat five minutes alone with him in his + bureau, before I became aware of a sense of ease in his presence, such as + I rarely experienced with strangers. I was surprised at my own composure, + for, after all, I had come on business to me exceedingly painful—that + of soliciting a favour. I asked on what basis the calm rested—I + feared it might be deceptive. Ere long I caught a glimpse of the ground, + and at once I felt assured of its solidity; I knew where it was. + </p> +<p> + M. Vandenhuten was rich, respected, and influential; I, poor, despised and + powerless; so we stood to the world at large as members of the world’s + society; but to each other, as a pair of human beings, our positions were + reversed. The Dutchman (he was not Flamand, but pure Hollandais) was slow, + cool, of rather dense intelligence, though sound and accurate judgment; + the Englishman far more nervous, active, quicker both to plan and to + practise, to conceive and to realize. The Dutchman was benevolent, the + Englishman susceptible; in short our characters dovetailed, but my mind + having more fire and action than his, instinctively assumed and kept the + predominance. + </p> +<p> + This point settled, and my position well ascertained, I addressed him on + the subject of my affairs with that genuine frankness which full + confidence can alone inspire. It was a pleasure to him to be so appealed + to; he thanked me for giving him this opportunity of using a little + exertion in my behalf. I went on to explain to him that my wish was not so + much to be helped, as to be put into the way of helping myself; of him I + did not want exertion—that was to be my part—but only + information and recommendation. Soon after I rose to go. He held out his + hand at parting—an action of greater significance with foreigners + than with Englishmen. As I exchanged a smile with him, I thought the + benevolence of his truthful face was better than the intelligence of my + own. Characters of my order experience a balm-like solace in the contact + of such souls as animated the honest breast of Victor Vandenhuten. + </p> +<p> + The next fortnight was a period of many alternations; my existence during + its lapse resembled a sky of one of those autumnal nights which are + specially haunted by meteors and falling stars. Hopes and fears, + expectations and disappointments, descended in glancing showers from + zenith to horizon; but all were transient, and darkness followed swift + each vanishing apparition. M. Vandenhuten aided me faithfully; he set me + on the track of several places, and himself made efforts to secure them + for me; but for a long time solicitation and recommendation were vain—the + door either shut in my face when I was about to walk in, or another + candidate, entering before me, rendered my further advance useless. + Feverish and roused, no disappointment arrested me; defeat following fast + on defeat served as stimulants to will. I forgot fastidiousness, conquered + reserve, thrust pride from me: I asked, I persevered, I remonstrated, I + dunned. It is so that openings are forced into the guarded circle where + Fortune sits dealing favours round. My perseverance made me known; my + importunity made me remarked. I was inquired about; my former pupils’ + parents, gathering the reports of their children, heard me spoken of as + talented, and they echoed the word: the sound, bandied about at random, + came at last to ears which, but for its universality, it might never have + reached; and at the very crisis when I had tried my last effort and knew + not what to do, Fortune looked in at me one morning, as I sat in drear and + almost desperate deliberation on my bedstead, nodded with the familiarity + of an old acquaintance—though God knows I had never met her before—and + threw a prize into my lap. + </p> +<p> + In the second week of October, 18—, I got the appointment of English + professor to all the classes of —— College, Brussels, with a + salary of three thousand francs per annum; and the certainty of being + able, by dint of the reputation and publicity accompanying the position, + to make as much more by private means. The official notice, which + communicated this information, mentioned also that it was the strong + recommendation of M. Vandenhuten, negociant, which had turned the scale of + choice in my favour. + </p> +<p> + No sooner had I read the announcement than I hurried to M. Vandenhuten’s + bureau, pushed the document under his nose, and when he had perused it, + took both his hands, and thanked him with unrestrained vivacity. My vivid + words and emphatic gesture moved his Dutch calm to unwonted sensation. He + said he was happy—glad to have served me; but he had done nothing + meriting such thanks. He had not laid out a centime—only scratched a + few words on a sheet of paper. + </p> +<p> + Again I repeated to him— + </p> +<p> + “You have made me quite happy, and in a way that suits me; I do not feel + an obligation irksome, conferred by your kind hand; I do not feel disposed + to shun you because you have done me a favour; from this day you must + consent to admit me to your intimate acquaintance, for I shall hereafter + recur again and again to the pleasure of your society.” + </p> +<p> + “Ainsi soit-il,” was the reply, accompanied by a smile of benignant + content. I went away with its sunshine in my heart. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> +<p> + IT was two o’clock when I returned to my lodgings; my dinner, just brought + in from a neighbouring hotel, smoked on the table; I sat down thinking to + eat—had the plate been heaped with potsherds and broken glass, + instead of boiled beef and haricots, I could not have made a more signal + failure: appetite had forsaken me. Impatient of seeing food which I could + not taste, I put it all aside into a cupboard, and then demanded, “What + shall I do till evening?” for before six P.M. it would be vain to seek the + Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges; its inhabitant (for me it had but one) was + detained by her vocation elsewhere. I walked in the streets of Brussels, + and I walked in my own room from two o’clock till six; never once in that + space of time did I sit down. I was in my chamber when the last-named hour + struck; I had just bathed my face and feverish hands, and was standing + near the glass; my cheek was crimson, my eye was flame, still all my + features looked quite settled and calm. Descending swiftly the stair and + stepping out, I was glad to see Twilight drawing on in clouds; such shade + was to me like a grateful screen, and the chill of latter Autumn, + breathing in a fitful wind from the north-west, met me as a refreshing + coolness. Still I saw it was cold to others, for the women I passed were + wrapped in shawls, and the men had their coats buttoned close. + </p> +<p> + When are we quite happy? Was I so then? No; an urgent and growing dread + worried my nerves, and had worried them since the first moment good + tidings had reached me. How was Frances? It was ten weeks since I had seen + her, six since I had heard from her, or of her. I had answered her letter + by a brief note, friendly but calm, in which no mention of continued + correspondence or further visits was made. At that hour my bark hung on + the topmost curl of a wave of fate, and I knew not on what shoal the + onward rush of the billow might hurl it; I would not then attach her + destiny to mine by the slightest thread; if doomed to split on the rock, + or run aground on the sand-bank, I was resolved no other vessel should + share my disaster: but six weeks was a long time; and could it be that she + was still well and doing well? Were not all sages agreed in declaring that + happiness finds no climax on earth? Dared I think that but half a street + now divided me from the full cup of contentment—the draught drawn + from waters said to flow only in heaven? + </p> +<p> + I was at the door; I entered the quiet house; I mounted the stairs; the + lobby was void and still, all the doors closed; I looked for the neat + green mat; it lay duly in its place. + </p> +<p> + “Signal of hope!” I said, and advanced. “But I will be a little calmer; I + am not going to rush in, and get up a scene directly.” Forcibly staying my + eager step, I paused on the mat. + </p> +<p> + “What an absolute hush! Is she in? Is anybody in?” I demanded to myself. A + little tinkle, as of cinders falling from a grate, replied; a movement—a + fire was gently stirred; and the slight rustle of life continuing, a step + paced equably backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, in the + apartment. Fascinated, I stood, more fixedly fascinated when a voice + rewarded the attention of my strained ear—so low, so self-addressed, + I never fancied the speaker otherwise than alone; solitude might speak + thus in a desert, or in the hall of a forsaken house. + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “‘And ne’er but once, my son,’ he said,<br> + <span class="poemindent">‘Was yon dark cavern trod;</span><br> + In persecution’s iron days,<br> + <span class="poemindent">When the land was left by God.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + From Bewley’s bog, with slaughter red,<br> + <span class="poemindent">A wanderer hither drew;</span><br> + And oft he stopp’d and turn’d his head,<br> + <span class="poemindent">As by fits the night-winds blew.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + For trampling round by Cheviot-edge<br> + <span class="poemindent">Were heard the troopers keen;</span><br> + And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge<br> + <span class="poemindent">The death-shot flash’d between.’” &c. &c. + </span> +</p> +<p> + The old Scotch ballad was partly recited, then dropt; a pause ensued; then + another strain followed, in French, of which the purport, translated, ran + as follows:— + </p> +<p class="poem"> + I gave, at first, attention close;<br> + <span class="poemindent">Then interest warm ensued;</span><br> + From interest, as improvement rose,<br> + <span class="poemindent">Succeeded gratitude.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Obedience was no effort soon,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> And labour was no pain;</span><br> + If tired, a word, a glance alone<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Would give me strength again.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + From others of the studious band,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Ere long he singled me;</span><br> + But only by more close demand,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> And sterner urgency.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + The task he from another took,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> From me he did reject;</span><br> + He would no slight omission brook,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> And suffer no defect.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + If my companions went astray,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> He scarce their wanderings blam’d;</span><br> + If I but falter’d in the way,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> His anger fiercely flam’d.</span> +</p> +<p> + Something stirred in an adjoining chamber; it would not do to be surprised + eaves-dropping; I tapped hastily, and as hastily entered. Frances was just + before me; she had been walking slowly in her room, and her step was + checked by my advent: Twilight only was with her, and tranquil, ruddy + Firelight; to these sisters, the Bright and the Dark, she had been + speaking, ere I entered, in poetry. Sir Walter Scott’s voice, to her a + foreign, far-off sound, a mountain echo, had uttered itself in the first + stanzas; the second, I thought, from the style and the substance, was the + language of her own heart. Her face was grave, its expression + concentrated; she bent on me an unsmiling eye—an eye just returning + from abstraction, just awaking from dreams: well-arranged was her simple + attire, smooth her dark hair, orderly her tranquil room; but what—with + her thoughtful look, her serious self-reliance, her bent to meditation and + haply inspiration—what had she to do with love? “Nothing,” was the + answer of her own sad, though gentle countenance; it seemed to say, “I + must cultivate fortitude and cling to poetry; one is to be my support and + the other my solace through life. Human affections do not bloom, nor do + human passions glow for me.” Other women have such thoughts. Frances, had + she been as desolate as she deemed, would not have been worse off than + thousands of her sex. Look at the rigid and formal race of old maids—the + race whom all despise; they have fed themselves, from youth upwards, on + maxims of resignation and endurance. Many of them get ossified with the + dry diet; self-control is so continually their thought, so perpetually + their object, that at last it absorbs the softer and more agreeable + qualities of their nature; and they die mere models of austerity, + fashioned out of a little parchment and much bone. Anatomists will tell + you that there is a heart in the withered old maid’s carcass—the + same as in that of any cherished wife or proud mother in the land. Can + this be so? I really don’t know; but feel inclined to doubt it. + </p> +<p> + I came forward, bade Frances “good evening,” and took my seat. The chair I + had chosen was one she had probably just left; it stood by a little table + where were her open desk and papers. I know not whether she had fully + recognized me at first, but she did so now; and in a voice, soft but + quiet, she returned my greeting. I had shown no eagerness; she took her + cue from me, and evinced no surprise. We met as we had always met, as + master and pupil—nothing more. I proceeded to handle the papers; + Frances, observant and serviceable, stepped into an inner room, brought a + candle, lit it, placed it by me; then drew the curtain over the lattice, + and having added a little fresh fuel to the already bright fire, she drew + a second chair to the table and sat down at my right hand, a little + removed. The paper on the top was a translation of some grave French + author into English, but underneath lay a sheet with stanzas; on this I + laid hands. Frances half rose, made a movement to recover the captured + spoil, saying, that was nothing—a mere copy of verses. I put by + resistance with the decision I knew she never long opposed; but on this + occasion her fingers had fastened on the paper. I had quietly to unloose + them; their hold dissolved to my touch; her hand shrunk away; my own would + fain have followed it, but for the present I forbade such impulse. The + first page of the sheet was occupied with the lines I had overheard; the + sequel was not exactly the writer’s own experience, but a composition by + portions of that experience suggested. Thus while egotism was avoided, the + fancy was exercised, and the heart satisfied. I translate as before, and + my translation is nearly literal; it continued thus:— + </p> + +<p class="poem"> + When sickness stay’d awhile my course,<br> + <span class="poemindent">He seem’d impatient still,</span><br> + Because his pupil’s flagging force<br> + <span class="poemindent">Could not obey his will.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + One day when summoned to the bed<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Where pain and I did strive,</span><br> + I heard him, as he bent his head,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Say, “God, she <em>must</em> revive!”</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + I felt his hand, with gentle stress,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> A moment laid on mine,</span><br> + And wished to mark my consciousness<br> + <span class="poemindent"> By some responsive sign.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + But pow’rless then to speak or move,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> I only felt, within,</span><br> + The sense of Hope, the strength of Love,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Their healing work begin.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + And as he from the room withdrew,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> My heart his steps pursued;</span><br> + I long’d to prove, by efforts new;<br> + <span class="poemindent"> My speechless gratitude.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + When once again I took my place,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Long vacant, in the class,</span><br> + Th’ unfrequent smile across his face<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Did for one moment pass.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + The lessons done; the signal made<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Of glad release and play,</span><br> + He, as he passed, an instant stay’d,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> One kindly word to say.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Jane, till to-morrow you are free<br> + <span class="poemindent"> From tedious task and rule;</span><br> + This afternoon I must not see<br> + <span class="poemindent"> That yet pale face in school.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Seek in the garden-shades a seat,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Far from the play-ground din;</span><br> + The sun is warm, the air is sweet:<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Stay till I call you in.”</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + A long and pleasant afternoon<br> + <span class="poemindent"> I passed in those green bowers;</span><br> + All silent, tranquil, and alone<br> + <span class="poemindent"> With birds, and bees, and flowers.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Yet, when my master’s voice I heard<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Call, from the window, “Jane!”</span><br> + I entered, joyful, at the word,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> The busy house again.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + He, in the hall, paced up and down;<br> + <span class="poemindent"> He paused as I passed by;</span><br> + His forehead stern relaxed its frown:<br> + <span class="poemindent"> He raised his deep-set eye.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Not quite so pale,” he murmured low.<br> + <span class="poemindent"> “Now Jane, go rest awhile.”</span><br> + And as I smiled, his smoothened brow<br> + <span class="poemindent">Returned as glad a smile.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + My perfect health restored, he took<br> + <span class="poemindent"> His mien austere again;</span><br> + And, as before, he would not brook<br> + <span class="poemindent"> The slightest fault from Jane.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + The longest task, the hardest theme<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Fell to my share as erst,</span><br> + And still I toiled to place my name<br> + <span class="poemindent"> In every study first.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + He yet begrudged and stinted praise,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> But I had learnt to read</span><br> + The secret meaning of his face,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> And that was my best meed.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Even when his hasty temper spoke<br> + <span class="poemindent"> In tones that sorrow stirred,</span><br> + My grief was lulled as soon as woke<br> + <span class="poemindent"> By some relenting word.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + And when he lent some precious book,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Or gave some fragrant flower,</span><br> + I did not quail to Envy’s look,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Upheld by Pleasure’s power.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + At last our school ranks took their ground,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> The hard-fought field I won;</span><br> + The prize, a laurel-wreath, was bound<br> + <span class="poemindent"> My throbbing forehead on.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + Low at my master’s knee I bent,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> The offered crown to meet;</span><br> + Its green leaves through my temples sent<br> + <span class="poemindent"> A thrill as wild as sweet.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + The strong pulse of Ambition struck<br> + <span class="poemindent"> In every vein I owned;</span><br> + At the same instant, bleeding broke<br> + <span class="poemindent"> A secret, inward wound.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + The hour of triumph was to me<br> + <span class="poemindent"> The hour of sorrow sore;</span><br> + A day hence I must cross the sea,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Ne’er to recross it more.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + An hour hence, in my master’s room<br> + <span class="poemindent"> I with him sat alone,</span><br> + And told him what a dreary gloom<br> + <span class="poemindent"> O’er joy had parting thrown.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + He little said; the time was brief,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> The ship was soon to sail,</span><br> + And while I sobbed in bitter grief,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> My master but looked pale.</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + They called in haste; he bade me go,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Then snatched me back again;</span><br> + He held me fast and murmured low,<br> + <span class="poemindent">“Why will they part us, Jane?”</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “Were you not happy in my care?<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Did I not faithful prove?</span><br> + Will others to my darling bear<br> + <span class="poemindent"> As true, as deep a love?</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “O God, watch o’er my foster child!<br> + <span class="poemindent"> O guard her gentle head!</span><br> + When minds are high and tempests wild<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Protection round her spread!</span> + </p> +<p class="poem"> + “They call again; leave then my breast;<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Quit thy true shelter, Jane;</span><br> + But when deceived, repulsed, opprest,<br> + <span class="poemindent"> Come home to me again!”</span> + </p> +<p> + I read—then dreamily made marks on the margin with my pencil; + thinking all the while of other things; thinking that “Jane” was now at my + side; no child, but a girl of nineteen; and she might be mine, so my heart + affirmed; Poverty’s curse was taken off me; Envy and Jealousy were far + away, and unapprized of this our quiet meeting; the frost of the Master’s + manner might melt; I felt the thaw coming fast, whether I would or not; no + further need for the eye to practise a hard look, for the brow to compress + its expanse into a stern fold: it was now permitted to suffer the outward + revelation of the inward glow—to seek, demand, elicit an answering + ardour. While musing thus, I thought that the grass on Hermon never drank + the fresh dews of sunset more gratefully than my feelings drank the bliss + of this hour. + </p> +<p> + Frances rose, as if restless; she passed before me to stir the fire, which + did not want stirring; she lifted and put down the little ornaments on the + mantelpiece; her dress waved within a yard of me; slight, straight, and + elegant, she stood erect on the hearth. + </p> +<p> + There are impulses we can control; but there are others which control us, + because they attain us with a tiger-leap, and are our masters ere we have + seen them. Perhaps, though, such impulses are seldom altogether bad; + perhaps Reason, by a process as brief as quiet, a process that is finished + ere felt, has ascertained the sanity of the deed. Instinct meditates, and + feels justified in remaining passive while it is performed. I know I did + not reason, I did not plan or intend, yet, whereas one moment I was + sitting solus on the chair near the table, the next, I held Frances on my + knee, placed there with sharpness and decision, and retained with + exceeding tenacity. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur!” cried Frances, and was still: not another word escaped her + lips; sorely confounded she seemed during the lapse of the first few + moments; but the amazement soon subsided; terror did not succeed, nor + fury: after all, she was only a little nearer than she had ever been + before, to one she habitually respected and trusted; embarrassment might + have impelled her to contend, but self-respect checked resistance where + resistance was useless. + </p> +<p> + “Frances, how much regard have you for me?” was my demand. No answer; the + situation was yet too new and surprising to permit speech. On this + consideration, I compelled myself for some seconds to tolerate her + silence, though impatient of it: presently, I repeated the same + question—probably, not in the calmest of tones; she looked at me; my face, + doubtless, was no model of composure, my eyes no still wells of + tranquillity. + </p> +<p> + “Do speak,” I urged; and a very low, hurried, yet still arch voice said— + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, vous me faîtes mal; de grâce lâchez un peu ma main droite.” + </p> +<p> + In truth I became aware that I was holding the said “main droite” in a + somewhat ruthless grasp: I did as desired; and, for the third time, asked + more gently— + </p> +<p> + “Frances, how much regard have you for me?” + </p> +<p> + “Mon maître, j’en ai beaucoup,” was the truthful rejoinder. + </p> +<p> + “Frances, have you enough to give yourself to me as my wife?—to + accept me as your husband?” + </p> +<p> + I felt the agitation of the heart, I saw “the purple light of love” cast + its glowing reflection on cheeks, temples, neck; I desired to consult the + eye, but sheltering lash and lid forbade. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur,” said the soft voice at last,—“Monsieur désire savoir si + je consens—si—enfin, si je veux me marier avec lui?” + </p> +<p> + “Justement.” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur sera-t-il aussi bon mari qu’il a été bon maître?” + </p> +<p> + “I will try, Frances.” + </p> +<p> + A pause; then with a new, yet still subdued inflexion of the voice—an + inflexion which provoked while it pleased me—accompanied, too, by a + “sourire à la fois fin et timide” in perfect harmony with the tone:— + </p> +<p> + “C’est à dire, monsieur sera toujours un peu entêté exigeant, + volontaire—?” + </p> +<p> + “Have I been so, Frances?” + </p> +<p> + “Mais oui; vous le savez bien.” + </p> +<p> + “Have I been nothing else?” + </p> +<p> + “Mais oui; vous avez été mon meilleur ami.” + </p> +<p> + “And what, Frances, are you to me?” + </p> +<p> + “Votre dévouée élève, qui vous aime de tout son coeur.” + </p> +<p> + “Will my pupil consent to pass her life with me? Speak English now, + Frances.” + </p> +<p> + Some moments were taken for reflection; the answer, pronounced slowly, ran + thus:— + </p> +<p> + “You have always made me happy; I like to hear you speak; I like to see + you; I like to be near you; I believe you are very good, and very + superior; I know you are stern to those who are careless and idle, but you + are kind, very kind to the attentive and industrious, even if they are not + clever. Master, I should be <em>glad</em> to live with you always;” and + she made a sort of movement, as if she would have clung to me, but + restraining herself she only added with earnest emphasis—“Master, I + consent to pass my life with you.” + </p> +<p> + “Very well, Frances.” + </p> +<p> + I drew her a little nearer to my heart; I took a first kiss from her lips, + thereby sealing the compact, now framed between us; afterwards she and I + were silent, nor was our silence brief. Frances’ thoughts, during this + interval, I know not, nor did I attempt to guess them; I was not occupied + in searching her countenance, nor in otherwise troubling her composure. + The peace I felt, I wished her to feel; my arm, it is true, still detained + her; but with a restraint that was gentle enough, so long as no opposition + tightened it. My gaze was on the red fire; my heart was measuring its own + content; it sounded and sounded, and found the depth fathomless. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur,” at last said my quiet companion, as stirless in her happiness + as a mouse in its terror. Even now in speaking she scarcely lifted her + head. + </p> +<p> + “Well, Frances?” I like unexaggerated intercourse; it is not my way to + overpower with amorous epithets, any more than to worry with selfishly + importunate caresses. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur est raisonnable, n’est-ce pas?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes; especially when I am requested to be so in English: but why do you + ask me? You see nothing vehement or obtrusive in my manner; am I not + tranquil enough?” + </p> +<p> + “Ce n’est pas cela—” began Frances. + </p> +<p> + “English!” I reminded her. + </p> +<p> + “Well, monsieur, I wished merely to say, that I should like, of course, to + retain my employment of teaching. You will teach still, I suppose, + monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, yes! It is all I have to depend on.” + </p> +<p> + “Bon!—I mean good. Thus we shall have both the same profession. I + like that; and my efforts to get on will be as unrestrained as yours—will + they not, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “You are laying plans to be independent of me,” said I. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, monsieur; I must be no incumbrance to you—no burden in any + way.” + </p> +<p> + “But, Frances, I have not yet told you what my prospects are. I have left + M. Pelet’s; and after nearly a month’s seeking, I have got another place, + with a salary of three thousand francs a year, which I can easily double + by a little additional exertion. Thus you see it would be useless for you + to fag yourself by going out to give lessons; on six thousand francs you + and I can live, and live well.” + </p> +<p> + Frances seemed to consider. There is something flattering to man’s + strength, something consonant to his honourable pride, in the idea of + becoming the providence of what he loves—feeding and clothing it, as + God does the lilies of the field. So, to decide her resolution, I went + on:— + </p> +<p> + “Life has been painful and laborious enough to you so far, Frances; you + require complete rest; your twelve hundred francs would not form a very + important addition to our income, and what sacrifice of comfort to earn + it! Relinquish your labours: you must be weary, and let me have the + happiness of giving you rest.” + </p> +<p> + I am not sure whether Frances had accorded due attention to my harangue; + instead of answering me with her usual respectful promptitude, she only + sighed and said,— + </p> +<p> + “How rich you are, monsieur!” and then she stirred uneasy in my arms. + “Three thousand francs!” she murmured, “While I get only twelve hundred!” + She went on faster. “However, it must be so for the present; and, + monsieur, were you not saying something about my giving up my place? Oh + no! I shall hold it fast;” and her little fingers emphatically tightened + on mine. + </p> +<p> + “Think of my marrying you to be kept by you, monsieur! I could not do it; + and how dull my days would be! You would be away teaching in close, noisy + school-rooms, from morning till evening, and I should be lingering at + home, unemployed and solitary; I should get depressed and sullen, and you + would soon tire of me.” + </p> +<p> + “Frances, you could read and study—two things you like so well.” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, I could not; I like a contemplative life, but I like an active + life better; I must act in some way, and act with you. I have taken + notice, monsieur, that people who are only in each other’s company for + amusement, never really like each other so well, or esteem each other so + highly, as those who work together, and perhaps suffer together.” + </p> +<p> + “You speak God’s truth,” said I at last, “and you shall have your own way, + for it is the best way. Now, as a reward for such ready consent, give me a + voluntary kiss.” + </p> +<p> + After some hesitation, natural to a novice in the art of kissing, she + brought her lips into very shy and gentle contact with my forehead; I took + the small gift as a loan, and repaid it promptly, and with generous + interest. + </p> +<p> + I know not whether Frances was really much altered since the time I first + saw her; but, as I looked at her now, I felt that she was singularly + changed for me; the sad eye, the pale cheek, the dejected and joyless + countenance I remembered as her early attributes, were quite gone, and now + I saw a face dressed in graces; smile, dimple, and rosy tint rounded its + contours and brightened its hues. I had been accustomed to nurse a + flattering idea that my strong attachment to her proved some particular + perspicacity in my nature; she was not handsome, she was not rich, she was + not even accomplished, yet was she my life’s treasure; I must then be a + man of peculiar discernment. To-night my eyes opened on the mistake I had + made; I began to suspect that it was only my tastes which were unique, not + my power of discovering and appreciating the superiority of moral worth + over physical charms. For me Frances had physical charms: in her there was + no deformity to get over; none of those prominent defects of eyes, teeth, + complexion, shape, which hold at bay the admiration of the boldest male + champions of intellect (for women can love a downright ugly man if he be + but talented); had she been either “édentée, myope, rugueuse, ou bossue,” + my feelings towards her might still have been kindly, but they could never + have been impassioned; I had affection for the poor little misshapen + Sylvie, but for her I could never have had love. It is true Frances’ + mental points had been the first to interest me, and they still retained + the strongest hold on my preference; but I liked the graces of her person + too. I derived a pleasure, purely material, from contemplating the + clearness of her brown eyes, the fairness of her fine skin, the purity of + her well-set teeth, the proportion of her delicate form; and that pleasure + I could ill have dispensed with. It appeared, then, that I too was a + sensualist, in my temperate and fastidious way. + </p> +<p> + Now, reader, during the last two pages I have been giving you honey fresh + from flowers, but you must not live entirely on food so luscious; taste + then a little gall—just a drop, by way of change. + </p> +<p> + At a somewhat late hour I returned to my lodgings: having temporarily + forgotten that man had any such coarse cares as those of eating and + drinking, I went to bed fasting. I had been excited and in action all day, + and had tasted no food since eight that morning; besides, for a fortnight + past, I had known no rest either of body or mind; the last few hours had + been a sweet delirium, it would not subside now, and till long after + midnight, broke with troubled ecstacy the rest I so much needed. At last I + dozed, but not for long; it was yet quite dark when I awoke, and my waking + was like that of Job when a spirit passed before his face, and like him, + “the hair of my flesh stood up.” I might continue the parallel, for in + truth, though I saw nothing, yet “a thing was secretly brought unto me, + and mine ear received a little thereof; there was silence, and I heard a + voice,” saying—“In the midst of life we are in death.” + </p> +<p> + That sound, and the sensation of chill anguish accompanying it, many would + have regarded as supernatural; but I recognized it at once as the effect + of reaction. Man is ever clogged with his mortality, and it was my mortal + nature which now faltered and plained; my nerves, which jarred and gave a + false sound, because the soul, of late rushing headlong to an aim, had + overstrained the body’s comparative weakness. A horror of great darkness + fell upon me; I felt my chamber invaded by one I had known formerly, but + had thought for ever departed. I was temporarily a prey to hypochondria. + </p> +<p> + She had been my acquaintance, nay, my guest, once before in boyhood; I had + entertained her at bed and board for a year; for that space of time I had + her to myself in secret; she lay with me, she ate with me, she walked out + with me, showing me nooks in woods, hollows in hills, where we could sit + together, and where she could drop her drear veil over me, and so hide sky + and sun, grass and green tree; taking me entirely to her death-cold bosom, + and holding me with arms of bone. What tales she would tell me at such + hours! What songs she would recite in my ears! How she would discourse to + me of her own country—the grave—and again and again promise to + conduct me there ere long; and, drawing me to the very brink of a black, + sullen river, show me, on the other side, shores unequal with mound, + monument, and tablet, standing up in a glimmer more hoary than moonlight. + “Necropolis!” she would whisper, pointing to the pale piles, and add, “It + contains a mansion prepared for you.” + </p> +<p> + But my boyhood was lonely, parentless; uncheered by brother or sister; and + there was no marvel that, just as I rose to youth, a sorceress, finding me + lost in vague mental wanderings, with many affections and few objects, + glowing aspirations and gloomy prospects, strong desires and slender + hopes, should lift up her illusive lamp to me in the distance, and lure me + to her vaulted home of horrors. No wonder her spells <em>then</em> had + power; but <em>now</em>, when my course was widening, my prospect + brightening; when my affections had found a rest; when my desires, folding + wings, weary with long flight, had just alighted on the very lap of + fruition, and nestled there warm, content, under the caress of a soft + hand—why did hypochondria accost me now? + </p> +<p> + I repulsed her as one would a dreaded and ghastly concubine coming to + embitter a husband’s heart toward his young bride; in vain; she kept her + sway over me for that night and the next day, and eight succeeding days. + Afterwards, my spirits began slowly to recover their tone; my appetite + returned, and in a fortnight I was well. I had gone about as usual all the + time, and had said nothing to anybody of what I felt; but I was glad when + the evil spirit departed from me, and I could again seek Frances, and sit + at her side, freed from the dreadful tyranny of my demon. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XXIV. + </h2> +<p> + ONE fine, frosty Sunday in November, Frances and I took a long walk; we + made the tour of the city by the Boulevards; and, afterwards, Frances + being a little tired, we sat down on one of those wayside seats placed + under the trees, at intervals, for the accommodation of the weary. Frances + was telling me about Switzerland; the subject animated her; and I was just + thinking that her eyes spoke full as eloquently as her tongue, when she + stopped and remarked— + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, there is a gentleman who knows you.” + </p> +<p> + I looked up; three fashionably dressed men were just then + passing—Englishmen, I knew by their air and gait as well as by their + features; in the tallest of the trio I at once recognized Mr. Hunsden; he + was in the act of lifting his hat to Frances; afterwards, he made a + grimace at me, and passed on. + </p> +<p> + “Who is he?” + </p> +<p> + “A person I knew in England.” + </p> +<p> + “Why did he bow to me? He does not know me.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, he does know you, in his way.” + </p> +<p> + “How, monsieur?” (She still called me “monsieur”; I could not persuade her + to adopt any more familiar term.) + </p> +<p> + “Did you not read the expression of his eyes?” + </p> +<p> + “Of his eyes? No. What did they say?” + </p> +<p> + “To you they said, ‘How do you do, Wilhelmina Crimsworth?’ To me, ‘So you + have found your counterpart at last; there she sits, the female of your + kind!’” + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, you could not read all that in his eyes; he was so soon gone.” + </p> +<p> + “I read that and more, Frances; I read that he will probably call on me + this evening, or on some future occasion shortly; and I have no doubt he + will insist on being introduced to you; shall I bring him to your rooms?” + </p> +<p> + “If you please, monsieur—I have no objection; I think, indeed, I + should rather like to see him nearer; he looks so original.” + </p> +<p> + As I had anticipated, Mr. Hunsden came that evening. The first thing he + said was:— + </p> +<p> + “You need not begin boasting, Monsieur le Professeur; I know about your + appointment to —— College, and all that; Brown has told me.” + Then he intimated that he had returned from Germany but a day or two + since; afterwards, he abruptly demanded whether that was Madame + Pelet-Reuter with whom he had seen me on the Boulevards. I was going to + utter a rather emphatic negative, but on second thoughts I checked myself, + and, seeming to assent, asked what he thought of her? + </p> +<p> + “As to her, I’ll come to that directly; but first I’ve a word for you. I + see you are a scoundrel; you’ve no business to be promenading about with + another man’s wife. I thought you had sounder sense than to get mixed up + in foreign hodge-podge of this sort.” + </p> +<p> + “But the lady?” + </p> +<p> + “She’s too good for you evidently; she is like you, but something better + than you—no beauty, though; yet when she rose (for I looked back to + see you both walk away) I thought her figure and carriage good. These + foreigners understand grace. What the devil has she done with Pelet? She + has not been married to him three months—he must be a spoon!” + </p> +<p> + I would not let the mistake go too far; I did not like it much. + </p> +<p> + “Pelet? How your head runs on Mons. and Madame Pelet! You are always + talking about them. I wish to the gods you had wed Mdlle. Zoraïde + yourself!” + </p> +<p> + “Was that young gentlewoman not Mdlle. Zoraïde?” + </p> +<p> + “No; nor Madame Zoraïde either.” + </p> +<p> + “Why did you tell a lie, then?” + </p> +<p> + “I told no lie; but you are is such a hurry. She is a pupil of mine—a + Swiss girl.” + </p> +<p> + “And of course you are going to be married to her? Don’t deny that.” + </p> +<p> + “Married! I think I shall—if Fate spares us both ten weeks longer. + That is my little wild strawberry, Hunsden, whose sweetness made me + careless of your hothouse grapes.” + </p> +<p> + “Stop! No boasting—no heroics; I won’t hear them. What is she? To + what <em>caste</em> does she belong?” + </p> +<p> + I smiled. Hunsden unconsciously laid stress on the word <em>caste</em>, + and, in fact, republican, lord-hater as he was, Hunsden was as proud of + his old ——shire blood, of his descent and family standing, respectable + and respected through long generations back, as any peer in the realm of + his Norman race and Conquest-dated title. Hunsden would as little have + thought of taking a wife from a <em>caste</em> inferior to his own, as a + Stanley would think of mating with a Cobden. I enjoyed the surprise I + should give; I enjoyed the triumph of my practice over his theory; and + leaning over the table, and uttering the words slowly but with repressed + glee, I said concisely— + </p> +<p> + “She is a lace-mender.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden examined me. He did not <em>say</em> he was surprised, but + surprised he was; he had his own notions of good breeding. I saw he + suspected I was going to take some very rash step; but repressing + declamation or remonstrance, he only answered— + </p> +<p> + “Well, you are the best judge of your own affairs. A lace-mender may make + a good wife as well as a lady; but of course you have taken care to + ascertain thoroughly that since she has not education, fortune or station, + she is well furnished with such natural qualities as you think most likely + to conduce to your happiness. Has she many relations?” + </p> +<p> + “None in Brussels.” + </p> +<p> + “That is better. Relations are often the real evil in such cases. I cannot + but think that a train of inferior connections would have been a bore to + you to your life’s end.” + </p> +<p> + After sitting in silence a little while longer, Hunsden rose, and was + quietly bidding me good evening; the polite, considerate manner in which + he offered me his hand (a thing he had never done before), convinced me + that he thought I had made a terrible fool of myself; and that, ruined and + thrown away as I was, it was no time for sarcasm or cynicism, or indeed + for anything but indulgence and forbearance. + </p> +<p> + “Good night, William,” he said, in a really soft voice, while his face + looked benevolently compassionate. “Good night, lad. I wish you and your + future wife much prosperity; and I hope she will satisfy your fastidious + soul.” + </p> +<p> + I had much ado to refrain from laughing as I beheld the magnanimous pity + of his mien; maintaining, however, a grave air, I said:— + </p> +<p> + “I thought you would have liked to have seen Mdlle. Henri?” + </p> +<p> + “Oh, that is the name! Yes—if it would be convenient, I should like + to see her—but——.” He hesitated. + </p> +<p> + “Well?” + </p> +<p> + “I should on no account wish to intrude.” + </p> +<p> + “Come, then,” said I. We set out. Hunsden no doubt regarded me as a rash, + imprudent man, thus to show my poor little grisette sweetheart, in her + poor little unfurnished grenier; but he prepared to act the real + gentleman, having, in fact, the kernel of that character, under the harsh + husk it pleased him to wear by way of mental mackintosh. He talked + affably, and even gently, as we went along the street; he had never been + so civil to me in his life. We reached the house, entered, ascended the + stair; on gaining the lobby, Hunsden turned to mount a narrower stair + which led to a higher story; I saw his mind was bent on the attics. + </p> +<p> + “Here, Mr. Hunsden,” said I quietly, tapping at Frances’ door. He turned; + in his genuine politeness he was a little disconcerted at having made the + mistake; his eye reverted to the green mat, but he said nothing. + </p> +<p> + We walked in, and Frances rose from her seat near the table to receive us; + her mourning attire gave her a recluse, rather conventual, but withal very + distinguished look; its grave simplicity added nothing to beauty, but much + to dignity; the finish of the white collar and manchettes sufficed for a + relief to the merino gown of solemn black; ornament was forsworn. Frances + curtsied with sedate grace, looking, as she always did, when one first + accosted her, more a woman to respect than to love; I introduced Mr. + Hunsden, and she expressed her happiness at making his acquaintance in + French. The pure and polished accent, the low yet sweet and rather full + voice, produced their effect immediately; Hunsden spoke French in reply; I + had not heard him speak that language before; he managed it very well. I + retired to the window-seat; Mr. Hunsden, at his hostess’s invitation, + occupied a chair near the hearth; from my position I could see them both, + and the room too, at a glance. The room was so clean and bright, it looked + like a little polished cabinet; a glass filled with flowers in the centre + of the table, a fresh rose in each china cup on the mantelpiece gave it an + air of <i lang="fr">fête</i>. Frances was serious, and Mr. Hunsden + subdued, but both + mutually polite; they got on at the French swimmingly: ordinary topics + were discussed with great state and decorum; I thought I had never seen + two such models of propriety, for Hunsden (thanks to the constraint of the + foreign tongue) was obliged to shape his phrases, and measure his + sentences, with a care that forbade any eccentricity. At last England was + mentioned, and Frances proceeded to ask questions. Animated by degrees, + she began to change, just as a grave night-sky changes at the approach of + sunrise: first it seemed as if her forehead cleared, then her eyes + glittered, her features relaxed, and became quite mobile; her subdued + complexion grew warm and transparent; to me, she now looked pretty; + before, she had only looked ladylike. + </p> +<p> + She had many things to say to the Englishman just fresh from his + island-country, and she urged him with an enthusiasm of curiosity, which + ere long thawed Hunsden’s reserve as fire thaws a congealed viper. I use + this not very flattering comparison because he vividly reminded me of a + snake waking from torpor, as he erected his tall form, reared his head, + before a little declined, and putting back his hair from his broad Saxon + forehead, showed unshaded the gleam of almost savage satire which his + interlocutor’s tone of eagerness and look of ardour had sufficed at once + to kindle in his soul and elicit from his eyes: he was himself; as Frances + was herself, and in none but his own language would he now address her. + </p> +<p> + “You understand English?” was the prefatory question. + </p> +<p> + “A little.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, then, you shall have plenty of it; and first, I see you’ve not much + more sense than some others of my acquaintance” (indicating me with his + thumb), “or else you’d never turn rabid about that dirty little country + called England; for rabid, I see you are; I read Anglophobia in your + looks, and hear it in your words. Why, mademoiselle, is it possible that + anybody with a grain of rationality should feel enthusiasm about a mere + name, and that name England? I thought you were a lady-abbess five minutes + ago, and respected you accordingly; and now I see you are a sort of Swiss + sibyl, with high Tory and high Church principles!” + </p> +<p> + “England is your country?” asked Frances. + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “And you don’t like it?” + </p> +<p> + “I’d be sorry to like it! A little corrupt, venal, lord-and-king-cursed + nation, full of mucky pride (as they say in ——shire), and + helpless pauperism; rotten with abuses, worm-eaten with prejudices!” + </p> +<p> + “You might say so of almost every state; there are abuses and prejudices + everywhere, and I thought fewer in England than in other countries.” + </p> +<p> + “Come to England and see. Come to Birmingham and Manchester; come to St. + Giles’ in London, and get a practical notion of how our system works. + Examine the footprints of our august aristocracy; see how they walk in + blood, crushing hearts as they go. Just put your head in at English + cottage doors; get a glimpse of Famine crouched torpid on black + hearthstones; of Disease lying bare on beds without coverlets, of Infamy + wantoning viciously with Ignorance, though indeed Luxury is her favourite + paramour, and princely halls are dearer to her than thatched hovels——” + </p> +<p> + “I was not thinking of the wretchedness and vice in England; I was + thinking of the good side—of what is elevated in your character as a + nation.” + </p> +<p> + “There is no good side—none at least of which you can have any + knowledge; for you cannot appreciate the efforts of industry, the + achievements of enterprise, or the discoveries of science: narrowness of + education and obscurity of position quite incapacitate you from + understanding these points; and as to historical and poetical + associations, I will not insult you, mademoiselle, by supposing that you + alluded to such humbug.” + </p> +<p> + “But I did partly.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden laughed—his laugh of unmitigated scorn. + </p> +<p> + “I did, Mr. Hunsden. Are you of the number of those to whom such + associations give no pleasure?” + </p> +<p> + “Mademoiselle, what is an association? I never saw one. What is its + length, breadth, weight, value—ay, <em>value</em>? What price will it + bring in the market?” + </p> +<p> + “Your portrait, to any one who loved you, would, for the sake of + association, be without price.” + </p> +<p> + That inscrutable Hunsden heard this remark and felt it rather acutely, + too, somewhere; for he coloured—a thing not unusual with him, when + hit unawares on a tender point. A sort of trouble momentarily darkened his + eye, and I believe he filled up the transient pause succeeding his + antagonist’s home-thrust, by a wish that some one did love him as he would + like to be loved—some one whose love he could unreservedly return. + </p> +<p> + The lady pursued her temporary advantage. + </p> +<p> + “If your world is a world without associations, Mr. Hunsden, I no longer + wonder that you hate England so. I don’t clearly know what Paradise is, + and what angels are; yet taking it to be the most glorious region I can + conceive, and angels the most elevated existences—if one of them—if + Abdiel the Faithful himself” (she was thinking of Milton) “were suddenly + stripped of the faculty of association, I think he would soon rush forth + from ‘the ever-during gates,’ leave heaven, and seek what he had lost in + hell. Yes, in the very hell from which he turned ‘with retorted scorn.’” + </p> +<p> + Frances’ tone in saying this was as marked as her language, and it was + when the word “hell” twanged off from her lips, with a somewhat startling + emphasis, that Hunsden deigned to bestow one slight glance of admiration. + He liked something strong, whether in man or woman; he liked whatever + dared to clear conventional limits. He had never before heard a lady say + “hell” with that uncompromising sort of accent, and the sound pleased him + from a lady’s lips; he would fain have had Frances to strike the string + again, but it was not in her way. The display of eccentric vigour never + gave her pleasure, and it only sounded in her voice or flashed in her + countenance when extraordinary circumstances—and those generally + painful—forced it out of the depths where it burned latent. To me, + once or twice, she had in intimate conversation, uttered venturous + thoughts in nervous language; but when the hour of such manifestation was + past, I could not recall it; it came of itself and of itself departed. + Hunsden’s excitations she put by soon with a smile, and recurring to the + theme of disputation, said— + </p> +<p> + “Since England is nothing, why do the continental nations respect her so?” + </p> +<p> + “I should have thought no child would have asked that question,” replied + Hunsden, who never at any time gave information without reproving for + stupidity those who asked it of him. “If you had been my pupil, as I + suppose you once had the misfortune to be that of a deplorable character + not a hundred miles off, I would have put you in the corner for such a + confession of ignorance. Why, mademoiselle, can’t you see that it is our + <em>gold</em> which buys us French politeness, German good-will, and Swiss + servility?” And he sneered diabolically. + </p> +<p> + “Swiss?” said Frances, catching the word “servility.” “Do you call my + countrymen servile?” and she started up. I could not suppress a low laugh; + there was ire in her glance and defiance in her attitude. “Do you abuse + Switzerland to me, Mr. Hunsden? Do you think I have no associations? Do + you calculate that I am prepared to dwell only on what vice and + degradation may be found in Alpine villages, and to leave quite out of my + heart the social greatness of my countrymen, and our blood-earned freedom, + and the natural glories of our mountains? You’re mistaken—you’re + mistaken.” + </p> +<p> + “Social greatness? Call it what you will, your countrymen are sensible + fellows; they make a marketable article of what to you is an abstract + idea; they have, ere this, sold their social greatness and also their + blood-earned freedom to be the servants of foreign kings.” + </p> +<p> + “You never were in Switzerland?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes—I have been there twice.” + </p> +<p> + “You know nothing of it.” + </p> +<p> + “I do.” + </p> +<p> + “And you say the Swiss are mercenary, as a parrot says ‘Poor Poll,’ or as + the Belgians here say the English are not brave, or as the French accuse + them of being perfidious: there is no justice in your dictums.” + </p> +<p> + “There is truth.” + </p> +<p> + “I tell you, Mr. Hunsden, you are a more unpractical man than I am an + unpractical woman, for you don’t acknowledge what really exists; you want + to annihilate individual patriotism and national greatness as an atheist + would annihilate God and his own soul, by denying their existence.” + </p> +<p> + “Where are you flying to? You are off at a tangent—I thought we were + talking about the mercenary nature of the Swiss.” + </p> +<p> + “We were—and if you proved to me that the Swiss are mercenary + to-morrow (which you cannot do) I should love Switzerland still.” + </p> +<p> + “You would be mad, then—mad as a March hare—to indulge in a + passion for millions of shiploads of soil, timber, snow, and ice.” + </p> +<p> + “Not so mad as you who love nothing.” + </p> +<p> + “There’s a method in my madness; there’s none in yours.” + </p> +<p> + “Your method is to squeeze the sap out of creation and make manure of the + refuse, by way of turning it to what you call use.” + </p> +<p> + “You cannot reason at all,” said Hunsden; “there is no logic in you.” + </p> +<p> + “Better to be without logic than without feeling,” retorted Frances, who + was now passing backwards and forwards from her cupboard to the table, + intent, if not on hospitable thoughts, at least on hospitable deeds, for + she was laying the cloth, and putting plates, knives and forks thereon. + </p> +<p> + “Is that a hit at me, mademoiselle? Do you suppose I am without feeling?” + </p> +<p> + “I suppose you are always interfering with your own feelings, and those of + other people, and dogmatizing about the irrationality of this, that, and + the other sentiment, and then ordering it to be suppressed because you + imagine it to be inconsistent with logic.” + </p> +<p> + “I do right.” + </p> +<p> + Frances had stepped out of sight into a sort of little pantry; she soon + reappeared. + </p> +<p> + “You do right? Indeed, no! You are much mistaken if you think so. Just be + so good as to let me get to the fire, Mr. Hunsden; I have something to + cook.” (An interval occupied in settling a casserole on the fire; then, + while she stirred its contents:) “Right! as if it were right to crush any + pleasurable sentiment that God has given to man, especially any sentiment + that, like patriotism, spreads man’s selfishness in wider circles” (fire + stirred, dish put down before it). + </p> +<p> + “Were you born in Switzerland?” + </p> +<p> + “I should think so, or else why should I call it my country?” + </p> +<p> + “And where did you get your English features and figure?” + </p> +<p> + “I am English, too; half the blood in my veins is English; thus I have a + right to a double power of patriotism, possessing an interest in two + noble, free, and fortunate countries.” + </p> +<p> + “You had an English mother?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, yes; and you, I suppose, had a mother from the moon or from Utopia, + since not a nation in Europe has a claim on your interest?” + </p> +<p> + “On the contrary, I’m a universal patriot, if you could understand me + rightly: my country is the world.” + </p> +<p> + “Sympathies so widely diffused must be very shallow: will you have the + goodness to come to table. Monsieur” (to me who appeared to be now + absorbed in reading by moonlight)—“Monsieur, supper is served.” + </p> +<p> + This was said in quite a different voice to that in which she had been + bandying phrases with Mr. Hunsden—not so short, graver and softer. + </p> +<p> + “Frances, what do you mean by preparing, supper? we had no intention of + staying.” + </p> +<p> + “Ah, monsieur, but you have stayed, and supper is prepared; you have only + the alternative of eating it.” + </p> +<p> + The meal was a foreign one, of course; it consisted in two small but tasty + dishes of meat prepared with skill and served with nicety; a salad and + “fromage Français,” completed it. The business of eating interposed a + brief truce between the belligerents, but no sooner was supper disposed of + than they were at it again. The fresh subject of dispute ran on the spirit + of religious intolerance which Mr. Hunsden affirmed to exist strongly in + Switzerland, notwithstanding the professed attachment of the Swiss to + freedom. Here Frances had greatly the worst of it, not only because she + was unskilled to argue, but because her own real opinions on the point in + question happened to coincide pretty nearly with Mr. Hunsden’s, and she + only contradicted him out of opposition. At last she gave in, confessing + that she thought as he thought, but bidding him take notice that she did + not consider herself beaten. + </p> +<p> + “No more did the French at Waterloo,” said Hunsden. + </p> +<p> + “There is no comparison between the cases,” rejoined Frances; “mine was a + sham fight.” + </p> +<p> + “Sham or real, it’s up with you.” + </p> +<p> + “No; though I have neither logic nor wealth of words, yet in a case where + my opinion really differed from yours, I would adhere to it when I had not + another word to say in its defence; you should be baffled by dumb + determination. You speak of Waterloo; your Wellington ought to have been + conquered there, according to Napoleon; but he persevered in spite of the + laws of war, and was victorious in defiance of military tactics. I would + do as he did.” + </p> +<p> + “I’ll be bound for it you would; probably you have some of the same sort + of stubborn stuff in you.” + </p> +<p> + “I should be sorry if I had not; he and Tell were brothers, and I’d scorn + the Swiss, man or woman, who had none of the much-enduring nature of our + heroic William in his soul.” + </p> +<p> + “If Tell was like Wellington, he was an ass.” + </p> +<p> + “Does not <em>ass</em> mean <em>baudet</em>?” asked Frances, turning to + me. + </p> +<p> + “No, no,” replied I, “it means an <i lang="fr">esprit-fort</i>; and now,” + I continued, as I saw that fresh occasion of strife was brewing between + these two, “it is high time to go.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden rose. “Good bye,” said he to Frances; “I shall be off for this + glorious England to-morrow, and it may be twelve months or more before I + come to Brussels again; whenever I do come I’ll seek you out, and you + shall see if I don’t find means to make you fiercer than a dragon. You’ve + done pretty well this evening, but next interview you shall challenge me + outright. Meantime you’re doomed to become Mrs. William Crimsworth, I + suppose; poor young lady? but you have a spark of spirit; cherish it, and + give the Professor the full benefit thereof.” + </p> +<p> + “Are you married, Mr. Hunsden?” asked Frances, suddenly. + </p> +<p> + “No. I should have thought you might have guessed I was a Benedict by my + look.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, whenever you marry don’t take a wife out of Switzerland; for if you + begin blaspheming Helvetia, and cursing the cantons—above all, if + you mention the word <em>ass</em> in the same breath with the name Tell + (for ass <em>is</em> baudet, I know; though Monsieur is pleased to + translate it <i lang="fr">esprit-fort</i>) your mountain maid will some + night smother her Breton-bretonnant, even as your own Shakspeare’s Othello + smothered Desdemona.” + </p> +<p> + “I am warned,” said Hunsden; “and so are you, lad,” (nodding to me). “I + hope yet to hear of a travesty of the Moor and his gentle lady, in which + the parts shall be reversed according to the plan just sketched—you, + however, being in my nightcap. Farewell, mademoiselle!” He bowed on her + hand, absolutely like Sir Charles Grandison on that of Harriet Byron; + adding—“Death from such fingers would not be without charms.” + </p> +<p> + “Mon Dieu!” murmured Frances, opening her large eyes and lifting her + distinctly arched brows; “c’est qu’il fait des compliments! je ne m’y suis + pas attendu.” She smiled, half in ire, half in mirth, curtsied with + foreign grace, and so they parted. + </p> +<p> + No sooner had we got into the street than Hunsden collared me. + </p> +<p> + “And that is your lace-mender?” said he; “and you reckon you have done a + fine, magnanimous thing in offering to marry her? You, a scion of + Seacombe, have proved your disdain of social distinctions by taking up + with an <i lang="fr">ouvrière</i>! And I pitied the fellow, thinking his + feelings had misled him, and that he had hurt himself by contracting a low + match!” + </p> +<p> + “Just let go my collar, Hunsden.” + </p> +<p> + On the contrary, he swayed me to and fro; so I grappled him round the + waist. It was dark; the street lonely and lampless. We had then a tug for + it; and after we had both rolled on the pavement, and with difficulty + picked ourselves up, we agreed to walk on more soberly. + </p> +<p> + “Yes, that’s my lace-mender,” said I; “and she is to be mine for life—God + willing.” + </p> +<p> + “God is not willing—you can’t suppose it; what business have you to + be suited so well with a partner? And she treats you with a sort of + respect, too, and says, ‘Monsieur’ and modulates her tone in addressing + you, actually, as if you were something superior! She could not evince + more deference to such a one as I, were she favoured by fortune to the + supreme extent of being my choice instead of yours.” + </p> +<p> + “Hunsden, you’re a puppy. But you’ve only seen the title-page of my + happiness; you don’t know the tale that follows; you cannot conceive the + interest and sweet variety and thrilling excitement of the narrative.” + </p> +<p> + Hunsden—speaking low and deep, for we had now entered a busier + street—desired me to hold my peace, threatening to do something + dreadful if I stimulated his wrath further by boasting. I laughed till my + sides ached. We soon reached his hotel; before he entered it, he said— + </p> +<p> + “Don’t be vainglorious. Your lace-mender is too good for you, but not good + enough for me; neither physically nor morally does she come up to my ideal + of a woman. No; I dream of something far beyond that pale-faced, excitable + little Helvetian (by-the-by she has infinitely more of the nervous, mobile + Parisienne in her than of the the robust ‘jungfrau’). Your Mdlle. Henri is + in person <i lang="fr">chétive</i>, in mind + <i lang="fr">sans caractère</i>, compared with the queen of my visions. + You, indeed, may put up with that <i lang="fr">minois chiffoné</i>; but + when I marry I must have straighter and more harmonious features, to say + nothing of a nobler and better developed shape than that perverse, + ill-thriven child can boast.” + </p> +<p> + “Bribe a seraph to fetch you a coal of fire from heaven, if you will,” + said I, “and with it kindle life in the tallest, fattest, most boneless, + fullest-blooded of Ruben’s painted women—leave me only my Alpine + peri, and I’ll not envy you.” + </p> +<p> + With a simultaneous movement, each turned his back on the other. Neither + said “God bless you;” yet on the morrow the sea was to roll between us. + </p> +</div><p><!--end chapter--> +</p><div class="chapter"> +<p> +<a id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<h2 class="no-break"> + CHAPTER XXV. + </h2> +<p> + IN two months more Frances had fulfilled the time of mourning for her + aunt. One January morning—the first of the new year holidays—I + went in a fiacre, accompanied only by M. Vandenhuten, to the Rue Notre + Dame aux Neiges, and having alighted alone and walked upstairs, I found + Frances apparently waiting for me, dressed in a style scarcely appropriate + to that cold, bright, frosty day. Never till now had I seen her attired in + any other than black or sad-coloured stuff; and there she stood by the + window, clad all in white, and white of a most diaphanous texture; her + array was very simple, to be sure, but it looked imposing and festal + because it was so clear, full, and floating; a veil shadowed her head, and + hung below her knee; a little wreath of pink flowers fastened it to her + thickly tressed Grecian plait, and thence it fell softly on each side of + her face. Singular to state, she was, or had been crying; when I asked her + if she were ready, she said “Yes, monsieur,” with something very like a + checked sob; and when I took a shawl, which lay on the table, and folded + it round her, not only did tear after tear course unbidden down her cheek, + but she shook to my ministration like a reed. I said I was sorry to see + her in such low spirits, and requested to be allowed an insight into the + origin thereof. She only said, “It was impossible to help it,” and then + voluntarily, though hurriedly, putting her hand into mine, accompanied me + out of the room, and ran downstairs with a quick, uncertain step, like one + who was eager to get some formidable piece of business over. I put her + into the fiacre. M. Vandenhuten received her, and seated her beside + himself; we drove all together to the Protestant chapel, went through a + certain service in the Common Prayer Book, and she and I came out married. + M. Vandenhuten had given the bride away. + </p> +<p> + We took no bridal trip; our modesty, screened by the peaceful obscurity of + our station, and the pleasant isolation of our circumstances, did not + exact that additional precaution. We repaired at once to a small house I + had taken in the faubourg nearest to that part of the city where the scene + of our avocations lay. + </p> +<p> + Three or four hours after the wedding ceremony, Frances, divested of her + bridal snow, and attired in a pretty lilac gown of warmer materials, a + piquant black silk apron, and a lace collar with some finishing decoration + of lilac ribbon, was kneeling on the carpet of a neatly furnished though + not spacious parlour, arranging on the shelves of a chiffonière some + books, which I handed to her from the table. It was snowing fast out of + doors; the afternoon had turned out wild and cold; the leaden sky seemed + full of drifts, and the street was already ankle-deep in the white + downfall. Our fire burned bright, our new habitation looked brilliantly + clean and fresh, the furniture was all arranged, and there were but some + articles of glass, china, books, &c., to put in order. Frances found + in this business occupation till tea-time, and then, after I had + distinctly instructed her how to make a cup of tea in rational English + style, and after she had got over the dismay occasioned by seeing such an + extravagant amount of material put into the pot, she administered to me a + proper British repast, at which there wanted neither candles nor urn, + firelight nor comfort. + </p> +<p> + Our week’s holiday glided by, and we readdressed ourselves to labour. Both + my wife and I began in good earnest with the notion that we were working + people, destined to earn our bread by exertion, and that of the most + assiduous kind. Our days were thoroughly occupied; we used to part every + morning at eight o’clock, and not meet again till five P.M.; but into what + sweet rest did the turmoil of each busy day decline! Looking down the + vista of memory, I see the evenings passed in that little parlour like a + long string of rubies circling the dusky brow of the past. Unvaried were + they as each cut gem, and like each gem brilliant and burning. + </p> +<p> + A year and a half passed. One morning (it was a <i lang="fr">fête</i>, and + we had the day to ourselves) Frances said to me, with a suddenness + peculiar to her when she had been thinking long on a subject, and at last, + having come to a conclusion, wished to test its soundness by the + touchstone of my judgment:— + </p> +<p> + “I don’t work enough.” + </p> +<p> + “What now?” demanded I, looking up from my coffee, which I had been + deliberately stirring while enjoying, in anticipation, a walk I proposed + to take with Frances, that fine summer day (it was June), to a certain + farmhouse in the country, where we were to dine. “What now?” and I saw at + once, in the serious ardour of her face, a project of vital importance. + </p> +<p> + “I am not satisfied,” returned she; “you are now earning eight thousand + francs a year” (it was true; my efforts, punctuality, the fame of my + pupils’ progress, the publicity of my station, had so far helped me on), + “while I am still at my miserable twelve hundred francs. I <em>can</em> do + better, and I <em>will</em>.” + </p> +<p> + “You work as long and as diligently as I do, Frances.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, monsieur, but I am not working in the right way, and I am convinced + of it.” + </p> +<p> + “You wish to change—you have a plan for progress in your mind; go + and put on your bonnet; and, while we take our walk, you shall tell me of + it.” + </p> +<p> + “Yes, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + She went—as docile as a well-trained child; she was a curious + mixture of tractability and firmness: I sat thinking about her, and + wondering what her plan could be, when she re-entered. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, I have given Minnie” (our bonne) “leave to go out too, as it is + so very fine; so will you be kind enough to lock the door, and take the + key with you?” + </p> +<p> + “Kiss me, Mrs. Crimsworth,” was my not very apposite reply; but she looked + so engaging in her light summer dress and little cottage bonnet, and her + manner in speaking to me was then, as always, so unaffectedly and suavely + respectful, that my heart expanded at the sight of her, and a kiss seemed + necessary to content its importunity. + </p> +<p> + “There, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + “Why do you always call me ‘Monsieur’? Say, ‘William.’” + </p> +<p> + “I cannot pronounce your W; besides, ‘Monsieur’ belongs to you; I like it + best.” + </p> +<p> + Minnie having departed in clean cap and smart shawl, we, too, set out, + leaving the house solitary and silent—silent, at least, but for the + ticking of the clock. We were soon clear of Brussels; the fields received + us, and then the lanes, remote from carriage-resounding + <i lang="fr">chaussées</i>. Ere + long we came upon a nook, so rural, green, and secluded, it might have + been a spot in some pastoral English province; a bank of short and mossy + grass, under a hawthorn, offered a seat too tempting to be declined; we + took it, and when we had admired and examined some English-looking + wild-flowers growing at our feet, I recalled Frances’ attention and my own + to the topic touched on at breakfast. + </p> +<p> + “What was her plan?” A natural one—the next step to be mounted by + us, or, at least, by her, if she wanted to rise in her profession. She + proposed to begin a school. We already had the means for commencing on a + careful scale, having lived greatly within our income. We possessed, too, + by this time, an extensive and eligible connection, in the sense + advantageous to our business; for, though our circle of visiting + acquaintance continued as limited as ever, we were now widely known in + schools and families as teachers. When Frances had developed her plan, she + intimated, in some closing sentences, her hopes for the future. If we only + had good health and tolerable success, me might, she was sure, in time + realize an independency; and that, perhaps, before we were too old to + enjoy it; then both she and I would rest; and what was to hinder us from + going to live in England? England was still her Promised Land. + </p> +<p> + I put no obstacle in her way; raised no objection; I knew she was not one + who could live quiescent and inactive, or even comparatively inactive. + Duties she must have to fulfil, and important duties; work to do—and + exciting, absorbing, profitable work; strong faculties stirred in her + frame, and they demanded full nourishment, free exercise: mine was not the + hand ever to starve or cramp them; no, I delighted in offering them + sustenance, and in clearing them wider space for action. + </p> +<p> + “You have conceived a plan, Frances,” said I, “and a good plan; execute + it; you have my free consent, and wherever and whenever my assistance is + wanted, ask and you shall have.” + </p> +<p> + Frances’ eyes thanked me almost with tears; just a sparkle or two, soon + brushed away; she possessed herself of my hand too, and held it for some + time very close clasped in both her own, but she said no more than “Thank + you, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + We passed a divine day, and came home late, lighted by a full summer moon. + </p> +<p> + Ten years rushed now upon me with dusty, vibrating, unresting wings; years + of bustle, action, unslacked endeavour; years in which I and my wife, + having launched ourselves in the full career of progress, as progress + whirls on in European capitals, scarcely knew repose, were strangers to + amusement, never thought of indulgence, and yet, as our course ran side by + side, as we marched hand in hand, we neither murmured, repented, nor + faltered. Hope indeed cheered us; health kept us up; harmony of thought + and deed smoothed many difficulties, and finally, success bestowed every + now and then encouraging reward on diligence. Our school became one of the + most popular in Brussels, and as by degrees we raised our terms and + elevated our system of education, our choice of pupils grew more select, + and at length included the children of the best families in Belgium. We + had too an excellent connection in England, first opened by the + unsolicited recommendation of Mr. Hunsden, who having been over, and + having abused me for my prosperity in set terms, went back, and soon after + sent a leash of young ——shire heiresses—his cousins; as + he said “to be polished off by Mrs. Crimsworth.” + </p> +<p> + As to this same Mrs. Crimsworth, in one sense she was become another + woman, though in another she remained unchanged. So different was she + under different circumstances. I seemed to possess two wives. The + faculties of her nature, already disclosed when I married her, remained + fresh and fair; but other faculties shot up strong, branched out broad, + and quite altered the external character of the plant. Firmness, activity, + and enterprise, covered with grave foliage, poetic feeling and fervour; + but these flowers were still there, preserved pure and dewy under the + umbrage of later growth and hardier nature: perhaps I only in the world + knew the secret of their existence, but to me they were ever ready to + yield an exquisite fragrance and present a beauty as chaste as radiant. + </p> +<p> + In the daytime my house and establishment were conducted by Madame the + directress, a stately and elegant woman, bearing much anxious thought on + her large brow; much calculated dignity in her serious mien: immediately + after breakfast I used to part with this lady; I went to my college, she + to her schoolroom; returning for an hour in the course of the day, I found + her always in class, intently occupied; silence, industry, observance, + attending on her presence. When not actually teaching, she was overlooking + and guiding by eye and gesture; she then appeared vigilant and solicitous. + When communicating instruction, her aspect was more animated; she seemed + to feel a certain enjoyment in the occupation. The language in which she + addressed her pupils, though simple and unpretending, was never trite or + dry; she did not speak from routine formulas—she made her own + phrases as she went on, and very nervous and impressive phrases they + frequently were; often, when elucidating favourite points of history, or + geography, she would wax genuinely eloquent in her earnestness. Her + pupils, or at least the elder and more intelligent amongst them, + recognized well the language of a superior mind; they felt too, and some + of them received the impression of elevated sentiments; there was little + fondling between mistress and girls, but some of Frances’ pupils in time + learnt to love her sincerely, all of them beheld her with respect; her + general demeanour towards them was serious; sometimes benignant when they + pleased her with their progress and attention, always scrupulously refined + and considerate. In cases where reproof or punishment was called for she + was usually forbearing enough; but if any took advantage of that + forbearance, which sometimes happened, a sharp, sudden and lightning-like + severity taught the culprit the extent of the mistake committed. Sometimes + a gleam of tenderness softened her eyes and manner, but this was rare; + only when a pupil was sick, or when it pined after home, or in the case of + some little motherless child, or of one much poorer than its companions, + whose scanty wardrobe and mean appointments brought on it the contempt of + the jewelled young countesses and silk-clad misses. Over such feeble + fledglings the directress spread a wing of kindliest protection: it was to + their bedside she came at night to tuck them warmly in; it was after them + she looked in winter to see that they always had a comfortable seat by the + stove; it was they who by turns were summoned to the salon to receive some + little dole of cake or fruit—to sit on a footstool at the fireside—to + enjoy home comforts, and almost home liberty, for an evening together—to + be spoken to gently and softly, comforted, encouraged, cherished—and + when bedtime came, dismissed with a kiss of true tenderness. As to Julia + and Georgiana G——, daughters of an English baronet, as to + Mdlle. Mathilde de ——, heiress of a Belgian count, and sundry + other children of patrician race, the directress was careful of them as of + the others, anxious for their progress, as for that of the rest—but + it never seemed to enter her head to distinguish them by a mark of + preference; one girl of noble blood she loved dearly—a young Irish + baroness—lady Catherine ——; but it was for her + enthusiastic heart and clever head, for her generosity and her genius, the + title and rank went for nothing. + </p> +<p> + My afternoons were spent also in college, with the exception of an hour + that my wife daily exacted of me for her establishment, and with which she + would not dispense. She said that I must spend that time amongst her + pupils to learn their characters, to be “<i lang="fr">au courant</i>” + with everything that + was passing in the house, to become interested in what interested her, to + be able to give her my opinion on knotty points when she required it, and + this she did constantly, never allowing my interest in the pupils to fall + asleep, and never making any change of importance without my cognizance + and consent. She delighted to sit by me when I gave my lessons (lessons in + literature), her hands folded on her knee, the most fixedly attentive of + any present. She rarely addressed me in class; when she did it was with an + air of marked deference; it was her pleasure, her joy to make me still the + master in all things. + </p> +<p> + At six o’clock P.M. my daily labours ceased. I then came home, for my home + was my heaven; ever at that hour, as I entered our private sitting-room, + the lady-directress vanished from before my eyes, and Frances Henri, my + own little lace-mender, was magically restored to my arms; much + disappointed she would have been if her master had not been as constant to + the tryst as herself, and if his truthfull kiss had not been prompt to + answer her soft, “Bon soir, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + Talk French to me she would, and many a punishment she has had for her + wilfulness. I fear the choice of chastisement must have been injudicious, + for instead of correcting the fault, it seemed to encourage its renewal. + Our evenings were our own; that recreation was necessary to refresh our + strength for the due discharge of our duties; sometimes we spent them all + in conversation, and my young Genevese, now that she was thoroughly + accustomed to her English professor, now that she loved him too absolutely + to fear him much, reposed in him a confidence so unlimited that topics of + conversation could no more be wanting with him than subjects for communion + with her own heart. In those moments, happy as a bird with its mate, she + would show me what she had of vivacity, of mirth, of originality in her + well-dowered nature. She would show, too, some stores of raillery, of + “malice,” and would vex, tease, pique me sometimes about what she called + my “bizarreries anglaises,” my “caprices insulaires,” with a wild and + witty wickedness that made a perfect white demon of her while it lasted. + This was rare, however, and the elfish freak was always short: sometimes + when driven a little hard in the war of words—for her tongue did + ample justice to the pith, the point, the delicacy of her native French, + in which language she always attacked me—I used to turn upon her + with my old decision, and arrest bodily the sprite that teased me. Vain + idea! no sooner had I grasped hand or arm than the elf was gone; the + provocative smile quenched in the expressive brown eyes, and a ray of + gentle homage shone under the lids in its place. I had seized a mere + vexing fairy, and found a submissive and supplicating little mortal woman + in my arms. Then I made her get a book, and read English to me for an hour + by way of penance. I frequently dosed her with Wordsworth in this way, and + Wordsworth steadied her soon; she had a difficulty in comprehending his + deep, serene, and sober mind; his language, too, was not facile to her; + she had to ask questions, to sue for explanations, to be like a child and + a novice, and to acknowledge me as her senior and director. Her instinct + instantly penetrated and possessed the meaning of more ardent and + imaginative writers. Byron excited her; Scott she loved; Wordsworth only + she puzzled at, wondered over, and hesitated to pronounce an opinion upon. + </p> +<p> + But whether she read to me, or talked with me; whether she teased me in + French, or entreated me in English; whether she jested with wit, or + inquired with deference; narrated with interest, or listened with + attention; whether she smiled <em>at</em> me or <em>on</em> me, always + at nine o’clock I was left abandoned. + She would extricate herself from my arms, quit my side, + take her lamp, and be gone. Her mission was upstairs; I have followed her + sometimes and watched her. First she opened the door of the dortoir (the + pupils’ chamber), noiselessly she glided up the long room between the two + rows of white beds, surveyed all the sleepers; if any were wakeful, + especially if any were sad, spoke to them and soothed them; stood some + minutes to ascertain that all was safe and tranquil; trimmed the + watch-light which burned in the apartment all night, then withdrew, + closing the door behind her without sound. Thence she glided to our own + chamber; it had a little cabinet within; this she sought; there, too, + appeared a bed, but one, and that a very small one; her face (the night I + followed and observed her) changed as she approached this tiny couch; from + grave it warmed to earnest; she shaded with one hand the lamp she held in + the other; she bent above the pillow and hung over a child asleep; its + slumber (that evening at least, and usually, I believe) was sound and + calm; no tear wet its dark eyelashes; no fever heated its round cheek; no + ill dream discomposed its budding features. Frances gazed, she did not + smile, and yet the deepest delight filled, flushed her face; feeling + pleasurable, powerful, worked in her whole frame, which still was + motionless. I saw, indeed, her heart heave, her lips were a little apart, + her breathing grew somewhat hurried; the child smiled; then at last the + mother smiled too, and said in low soliloquy, “God bless my little son!” + She stooped closer over him, breathed the softest of kisses on his brow, + covered his minute hand with hers, and at last started up and came away. I + regained the parlour before her. Entering it two minutes later she said + quietly as she put down her extinguished lamp— + </p> +<p> + “Victor rests well: he smiled in his sleep; he has your smile, monsieur.” + </p> +<p> + The said Victor was of course her own boy, born in the third year of our + marriage: his Christian name had been given him in honour of M. + Vandenhuten, who continued always our trusty and well-beloved friend. + </p> +<p> + Frances was then a good and dear wife to me, because I was to her a good, + just, and faithful husband. What she would have been had she married a + harsh, envious, careless man—a profligate, a prodigal, a drunkard, + or a tyrant—is another question, and one which I once propounded to + her. Her answer, given after some reflection, was— + </p> +<p> + “I should have tried to endure the evil or cure it for awhile; and when I + found it intolerable and incurable, I should have left my torturer + suddenly and silently.” + </p> +<p> + “And if law or might had forced you back again?” + </p> +<p> + “What, to a drunkard, a profligate, a selfish spendthrift, an unjust + fool?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “I would have gone back; again assured myself whether or not his vice and + my misery were capable of remedy; and if not, have left him again.” + </p> +<p> + “And if again forced to return, and compelled to abide?” + </p> +<p> + “I don’t know,” she said, hastily. “Why do you ask me, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + I would have an answer, because I saw a strange kind of spirit in her eye, + whose voice I determined to waken. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur, if a wife’s nature loathes that of the man she is wedded to, + marriage must be slavery. Against slavery all right thinkers revolt, and + though torture be the price of resistance, torture must be dared: though + the only road to freedom lie through the gates of death, those gates must + be passed; for freedom is indispensable. Then, monsieur, I would resist as + far as my strength permitted; when that strength failed I should be sure + of a refuge. Death would certainly screen me both from bad laws and their + consequences.” + </p> +<p> + “Voluntary death, Frances?” + </p> +<p> + “No, monsieur. I’d have courage to live out every throe of anguish fate + assigned me, and principle to contend for justice and liberty to the + last.” + </p> +<p> + “I see you would have made no patient Grizzle. And now, supposing fate had + merely assigned you the lot of an old maid, what then? How would you have + liked celibacy?” + </p> +<p> + “Not much, certainly. An old maid’s life must doubtless be void and + vapid—her heart strained and empty. Had I been an old maid I should have + spent existence in efforts to fill the void and ease the aching. I should + have probably failed, and died weary and disappointed, despised and of no + account, like other single women. But I’m not an old maid,” she added + quickly. “I should have been, though, but for my master. I should never + have suited any man but Professor Crimsworth—no other gentleman, + French, English, or Belgian, would have thought me amiable or handsome; + and I doubt whether I should have cared for the approbation of many + others, if I could have obtained it. Now, I have been Professor + Crimsworth’s wife eight years, and what is he in my eyes? Is he + honourable, beloved ——?” She stopped, her voice was cut off, + her eyes suddenly suffused. She and I were standing side by side; she + threw her arms round me, and strained me to her heart with passionate + earnestness: the energy of her whole being glowed in her dark and then + dilated eye, and crimsoned her animated cheek; her look and movement were + like inspiration; in one there was such a flash, in the other such a + power. Half an hour afterwards, when she had become calm, I asked where + all that wild vigour was gone which had transformed her ere-while and made + her glance so thrilling and ardent—her action so rapid and strong. + She looked down, smiling softly and passively:— + </p> +<p> + “I cannot tell where it is gone, monsieur,” said she, “but I know that, + whenever it is wanted, it will come back again.” + </p> +<p> + Behold us now at the close of the ten years, and we have realized an + independency. The rapidity with which we attained this end had its origin + in three reasons:— Firstly, we worked so hard for it; secondly, we + had no incumbrances to delay success; thirdly, as soon as we had capital + to invest, two well-skilled counsellors, one in Belgium, one in England, + viz. Vandenhuten and Hunsden, gave us each a word of advice as to the sort + of investment to be chosen. The suggestion made was judicious; and, being + promptly acted on, the result proved gainful—I need not say how + gainful; I communicated details to Messrs. Vandenhuten and Hunsden; nobody + else can be interested in hearing them. + </p> +<p> + Accounts being wound up, and our professional connection disposed of, we + both agreed that, as mammon was not our master, nor his service that in + which we desired to spend our lives; as our desires were temperate, and + our habits unostentatious, we had now abundance to live on—abundance + to leave our boy; and should besides always have a balance on hand, which, + properly managed by right sympathy and unselfish activity, might help + philanthropy in her enterprises, and put solace into the hand of charity. + </p> +<p> + To England we now resolved to take wing; we arrived there safely; Frances + realized the dream of her lifetime. We spent a whole summer and autumn in + travelling from end to end of the British islands, and afterwards passed a + winter in London. Then we thought it high time to fix our residence. My + heart yearned towards my native county of ——shire; and it is + in ——shire I now live; it is in the library of my own home I + am now writing. That home lies amid a sequestered and rather hilly region, + thirty miles removed from X——; a region whose verdure the + smoke of mills has not yet sullied, whose waters still run pure, whose + swells of moorland preserve in some ferny glens that lie between them the + very primal wildness of nature, her moss, her bracken, her blue-bells, her + scents of reed and heather, her free and fresh breezes. My house is a + picturesque and not too spacious dwelling, with low and long windows, a + trellised and leaf-veiled porch over the front door, just now, on this + summer evening, looking like an arch of roses and ivy. The garden is + chiefly laid out in lawn, formed of the sod of the hills, with herbage + short and soft as moss, full of its own peculiar flowers, tiny and + starlike, imbedded in the minute embroidery of their fine foliage. At the + bottom of the sloping garden there is a wicket, which opens upon a lane as + green as the lawn, very long, shady, and little frequented; on the turf of + this lane generally appear the first daisies of spring—whence its + name—Daisy Lane; serving also as a distinction to the house. + </p> +<p> + It terminates (the lane I mean) in a valley full of wood; which + wood—chiefly oak and beech—spreads shadowy about the vicinage of a very + old mansion, one of the Elizabethan structures, much larger, as well as + more antique than Daisy Lane, the property and residence of an individual + familiar both to me and to the reader. Yes, in Hunsden Wood—for so + are those glades and that grey building, with many gables and more + chimneys, named—abides Yorke Hunsden, still unmarried; never, I + suppose, having yet found his ideal, though I know at least a score of + young ladies within a circuit of forty miles, who would be willing to + assist him in the search. + </p> +<p> + The estate fell to him by the death of his father, five years since; he + has given up trade, after having made by it sufficient to pay off some + incumbrances by which the family heritage was burdened. I say he abides + here, but I do not think he is resident above five months out of the + twelve; he wanders from land to land, and spends some part of each winter + in town: he frequently brings visitors with him when he comes to ——shire, + and these visitors are often foreigners; sometimes he has a German + metaphysician, sometimes a French savant; he had once a dissatisfied and + savage-looking Italian, who neither sang nor played, and of whom Frances + affirmed that he had “tout l’air d’un conspirateur.” + </p> +<p> + What English guests Hunsden invites, are all either men of Birmingham or + Manchester—hard men, seemingly knit up in one thought, whose talk is + of free trade. The foreign visitors, too, are politicians; they take a + wider theme—European progress—the spread of liberal sentiments + over the Continent; on their mental tablets, the names of Russia, Austria, + and the Pope, are inscribed in red ink. I have heard some of them talk + vigorous sense—yea, I have been present at polyglot discussions in + the old, oak-lined dining-room at Hunsden Wood, where a singular insight + was given of the sentiments entertained by resolute minds respecting old + northern despotisms, and old southern superstitions: also, I have heard + much twaddle, enounced chiefly in French and Deutsch, but let that pass. + Hunsden himself tolerated the drivelling theorists; with the practical men + he seemed leagued hand and heart. + </p> +<p> + When Hunsden is staying alone at the Wood (which seldom happens) he + generally finds his way two or three times a week to Daisy Lane. He has a + philanthropic motive for coming to smoke his cigar in our porch on summer + evenings; he says he does it to kill the earwigs amongst the roses, with + which insects, but for his benevolent fumigations, he intimates we should + certainly be overrun. On wet days, too, we are almost sure to see him; + according to him, it gets on time to work me into lunacy by treading on my + mental corns, or to force from Mrs. Crimsworth revelations of the dragon + within her, by insulting the memory of Hofer and Tell. + </p> +<p> + We also go frequently to Hunsden Wood, and both I and Frances relish a + visit there highly. If there are other guests, their characters are an + interesting study; their conversation is exciting and strange; the absence + of all local narrowness both in the host and his chosen society gives a + metropolitan, almost a cosmopolitan freedom and largeness to the talk. + Hunsden himself is a polite man in his own house: he has, when he chooses + to employ it, an inexhaustible power of entertaining guests; his very + mansion too is interesting, the rooms look storied, the passages + legendary, the low-ceiled chambers, with their long rows of diamond-paned + lattices, have an old-world, haunted air: in his travels he has collected + stores of articles of <i lang="fr">virtu</i>, which are well and + tastefully disposed in his panelled or tapestried rooms: I have seen there + one or two pictures, and one or two pieces of statuary which many an + aristocratic connoisseur might have envied. + </p> +<p> + When I and Frances have dined and spent an evening with Hunsden, he often + walks home with us. His wood is large, and some of the timber is old and + of huge growth. There are winding ways in it which, pursued through glade + and brake, make the walk back to Daisy Lane a somewhat long one. Many a + time, when we have had the benefit of a full moon, and when the night has + been mild and balmy, when, moreover, a certain nightingale has been + singing, and a certain stream, hid in alders, has lent the song a soft + accompaniment, the remote church-bell of the one hamlet in a district of + ten miles, has tolled midnight ere the lord of the wood left us at our + porch. Free-flowing was his talk at such hours, and far more quiet and + gentle than in the day-time and before numbers. He would then forget + politics and discussion, and would dwell on the past times of his house, + on his family history, on himself and his own feelings—subjects each + and all invested with a peculiar zest, for they were each and all unique. + One glorious night in June, after I had been taunting him about his ideal + bride and asking him when she would come and graft her foreign beauty on + the old Hunsden oak, he answered suddenly— + </p> +<p> + “You call her ideal; but see, here is her shadow; and there cannot be a + shadow without a substance.” + </p> +<p> + He had led us from the depth of the “winding way” into a glade from whence + the beeches withdrew, leaving it open to the sky; an unclouded moon poured + her light into this glade, and Hunsden held out under her beam an ivory + miniature. + </p> +<p> + Frances, with eagerness, examined it first; then she gave it to me—still, + however, pushing her little face close to mine, and seeking in my eyes + what I thought of the portrait. I thought it represented a very handsome + and very individual-looking female face, with, as he had once said, + “straight and harmonious features.” It was dark; the hair, raven-black, + swept not only from the brow, but from the temples—seemed thrust + away carelessly, as if such beauty dispensed with, nay, despised + arrangement. The Italian eye looked straight into you, and an independent, + determined eye it was; the mouth was as firm as fine; the chin ditto. On + the back of the miniature was gilded “Lucia.” + </p> +<p> + “That is a real head,” was my conclusion. + </p> +<p> + Hunsden smiled. + </p> +<p> + “I think so,” he replied. “All was real in Lucia.” + </p> +<p> + “And she was somebody you would have liked to marry—but could not?” + </p> +<p> + “I should certainly have liked to marry her, and that I <em>have</em> not + done so is a proof that I <em>could</em> not.” + </p> +<p> + He repossessed himself of the miniature, now again in Frances’ hand, and + put it away. + </p> +<p> + “What do <em>you</em> think of it?” he asked of my wife, as he buttoned + his coat over it. + </p> +<p> + “I am sure Lucia once wore chains and broke them,” was the strange answer. + “I do not mean matrimonial chains,” she added, correcting herself, as if + she feared mis-interpretation, “but social chains of some sort. The face + is that of one who has made an effort, and a successful and triumphant + effort, to wrest some vigorous and valued faculty from insupportable + constraint; and when Lucia’s faculty got free, I am certain it spread wide + pinions and carried her higher than—” she hesitated. + </p> +<p> + “Than what?” demanded Hunsden. + </p> +<p> + “Than ‘les convenances’ permitted you to follow.” + </p> +<p> + “I think you grow spiteful—impertinent.” + </p> +<p> + “Lucia has trodden the stage,” continued Frances. “You never seriously + thought of marrying her; you admired her originality, her fearlessness, + her energy of body and mind; you delighted in her talent, whatever that + was, whether song, dance, or dramatic representation; you worshipped her + beauty, which was of the sort after your own heart: but I am sure she + filled a sphere from whence you would never have thought of taking a + wife.” + </p> +<p> + “Ingenious,” remarked Hunsden; “whether true or not is another question. + Meantime, don’t you feel your little lamp of a spirit wax very pale, + beside such a girandole as Lucia’s?” + </p> +<p> + “Yes.” + </p> +<p> + “Candid, at least; and the Professor will soon be dissatisfied with the + dim light you give?” + </p> +<p> + “Will you, monsieur?” + </p> +<p> + “My sight was always too weak to endure a blaze, Frances,” and we had now + reached the wicket. + </p> +<p> + I said, a few pages back, that this is a sweet summer evening; it is—there + has been a series of lovely days, and this is the loveliest; the hay is + just carried from my fields, its perfume still lingers in the air. Frances + proposed to me, an hour or two since, to take tea out on the lawn; I see + the round table, loaded with china, placed under a certain beech; Hunsden + is expected—nay, I hear he is come—there is his voice, laying + down the law on some point with authority; that of Frances replies; she + opposes him of course. They are disputing about Victor, of whom Hunsden + affirms that his mother is making a milksop. Mrs. Crimsworth retaliates:— + </p> +<p> + “Better a thousand times he should be a milksop than what he, Hunsden, + calls ‘a fine lad;’ and moreover she says that if Hunsden were to become a + fixture in the neighbourhood, and were not a mere comet, coming and going, + no one knows how, when, where, or why, she should be quite uneasy till she + had got Victor away to a school at least a hundred miles off; for that + with his mutinous maxims and unpractical dogmas, he would ruin a score of + children.” + </p> +<p> + I have a word to say of Victor ere I shut this manuscript in my desk—but + it must be a brief one, for I hear the tinkle of silver on porcelain. + </p> +<p> + Victor is as little of a pretty child as I am of a handsome man, or his + mother of a fine woman; he is pale and spare, with large eyes, as dark as + those of Frances, and as deeply set as mine. His shape is symmetrical + enough, but slight; his health is good. I never saw a child smile less + than he does, nor one who knits such a formidable brow when sitting over a + book that interests him, or while listening to tales of adventure, peril, + or wonder, narrated by his mother, Hunsden, or myself. But though still, + he is not unhappy—though serious, not morose; he has a + susceptibility to pleasurable sensations almost too keen, for it amounts + to enthusiasm. He learned to read in the old-fashioned way out of a + spelling-book at his mother’s knee, and as he got on without driving by + that method, she thought it unnecessary to buy him ivory letters, or to + try any of the other inducements to learning now deemed indispensable. + When he could read, he became a glutton of books, and is so still. His + toys have been few, and he has never wanted more. For those he possesses, + he seems to have contracted a partiality amounting to affection; this + feeling, directed towards one or two living animals of the house, + strengthens almost to a passion. + </p> +<p> + Mr. Hunsden gave him a mastiff cub, which he called Yorke, after the + donor; it grew to a superb dog, whose fierceness, however, was much + modified by the companionship and caresses of its young master. He would + go nowhere, do nothing without Yorke; Yorke lay at his feet while he + learned his lessons, played with him in the garden, walked with him in the + lane and wood, sat near his chair at meals, was fed always by his own + hand, was the first thing he sought in the morning, the last he left at + night. Yorke accompanied Mr. Hunsden one day to X——, and was + bitten in the street by a dog in a rabid state. As soon as Hunsden had + brought him home, and had informed me of the circumstance, I went into the + yard and shot him where he lay licking his wound: he was dead in an + instant; he had not seen me level the gun; I stood behind him. I had + scarcely been ten minutes in the house, when my ear was struck with sounds + of anguish: I repaired to the yard once more, for they proceeded thence. + Victor was kneeling beside his dead mastiff, bent over it, embracing its + bull-like neck, and lost in a passion of the wildest woe: he saw me. + </p> +<p> + “Oh, papa, I’ll never forgive you! I’ll never forgive you!” was his + exclamation. “You shot Yorke—I saw it from the window. I never + believed you could be so cruel—I can love you no more!” + </p> +<p> + I had much ado to explain to him, with a steady voice, the stern necessity + of the deed; he still, with that inconsolable and bitter accent which I + cannot render, but which pierced my heart, repeated— + </p> +<p> + “He might have been cured—you should have tried—you should + have burnt the wound with a hot iron, or covered it with caustic. You gave + no time; and now it is too late—he is dead!” + </p> +<p> + He sank fairly down on the senseless carcase; I waited patiently a long + while, till his grief had somewhat exhausted him; and then I lifted him in + my arms and carried him to his mother, sure that she would comfort him + best. She had witnessed the whole scene from a window; she would not come + out for fear of increasing my difficulties by her emotion, but she was + ready now to receive him. She took him to her kind heart, and on to her + gentle lap; consoled him but with her lips, her eyes, her soft embrace, + for some time; and then, when his sobs diminished, told him that Yorke had + felt no pain in dying, and that if he had been left to expire naturally, + his end would have been most horrible; above all, she told him that I was + not cruel (for that idea seemed to give exquisite pain to poor Victor), + that it was my affection for Yorke and him which had made me act so, and + that I was now almost heart-broken to see him weep thus bitterly. + </p> +<p> + Victor would have been no true son of his father, had these + considerations, these reasons, breathed in so low, so sweet a tone—married + to caresses so benign, so tender—to looks so inspired with pitying + sympathy—produced no effect on him. They did produce an effect: he + grew calmer, rested his face on her shoulder, and lay still in her arms. + Looking up, shortly, he asked his mother to tell him over again what she + had said about Yorke having suffered no pain, and my not being cruel; the + balmy words being repeated, he again pillowed his cheek on her breast, and + was again tranquil. + </p> +<p> + Some hours after, he came to me in my library, asked if I forgave him, and + desired to be reconciled. I drew the lad to my side, and there I kept him + a good while, and had much talk with him, in the course of which he + disclosed many points of feeling and thought I approved of in my son. I + found, it is true, few elements of the “good fellow” or the “fine fellow” + in him; scant sparkles of the spirit which loves to flash over the wine + cup, or which kindles the passions to a destroying fire; but I saw in the + soil of his heart healthy and swelling germs of compassion, affection, + fidelity. I discovered in the garden of his intellect a rich growth of + wholesome principles—reason, justice, moral courage, promised, if + not blighted, a fertile bearing. So I bestowed on his large forehead, and + on his cheek—still pale with tears—a proud and contented kiss, + and sent him away comforted. Yet I saw him the next day laid on the mound + under which Yorke had been buried, his face covered with his hands; he was + melancholy for some weeks, and more than a year elapsed before he would + listen to any proposal of having another dog. + </p> +<p> + Victor learns fast. He must soon go to Eton, where, I suspect, his first + year or two will be utter wretchedness: to leave me, his mother, and his + home, will give his heart an agonized wrench; then, the fagging will not + suit him—but emulation, thirst after knowledge, the glory of + success, will stir and reward him in time. Meantime, I feel in myself a + strong repugnance to fix the hour which will uproot my sole olive branch, + and transplant it far from me; and, when I speak to Frances on the + subject, I am heard with a kind of patient pain, as though I alluded to + some fearful operation, at which her nature shudders, but from which her + fortitude will not permit her to recoil. The step must, however, be taken, + and it <em>shall</em> be; for, though Frances will not make a milksop of + her son, she will accustom him to a style of treatment, a forbearance, a + congenial tenderness, he will meet with from none else. She sees, as I + also see, a something in Victor’s temper—a kind of electrical ardour and + power—which emits, now and then, ominous sparks; Hunsden calls it his + spirit, and says it should not be curbed. I call it the leaven of the + offending Adam, and consider that it should be, if not <em>whipped</em> + out of him, at least soundly disciplined; and that he will be cheap of any + amount of either bodily or mental suffering which will ground him + radically in the art of self-control. Frances gives this + <em>something</em> in her son’s marked character + no name; but when it appears in the grinding of his teeth, in the + glittering of his eye, in the fierce revolt of feeling against + disappointment, mischance, sudden sorrow, or supposed injustice, she folds + him to her breast, or takes him to walk with her alone in the wood; then + she reasons with him like any philosopher, and to reason Victor is ever + accessible; then she looks at him with eyes of love, and by love Victor + can be infallibly subjugated; but will reason or love be the weapons with + which in future the world will meet his violence? Oh, no! for that flash + in his black eye—for that cloud on his bony brow—for that + compression of his statuesque lips, the lad will some day get blows + instead of blandishments—kicks instead of kisses; then for the fit + of mute fury which will sicken his body and madden his soul; then for the + ordeal of merited and salutary suffering, out of which he will come (I + trust) a wiser and a better man. + </p> +<p> + I see him now; he stands by Hunsden, who is seated on the lawn under the + beech; Hunsden’s hand rests on the boy’s collar, and he is instilling God + knows what principles into his ear. Victor looks well just now, for he + listens with a sort of smiling interest; he never looks so like his mother + as when he smiles—pity the sunshine breaks out so rarely! Victor has + a preference for Hunsden, full as strong as I deem desirable, being + considerably more potent, decided, and indiscriminating, than any I ever + entertained for that personage myself. Frances, too, regards it with a + sort of unexpressed anxiety; while her son leans on Hunsden’s knee, or + rests against his shoulder, she roves with restless movement round, like a + dove guarding its young from a hovering hawk; she says she wishes Hunsden + had children of his own, for then he would better know the danger of + inciting their pride and indulging their foibles. + </p> +<p> + Frances approaches my library window; puts aside the honeysuckle which + half covers it, and tells me tea is ready; seeing that I continue busy she + enters the room, comes near me quietly, and puts her hand on my shoulder. + </p> +<p> + “Monsieur est trop appliqué.” + </p> +<p> + “I shall soon have done.” + </p> +<p> + She draws a chair near, and sits down to wait till I have finished; her + presence is as pleasant to my mind as the perfume of the fresh hay and + spicy flowers, as the glow of the westering sun, as the repose of the + midsummer eve are to my senses. + </p> +<p> + But Hunsden comes; I hear his step, and there he is, bending through the + lattice, from which he has thrust away the woodbine with unsparing hand, + disturbing two bees and a butterfly. + </p> +<p> + “Crimsworth! I say, Crimsworth! take that pen out of his hand, mistress, + and make him lift up his head.” + </p> +<p> + “Well, Hunsden? I hear you—” + </p> +<p> + “I was at X—— yesterday! your brother Ned is getting richer + than Croesus by railway speculations; they call him in the Piece Hall a + stag of ten; and I have heard from Brown. M. and Madame Vandenhuten and + Jean Baptiste talk of coming to see you next month. He mentions the Pelets + too; he says their domestic harmony is not the finest in the world, but in + business they are doing ‘on ne peut mieux,’ which circumstance he + concludes will be a sufficient consolation to both for any little crosses + in the affections. Why don’t you invite the Pelets to ——shire, + Crimsworth? I should so like to see your first flame, Zoraïde. Mistress, + don’t be jealous, but he loved that lady to distraction; I know it for a + fact. Brown says she weighs twelve stones now; you see what you’ve lost, + Mr. Professor. Now, Monsieur and Madame, if you don’t come to tea, Victor + and I will begin without you.” + </p> +<p> + “Papa, come!” + </p> +</div> +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1028 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |