AMAZONS.
"My dear, the Amazons were quite right." It was Mrs. Lascelles who
spoke, sitting in the easiest chair of her boudoir, and listening to an
account of those remarkable women, read aloud by Miss Ross. The ladies
had not been studying Herodotus, amusing and improbable as are the
anecdotes of that gossiping historian, but took their information from
an author of later date, less quaint, more voluminous, and perhaps as
little to be trusted.
Miss Ross shut her book and yawned. "I think they should have gone in
for man-hating altogether," she replied. "I am dead against
half-measures, and I never can see why you shouldn't kick people because
they are down!"
"I wish I had always thought so," said the other, with something like a
sigh. "We poor women must learn to take care of ourselves. Well, I am
wiser now, and really, Jin, I think it's partly owing to you."
Miss Ross was still thinking of the Amazons. "Why didn't they kill their
prisoners at once?" she asked. "It would have been more dignified, and
more--what shall I say? more _manly_ altogether."
"I think the other plan was better," answered Mrs. Lascelles. "You see,
they kept them long enough to make them unhappy, if they had no other
motive, and then put them out of the way just as the captives were
beginning to get attached to their conquerors. They don't seem to have
minded mutilating _themselves_; I dare say that was very natural. Jin, I
think I should like to have been an Amazon."
"You're too soft-hearted," answered the other. "Now I could condemn a
man to death with less compunction than you would show in ordering a
child to be whipped. I have no pity for the nobler sex, as they call
themselves. 'War to the knife!' that's my motto!"
"I think I have been used badly enough," said Mrs. Lascelles, looking
the while extremely prosperous and self-satisfied. "I am sure my early
life has not been the happier for my relations with the lords of the
creation. Two or three false lovers, my dear, and a bad husband, are not
calculated to raise one's opinion of the race; but I am not so bitter as
you are, by many degrees."
"Heaven forbid!" replied Miss Ross, while a shadow passed across her
dark, expressive face. "I should be sorry for any woman who could feel
as I do; sorrier still if she had learnt her lesson as I did."
She was silent for a few minutes, looking back, as it seemed, with
horror and self-aversion, into the depths of a cruel and hideous past; a
past that had unsexed and made her what she was now; that had caused her
to originate one of the strangest compacts ever entered into by two
women, and enthusiastically to abide by her own share in the agreement.
Mrs. Lascelles and Miss Ross had struck up a firm alliance, offensive
and defensive, with the object of persistently carrying out a system of
aggressive warfare against the masculine half of the human race. The
elder and richer lady had proposed to the younger and poorer, that she
should take up her abode with her, and be to her as a sister. In the
world, Mrs. Lascelles gave out that Miss Ross was her cousin; nor did a
large circle of London acquaintances think it worth while to verify the
assumed relationship. They saw two pretty women, living together in a
good house, remarkably well dressed, driving the neatest carriage, and
the truest steppers in London, going out little, but to "good places,"
and were quite willing to accept their own account of themselves,
without making further inquiry. Everybody knew _who_ Mrs. Lascelles was
(it would have denoted rustic ignorance not to be aware that she had
missed becoming Lady St. Giles), and, after the first week or two, the
companion who went about with her was no longer "_a_ Miss Ross," but had
established her position as "Miss Ross--clever girl, with black
eyes--cousin, you know, of dear Rose."
So these two might be seen in the Park twice a week; at the Opera once;
occasionally at a ball; more frequently at those unaccountable functions
called "drums," where hundreds of people congregate in a space intended
for tens, and the world seems engaged, somewhat wearily and with
customary ill success, in looking about for its wife.
But it was Miss Ross who had struck out the happy idea on which hung the
whole strength and motive of the alliance.
She it was who suggested, that at all times, and under all conditions,
as much harm should be done to the peace of mind of every man within
reach as could be accomplished by two fascinating women, with all the
advantages of good fortune, good looks, good taste, and good position.
"You've got the money, dear," said she to her patroness, "and most of
the beauty, in my opinion, the friends, the foothold, and the rest of
it; but, I think, _I've_ got the energy and the obstinacy, and my share
of the brains; above all, the _rancour_ that can carry us through any
opposition in the world!"
So they started on the war-path at once, even before Easter; and a very
pleasant "fillibustering" expedition they made of it. Not many scalps
were taken perhaps at first; but the defences of the white man were
examined and broken through, his habits studied, his weapons blunted,
his mode of strategy laid bare. By the middle of May, sundry Pale-Faces
were going about with strange sensations under their waistcoats, that
only wanted a little chafing to become serious disease of the heart. The
aggravation was sure to follow, else wherefore were dresses of exquisite
fabric contracted, gloves and bonnets sent home, coils of fragrant hair
laid fold on fold, smooth, shining, and insidious as the involutions of
the great Serpent himself? It was difficult to say which of these two
Amazons could boast the highest score of victims. Perhaps Mrs. Lascelles
proved most successful in the massacre of middle-aged adorers, while
young boys and old gentlemen fell prostrate without effort, willing
captives to the devilry and seductions of Miss Ross.
Amongst the eldest of these, and the wisest, in his own opinion, was a
certain Mr. Groves, a relative by marriage of Mrs. Lascelles, who
persisted in calling him "Uncle Joseph," a name by which he soon became
known in the circle of her intimates. This gentleman, at a mature period
of life, when years are counted by scores and romance is supposed to
have made way for comfort and self-indulgence, found his defences
suddenly exposed to the merciless attacks of Miss Ross. He liked it
uncommonly at first, flattering himself that at his age flirtation was a
harmless and pleasing excitement, which he could leave off when it
became oppressive or inconvenient, and that, if worst came to worst, he
was in good hands,--the girl seemed so attached to him, so confiding, so
sincere! Uncle Joseph used to rub his bald head in his cooler moments,
and wonder fully as much at her as himself; but, with the lapse of
years, he had at least learned that it is not well to analyse our
pleasures too minutely; and he generally summed up with the
philosophical reflection, that there was no accounting for taste. If the
girl liked a man old enough to be her father, why it only showed she was
a girl of sense, who knew the world, "Ay, and more than that, sir, a
girl who knows her own mind!"
By degrees, however, Uncle Joseph, having, it is to be presumed,
forgotten the tender experiences of youth, was surprised to find his
habits altered, his snuff-box put aside, his after-dinner slumbers
abolished, nay, the fashion of his garments derided, his very tailor
changed, and tyrannical exception taken to the thickness of his boots.
He kicked stoutly at first, but without avail. He was never comfortable
now, seldom happy. The clubs and haunts he had once delighted to
frequent knew him no more, and he had taken to wander about the Park
like a restless spirit, amongst boys who might have been his grandsons,
disappointed, as it would seem, in a vague search for some object, which
yet he never really expected to find.
So altered was the man, that he actually consulted an eminent
hairdresser on the propriety of setting up a wig!
"Don't be late, dear, to-night," said Mrs. Lascelles, waking up from a
fit of musing, possibly on the habits of the Amazons; "there's nobody
coming, I think, but Uncle Joseph, and he hates waiting for dinner.
Perhaps he's still more fidgety when he is waiting for you."
In Miss Ross's black eyes rose a sparkle that denoted intense love of
mischief, rather than gratified vanity or demure self-applause.
"He _does_ wait for me, nevertheless, very often," she answered; "and I
don't let him off because he hates it, you may be sure. Do you remember
him that night at the French Play? Didn't he get savage? And wasn't it
fun?"
Mrs. Lascelles laughed.
"You never spare him, Jin, that you must allow."
"I spare nobody!" answered the other, and the dark eyes glittered
fiercely.
Her friend looked at her with more than common interest, and something
of pity no less than curiosity in her face.
"What makes you so wild, Jin," said she, "so wicked, so merciless, so
unlike other people? I love you dearly, as you know, because I do
believe you love _me_. But why should you hate everybody else? Above
all, why are you so bitter, so unkind, so utterly without heart, towards
those who show a regard for yourself? It seems to me, that directly a
man betrays the slightest interest in you, down he goes in the Black
List, and you pitch into him without compunction or remorse."
"Shall I make a clean breast of it?" said Miss Ross, drawing her chair
near her friend. "You have often heard me say what a wretched childhood
mine was, what an unhappy youth; but I have never told even _you_ of the
one crowning sorrow of my life, the one outrage that turned my few good
impulses and instincts into 'malice, hatred, and all uncharitableness.'
As a child, I had no parents, no relations. I was brought up by a stern
old woman in black, whom I had been taught to call 'Aunty,' but who was
careful to impress on me, nevertheless, that I was not her niece; and I
had no playmates, nor companions of my own age. I could have clung very
fondly to anything that showed interest in me or loved me. I know it,
because when I was taken across the Channel to school at Dieppe, I made
acquaintance with the steward's dog in the steamer, and I shall never
forget the wrench of parting with that friend of six hours' standing,
nor the look in his meek brown eyes when I kissed him and wished him
good-bye. I remember I cried for two hours, and 'Aunty' thought it was
at parting with her. She scolded me without pity; but even then I was
wise enough to know she would have reviled me still more bitterly had I
told her the truth. How I hated that school at Dieppe, the _café au
lait_, the long rolls of bread, the _bouilli_, and the fast days. The
lessons I didn't so much mind, but the 'recreations,' as they called
them, I thought would have driven me mad! I was quite a little girl when
I went there, but nobody petted me, nor seemed to care one snap of the
fingers whether I was dead or alive; though they said I was pretty, I
don't think I could have been what is called 'a taking child.' I was
often punished too, and always more or less in disgrace for
'insubordination,' because I lifted up my young voice and protested
against the injustice to which we were daily victims. The school
consisted of French and English girls. I liked the latter least; they
were the most prejudiced and overbearing, affecting airs of superiority,
and calling the former 'foreigners' in their own country!
"When I left Dieppe and was removed to a convent in Paris everybody
seemed glad, and I was delighted to go myself.
"Oh! Rose, you have never been in a convent! Thank your stars, my dear,
or your gods, if you have any; and pray that you never may be. The
discipline, the dulness, the wearisome routine, made one feel like a
wild beast in a cage. I think I should have torn somebody in pieces if I
had stayed. There was nothing to see, nothing to do, and nothing to
learn. Though I was such a little rebel, I had neither been stupid nor
idle at school, and there was little they taught in the convent, except
needle-work, that I didn't know fully better than my instructors. So I
ran away. I am ashamed to tell you how I managed it--what lies I told,
what feelings I simulated, what smiles I lavished to induce a young man,
whom I had only seen three times and spoken with twice, to assist me in
my flight. He called it 'un enlèvement;' but I think I managed all the
details, and had, therefore, the less difficulty in giving him the slip
within an hour of my escape from prison. He was a 'friseur,' I believe.
He told me he was an artist. I certainly shouldn't have known him again
in a week's time, but he was useful to me, and I think he said his name
was Adolphe.
"No friends--no money. A run-away school-girl, and loose in the streets
of Paris. Can you wonder that my wits are sharpened, my opinions
somewhat advanced? I was self-reliant, however, and had no intention of
starving, so I pawned a black silk jacket of my own, and a bracelet
Adolphe had lately given me. I regret to say the latter ornament fetched
but a few francs. I had capital enough now to keep me a few days, and
felt that I could afford to make my own bargain with an employer,
whatever might be the task or the terms.
"Perhaps it was because I could do without it for the moment, that I
obtained an engagement the same day to sing at one of the 'Cafés
Chantants' that abound in the outskirts of Paris. In a low dress, at
sixteen, singing to two hundred people I had never seen before, I give
you my word I wasn't the least shy. Truth to tell, my blood was up. I
had detected in the Manager's politeness, and the readiness with which
he met my terms, something of that predatory tendency which I had
already learned from books, from reflection, from the experience of
others, affects the dealings of men towards ourselves. I was ten times
better in defence, I knew, than he could be in attack; and I felt a
fierce pleasure in pondering how I could turn his own weapons against
himself.
"So I ran through a succession of shakes, and squeals, and shrieks, and
sometimes sang false, to the delight of an enthusiastic audience and my
own intense gratification. One man never took his eyes off me; and,
somehow, before I had finished my third or fourth bar, I found I had
forgotten Manager, self, and company, and was singing to this man alone.
When I went back at night to the bare little room I had hired during the
afternoon, shall I confess to you that his face haunted me in the dark?
And I dreamt of him--I did, upon my word--though I was so tired I fell
dead asleep the instant I lay down."
"My dear, you had fallen in love," observed her listener.
"No, I hadn't," answered the other; "at least, not then. Next day I
found a note and a bouquet from the Manager. I did wish for a moment it
had been from somebody else; but it proved to me, at least, I was
admired by an old fool, who might have been my grandfather, and so my
vanity should have been gratified, but it only made me savage and
irritable. I don't think I ever liked people one bit because they liked
_me_!
"That evening the same man was there to hear me sing again. I confess my
heart gave a jump when I saw him, and I knew that _he_ knew it! He never
applauded but once, and he shook his head whenever I made a false note.
What pains I took, and how pleased I was, when he said 'Bravo!' out loud
as I made my curtsy! I _was_ in love with him that night when I went to
bed, and felt I had a right to dream of him as much as ever I liked.
"It is not difficult to make acquaintance with a friendless girl singing
for bread in a place like Paris. I thought it very hard that a whole
week should pass without his speaking to me, though I saw him every
night, always staring, and always in the same place. Of course the time
came at last, and when I had him all to myself on two chairs, with a
_deux-sous_ newspaper, in the Tuileries gardens, I did feel that life
was something to enjoy, to revel in, to be grateful for. Mrs. Lascelles,
I shall never be near heaven now, but I think I was then. I was so happy
that it made me good.
"I wonder if he knew what he was doing. Sometimes I think men are often
brutes, only because they are fools. We were married though. I protest
to you solemnly, as I am a living woman, we were married in a church! I
took his name, such as it was, and when next I sang they put me in the
bills as Madame Picquard. He did not like me to leave off my profession,
he said, and I would have gone out willingly with a rake and a basket to
earn my day's wages as a scavenger in the streets if he had only said it
was a pleasant life.
"We were not rich, though he always seemed to have plenty of money. I
lived in a very modest apartment, and I used to think I saw less of my
husband after he was my husband. I imagine this is sometimes the case,
but it grieved me then. I was even fool enough to cry about it. Fancy my
crying with nothing to gain, and nobody to dry my eyes. A good joke,
isn't it? But we have changed all that. How I used to laugh at his
French! He said he was an Alsatian, that was why it was so bad. I never
heard him speak English but once. I was nearly run over by a _fiacre_,
and he said, 'Take care, dear!' just as you or I might. His mother, he
told me, had been an Englishwoman, but he scarcely knew another word of
the language.
"Soon after this my boy was born. Such a noble little fellow, Mrs.
Lascelles--so strong, so handsome, with beautiful little hands and
finger-nails as perfect as a model. My darling boy! He knew me, I am
sure he did, when he was ten days old, and--and--it's nonsense, of
course, and they hate one when they're grown up. But I wasn't such a bad
mother to him, after all!
"Did I tell you my husband's name was Achille? Well, Achille was _very_
good to me at first--sending in flowers, and things for baby, and coming
to see me every day. To be sure, the doctor wouldn't let him stay above
five minutes. I was very happy, and looked forward to getting well and
singing again, and working hard at home and abroad for the comfort of my
husband and child.
"But I didn't get well. I was very young, you know, and it was weeks
before I was able to walk into the next room, so that I couldn't
accompany my husband anywhere out-of-doors, and I dare say I was a sadly
stupid companion in the house. Perhaps that was why he got tired of me.
How can I tell? or what does it signify? It seems as if all these things
had happened a hundred years ago. What a fuss people make about their
feelings and their affections, and so on! What is the good of them after
all? and how long do they last?
"Achille hadn't been to see me for a week, when one day the nurse came
in, and said a gentleman was waiting outside, and wished to know if he
might be admitted. I was on the sofa with baby in my lap, and felt
stronger than usual of late, so I said 'Certainly,' when, behold, enter
my friend the Manager, bearing an enormous bouquet, profuse in
civilities, congratulations, compliments, and more hateful than ever; he
wanted to kiss baby, who was frightened at him--no wonder--and drew his
chair so close to my sofa, that I should have liked to box his ears on
the spot.
"He hadn't been five minutes in the room before he made a declaration of
love, which I resented with considerable energy; finally, as a last
resource, threatening to acquaint my husband with his insolence, who, I
said, should kick him from one end of the Boulevard to the other. I
shall never forget the hateful laugh with which he received my menace.
"'Is Madame aware,' said he, 'that Monsieur has left Paris; that I am
his chosen friend and comrade; that I have regulated his affairs to the
last; that he wishes me to protect Madame as he would himself, and to
stand in the place of a father to his child?'
"Then he put a letter in my hand, which he kissed at the same time with
much effusion, and, walking to the other end of the room, buried himself
in the _Charivari_, while I read.
"Such a letter, Mrs. Lascelles! Need I tell you what it all meant? Need
I tell you that Achille was base, treacherous, cowardly, shameless?
_Enfin_, that he was a _man_! He said I had no legal claim on him; that
our marriage was a sham; that we had lived pleasantly enough for a time,
but of course this could not go on for ever, and that I could hardly
expect his future--_his_ future!--I should like to know what he had done
with mine!--to be sacrificed to a _liaison_, however romantic, of a few
months' standing. He had left funds, he went on to say, at my disposal,
in the hands of his good friend, the Manager, with whom, as he had made
a point of arranging, I could place myself advantageously at once. With
regard to the boy, he added, I must consult my own feelings; but so long
as a noble institution was supported by the State for the reception of
_enfants trouvés_, he could not charge himself with the support of us
both. The Manager was an excellent man, in the prime of life, and he
wished me much happiness in the successful career in which, thanks to
his care and provision, I could now embark.
"I suppose I am not like other women: I neither fainted, nor raved, nor
burst into fits of weeping, nor sat as they do on the stage, white and
motionless, turned to stone. All in a moment I seemed to have grown
quite cool and composed, and as strong as a milkmaid. My instinct was
doubtless to hit again. Achille might be out of reach, but here was his
confederate, disarmed, and open to a blow. Some intuitive consciousness,
possessed, I believe, only by women, taught me that this man was in my
power. I determined he should know what that meant before I had done
with him.
"The crackling of the letter, as I refolded it, brought him back to my
side. He took my hand and kissed it once more. I did not withdraw it
now.
"'I was quite prepared for this,' I said quietly, 'as, of course, you
know. My husband and I have been on bad terms for some time. You must be
very much in his confidence, however, if he has told you _why_--that is
my affair, so is the question of money; in that matter he has behaved
well, but I cannot take it.'
"His fat, heavy face gleamed with absolute delight.
"'You cannot take it!' he repeated; 'and why?'
"'Because I have no claim on him as a wife; because, morally, he is not
my husband; because women have sentiments, affections, _amour propre_,
egoism, if you will; _enfin_, because I love another.'
"But I was careful, you may be sure, not to tell him who that other was.
Before he quitted me that afternoon he had persuaded me, nothing loth,
to accept the pittance left by my good-for-nothing husband; though a
fortnight afterwards, having been to see me every day, he was still in
torments about the unknown object, growing always more and more
infatuated, in a way that would have been ludicrous had it not been
simply contemptible.
"I doled him out little morsels of encouragement; I accepted from him
valuable presents, and even sums of money; I tantalized, irritated, and
provoked him with the ingenuity of a fiend. I shuddered when he came
near me, yet I let him kiss my face once,--my baby's _never_! At last I
gave way, with a great storm of sobs and emotion, made my confession,
whispered that _he_, and _he_ alone, had been the mysterious object;
that I had cared for him from the first; that to him was owing my
coldness towards my husband, our estrangement, and eventual separation.
Finally, I promised to meet him the very next morning, never more to
part; and within six hours my baby and I were established, bag and
baggage, in the train for Lyons; nor have I ever seen my fat friend from
that day to this.
"Except a flower I once gave him in exchange for a Spanish fan, I don't
think he got anything out of our acquaintance but, as Hamlet says, 'the
shame and the odd hits.'
"I wasn't altogether unhappy at Lyons. Baby was my constant companion;
and, so long as my money lasted, I was contented enough only to wash and
nurse him, and see him grow, and teach him to say 'Mamma.' It was a long
while before I gained sufficient strength to sing again, and in the mean
time I picked up a few francs by sitting to artists for a model, but I
didn't like it. If I took baby, I couldn't keep him quiet; and a
painting room was so bad for him. If I left him at home, I always
expected to find something dreadful had happened when I came back. I was
advised to put him out to nurse. Though I couldn't bear to part with my
boy, I saw that, sooner or later, it must come to this; but he was over
two years old before I made up my mind.
"They had offered me a six weeks' engagement at Avignon. My voice had
come back, the terms were good, it looked likely to lead to something
better, and I accepted eagerly.
"There was low fever then prevalent in that town. I could not take
little Gustave to a hot-bed of sickness, so I left him in charge of a
kind, motherly woman, who had a child of her own, in a healthy part of
Lyons, only too near the river.
"Poor little darling! I am sure he knew I was going away, for he set up
a dreadful howl when I put him down. It seems silly enough, but I
suppose I wasn't properly trained then, for I could have howled too with
all my heart.
"What a long six weeks it was! And, after all, I came back before the
close of my engagement, and forfeited half my salary. There had been
floods as usual in Lyons, the poor woman I had left him with couldn't
write, and I was getting uneasy about my boy.
"Oh! Mrs. Lascelles, when I returned there I couldn't find him. The
cottage I left him in had been swept away when the river rose. No trace
even remained of the quiet little street. The authorities had done all
in their power for hundreds of ruined families; what was one poor woman
and a two-years old child amongst all those sufferers! I searched the
markets, the streets, the hospitals. I haunted the police-office; I
offered everything I possessed, freely, everything! for tidings of my
boy. One Commissary of Police was especially kind and considerate, but
even he let out at last that I was well rid of my child! Madame, as he
expressed it, so young, so handsome, with such talents, so _sympathique_
with himself! And this was a _man_, my dear, not a brute--at least, not
more a brute than the rest!
"He it was who found out for me that the poor woman was drowned with
whom I had left my boy; there was no clue to the fate of her child nor
of mine. _Monsieur le Commissaire_, with supreme good taste, chose the
hour in which he made me this communication, to couple with it a
proposal that did not increase my respect for himself or his sex. You
may imagine I did not even yet relax my endeavours to find out something
certain about my boy. I went to the Mayor, the Préfet; in my desolation,
I even wrote to my old admirer, the Manager, in Paris. On all sides I
met with the same treatment; civility, compliment, egoism, and utter
heartlessness. In time I came to think that there was not only nothing
_new_, but nothing _good_, under the sun. If I were romantic I should
say I was a tigress robbed of her cub; as I am only practical, I call
myself simply a woman of the world, whom the world has hardened;
cunning, because deceived; pitiless, because ill-treated; heartless,
because _désillusionée_. You have taken me in, and tamed me for a time,
but nothing will change my nature now.
"The rest of my history you know; the depths to which I sank, the
meannesses of which I was capable, the hypocrisy that re-established me
in a station of respectability, and swindled people out of such
recommendations as the one that enabled me to make a fool of Sir Henry
Hallaton. As I told you before, my motto now is, 'War to the knife!' I
might add, 'Woe to the vanquished!'"
The tears stood in her listener's blue eyes more than once during this
strange recital; but Mrs. Lascelles brightened up when it was over, and
pointed to the clock, with a light laugh--
"Go and put your armour on, my dear," said she, "and bid your maid look
to the joints of your harness. We fight to-night in _champ clos_, and
you have two champions to encounter, both eager for the fray!"
Miss Ross smiled--
"Let the best man win!" she answered. "He may find to-night that the
'latter end of a feast' is not at all unlike 'the beginning of a
fray!'"