Arrival of the Piano--Routine of a Day--Morning Toilettes--The
Dining-room--Pictures--Ida and Gabrielle--How occupied--The Evening
Mail--Musical Evenings.
_June 4_.
Yesterday the piano was sent up from Steinway's, where it has been
stored since last fall, and now we have all settled to our different
occupations, and are as methodical in the disposition of our time as
though we were in school.
None of us are very early risers, for mamma, who should naturally set
us a good example, has been too long an invalid to admit of it, and we
girls have become habituated to the luxury of breakfasting in bed, from
residence abroad and in the tropics. Not that we breakfast in bed at
the "Villa Greeley," however; we are much too sociable, and our
dining-room is too attractive, for that. But we gratify our taste for
reasonable hours by assembling around the table at half-past eight.
"Shocking!" I fancy I hear Katie exclaim. "I breakfast _at least_ two
hours earlier. How can you bear to lose so much of the beautiful
morning?"
Don't imagine, dear Katie, that I _sleep_ till half-past eight: you
must know the wakeful temperament of our family too well for that. I
find it, however, very poetic and delightful to listen to the matins of
the robins, thrushes, and wrens, from my pillows; and by merely lifting
my head I have as extended a panorama of swelling hills and emerald
meadows, as though promenading the piazza.
I have been in my day as early a riser as any one--even you, dear
Katie, have not surpassed me in this, respect; for you recollect those
cold winter days when I arose at "five o'clock in the morning," not,
however, to meet Corydon, but to attack the Gradus ad Parnassum of
Clementi by gaslight, in my desire to accomplish eight hours of
practice undisturbed by visitors. At seven, however, I used to meet
with an interruption from my German professor. Poor man! I now pity
his old rheumatic limbs stumbling over the ice and snow to be with me
at that unreasonable hour of the morning. But I then was ruthless, and
would not allow him even five minutes grace, for my time was then
regulated like clockwork, and a delay of a few moments would cause an
unpardonable gap in my day. Now, however, that my education is
nominally finished, I feel that I may without self-reproach indulge in
some extra moments of repose, for it is impossible for one to work
_all_ the time; and a quiet hour of reflection is often, I think, as
useful as continual reading or writing.
We indulge in very simple morning toilettes here, as we have no
gentleman guests for whom to dress, nor ladies to criticise us;
consequently a few brief moments before the mirror suffice to make us
presentable. A black print wrapper made Gabrielle-fashion, with our
hair brushed off plain from our faces, and flowing loosely _à la belle
sauvage_, or in cool braids, is the order of the day. Even Marguerite,
who is the most conventional of our quartette, has conformed to the
fashion reigning here, and no longer coiffed in the stylish
_Impératrice_ mode, her sunny brown hair floats over her shoulders
unconfined by hair-pins, cushions, or rats. Truly we live in Arcadian
simplicity, for under our roof there are neither curling nor crimping
irons, nor even a _soupçon_ of the most innocent _poudre de riz_.
At half-past eight a little hand-bell, silver in material and tone,
summons us to the breakfast-room. This room is on the ground floor,
and is one of the prettiest in the house. Four windows give us an
extended view of our Dame Châtelaine's sloping meadows and wooded
hills, and the carriage road winding off towards the pine grove and the
house in the woods. We have several pictures on the walls--first a
portrait of my dear uncle; a boyish face with fair hair, deep blue
eyes, and an expression angelic in sweetness. No one would imagine it
to be the face of a married man, but it was painted, mamma says, when
he was thirty years old. Two large and admirable photographs, taken
early last summer, hang opposite it. A striking contrast they are to
the pensive, fragile, blonde boy; these are impressed with the vigor
and mental and physical activity of his busy life, but the broad
intellectual brow, and the almost divine expression that plays about
the mouth, are the same in each.
An engraving from a picture by Paul Delaroche, the Archangel
Gabriel--the "patron," in Catholic parlance, of our little
Gabrielle--hangs between the windows, and over the comfortable sofa is
a copy of Liotard's celebrated pastel "la belle Chocolatière" in the
Dresden Gallery. This copy Aunt Mary bought in that city when there
some years ago, and it is considered wonderfully fine. Very pretty and
coquettish she looks in her picturesque Vienna dress, with the small,
neatly-fitting cap, ample apron, and tiny Louis Quinze shoes. In her
case
"My face is my fortune,"
was exemplified, and so pretty and modest is her demeanor that it is no
wonder that Count Dietrichstein, haughty nobleman though he was,
married her. She is very different, however, from the chocolate
vendors whom I have seen in the streets of Paris. I don't think a
nobleman would ever raise one of them from their original station, for
they are as a rule past fifty, and ugly and withered as only a
Frenchwoman of that age can be.
Breakfast is followed by a turn upon the piazza, a little stroll to the
spring, near which delicious wild strawberries nestle in a background
of sweet clover, bright buttercups, and field daisies, or a game of
croquet under the grand old oak-trees
"After the sun has dried the dew."
Then we separate, each to our own room, and our different occupations.
[Illustration: The Spring.]
Ida is very busy now, for she is preparing a volume for publication in
the fall--her dear father's manuscript lectures and letters.
Gabrielle throws herself upon a sofa, and lies there motionless,
absorbed in the fascinating pages of some favorite book; indeed, she is
so quiet that in my periodical fits of tidiness I often seize a print
or bombazine frock, thrown, as I suppose, carelessly upon the bed or
sofa, and only by its weight do I discover that it is animated. Last
year, Gabrielle's favorite site for reading was in the dear old
apple-tree close beside the house; but since she has attained the
dignity of sixteen and train dresses, she has abjured the apple-tree.
Marguerite is translating a volume from the German, _Musikalische
Märchen_, and I divide my time between the piano and occasional
newspaper articles.
But it is already one o'clock and dinner hour. The afternoon passes
much like the morning. We have letters to write, and much reading
aloud. I have two books in progress--Plato's "Dialogues," and Madame
de Stäel's incomparable "Germany:" the latter I read aloud while in
Munich, but it is a work that cannot be too often studied.
At half-past six we dress and go down to the postoffice (about a
hundred yards distant) for the evening mail. Half an hour later we
sup, and then follows, as L. E. L. would say, "a struggle and a
sacrifice." What could be more delicious than a game of croquet, or a
drive in the cool twilight? But Chappaqua, lovely though it is,
possesses a malaria that is dangerous after sunset, they say, and much
as I love to drive when Nature is bathed in the last ruddy flush of
day, and during the soft gray hour that succeeds it, I must heed the
prediction of _chills_ to all who indulge.
The evening is always devoted to music. Both Ida and Gabrielle are
very fond of the piano, and Ida is rapidly becoming quite proficient in
the divine art. She commenced the study of music when a little child,
under an excellent teacher, and also took lessons while in
boarding-school; but one studies the piano under difficulties while in
the routine of a _pensionnat_, for the hour devoted to it must be taken
from one's recreation time, or from some other lessons. Our friends
will remember, too, that dear Ida was taken out of school while yet
very young, to become the devoted nurse that she has since shown
herself to her mother, and from the time she left the _Sacré Coeur_
until this spring she has never opened the piano. Now, however, she
practises regularly and conscientiously, and brings to her music all
the enthusiasm of her loving nature, and the intelligence of her
superior mind; consequently, when her fingers are well trained, I shall
expect to see her a thoughtful and brilliant pianist.
Gabrielle is still in the tedious preliminary steps, for Geometry and
Latin, rather than the _Rhythme des Doigts_ and the _Ecole de la
Velocité_, have hitherto engaged her attention; but time will show.