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.
At the foot of the narrow back-stairs that descended from my room, I met
M. Pelet.
“Comme vous avez l’air rayonnant!” said he. “Je ne vous ai jamais vu
aussi gai. Que s’est-il donc passe?”
“Apparemment que j’aime les changements,” replied I.
“Ah! je comprends--c’est cela--soyez sage seulement. Vous etes bien
jeune--trop jeune pour le role que vous allez jouer; il faut prendre
garde--savez-vous?”
“Mais quel danger y a-t-il?”
“Je n’en sais rien--ne vous laissez pas aller a de vives
impressions--voila tout.”
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 “eleves” 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.
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.
“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.”
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.
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 maitresse 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.
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.
And first I observed that Mdlle. Reuter had already glided away, she
was nowhere visible; a maitresse 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--
“Prenez vos cahiers de dictee, mesdemoiselles.”
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.
“Eulalie, je suis prete a pleuer de rire,” observed one.
“Comme il a rougi en parlant!”
“Oui, c’est un veritable blanc-bec.”
“Tais-toi, Hortense--il nous ecoute.”
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.
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.
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.
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--
“Dictez-nous quelquechose de facile pour commencer, monsieur.”
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 facon.”
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.
“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.
The dictee 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?”
“Semi-colon, mademoiselle.”
“Semi-collong? Ah, comme c’est drole!” (giggle.)
“J’ai une si mauvaise plume--impossible d’ecrire!”
“Mais, monsieur--je ne sais pas suivre--vous allez si vite.”
“Je n’ai rien compris, moi!”
Here a general murmur arose, and the teacher, opening her lips for the
first time, ejaculated--
“Silence, mesdemoiselles!”
No silence followed--on the contrary, the three ladies in front began to
talk more loudly.
“C’est si difficile, l’Anglais!”
“Je deteste la dictee.”
“Quel ennui d’ecrire quelquechose que l’on ne comprend pas!”
Some of those behind laughed: a degree of confusion began to pervade the
class; it was necessary to take prompt measures.
“Donnez-moi votre cahier,” said I to Eulalie in an abrupt tone; and
bending over, I took it before she had time to give it.
“Et vous, mademoiselle--donnez-moi le votre,” 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:
“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--
“C’est bien--je suis content de vous.”
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.
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 maitresse,
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.
I had scarcely crossed the hall and gained the corridor, when Mdlle.
Reuter came again upon me.
“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
SALLE-A-MANGER, as appeared from the beaufet and the armoire vitree,
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
maitresse 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.
“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.
“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.”
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.
“A thousand thanks, mademoiselle, all has gone very smoothly.”
She looked more than doubtful.
“Et les trois demoiselles du premier banc?” said she.
“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.”
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.
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.
“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 Zoraide Reuter!” So I thought then; I found
afterwards that blunt susceptibilities are very consistent with strong
propensities.