In a crowded school-room, on a glorious October morning, a student
was penning, with slow and heavy fingers, an Italian exercise. A
physiognomist's eye would have wandered with comparative carelessness
over the faces,--so various in feature and character--by which she
was surrounded, and found in hers, subject for curious speculation;
wondering at the contradictory evidence her countenance and form gave
of her age; the one, sombre in its thoughtfulness, its dark eyes
piercing through his, into his soul, said twenty--perhaps thirty--the
lithe figure and rounded limbs, sixteen; but most, he would have
marvelled at the listlessness of her attitude; the lack of interest in
her occupation and external objects, when every line, in brow, eyes
and mouth, bespoke energy; a spirit strong to do or dare; and which,
when in arms, would achieve its purpose, or perish in the attempt.
The hand moved more and more sluggishly, and the page was marred by
blots and erasures. Thought had the crayon, and dark were the shades
that fell upon the canvass. "Seventeen to-day! Who remembers that it
is my birth-day? There are none here to know or care. If I were to
die to-morrow, there is not a creature who would shed a tear above my
corpse. I wish I could die! They say such thoughts are sinful, but
annihilation is preferable to an aimless, loveless existence. Oh!
this intolerable aching, yearning for affection--it is eating into my
soul! gnawing, insatiable longing! can I not quiet you for an instant?
I have intellect--genius--so says the world. I have sacrificed to
knowledge, reason and poesy;--praying, first, for happiness, then
comfort, then forgetfulness--to cast myself down, the same heart-sick,
famished creature! Our examination was an imposing affair. The elite
of intelligence and fashion honored us with their presence. The prizes
for which others had expended sleepless nights and toilsome days, were
for me, who had scarcely put forth an effort; and as the music swelled
out to celebrate my victory--blent with the applause of my critics,
my heart beat! I had not felt it before for a long, long time,--and
as in a lightning flash, I saw what I might--what I would have been,
had the sunshine of love been continued to me. But the pitchy cloud
rolled over the dazzling opening, and I was again a stranded wreck
upon a barren shingle--the wailing monotone of the deep in my ear. I
read to them, that a tile was once cast upon an acanthus root, and the
hardy plant thrust its arms in every direction, until they felt the
light, then coiled in spiral waves, to convert their oppressor into a
thing of beauty;--and bade them recognize in the Corinthian capital, an
emblem of Truth, which had in all ages owed much of its transcendent
loveliness to the tyranny that sought to stifle its growth;--and when
I pointed to it as a type of our national freedom, I was forced to
stop,--for snowy handkerchiefs perfumed the air, and eager hands beat
a rapturous 'encore;' and I was reading a written lie! for my heart
was dying--puny and faded--beneath its weight. Intellect! a woman's
intellect! I had rather be little Fanny Porter, with her silly, sweet
face, and always imperfect lessons, than what I am. She has a father,
mother, brothers, sisters, who dote upon her. Nourished upon fondness,
she asks love of all, and never in vain. If I could dream my life away,
I should be content. I love to lock my door upon the real world, and
unbar the portals of my fairy palace--my thought-realm. Those long
delicious reveries which melt so sweetly into my night-visions--and the
blessed rainy days spent by Josephine in worsted work! Yet all this
is injurious--I am enervating my mind--destroying every faculty of
usefulness. To whom can I be useful! 'Do your duty in your home'--said
the sermon last Sabbath. I have no home--no friends--I am cut off from
my species. Tired of the world at seventeen! weary of a life I may not
end! Seventeen! seventeen! would it were seventy or seven! I should
be nearer my journey's end--or once more a happy child, nestling in my
mother's bosom!"
"Forgive me," said a gentle voice, "but your exercise is not finished,
and it is near Signer Alboni's hour." The speaker was the owner of
the adjoining desk. As their eyes met, hers beamed with sympathy
and interest. Ida knew nothing of the wretchedness expressed in her
features, but she felt the agony at heart, and taken unawares, she
could not entirely repress the tide that sprang to her lids at this
unexpected kindness. Ashamed of what she had been "schooled" to
consider a weakness, she lowered her head over her writing, until the
long curls hid her face. "Signor Alboni, young ladies!" called out Mr.
Purcell, the principal of the seminary. Ida surveyed the unsightly
sheet in dismay, but there was no time for alteration, and she repaired
with the rest to the recitation-room.
Signor Alboni was a gaunt, bilious-looking Italian, whom a residence
of ten years in America had robbed of all national characteristics,
except a fiery temper. The girls feared and disliked him; but he was a
popular and efficient teacher, and in virtue of these considerations,
Mr. Purcell was inclined to overlook minor disadvantages. Ellen Morris,
whose fun-making propensities no rules or presence could restrain,
soon set in circulation a whispered report, that their "amiable
professor had had a severe return of dyspeptic symptoms since their
last lesson;"--and "don't you think he has a queer taste? They say
his favorite drink is a decoction of saffron, spiced with copperas!
No wonder he looks so like a piece of new nankeen." Then an impromptu
conundrum, pencilled upon a fly-leaf, went the rounds of the class. "If
a skeleton were asked to describe his sensations in one word, whose
name would he pronounce?" Black, brown and sunny tresses were shaken,
and smiling mouths motioned,--"We give it up." Ellen scribbled the
answer,--"All-bone-I."
It is a singular fact, that when one person is the unconscious cause
of amusement to others--although ignorant of their ridicule, he often
experiences an odd feeling of displeasure with himself and the whole
world,--a sudden fit of spleen, venting itself upon those who richly
deserve the wrath, which in his sane moments, he acknowledges was
unprovoked. It was impossible for the signor to observe the laughing
faces that sought refuge behind open books and friendly shoulders, for
he was occupied in the examination of the pile of manuscripts laid upon
his desk, yet his brow was more and more wrinkled each second, and when
he spoke, his tone was, as Ellen afterwards described--"as musical as
that of a papa lion, administering a parental rebuke to his refractory
offspring."
"Miss Porter!"
Poor Fanny's eyes started from their sockets, as she uttered a feeble
response.
"Receive your exercise," tearing it in half, and giving her the
fragments. "Remain after school-hours, and re-write it; also prepare
the next one in addition to your lesson for to-morrow. Miss Morris,
where do you purchase your ink?"
"Of Messrs. Politeness, Manners & Co.," she retorted, with an innocent
smile. "You never deal there, I believe, sir?"
"Silence!" vociferated the infuriated foreigner. "Rest assured, Miss,
I shall report your impertinence to Mr. Purcell. Miss Carleton!" and
Ida's neighbour replied. "I find no important errors in your theme, but
your chirography lacks dignity and regularity."
With a respectful courtesy, the paper and hint were received; and
if a smile played around her mouth, as she contrasted her delicate
characters with the stiff, upright hand, in which the corrections were
made, he did not see it.
"You had some incontestable reason for omitting to write, Miss Ross,"
with a sardonic grin; "into its nature I shall not inquire, but plead
guilty to curiosity to know the name of the friend who did your work,
and appended your name to his or her elegant effort."
Ida was not of a disposition to brook insolence, and she answered with
spirit,--"The exercise is mine, sir."
"By right of possession, I suppose?"
"It was written by myself."
"Do I believe you, when my eyes tell me this is neither your
hand-writing or style? Who was your accomplice in this witty deception?"
"SIR!"
"Who wrote this theme?" he thundered, maddened by her contempt.
"I have told you--_I_ did. No one else has seen it."
_"You lie!"_
With one lightning glance, she arose; but he placed himself between her
and the door.
"Let me pass!" she ordered.
"Signor Alboni!" said Miss Carleton, who had before endeavored to make
herself heard, "I can certify to the truth of Miss Ross' statement. I
saw her commence and complete her manuscript."
"Aha! yet she says it has been seen only by herself. You must tutor
your witnesses more carefully. They convict, instead of exculpate."
"If you hint at collusion between Miss Ross and myself, I can say that
we never exchanged a word until an hour since. My desk adjoins hers;
it was this circumstance which furnished me with the knowledge of her
morning's occupation."
"I beg you will not subject yourself to further insult, upon my
account," interrupted Ida, whose figure had dilated and heightened
during the colloquy;--then to him--"Once more I command you to
stand aside! If you do not obey, I shall call Mr. Purcell." As if
he had heard the threatened appeal, the principal appeared in the
doorway, in blank astonishment at the novel aspect of affairs. Alboni
commenced a hurried jargon, inarticulate through haste and rage; Ida
stood with folded arms, her countenance settled in such proud scorn
as Lucifer would have envied and striven to imitate. The prudent
preceptor perceived at a glance the danger of present investigation;
and abruptly declaring the lesson concluded, appointed an hour on the
morrow for a hearing of the case. That evening, for the first time in
many months, Ida voluntarily sought her guardian's presence. Josephine
was in her room, and he was left to the enjoyment of solitude and the
newspaper. He arose at the approach of his visitant, and offered her
a chair. In these little matters of etiquette, he was particular to
punctiliousness; carrying his business habits of law and order into
every thing. The paper was replaced upon the stand; the spectacles
wiped and returned to their case; and those matter-of-fact eyes raised
with an interrogative look.
"You have been informed of the altercation that occurred in the Italian
class to-day?" Ida said, waiving the preliminary remarks.
"Josephine mentioned it."
"May I ask what was her version of it?"
"It was a statement of _facts_."
"Doubtless. Then, sir, you are aware that I have been wantonly and
grossly insulted by a man for whom I have no respect; that in the
presence of the entire class, I was forced to listen to language,
which, uttered by one man to another, would be met by prompt
chastisement; you are furthermore advised of the _fact_ that he, whose
duty it is to protect those whom he instructs, instead of compelling
the creature to apologize upon his knees, 'postponed inquiry until
to-morrow.'"
"And very properly, too."
"Unquestionably, sir!" with the sarcastic smile which accompanied her
former assent. "My object in seeking this interview, is to request your
attendance upon that occasion. I shall not be present."
"And why not?"
"Because, sir, I will not be confronted with that odious reptile,
and give my testimony in his hearing. Judging from the past, and the
knowledge of mankind I have acquired under your tuition, nothing that
I can say will avail to secure me justice. Mr. Purcell cannot obtain a
better teacher, and it is as politic in Alboni to remain. There will
be an amicable settlement; and my word will be a knot in the chain
of satisfactory evidence they will elicit. The young ladies will, of
course, side with 'the gentlemen.'"
"But why am I to be there?--to receive Alboni's apology?"
"I want none, sir--I will hear none. I have been called a _liar_! his
pitiful life could not expiate the offence!"
"You are savage, young lady! you wish, perhaps, that I should pistol
him."
"I thank you, sir, for recalling by your ridicule, the remembrance that
this is a business interview. What I ask is this:--that you announce
to Signor Alboni the termination of my studies with him, and pay his
bill."
"Do you know, that although it is only the second week of the session,
you will be charged for the term?"
"I do, sir."
"What if I refuse to discharge the debt?"
"I shall liquidate it with the money intended for my personal expenses."
"And if I forbid this, and command you to continue your lessons?"
"I shall refuse obedience to a demand you have not the right to make."
"Miss Ross! do you know to whom you are speaking?"
"I address Mr. Read."
"And your guardian, young lady!"
"The guardian of my property, sir."
"You are under no obligations to me, I suppose."
"None that I am conscious of. You are paid for your services and my
board."
"There are cares for which money can offer no adequate compensation."
"Indeed, sir! I thought gold a cure for every ill; a reward for every
toil. But we are digressing. You will do as I wish?"
"Resume your seat, if you please! The hope that I might have regarded
your request favorably, is lessened by your unbecoming deportment.
You are ignorant of any benefits I have conferred upon you! Since you
will have a debit and credit account, I will enlighten you on this
point. You came into this house two years ago--a romantic, sentimental,
mawkish, spoiled child; weeping at every word which happened to jar
upon your exquisite sensibilities; an unsophisticated simpleton; a
fit prey for any bungler in deception; unformed in manner; womanish
in feeling, and extravagant in expression. You have now, although
but seventeen years of age, more sense and self-possession than most
women of double your years; control the weaknesses which rendered you
so ridiculous; are accomplished and respected; in short, I say it
without flattery to myself, or to you, bid fair to fill your position
in society creditably. You have still obstacles to surmount; but I
have judged your failings leniently, attributing them, mainly, to the
defects in your early training. If your mother had had the wisdom and
discretion"--
"Stop, sir, stop!" exclaimed the girl, rising from her chair, and
trembling in every limb with excitement "Take not the name of my holy
mother upon your lips--still less cast the shadow of reproach upon
her conduct! You have taught me the corruption of human nature,--have
crushed all the warm affections I had been instructed to cherish;--have
made the life my young mind pictured so inviting, a desert waste,
inhabited by wily monsters;--but over the wreck there shines one ray,
the memory of an angel lent to earth! For her sake I live among those
whose form she wore, but with whose foul hearts hers could have had no
fellowship. You tell me she was like the rest, that the religion, in
her so lovely, is a delusion--and I answer, I do not believe you. In
her name I refute your vile sophisms! Heaven knows how little I have
profited by her counsels and example. I loathe myself! 'A woman,' you
said! rather a fiend! for such is woman when she buries her heart, nor
mourns above its grave. 'Control my feelings!' I do! I have driven
back the tears until the scalding waves have killed whatever in my
soul could boast a heavenly birth. There is nothing there to prove my
relationship to my mother, but her memory. When that is destroyed I
shall go mad. I am on the verge of insanity now--I often am! I do not
doubt your assertions as to your, and shame on me that I should say
it, _my_ brethren; for in yourself I see all the traits you ascribe
to them. Woman, you say, belongs to an order of yet inferior beings;
and in your daughter I have an illustration of this; for she inherits
her father's character, combined with a meaner mind. You consider that
I owe you respect,--I do not! I am superior to you both, for I still
struggle with the emotions our Creator kindled up within us, and sent
us to earth to extinguish. Within your bosoms there are only cold
ashes. Frown as you please! your anger intimidates as little as your
ridicule abashes. The idea once entered my mind that I could win you
and your child to love me. I could laugh at the thought; that was in
my sentimental days, when I deemed that the desolate orphan must find
affection somewhere. My most 'extravagant' imaginings never paint such
a possibility now. I have done. We understand each other. The contempt
you had for the 'mawkish' baby, cannot equal mine for you. You will
say no more of obligation and respect. I _despise_ you, and I owe you
nothing?"
"Is the girl mad in good earnest?" gasped the cause of this burning
torrent, as the door closed upon her. "She's a dangerous customer when
her blood is up--a perfect Vesuvius, and I came near being Herculaneum
or Pompeii. I've seen Ross in these tantrums, when we were chums
together. She looked like her father when she said she was my superior.
Bah!" He picked up his "Enquirer," but the political news was stale and
vapid: the "Whig" was tried with no better success. In the centre of
the racy editorial, and oddly mixed with the advertisements, was that
incarnation of pride and passion, which through her eyes, more plainly
than her lips, said, "I despise you, and I owe you nothing." Thus stood
her part of the account he had proposed to examine.