I have always considered a garret as one of the most poetical abodes on
earth. Ye happy beings who, from that lofty altitude, can look down
upon the paltry bustle of the world, do ye not also appreciate the
advantages which ye possess? Envy not those whose cradles were rocked
in palaces or gilded saloons, for their good fortune cannot be compared
to yours. In these airy regions peace and freedom reign. Ye are
surrounded with the purest atmosphere--ye have but to throw open your
elevated casements to inhale the clear, fresh air, whilst the rich
beneath you, in their close chambers, seek eagerly for one breath of it
to refresh them, and assist their stifled respiration. No prying
opposite neighbour watches you, or disturbs your peace: there is
nothing except the swallow which builds its nest upon the roof, or the
linnet that flutters before your window, and greets you with its song.
Ye are raised far above all human misery, for none of it is apparent to
your eye; the manifold sounds of the busy street--the itinerant
vendor's varied cries--the rumbling of carriages and carts, scarcely
reach your ears. Ah, happy tenants of those lofty regions! how
frequently, and with what magnetic power, do ye not draw my glances
upwards towards you!
Far up yonder--high--high--mounting towards the clouds--where the
rosebush and the white curtains adorn the window, lives a little
milliner girl, about seventeen years of age. Courteous reader, if you
are not shocked at the idea of ascending that steep staircase, and
these innumerable steps, we will visit her together. Be not afraid!
Your reputation shall not suffer--I shall cast Peter Schlemil's cap
over you--you shall see all, and be yourself unseen. You will! Then
follow me, but be silent and discreet; it is a charming girl whom we
are going to see.
We enter--hush! Make no noise, for Heaven's sake; Lisette is occupied.
At this moment she is busy trying on, before the mirror, a bonnet of
the newest fashion, which she has just finished making. This is one of
the most important incidents in a milliner's life. It is to her of as
much consequence as his pieces are to a dramatic writer; with every new
bonnet which _she_ has constructed--with every new play which _he_ has
composed--comes the deep anxiety, whether the work shall add another
blossom to the garland of their fame, or shall despoil them of their
_renommee_. Let us not disturb her, but rather let us take a survey of
the little apartment which contains all her treasures.
If your eye be accustomed to rest on silken tapestry, rich carpets,
elegant toilet, and costly work-tables, these principal embellishments
of a young lady's boudoir, I would advise you somewhat to lower your
ideas, for Lisette possesses none of these, nor does she feel the want
of them. All that belongs to her is simple and frugal, but scrupulously
clean and neat. The ceiling and the walls rival in whiteness the snowy
coverlet which is spread over her couch. Near this stands a wardrobe,
in which hang two dresses and a shawl; and on a chair close by lie a
couple of caps and a straw hat, trimmed with gay ribbons. These form
her little stock of habiliments. A large oaken table occupies the
centre of the room; it is covered with pieces of _crepe_, silk, satin,
artificial flowers, plaits of straw, patterns, a knife, and a pair of
scissors. These are all her store, and all her apparatus. On a plain
chiffonier lie a Psalm-book, a well-worn romance of Sir Walter Scott,
some songs, and a little pamphlet, entitled 'The Ladies' Magic and
Dream Book.' These comprise her whole library. I had nearly forgotten
the most valuable article among her furniture--yon old lounging-chair,
covered with morocco leather: I call it the most valuable, for _it_ was
her only heirloom from her forefathers. A mirror is suspended over the
chiffonier, before which Lisette is standing, fully engaged in taking a
survey of herself. There is no mistaking the smile that is playing
around her lips--the light that is beaming from her eyes. The critical
examination has been satisfactory, and she is pleased with her own
handiwork. And well may she be so; for the tasteful white silk bonnet
casts a soft shade over her brow of ivory, and the rose-coloured
_crepe_ with which it is trimmed seems pale when compared to her
blooming cheek. I could venture to wager a thousand to one that
Lisette's face is a hundred times prettier than that of the fair dame
or damsel for whom this bonnet is intended. Doubtless this idea has
struck _her_ also; see, she hastens to her wardrobe, and takes from it
her light green shawl. She throws it around her shoulders, arranges it
in graceful folds over her slender throat and fairy form, turns to the
glass and contemplates herself, first on one side, then on the other,
and laughs in the glee of her heart.