It wanted two hours of dinner, and, leaving Augustus to scold the
servants and make whatever domestic arrangements he choose, I took my
hat and sought the way to Carrara’s house; the windows facing the street
were bolted and barred as usual; I knocked loudly at the street door,
but no one came; and after waiting a few minutes I knocked again, still
no answer; I concluded Carrara must be out of town, perhaps on a visit,
and was about going away when I saw old Guiseppe coming slowly toward the
house; I waited until he reached me, and then asked if his master was
well?
The old man looked at me with grave surprise, and mournfully exclaimed,
“Ah, Signor! I see you have not heard the sad news. Master died the
second day after you left for Tivoli, and was buried yesterday.”
“Carrara dead!” I shrieked, rather than spoke; “you or I must be
dreaming; it is impossible he could have died so very suddenly; he was
living a week ago when I left for Tivoli.”
“He had been sick, you know sir, all carnival time; it was only a simple
sore-throat, to be sure, but he neglected it, he said it would get well
of itself; but he grew worse instead of better, and gangrene had taken
place before he would allow me to send for a physician. It was then too
late; master became delirious, and talked constantly about you, and
somebody whom he called “Genevra.” He got his senses a little, just
before he died, and calling me to his bedside, told me to give you a
packet, which he placed in my hands. I told him you had gone to Tivoli
for a few days, and that when you returned I would do so. He said he was
very sorry you were not here to see him die; that he never should see
you again in this world. Shortly after, he became speechless, and the
second day after your departure, in the afternoon, he died; a relative
of his came to town just in time to witness his death, and attend to his
funeral. He had written upon the back of the will, that it was not to be
opened or read until your return, and Signor Terra told me to request you
to call upon him as soon as you could after your return to town.”
I scarcely heard him: I felt as if oppressed by a frightful nightmare.
The idea that that kind old man was dead, whom I had so lately seen in
good health and spirits; and dead so suddenly, so unexpectedly, was too
strange and unaccountable for me to realize. Mechanically I followed
Guiseppe into the house, and entered the studio, in which I had passed
so many pleasant hours since my arrival in Rome; nothing was displaced
from the position in which he had left it, when first taken sick; and
notwithstanding the consciousness of his death, I momentarily expected
to see his tall thin form, and benevolent face, appear at the open door.
Guiseppe had left the room, and I fell into a reverie, in which were
blended my sad regrets at this unexpected loss, when the old domestic
returned, and handed me the packet his master bequeathed me as a legacy,
together with the address of the lawyer who wished to see me. I put them
both in my pocket: and then turned to the old man, who stood by my side,
with his arms folded.
“And you, my good Guiseppe, what do you intend doing, now the good Signor
is dead, where do you think of going to?”
Tears startled in the old man’s eyes, as he replied—“I hardly know
myself, sir, what I shall do; I think I will return into the country with
Signor Carrara’s cousin; I only liked Rome, because I could live with my
dear, kind master; and now he’s gone, I would rather go than stay.”
“If you conclude to remain, Guiseppe, and if my influence can be of
service in obtaining you another situation, call on me, and I will do
whatever I can for you.”
“I thank you a thousand times, Signor,” answered the grateful Italian;
and I sadly retraced my steps to our hotel. Augustus was almost
as surprised as I had been, on hearing of the sudden death of his
artist-friend; he could scarcely believe it, so unexpected had been the
sad event, and expressed some curiosity to learn what I had to do with
Carrara’s will.
I had not spoken of the packet to Augustus: that was my own little
secret; and when night had assumed her reign, I took a “bougie” and
established myself in my chamber, with the door locked to prevent
intrusion, and proceeded to the examination of this mysterious package.
After taking off the paper wrapper, I saw a small silver casket, locked,
and the little gold key belonging to it, lying within the paper; upon
unlocking it, I saw a bundle of manuscript, and a letter addressed to
myself in Carrara’s handwriting. Some of the papers of the diary had
already become yellow from age. I hurriedly opened the letter, anxious
to learn what this singular present meant; it was dated some days back,
during carnival time; the contents were thus:—
“MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND,
“I feel a presentiment of my approaching dissolution; already
the angel of death fans me with his wings, he beckons me to
come to that unknown shore; he invites me to drink of the cup
of oblivion, and forget all things in the quiet sleep of death.
I am now an old man; I have experienced all that I shall ever
experience of pleasure; the world is no longer either pleasing
or new to me. Death, therefore, so far from appearing an enemy,
seems like a dear friend, who comes to release me from future
decrepitude and imbecility.
“You will recollect you one day asked me, while gazing upon the
portrait of the beautiful Countess Calabrella, what had been
her character, and her destiny in life? you seemed to admire,
and love to look upon, that picture; when living, no man ever
looked upon her without loving her; the manuscript enclosed
within the casket is a diary of her own life, which she,
confiding in my discretion, promised, and sent to me, previous
to her final departure from Rome.
“The perusal of these sad recollections of her childhood,
I feel confident, will interest you; they will, at least,
exemplify the virtuous struggles of a noble soul, and that
determined will, and perseverance in the paths of rectitude and
morality, which sooner or later rises triumphantly over the
transient contingencies of fortune.
“Farewell my friend, farewell; a mist seems gathering around my
eyes. Oh, it is nothing, I—”
This unfinished letter was scarcely legible from blots and blurs; my poor
friend had evidently indited it but a little while before his death,
when his mind, as well as his body, enfeebled by illness, was becoming
confused. He could not have bequeathed me a “memento” more acceptable to
myself than this autobiography.
I opened the papers, which were written in a bold free hand; snuffed the
candle, and began to read; as I did so, a small alabaster time-piece upon
my mantle struck nine.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
“While sitting to you for my portrait, you have often paid me compliments
upon my beauty. I will not say that the language of compliment is
unknown to me; yet, could you have seen me fourteen years ago, a ragged,
houseless, wandering orphan child, you would never be able to recognize
in my present self the same creature. My earliest recollections do not
extend beyond the age of six years; but I still retain an indefinite
remembrance of a tall, slender woman, who used to walk the floor with me,
and hush me to sleep in her arms; it seemed to be in the country, for
I remember hearing the mournful sighing of the winds, as they whistled
through the trees, and of being frightened at the sound; these may be,
however, merely the fancies or dreams of childhood.
“My first distinct remembrance, is of being a ragged, dirty child,—the
protegé, or rather the slave of an old hag, the inhabitant of a wretched
hovel; when not subjected to her abuse and savage tyranny, I was
generally the companion of any little vagabonds I chanced to meet playing
in the streets. What right that old woman had to my person, or how she
ever obtained possession of me, I never knew; chance or fate, whichever
it is that rules the actions of mankind, removed me so soon from her
pernicious influence, and depraved example, that I never learned how our
destinies came to be united. She sometimes sent me out alone at night, to
the most public squares in the city of Vienna, and commanded me not to
return without a certain number of _sous_, under penalty of being whipped
with rods, till the blood ran down my back; frequently she beat me from
sheer malice, merely to exercise her ill humor. In winter, my bed was
a heap of dirty straw, in the loft of this miserable hut, where I lay
and shivered with cold, while my Hecate-like protector, crouched in the
chimney corner of the only room the house contained, dozed, and muttered
over the embers of her fire. During summer I played about the streets, or
grown bold from habit, boldly asked pennys from the passers-by, while the
old woman performed her daily routine of thieving or begging in different
parts of the town.
“Thus passed two years, in this depraved and wretched way; I was then
eight years old, and reason began to shed some glimmering rays of light
upon my benighted mind. I saw that hundreds of other children did not
live as I did: some were beautifully dressed, their hair combed smoothly,
their faces and hands clean, while mine were as dirty as the rags I
wore. All this was a perfect mystery to me; I could in no way explain it
to myself, that other children, no prettier than myself, should revel
in luxury, while I was left a neglected beggar child; alas! knowledge
of the ways of the world has since then taught me the reason why. I
always experienced a sorrowful regret, when I saw other children gayly
dressed, smiling and happy. I did not envy _them_, but I wished to be so
situated myself. The old woman, whom I called Granny, sometimes imposed
upon the credulity of the vulgar, by telling fortunes; her wild eyes,
of a greenish color, and straggling gray hair, accompanied by strange
mysterious gestures, would not have disgraced the queen of the witches
herself; and I presume she would have taught me the same nefarious trade,
had not an unexpected event changed the whole course of my life.
“It was on a cold, dark evening in December; the air was keen and raw,
and flakes of snow came driving along on the wind, when, after having
treated me with unusual severity during the day, the old woman dismissed
me to one of the principal squares, and forbade me to return until I had
obtained ten _sous_.
“I took a little paper lantern, lighted by a bit of tallow candle, to
guide my steps through the dark and lonely streets, and went to the
square. I had been there sometime, and had collected but five _sous_,
from the unwilling charity of the passers-by; some of them, when I
timidly asked them for a _sou_, looked at me harshly, and passed on,
making me no reply; others gave it me in a contemptuous manner; and
one woman, as she swept past me, her long robe trailing the pavement,
remarked how absurd it was for the police to allow pauper children to
annoy people by their importunity. I felt so degraded and unhappy, that
unconsciously the bitter tears ran down my cheeks, and leaning my head
upon my arm, which rested on one of the iron seats of the piazza, I wept
bitterly; I longed to go home, but I dreaded the severe punishment which
I knew awaited me, if I did not return with ten _sous_.
“I heard heavy steps coming up the gravel walk, and rose upon my feet; it
was a tall, stout man, enveloped in a large cloak; I could not see his
face; my little lantern was extinguished, and the moon had hidden herself
beneath the snowy clouds. I extended one of my cold little hands, and
falteringly asked him for a _sou_.
“‘I haven’t a single _sou_ about me, my little one,’ he replied, in a
rough, kind voice, ‘nothing but a bank note.’
“He was about passing on, when trembling and animated by a sort of
desperation, I seized his cloak with both hands, and was beginning to
entreat him once more, when tears choked my utterance, and I sobbed
piteously; the man seemed touched by my grief, he stopped, and raising me
off the ground, exclaimed jocosely,
“‘What, all this weeping about one _sou_, come with me across the piazza,
and I’ll get a bill changed and give you a hundred, if that will dry your
tears, poor little one;’ and then, inquiring, ‘In what part of the town
do you live, and who is it that sends you out such cold, stormy nights as
this, to beg; have you a father or mother?’
“‘No sir.’
“‘Who takes care of you?’
“‘An old woman.’
“‘Is she kind to you?’
“‘No; she sends me out to beg, and beats and abuses me, if I don’t bring
her as many _sous_ as she bids me bring.’
“‘Why don’t you run away?’
“‘I can’t: there’s nobody to take care of me if I did.’
“‘Come with me, and let me see how you look.’ He took my hand, cast his
ample cloak around my shivering shoulders, and I walked by his side to a
small fancy shop, the other side of the square. He began singing an air
as he walked along; it sounded perfectly celestial to my ears.
“A pretty girl stood behind the counter, serving customers; she looked
like an angel to me then; and I thought that poor little shop must
certainly contain every beautiful thing on the face of the earth. After
getting a bank note changed, my new friend pushed back my matted hair
from my face, and attentively surveyed me from head to foot. I now saw
_his_ face; he was a tall, well made man, and his countenance bore
a good-humored expression; the result of his investigations seemed
satisfactory; for, turning to the shop girl, he said to her:
“‘Mademoiselle Marie, can you oblige me by having this child’s face and
hands washed clean?’ and pointing to a child’s dress of blue merino,
hanging on the wall; ‘fit her, if you please, with a robe of that
description, with suitable clothing, and I will pay whatever you may
charge.’ The young girl looked astonished at this; but her amazement
in no way equalled mine. To be presented with, what appeared to me, a
princely gift, from an utter stranger, seemed too beautiful to be true. I
imagined he must be my guardian angel, who had assumed humanity to watch
over me; I was too young to perceive that the man had any _motive_ in
doing this benevolent action.
“I followed the girl, whom he called Mademoiselle Marie, to a small, neat
chamber up stairs; where by dint of perseverance, and some strength, she
succeeded in restoring my face, neck and hands, to their original color;
she then took a comb and smoothed my tangled locks, put clean shoes and
stockings on my feet, clean under-clothing, and lastly, the pretty dress.
I walked across the room to a large mirror, and struck with astonishment,
contemplated my metamorphosis. I beheld a tall, slender child, with
an oval face, whose large blue eyes and auburn hair, gave a pensive
expression to the countenance; my complexion would have been a delicate
white, had it not been turned by constant exposure to the sun. Was it
possible that this interesting child was myself? I concluded it must be
an agreeable dream.
“Mademoiselle led me down stairs again, to my new protector. ‘She looks
much better now, sir; don’t you think so, now she’s dressed nice and
clean?’
“‘Wonderful,’ cried my new friend, ‘I should scarcely know her. Now, my
child, I’ll tell you why I give you this pretty dress; I want you to
leave the old woman who has you now, and come with me and learn to be an
actress; would you not like to be a great actress, rather than beg in the
streets?’
“‘I don’t like to ask money of people; I don’t like that way of living at
all; but I don’t know what you mean by an actress; what do they do?’
“‘Poor child,’ ejaculated Mademoiselle, ‘how dreadfully ignorant.’
“‘Oh, it is the most charming life in the world; perfectly delightful;
you may yet become a great actress, and a happy woman.’
“I could neither appreciate, not understand what greatness was; but
I felt a vague comprehension of the word happy, for I had never been
anything but unhappy. After paying for my new clothes, my protector asked
me to show him the house where I lived. I dreaded to return to the old
woman, lest she should deprive me of my new clothes, and replace them
with rags; I, therefore, earnestly begged him not to take me back to
her; told him she would beat and abuse me, and take away my clothes; he
laughed.
“‘Do you suppose,’ he answered, ‘that I care for an old hob-goblin witch.
I am merely going to see how much she will sell you for, and relinquish
all future right to your person; were I to take you without doing so, she
might trouble me hereafter.’
“‘Oh, I don’t want to be sold for a slave,’ I cried; struck with a sudden
fear; that perhaps he intended to make some kind of merchandise of me.
“‘A slave, my child; I have no intention of making a slave of you, or
any one else I know of, at present. You don’t understand, my little one;
therefore show me the way, and be silent.’
“I led him to the old woman’s house; she did not recognise me at first,
as I entered, followed by the man, and placed her withered hand over
her eyes, to shade the sudden light, and distinguish who I was; for my
companion carried a large lantern in his hand, which he raised high above
my head, as he came in behind me.
“‘It’s you, is it, you little devil; where have you been so long? where
did you get those new clothes; you stole them, didn’t you? I know you
did; oh, I’ll beat you, I’ll beat you.’
“She started, when she perceived my protector, who quietly closed the
door, and came toward her.
“‘What do you want here, fellow?’ she sharply demanded; ‘what are you
doing alone at night with my girl? I sent her out to beg, and you bring
her back to me with fine clothes on; she shan’t keep them; I’ll strip her
of every piece; she shall be a beggar, a hag like I am.’
“‘Look here, my good woman,’ said the man, in a low quiet tone; ‘look me
straight in the face, and let us talk quietly.’ She obeyed; and taking
her pipe from her mouth, fixed her gaggle green eyes on his. His cool
determined manner seemed to exercise a novel influence upon her unsettled
mind.
“‘This poor girl can be of little use to you; I should think, on the
contrary, she would be in your way?”
“‘Oh, yes, she’s a deal of trouble to me; so bad, I can’t—’ She left the
sentence unfinished, and began smoking her pipe again, as she bent over
the fire.
“‘I’ve taken a fancy to the child,’ he continued, ‘and came back with her
to-night, to offer you whatever sum you should ask, if you would give her
to me; I wish to bring her up, and educate her to the stage.’
“‘It’s satan’s own home; no, I’ll never consent that she shall be made an
actress. I mean to bring her up as I was brought up, to be a wandering
gipsy girl.’
“‘She is not your child, that is quite certain?’
“‘No, she is not mine.’
“‘How did you obtain her? did you steal her?’
“‘I shall not tell you.’
“He took a purse of gold from his pocket, and shook it between his hands;
the old woman eyed it eagerly; ‘come my good woman, you had better
consent to let me have the child; you may one day have the satisfaction
of seeing her a distinguished woman, and of knowing that it is the same
being you once took care of.’
“‘Great satisfaction will it be to me, when I shall be rotting in a
pauper’s grave; and great gratitude will she owe me for the kicks and
cuffs I’ve given her.’ The old woman laughed, a sneering, devilish laugh.
‘No,’ she continued in a low muttering tone, as if to herself; ‘my sand
is nearly run, almost gone; I see it in the embers; I feel it in my
bones. What difference does it make when you’re dead, whether you’re
buried in the ground, or burnt up? I’d as soon have a hole in the ground,
as a fine tomb.’
“During this dialogue I had remained silent, in a distant corner of the
room. The fitful gleams from the decaying fire, and the muffled light
of the lantern, partially illumined this witch-like apartment, and cast
fantastic shadows along the wall; in one corner was thrown a straw bed,
upon which the old woman slept; a table, two or three ricketty chairs
and a few pieces of broken crockery, constituted its sole furniture;
a ladder, placed against the wall, led to my sleeping place, to which
I nightly ascended through a hole in the ceiling. At length, arousing
herself from her reverie, she said,
“‘You may have the girl for ten louis; if you’ll give me that, you may
have her.’
“‘Will you sign a paper I shall draw up; promising never to seek to see
her, or speak to her after she leaves you, as I wish to change her turn
of mind, and teach her better things.’
“‘Oh, yes; the girl hates me, and what should we want to see each other
for. As for me, I hate the whole world; yes, I hate it, I have had my
revenge; I have robbed, I have stole, and begged; and steal and beg I
always will, until I’m put in the ground. The world owes me a living for
the troubles I’ve had. No, I shall never want to see her again, if she
leaves me.’
“In the meantime, my new friend took a piece of paper from his pocket,
and wrote something upon it in pencil mark. I did not even know my
alphabet then; it is therefore impossible for me to say what were the
contents of that paper. I presume it was merely a legal technicality,
transferring all her rights over to himself. When he had finished, he
handed it to her to sign.
“‘I can’t write,’ said she, ‘but I’ll make my mark.’
“‘Well, make a cross, that will do.’ She obeyed, and scrawled two lines
across each other; he took the paper from her hand, and put it in his
pocket-book; then counted ten louis from his purse, and placed them in
her withered claws. She carefully counted them over after him, and being
satisfied that the number was correct, deposited the money in a piece of
rag, torn off one of her garments, tied a string around it, and laid it
in her bosom.
“The man rose, and gathered his cloak around him.
“‘Come my child, my business with her is done; let us depart.’
“Strange anomaly in human nature; I, who one hour previous had desired
nothing so earnestly as to leave this wretched hag, now, on being offered
an opportunity of leaving, even for a new bright home, felt an undefined
sentiment of regret at doing so; perhaps it was the result of old
associations and habits, which we all of us, more or less, find difficult
to shake off.
“I timidly advanced toward her, to say farewell, for I had ever stood in
awe of her violence, and savage nature; but she sullenly turned her back
upon both him and me, and began chanting, with her eyes fixed on vacancy.
“‘You need not take the trouble of saying good bye, child,’ remarked
my self-appointed guardian, as he pushed open the latchless door—‘she
wouldn’t care a farthing if you were to die to-night. Come, little one,
are you ready?’ I took one hand; he grasped the lantern with the other;
she did not turn her face toward me as I went out. When my feet left the
threshold of that hut, I bade adieu to beggary forever, and entered upon
a new career in life.
“I felt shy, and almost afraid, as I walked quickly along to keep pace
with him; for now that all ties were forever severed between old Granny
(as I was wont to call her) and myself, I looked upon him as my saviour
and protector; he traversed many streets, turning now to the right, now
to the left, in parts of the city where I had never been before; I wished
he had taken me back to the little shop and Mademoiselle Marie, but we
went nowhere in the direction of the piazza. At length, he stopped before
some building, and knocked at the door; I could not judge of the size of
the house, or its appearance, the night was too dark; the door was opened
by a male servant, holding a heavy silver candlestick, with a wax candle
in it, in his hand; my protector said something to him, in a language
I did not understand, and the man shut the door after him, and removed
his cloak from his shoulders. I now saw, by the light of a large globe
lamp suspended from the ceiling, that we stood in a spacious hall, or
vestibule, off which opened on either side beautifully carved, mahogany
doors; from the farther end ascended a lofty stair-case. My new friend
opened one of these doors, and I followed him into an elegant apartment,
where a bright coal fire burned cheerfully in the grate; the walls were
hung with costly paintings and mirrors; numerous instruments of music lay
scattered round. Such a place I had never seen, scarcely even dreamed of;
surely this must be fairy land.
“‘Now child,’ said my friend, as he rolled a costly arm-chair before
the fire, and seated himself in it, ‘you must be hungry; have you had
anything to eat to-day?’
“‘Only a crust of bread this morning, sir.’
“‘Well, you shall have some supper, and then go to bed, and to-morrow we
will talk of your future prospects.’
“I had no idea of what ‘future prospects’ meant; but the idea of getting
something to eat delighted me; he rang a bell, and when the same domestic
answered the summons, who had opened the door for us, he again spoke to
him in the same unknown tongue. It was not German, or rather a degenerate
dialect I had always been accustomed to hear; it was a softer, a more
liquid language; he told me, in German, to go with the man, whom he
called Jean, and he would give me my supper, and if I wanted anything to
address him in German, and he would understand me.
“I followed Jean across the hall to an immense room, opposite the
drawing-room, extending the whole length of the house, beautifully
carpeted with Brussels; while up and down the apartment, on either side,
were placed stationary seats of scarlet velvet, fixed to the wall; a
magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling; eight large windows on each
side, set with mirror plate, reflected and multiplied every object in
this handsome and commodious saloon.
“In a distant corner stood a small table, set with supper for two
persons, all sorts of cakes, preserves, dried fruit, and bread; on a side
table sat two silver urns, one containing coffee, the other tea; a warm,
delightful heat seemed to pervade the room; but I saw no fire, and could
not imagine whence it came; the atmosphere of peace and repose, which
seemed to reign within this house, so different to the scenes of strife
and destitution, to which I had alone been accustomed, shed a soothing
influence upon my mind. In the course of the last three hours, I had
thought more than I ever had during my whole dark, blank existence.
“Jean waited on me, while I ate ravenously. A comfortable meal was
something I had never enjoyed before; it is not, therefore, astonishing
that I was attentive to its merits; my usual repast had generally been a
few crusts of dry bread, sometimes the old woman gave me a bit of tough
meat, frequently tainted; this constituted my ordinary fare; yet, I was
then healthy and cheerful, notwithstanding my disconsolate condition.
I did not know for what purpose this man had taken me from the street,
this dark, tempestuous night, and placed me in so splendid a home; had
I been older, and wiser, I should naturally have suspected that he had
_some_ motive or object in this strange act of benevolence; as it was,
I enjoyed, with a keen sense of pleasure, the fine supper, and many
glittering objects I saw around me, without thinking, knowing, or caring,
what became of me hereafter. When I had finished supper, Jean reconducted
me to my protector, who still sat by the fire reading a newspaper;
he asked me if I had had supper enough; and upon my answering in the
affirmative, and gratefully thanking him for his kindness, he took me up
stairs to a little room in the second story, where he gave me in charge
to a neat-looking woman, dressed in black, with a white, frilled cap upon
her head; after telling her to attend me, and put me to bed, he returned
to the drawing-room. It was now past ten o’clock; and, fatigued by the
exciting events of the evening, I began to feel stupid and sleepy; the
waiting maid undressed me, and after seeing me comfortably wrapped up in
bed, left the room, and I fell speedily in a profound slumber.
“The waiting maid, whose name I learned to be Marguerite, came early to
dress me; and I found my friend already at his breakfast, in a small
breakfast room back of the drawing-room; he drew a chair to the table,
told me to help myself, and went on eating and singing at the same time;
I needed no second invitation, and complied. When he had completed
his breakfast, he leaned back in his chair, and producing a large
handkerchief, vigorously rubbed his face; then turning to me, who sat
quietly beside him, drinking my coffee, he asked:
“‘Did you sleep well last night, child?’
“‘Yes sir, very comfortably indeed.’
“‘It is awkward speaking to you, without calling you by name; by what
name did that old woman call you?’
“‘I don’t know that I ever had a name. Granny used to call me Nancy.’
“‘Nancy, that sounds harsh, I don’t like it;’ he seemed to think a
minute, and then said,
“‘Genevra is a pretty name: I will call you that, since you are
unprovided with one; hereafter, remember to answer to the name of
Genevra.’
“‘Yes sir, I will.’
“‘Now come here, and sit upon my knee; I want to tell you what I intend
doing for you.’ I obeyed, and he placed me on his knee.
“‘Now, Genevra, I call you by your right name; you remember hearing
me say last night to that old woman, that I intended educating you
for the stage, if I took you from her; you are too young yet to know
what that means, but you will learn in time. I have already adopted
two little girls, situated much as you were, and mean to educate them
also as actresses. I hope time will show that you possess a tractable
disposition, and sweet temper, without which no accomplishments can be
of advantage to you. You are to be placed at the same school with these
girls, who will, doubtless, be friends and companions to you in your
studies; in the course of five or six years, if you live, you will be
prepared, by dint of hard study and application, to make your _debut_.’
“One half of these remarks I had not understood; I only comprehended,
that I was required to perform something very difficult to be done; I
presumed a sort of punishment, which was to prepare me for some future
eclat; but after having experienced so much of destitution, slight
privations seemed light as air, and I joyfully welcomed the idea of, as I
thought, going to work.
“He told me to run up stairs, and ask Marguerite to find me some sort of
hood, or bonnet, to wear out in the street. After an active search, she
at length discovered a gingham hood, which I hastily tied on, and ran
back to my protector; he took my hand, and we passed out into the street;
it was a fine clear day, I remember; the sun shone bright, although the
air was somewhat cold; how different I felt in spirit, as I gayly trotted
along by his side; I did not feel the same acute sense of degradation
I had always felt with that depraved old hag; the happy buoyant sense
of being, which is the principal of happiness in youth, was gradually
springing up again in my heart, which had been, as it were, stunted and
depressed, by a malevolent genius.
“At a short distance from his own house, he stopped before a gloomy
looking dwelling, chequered alternately on the front, with red and
black brick; he knocked at a large gate, which seemed to form the only
mode of entrance to this convent-like abode; it was slowly unbarred
and opened by a stout german woman, dressed in the usual style of the
peasantry; my friend passed her without remark, and we ascended a heavy
stone stair-case, which wound upward from the court-yard; at the first
landing place he led me into a large parlor, furnished plainly, but
tastefully; the floor was uncarpeted, but waxed and rubbed till it shone,
and reflected every object like a mirror; a piano stood in one corner,
and all the chairs were covered with cushions, elegantly embroidered in
German worsted; two sofas were also ornamented with the same beautiful
work; there was no fire in the grate, however, and the room had a cold,
comfortless air about it; one mirror, inserted between the windows,
and opposite the door, as we entered, afforded me a full length view
of myself, and I started with astonishment at seeing the pretty form
reflected there; very different did it look from the ragged, dirty child,
I was accustomed to see reflected in the shop windows as I passed.
“We had been seated scarcely a moment, when the door opened, and a small
thin woman, with a sharp, bright expression of face, wearing a calico
dress, and wrapped in a red shawl, came tripping in; they spoke together
for some time, in the same unintelligible language I had heard the night
before; at length, turning to me, the lady said in German, ‘So my dear,
you are to be a pupil of mine, I hear; I trust I shall find you obedient
and diligent.’ They resumed their conversation, while I sat quietly
by the side of my new-found guardian; holding his hand in mine, for I
felt sad, at thus being obliged so soon to part from him. I heard the
sound of mirthful laughter, and noisy whispering, which seemed to be in
the vicinity of the parlor, and looking down the stone-paved gallery,
I saw at its farthest extremity a door open, and within the room many
young girls seated at desks, studying. The house, in its architecture,
resembled more one of those old gothic cathedrals, I have since seen
in my travels, than anything else I can compare it to; it was lofty,
antique, and gloomy, one almost felt like the ghosts themselves, as one
walked through its stone galleries, and heard one’s steps resound with a
hollow echo.
“When my guardian and the lady had finished their conference, which
lasted more than half an hour, he took his hat, preparatory to departure.
At the idea of losing this kind man, and being left in a strange house,
to form acquaintances with people whom I neither knew, nor cared for, I
burst into tears; the lady endeavored to console me, patting me on the
head, telling me I should be her little favorite, and she was sure I
would be contented and happy. Monsieur Belmont (I heard her call him so)
shook me repeatedly by the hand, saying he should see me regularly twice
a week; that I must obey Madame Deville in all things, and study hard,
that I might become an accomplished girl.
“‘I have no doubt she will be both happy and satisfied, when she becomes
a little accustomed to the pupils and myself,’ observed Madame to
Monsieur Belmont, as she stood beside me, pressing my hand in hers.
“‘I hope so,’ was his reply, ‘it will be at least three months, I
presume, before I can begin to give her instruction in music, she is so
totally uninformed.’
“‘Oh yes,’ cried she, with the sharp, quick intonation of a French
woman: ‘it will require at least that length of time to instruct her in
the rudiments; I shall try and do my best, Monsieur, I assure you, with
your protegé; before you go, would you not like to have Inez and Blanche
called from the school-room, that they may be introduced to their future
companion?’
“‘Yes,’ answered Monsieur, ‘if it is convenient, I should like to see
them.’
“Madame rang a small bell, which stood on a table beside her; a moment
after, a tall mulatto made his appearance. I had never seen any of the
negro race before, and was much astonished at, what I considered, the odd
color of his skin; he received her message, delivered to him in French,
and directed his steps toward the room at the end of the gallery, from
which he returned in a few minutes, leading by the hand two young girls,
both older than I; the one a brunette, the other a blonde; their manner
was lady-like, gentle, and winning. Inez’s hair was raven black, her eyes
large, voluptuous, and star-like in their expression; Blanche, on the
contrary, was timid as a fawn, in her look and ways: there was a dreamy
languor in her sad blue eyes, which seemed to tell of love’s present
or future reveries—a love, however, of a more spiritual kind than Inez
would ever be capable of feeling; a profusion of pale flaxen hair shaded
her sweet face, and hung nearly to her waist in long curls; they were
both dressed alike, in frocks of cheap calico; they bowed respectfully
to their teacher on entering her parlor, and upon Monsieur Belmont’s
presenting me to them as one who was to become a companion in their
studies, they politely kissed me on each cheek, and bade me welcome to
their school. I could not realize, while contemplating the refinement of
these two girls, that they had been taken, a few short years before, from
the same position in life, from which this philanthropic man had rescued
me but one day previous; truly, it is education, and the society in which
we mingle, which impress in youth that bias of mind for right or wrong,
which only leaves us when life does.
“‘You three will occupy the same room,’ said Madame. ‘I hope you will
be good friends. Inez and Blanche soon cultivated a friendship for each
other after they came.’
“The tears still flowed from my eyes; my heart in after days, became too
hard and dry to allow me to weep often; but then the fount of feeling was
a fresh, pure spring, uncontaminated by the mud and refuse of inferior
streams. I often look back, through the heavy mist time has left lowering
upon those early days, and regret the loss of those fallacious hopes;
those splendid castles built in air, which always crumbled into dust
whenever I attempted to approach them.
“Monsieur Belmont, after speaking to Inez and Blanche a moment, in
French, shook hands with me, bade me not cry, and departed. Madame
Deville reassuming the school-mistress deportment, and her gravity, which
had been laid aside to entertain a visitor, led me to the schoolroom,
and the two girls returned to their desks, their silence, and their
studies. It was a very large room, lighted by two enormous windows, one
at each end; the walls hung, not with superb paintings like Monsieur
Belmont’s elegant house, but with charts and maps; rows of desks were
ranged each side of the apartment, and more than a hundred girls, of all
sizes, shapes, and ages, were seated at them, busily engaged in coning
over their lessons for recitation. Upon my entrance, being a new scholar,
all eyes were bent on me, and a subdued whispering ran through all the
ranks of girls. Madame put me at a desk between Inez and Blanche, and
then taking her seat upon an elevated dias at the head of the room. She
struck her desk with a ruler, and called one of the classes; the girls,
who were called loudly, all rose, shut their books, and placed themselves
before her in a row. This class was composed of large girls, neatly
dressed, some of them were passably pretty; no two in the room, however,
could be compared to Inez and Blanche. They all stared at me as they
passed; it was a lesson in ancient history they were to recite. Madame
taking one of the books in her hand, asked the questions in a loud, clear
tone; and the pupils replied, some well, some wrong, according as they
had learned their lessons; the recitation ended, Madame marked those who
had missed upon a large day-book, which always lay open upon her desk
before her. Several smaller classes were heard, and Inez and Blanche left
my side for a while, to recite their lessons; then I heard the sound
of a deep-toned bell, rung for several minutes: it was now recess for
an hour; all the girls clamorously rushed from the school-room, seized
their sun-bonnets, and poured themselves into the court-yard. It was a
gloomy spot for a play-ground; there were no trees, no flowers, which we
are ever wont to associate in mind with children’s gambols. Nothing but
the square flag-stones, flanked on all four sides, by the brick walls of
the house, met my view. Inez and Blanche put up their books, and turning
to me, Blanche said, ‘Come, Genevra, come with us to the yard, and play
hide and seek.’ Inez also pressed me to go and play with them, for I
felt shy and strange, and would have preferred remaining where I was.
Blanche evidently was a favorite with Madame, for as she went out of the
school-room, to rest herself a few minutes in her parlor, before the
pupils returned to their studies, she kissed me, saying I must laugh and
play, and enjoy myself with the other children; and then said to Blanche,
‘Well, my dear, how is that fine soprano voice of yours, have you
practiced well this morning?’ Blanche smilingly replied she had; there
was a sweetness about that smile of hers, and an expression of guileless
innocence in her lovely eyes, I could never forget.
“How little did we three inexperienced girls imagine what the future
had in store for us. Could a magician, at that period of time, have
shown us in a magic mirror, our several destinies in life, would we have
believed, that the fatal sisters had allotted to us so chequered and sad
a career? I am certain _I_ would not. How grateful should we be to Divine
Providence, that all insight into futurity is forbidden us; how unable
would we be to contend with the many trials and difficulties, which
constantly assail us in the rough pathway of life; could we foresee the
sacrifices which are so frequently demanded of us as we journey on.
“Inez, Blanche, and myself, descended hand-in-hand to the court-yard; the
girls were all joyously at play. I always was a grave child; I cared but
little for the sports and amusements children so dearly covet, but on
this occasion I forgot my usual sadness and joined them in an animated
race, which lasted several minutes, when the bell again was rung; and
the girls arranging their disordered dresses, and composing their faces,
returned to the school-room in pairs, as they had left it.
“Order was restored, and the rest of the afternoon spent in recitation
and writing; I saw several teachers, whom I had not seen during the
morning, having been absent in different parts of the house, giving
lessons in music and dancing. They were all thin, and had a starved and
hungry look, excepting Miss Jones, a fat, good-humored English teacher.
I became quite fond of her during my long residence at the school. I
learned from Blanche, that Monsieur Belmont, was a Frenchman, from Paris,
manager of the Royal Italian Opera, and considered the most splendid
singer in Vienna; he also gave lessons in vocal music to some of the
pupils at the school, among whom were Inez and Blanche; the girl dwelt
with touching sadness upon the humble condition, from which this kind man
had taken both Inez and herself, what advantages of education had been
afforded them, and how grateful they felt towards him.