“Blanche had just finished her little story, related with an air of
childish simplicity, which gave infinite interest, when the loud sound
of a gun reverberated through the house. I had never heard one then, and
imagined it was thunder. Twilight’s dusky hue had stolen into the room,
before we were aware of its approach. Madame Deville commissioned my
future instructor, Madame Schiller, to attend to me, and, following her,
we went to the refectory; it was a long, low ceiled, narrow room; two
long tables extended almost as far as my eye could reach, covered with
snow-white table linen, and scanty portions of bread and butter; a glass
of water stood by each plate; weak tea was handed to the teachers, who
stood together in a group, apart from the girls, and chatted of their own
affairs. I could not help mentally comparing this meagre fare, with the
delicacies I had eaten the night before at Monsieur Belmont’s. It may
seem surprising, that a beggar girl should regret a style of living, of
which she had only caught a passing glance; but luxury is infinitely more
attractive than want; we sooner become accustomed to it, and lament its
loss when deprived of it. Very few would conscientiously prefer, had they
their choice, a life of rigorous self-sacrifice, to one of wealth and
splendor. It is generally a matter of compulsion and self-love induces us
to advocate that which we cannot change.
“An unbroken silence was preserved during the meal; nearly two hundred
girls were gathered around the tables; they ate their slices of bread
and butter quietly, and scarce a sound was heard in the room, save the
whispered conversation of the teachers. At its conclusion, Madame Deville
said grace, and we all proceeded up stairs, through a long gallery, paved
with stone, as were all the vestibules in the house, to the study room;
this was a large apartment, near the dormitories, fitted up in much the
same style as the saloon at Monsieur Belmont’s; the monthly exhibitions
of the pupils, Inez told me, were held here. Every evening, for two
hours, the girls studied their lessons for the following day; the two
hours seemed an eternity to me, while the scholars industriously applied
themselves to their books. Madame sat at the head of the room in a sort
of pulpit, and with her finger pressed to her lips, might have passed for
the goddess of Wisdom herself. The expression of her features, when in
repose, was somewhat stern, still there was a kindness blended with it,
which showed she possessed a benevolent heart. I still think of her with
love and respect, although the remembrance of those days is faint and
dim. Another bell rang; the movements of the whole household seemed to be
regulated by bells; bed-time had arrived; a certain number of girls were
allotted to each dormitory, over whom presided one of the teachers. I was
to become one of Madame Schiller’s little flock. A shrine, tastefully
decorated, was placed at the head of each sleeping room, and the ceremony
of the office was read every night before the girls retired to rest.
Madame Schiller, with her hands clasped, knelt upon the floor, and we
all gathered around her; the low and solemn voice with which she read
the ‘office,’ made a deep impression on my mind. Inez and Blanche, with
their heads bowed down, devoutly told their beads. The ceremony occupied
perhaps half an hour, then the girls hastily undressed themselves, and
hurried to bed; the beds were small, but the bedding neat and clean; they
were arranged like the desks in the school-room, in two rows each side
of the room; mine was next to that of Blanche. I heard Madame ask, ‘Are
you all in bed, children?’ Some one answered ‘yes;’ she extinguished the
lamp, and silence and darkness reigned. I fell asleep and had a singular
dream. I thought I saw myself grown to be a woman, a tall handsome woman.
I stood upon the deck of a ship, driving furiously before the gale,
upon a stormy sea; the dark clouds lowered above my head, the waves ran
mountains high: a crowd of helpless frightened beings lay around me. I
alone seemed the only one on board this doomed vessel who fearlessly met
my fate. We were rushing fast on the rocks off the coast. I stood with my
arms folded on the forecastle; onward dashed the ship, the masts shivered
to splinters, and sails flying like ribbonds in the wind. As we passed a
high black rock, which rose menacingly above our heads, I looked upward,
and upon its summit, saw a man, who stood with arms folded like myself,
calmly contemplating the unhappy bark. He looked like an angel stationed
there, that after the pangs of death were past, he might convey to heaven
our souls; instinctively I extended toward him my hands, and cried, ‘Save
me, oh save me!’ He also opened his arms to receive me, and answered,
‘Come.’ At this moment, the vessel struck the breakers; one wild
unearthly yell I heard, and was engulphed amid the waves; I struggled
violently, but in vain, to reach the shore; the water filled my mouth and
my ears. I was suffocated, and lost my senses. I awoke, covered with a
profuse perspiration, trembling with fear; it was not yet day, all was
quiet in the dormitory, every one asleep. I lay still for a few minutes,
and gradually realized the conviction, that it was all a dream. I went to
sleep again; this time I dreamed nothing, and was awoke by Blanche’s hand
being laid on mine. Madame was calling the girls; she said it was time to
rise. I rose, dressed myself, and washed my face and hands at Blanche’s
‘toilette,’ there being none yet provided for me. When all were dressed,
prayers were said. Day had just began to dawn, it was not more than five
o’clock, and very cold in the dormitory, sleeping without fire; I felt
chilled and stupified by the raw atmosphere; we descended the stairs
again, and traversed the long vestibules through which we had ascended
the night before; the girls looked almost like shades from the tomb, as
they flitted along, and their pattering steps reverberated as they passed.
“They went to the music room, where every morning, from five till seven
o’clock, the pupils in music practised in little cabinets, within each
of which was placed a piano; a glass window inserted in the door of each
room, enabled the teacher to observe whether they were attentive to their
duty. Not being a music scholar, I left Inez and Blanche to pursue their
practising, and went with Madame Schiller to the school-room; it was
dreary and cold. I sat down at my desk, and wished I knew how to read,
that I might entertain myself with a book. Several girls were in the
room, busily occupied with their lessons; having nothing to do, I leaned
my head on my desk and fell into a sort of doze; the time whiled slowly
away: at last I was startled by the loud sound of the gong; I started up,
sought out my two new friends among the crowd of girls in the gallery,
and having found them, went into the refectory to breakfast; the table
presented no novelty; the same slices of bread and butter, arranged as I
had seen at supper; a cup of weak coffee placed at each plate, instead of
the glass of water, constituted the only variation. I tasted mine, it was
execrable; yet ‘to the hungry man every bitter thing is sweet,’ and being
hungry myself, I ate my bread and butter, and drank my coffee, without
paying much attention to the taste of either; breakfast over, we returned
to the school-room, and I took my first lesson in my native tongue, by
beginning the alphabet. Madame Schiller was my teacher; Madame Deville
was also very attentive; she frequently said many kind, encouraging
things to me. I have described the routine of one day, so it was every
day, monotonous and regular as the ticking of a clock; at first I thought
it inconceivably dull; but gradually becoming accustomed to the school,
and being occupied and interested in my own mental culture, Time, which
at first dragged wearily along, flew more rapidly away, and I became
happy in my new home. I made several acquaintances among the pupils, and
these childish friendships added to my love of the school.
“Two days after my advent at Madame Deville’s, a trunk, containing
several complete suits of clothing, was sent me, labelled ‘Genevra
Sfonza,’ from Monsieur Belmont; Blanche read the superscription, for
I could not; while I, delighted, contemplated the contents of this
unexpected gift; how kind, I thought, to send me such pretty clothes; the
dresses were of worsted, made high and plain, suitable to the cold season
of the year, and my school occupations; how I longed to see my good
benefactor, that I might thank him for all his care and attention to me.
“The following day I saw him; he came to give Inez and Blanche their
singing lesson; I was called to the music room; I found Monsieur Belmont
there, talking to the two girls; they were the only tenants of the room;
at seeing me, he extended his arms and smiled; I ran in to them, with the
joyful glee of an infant re-united to its parent, for indeed, he seemed
to me more like a protector and friend, whom I had known for years,
than the self-constituted patron of a beggar-girl. He asked me if I was
an attentive, obedient pupil; if Inez, Blanche, and myself were good
friends, and if I were happy at the school. To all these questions I most
sincerely answered ‘yes,’ for the few days I had passed there, had been
the only happy ones of my whole life.
“‘Don’t you wish you were far enough advanced in music, to be able to
sing with your two friends?’ asked Monsieur, as Blanche took her seat at
the piano, and arranged her music before her.
“‘Indeed, I should like to sing very much; how long will it be before I
can begin to learn?’
“‘In the course of two or three months, if you are studious;’ and he
turned his attention to Blanche as she commenced her song. It was a
sweet melancholy air from one of the Operas; the words impassioned, and
reproachful. The clear, harmonious voice of Blanche, rose gradually from
a low, quiet tone, to a wild, bird-like burst of passion. She executed
the most difficult passages, with apparently, the greatest ease; higher
and higher, rose her tones; then slowly depressing them, they died
imperceptibly away. The song had ceased, and I had fallen into a reverie,
seated close to the piano, by Monsieur Belmont’s side; one might wonder
what I could have found to muse about, at that juvenile period of life;
but I always was a dreamy child, and still am a dreamy woman, with
this difference alone; my dreams now, are sorrowful regrets over the
past; then, they were the fanciful speculations of youth; my visions,
then, transported me to some sort of fairy, etherial existence, my
spirit seemed to leave my body and rove through infinite space; lovers,
or passion, had no share in those dreams of mine. I have since then
endeavored, but in vain, to recall those visions of fairyland; time, and
the bustle of an active life, have obliterated them from my mind.
“Monsieur praised her improvement, and bade her be diligent at her
practising; then Inez came to sing her piece: her voice was a fine, rich
contralto, deep and melodious in tone. She sang a bold naval song, with
great spirit and effect. The next monthly exhibition was approaching, and
all the music pupils were preparing their pieces for the occasion. Inez
and Blanche were considered the two best musicians at the institution.
Monsieur Belmont advanced them more rapidly, it was said, than he did
the other pupils; probably he wished to perfect them more thoroughly for
their future debut on the stage.
“Each took a lesson on a new piece, then our teacher departed.
“‘Don’t you ever get tired of singing and practising, Blanche?’ I asked,
as she stood leaning thoughtfully against the piano, her eyes downcast,
while Inez gazed from the window upon the dreary street below.
“‘Sometimes, yes; yet we know it is our duty to obey Monsieur, and if he
tells us to practise extra hours, we must do so.’
“‘How long do you practise each day?’
“‘Four, often five hours.’
“‘Oh, that must be very dull!’
“‘I am sure I think it is,’ exclaimed Inez, who was the most petulant of
the two; ‘I often wish I were a woman, and an actress; I should at least
be my own mistress, and obtaining money for myself; here I have been for
the last three, and you for the last two years; the same old monotonous
round of school duties to perform every day; no change, no home to go to
in vacation, always here. I don’t believe I shall ever live to get away;
when you have been here as long as we have, you will be tired of it too,
Genevra!’
“‘I don’t know; I hardly think I shall grow very tired; I like the
school; I love you and Blanche, and I am glad and grateful to have some
one to take care of me, and a home to stay in.’
“‘In a few years,’ said Blanche, ‘we shall leave the school, and go out
into the great world, to make our own way alone; then, perhaps, we may
look back and wish we were at school again.’
“At this moment one of the teachers made her appearance at the door,
and called us to our studies. Time passed quietly and regularly on for
two weeks; I learned my alphabet, and began to spell in words of two
syllables; the girls became used to my appearance, and no longer stared
and whispered when they saw me, as girls always do upon the advent of a
new scholar at a school. Inez was fourteen, Blanche twelve, and I eight
years old. In the course of a year or two, Monsieur Belmont intended
withdrawing Inez from Madame Deville’s, to teach her the art of acting,
preparatory to her entree into the gay world. That world, of which she,
nor any of us, as yet knew anything, and from which, in after years, I so
often turned away, disgusted with its heartlessness and insincerity, and
wished myself buried amid the inaccessible solitudes of Mount Lebanon.
“It wanted but a few days of the monthly ‘soiree;’ the servants were
cleaning and arranging the saloon, where it was to be given. Inez,
Blanche, and myself, had been running furious races together during the
recess; I felt fatigued, from the violent exercise, and sat down where a
strong current of air, from a door, blew full upon me for some minutes;
when we returned to our desks in the school-room, my cheeks burnt like
fire, and my head felt heavy; I could not take my usual interest in my
lesson; for anxious to improve, I diligently applied myself; the letters
seemed to turn red, blue, and yellow, and swam before my eyes; late in
the afternoon, noticing my languor, as I sat leaning my head on Blanche’s
shoulder, Madame Deville asked me, if I felt unwell; I answered, ‘no, I
did not, but my head ached.’
“‘You don’t look well, my dear; I am afraid you are going to be sick;
you must go to the infirmary to-night, and be attended to. Wilhelmina,’
addressing a tall, stout, flaxen-haired German girl, ‘take Genevra to the
infirmary, and tell Miss Jones to attend to her, and put her name on the
sick list, at least till to-morrow, when I will see how she is. Go my
dear.’
“The infirmary was a large, gloomy room, at the other end of the house,
where the pupils were sent, to be nursed, when the least indisposed, if
it was only a headache, or ordinary cold, and Madame happened to notice
a heavy eye, or listless demeanor, among any of her flock, they were
immediately dismissed to the sick room.
“I did not want to go; it was only a slight cold I had taken from
over exercise, but Madame’s word was law, and must be obeyed, and
I, therefore, reluctantly followed my conductress to the infirmary.
Wilhelmina repeated her message to Miss Jones, and then returned.
Twilight was stealing over that vast city, not the unclouded twilight of
a summer’s eve, but winter’s dusky clouds, mingled with the clear blue of
the atmosphere.
“Miss Jones, although English, spoke German well; she asked me if I felt
sick, and what ailed me? I replied, ‘only a slight headache and vertigo;
that I would have remained at my desk, but Madame, imagining I was ill,
had told me to come to the infirmary.’
“‘Madame is right, of course, my child; for all you know, these may be
the premonitory symptoms of a fever,’ and Miss Jones, with a learned air,
felt my pulse. I could scarcely help smiling at the comical expression
of assumed wisdom in the good-natured little woman’s face. ‘Your head is
hot,’ placing her hand upon my head, ‘and your eyes look heavy; sit down
quietly here; the doctor is coming soon, to prescribe for Miss Clarendon,
and then I’ll ask him what I shall do for you?’
“The little woman bustled about the room awhile, and then went out to
order some gruel made for one of the sick girls. I sat still, where she
had left me, in an arm-chair, near the window, and looked around the
room. Some half dozen girls were its occupants, all sick, and with the
exception of one, all in bed; my eyes dwelt more particularly upon her
than any other, being the most beautiful and conspicuous one among the
invalids, it was the young girl the teacher had called Miss Clarendon.
I afterwards learned from one of the pupils, that she was the daughter
of a widowed English nobleman, who had placed her at the institution to
complete her education, while he pursued his travels alone in the East.
She sat in a large fauteuil, nearly opposite me, on the other side of
the room; her whole person, except her etherial looking face, enveloped
in an enormous cashmere shawl. Her maid, a mulatto woman, stood by her,
bathing her pale face with eau de Cologne; her large blue eyes, heavy
and listless from ill health, and probably low spirits, were gazing on
vacancy; a slight, bright tinge of pink illumined each cheek, and gave a
brilliant expression of evanescent bloom to the countenance of this dying
beauty.
“For dying she evidently was, of that most insidious and deceptive of
all diseases, consumption; far away from the home and associations of
her childhood,—alone, in a land of strangers. I thought, while looking
at her, that I had never seen any one half as lovely. Inez and Blanche
were beautiful, but they were not to be compared to her; they did not
possess that elegant bearing, that innate consciousness of superiority,
which showed itself in the very looks of this girl. She looked so calm,
so lady-like; at intervals she pressed one of her small, delicate hands
to her mouth, as if to stifle the hacking cough, which seemed to convulse
her frame. Her attendant offered her a lozenge; she took it mechanically,
put it in her mouth, and still gazed on. I walked across the room and
took a seat near her; she looked at me languidly, but made no remark.
“‘Are you sick, Miss?’ I asked, curiously, for I wanted to hear her
speak. ‘Are you one of Madame Deville’s pupils? I have not seen you
before.’
“‘You are a new pupil, I suppose, and I have been sick for many weeks,’
she replied, in intelligible German, but with a marked English accent;
her voice was sweet, and intonation very clear, ‘Are you on the sick
list?’ she asked.
“‘Yes, Madame says so; she sent me here because I had a bad headache and
vertigo, but I don’t like the room, it’s so still and gloomy.’
“‘I wish I had nothing but a headache, I should not complain of the
gloomy room.’ Tears started in those soft blue eyes, and ran down her
cheeks. ‘Oh my father,’ she murmured in broken tones, ‘if you only knew
how desolate and lonely I am, I am sure you would come to me.’
“‘Don’t cry,’ I exclaimed, moved at her grief, and wishing to console
her, ‘I am sure you’ll get well yet.’
“‘Go away, child, you worry me; you cannot bring me what I long for, my
dear father.’
“‘Where is your father, is he very far from here? why don’t he come to
see you, when you want to see him?’
“‘He don’t know that I am ill, that I am dying; if he did, oh how quickly
would he fly to me.’
“‘Why don’t you write to him, and ask him to take you away from the
school?’
“‘I have written several times, but I know my letters are never sent, if
they had been, he would have been here long ago; I know I shall die soon;
it is now two years since father placed me here, and I have been sick for
more than a year. He went to Greece and Sicily. Oh, how I wish I were
with him. It must be a dreadful thing to die,’ she continued, after a
moment’s pause; ‘did you ever think about dying, child?’
“‘No, I never thought much about it; I always thought about being happy,
and wished to be so.’
“‘At home in dear England, I was happy, with all dear friends around us;
but to be ill in a strange country, among people I care nothing about,
and who care nothing for me, oh how dreadful it is.’ She hid her face in
her hands, and sighed, and sobbed. I wished I had been better acquainted
with her, I would have thrown my arms around her neck, and kissed her,
but I did not like to take such a liberty with an utter stranger. Miss
Jones stole suddenly upon us, followed by the physician, and I glided
back to my former position. He talked for sometime to Miss Clarendon in
a low voice, and she replied in the same subdued tone; I could not catch
any of their conversation. Then he passed to the bedsides of some of the
other invalids, and paused for some time at that of a little girl, who
was raving deliriously with typhus fever; her little hands lay outside
the coverlid, and she sometimes clasped them frantically above her head,
and demanded her golden crown. Poor little innocent, I hope she obtained
it in a better, brighter sphere; for, a few days after, I saw the same
slight form arrayed in its grave clothes, and she was borne to her last
and silent resting place.
“The physician prescribed for me abstinence for twenty-four hours, and
a dose of Epsom salts, both of which recipes I considered entirely
unnecessary, as fasting was a virtue which we, from necessity, were
constantly obliged to practise, and as for the salts, I really did not
need it. It was now quite dark, and two lamps, shedding a dim light, were
placed by the nurse on tables at either end of the room. I saw the young
English girl undress, and her servant assisted her into bed; she coughed
continually, and the traces of tears were still on her cheeks; how sorry
I felt for her, if I had been a carrier-pigeon, how willingly would I
have flown to Sicily, or anywhere on earth, to have told that beloved
parent of her sad condition, and restored him to her.
“I was permitted to remain up an hour longer, as it was only seven
o’clock; my head still felt heavy, and objects seemed to swim before my
eyes; in the background of the room, the nurse, in her austere dress of
black, stood by the side of one of the patients, pouring some drops of
liquid into a spoon, while the faithful mulatto, seated in a chair at
the bedhead, watched the uneasy slumber of her beautiful mistress; Miss
Jones walked quietly backward and forward. As I grew older, and became
more capable of observation and reflection, I often wondered how those
poor teachers managed to support life, dragging on from days to months,
from months to years, their monotonous, stupid existence: no prospect of
brighter days dawning on the future, nothing but a continual repetition
of school duties, repeated to an infinitude of times; habit, however,
becomes second nature, and constant occupation frequently prevents us
from dwelling with too much sensitiveness on personal misfortunes.
“After taking the medicine, a gentle, soothing influence came over me,
and I dropped asleep in my chair. I awoke during the night, I was
still in the same position. Miss Jones had left the room, and the nurse
slumbered with her head leaning on a table; I felt benumbed from my erect
attitude, but sleep again overpowered me, and daylight found me locked in
the arms of Morpheus. I don’t remember what happened afterward; for nine
days I lay deliriously tossing on a sick bed, with an attack of fever;
at the end of that time I began slowly to recover. Inez and Blanche,
my beloved little friends, spent every moment they could snatch from
their studies by my side, telling me stories to amuse me, and exercising
their ingenuity in a thousand artless ways, to beguile away the tedious
hours of convalescence. Madame Deville and Monsieur Belmont, during my
illness, had often visited my bedside; they said he had been apprehensive
lest my disease should prove mortal. Madame, in her bustling, active
way, came every day to the infirmary, encouraged the sick ones, ordered
what she thought proper for them, and then bustled away again; there
was no difference in her manner toward either rich or poor girls: all
were treated alike. I loved her for that trait of character; she only
showed perhaps, a slight partiality in favor of those who made the most
rapid progress in their studies. This induced the pupils to emulate
each other in improvement, that they might deserve the approbation of
their directress. When I was sufficiently recovered to observe what was
passing around me, I looked for Miss Clarendon, but she was no longer in
the room; Inez told me she was a parlor boarder, and had gone to Madame
Deville’s private parlor, where she took private lessons, and amused
herself as she chose; she spoke of her sweet disposition, and various
accomplishments, and said that she was generally beloved by all who knew
her in the school.
“It was a week after the fever had left me, before I was able to return
to the school-room; when I did so, Madame Schiller, and several of my
new acquaintances greeted me as if I had been an old friend; after
that I applied myself with energy and perseverance, and my improvement
was rapid. At the expiration of three months, Monsieur Belmont began
instructing me in vocal music; time, and intense assiduity at practising,
slowly developed my voice; he was a kind, but a severe and exacting
master; he obliged us to perform our allotted tasks, with punctuality and
exactness; if we did them well, he praised us quietly, but even slight
commendation from his lips was very gratifying.
“The musical soiree had occurred during my illness. Inez and Blanche, I
was told, had sung charmingly. Poor little girls! the momentary praise
bestowed at a school exhibition, but poorly repaid them for the many
hours of labor spent in acquiring those bird-like tones. Several months
elapsed before I was sufficiently advanced in music, to be able to sing
at one of Madame’s ‘evenings.’
“One morning I was directing my steps toward the music room, to practise
my lesson, when I saw Miss Clarendon come running down the gallery, and
with a wild, passionate expression of joy and surprise, threw herself
into the out-spread arms of a grave, elegant looking man, who stood
quietly awaiting her approach.
“‘Oh my dear father!’ she wildly exclaimed, as she impressed kiss after
kiss on his lips and forehead, ‘you have come at last to see your poor
sick child: I had expected to die without ever seeing you again.’
“‘You had expected to die! my darling child, what do you mean? I have
only this morning arrived from Greece: I have come to take you home to
England. Why do you speak in this sad way? Have you not been happy here?’
“‘I have been ill for several months,’ she sadly replied; ‘the doctor
says I have consumption; I have been so unhappy, too, away from you. How
happy I feel to be with you again, dear father!’
“The gentleman fondly stroked his daughters silky hair, and gazed with
paternal fondness upon that grief-worn, delicate countenance. She now
seemed happy and at rest, by the side of that parent, for whose presence
she had longed so earnestly; the surprise and pleasure of this re-union,
had lit up her face with an expression of feverish joy almost unearthly.
I remained a moment at the door of my cabinet and looked at them.
“‘You are really going to take me away from here, are you not, dear
father? we shall return to dear old England.’
“‘Yes, my beloved child, you shall go with me; could I have foreseen your
ill health and unhappiness, I never would have left you; I have been
thinking of you, my love, during my whole journey, in Athens, at Mount
Etna, everywhere you were constantly in my thoughts.’
“‘I wish I could have ascended Mount Etna with you: how I should like to
see it.’
“‘It would have been too tiresome a journey for you, my darling; now go
and pack up your clothing, while I speak to Madame Deville before our
departure.’
“He went into Madame’s parlor, and his daughter walked toward the
staircase with a quick light step; she was going to leave the school; in
all probability I should never see her again: I was determined to say
farewell, and, therefore, ran after her.
“‘Are you going away, are you going to leave us, Miss Clarendon?’
“She stopped and looked around; her face brightened with a sweet smile,
when she saw it was I who spoke to her. ‘Yes, Genevra, I am about leaving
you; my dear father has come to take me home to England.’
“‘Are you very glad to leave the school?’
“Yes, I am glad, because I am going to see many beloved friends, and
because I have suffered much since I have been here from ill health; but
I regret losing some of my school companions, and among them is yourself;
when I am gone, you must sometimes think of me, Genevra, and keep this in
remembrance of me.’
“She gently placed a small gold ring upon my finger, kissed me, and then
ran up stairs; I watched her till she disappeared, and then returned to
my piano, with the saddening reflection that we should never meet again.
“An hour afterward I saw, from the window of the music-room, a dark
blue barouche, drawn by four dapple gray horses, standing before the
entrance to the seminary. Lord Clarendon was buttoning up his great-coat,
and speaking to a servant, while a liveried footman assisted the young
lady into the carriage, presently the gentleman followed also. As the
equipage whirled away, she glanced up at the house, and observing me at
the window, bowed, and waved her small white hand; they were quickly out
of sight. The recollection of that sweet young lady remained fresh in
my memory for years; I often wondered whether she ever lived to reach
England, or whether death’s iron grasp had seized her in a strange land,
and I often wished to see her, but my wish was never gratified.
“Two years glided away: Inez had become a beautiful blossom; Blanche
was yet but a half-blown bud; I was a tall, slender child. During this
length of time I had made quiet, but steady progress in English, French,
and Italian, together with my native language; I had gained the love of
my preceptors, and I was happy, because I was occupied. We had become
a happy trio of firm friends, and notwithstanding women seldom agree,
we continued, from first to last, devotedly attached to each other. It
was, perhaps, my first grief of the heart, when Inez was withdrawn by
Monsieur Belmont from the school. True, I had suffered many privations in
early childhood, but they affected more my physical than mental system;
moreover the uncultivated mind of a child is incapable of reflection; but
now, from the beneficent influence of education, I could think—in after
years, I learned to reason too. Blanche and myself dwelt with sentiments
of regret upon our approaching separation from Inez; we seemed to love
her more, now she was about to part from us. I presume it was the
perversity of human nature, which enhances the value of those objects we
are about to lose.
“It was the morning of her departure. Inez stood with her shawl and
bonnet on, in our preceptress’ parlor; Madame was also there, conversing,
and gesticulating with French vivacity to Monsieur. Inez had bidden
farewell to all her acquaintances, and tears dropped heavily from her
large black eyes. It was a lovely summer day; I heard the chirping of the
birds; the sun shone brilliantly; all nature seemed to wear a gala dress;
we kissed her in silence, and stood by her, each pressing one of her
hands in ours.
“‘So, children, you are about to be separated,’ cried our mutual master;
‘you all look very sad about it, but Inez will be very happy, I know,
when she becomes a gay woman of the world; with her splendid voice, she
will make a sensation, and a fortune too. As for you, you will soon
forget your grief. Blanche’s turn will come next, and then you will be
left alone, Genevra.’
“‘Yes, sir, I know it,’ I mechanically replied, for I was thinking of
Inez.
“‘Genevra has improved much in looks of late. Do you not think so,
Madame?’ asked the gentleman.
“‘Yes,’ answered she, glancing at me momentarily. ‘I always thought her
a pretty child; she is obedient and polite, and very studious; but all
the pupils look better in warm weather, than during the cold inclement
season of the year; they will miss their schoolmate at first, I suppose,
but then they will soon grow reconciled to her absence, for children soon
forget.’
“Time demonstrated to me the truth of Madame’s observation, that
children, and sometimes men and women, ‘soon forget.’ Oh, beloved
companions of my childhood! how often have my thoughts reverted to the
innocent hours of pleasure, passed at that school. Where are now the
brilliant anticipations of the future? where are the devoted lovers, the
unfailing friends we fondly pictured to ourselves? Alas! like the shades
of Ossian’s heroes, they have faded into air, thin air.
“Our adieus to Inez were weepingly paid, and we saw her depart with our
teacher; he promised to send us an account of her debut, and kept his
word. A few months subsequently a literary Gazette was sent to Madame,
who, after reading it, showed it to us; a paragraph, marked with ink,
indicated an eulogium upon the personal appearance, and exquisite voice,
of the beautiful young cantatrice, Mademoiselle Inez Fontana. She had
made her debut at Berlin: this was a Berlin newspaper. How delighted she
must feel at her triumph. For the first time, it occurred to me that it
must be a fine thing to have the world’s applause. Blanche and myself
were pleased at her success; almost as well pleased as we would have
been at our own. One is generally gratified at hearing of a friend’s
celebrity; it flatters our self-love, since it is _our_ friend who has
obtained renown.
“The days and weeks, and months, still sped onward. At first, the loss
of Inez seemed almost irreparable; in all our amusements we had always
formed a little party among ourselves, now our ‘set’ was broken, and we
missed her joyous ways; different to my beloved, confiding Blanche; she
was apparently more impassioned, but in reality less so; there was an
under-current of strong, deep feeling, in the disposition and character
of my fair-haired favorite, her more volatile companion never possessed.
“At length Blanche also was removed by M. Belmont, and I was left alone;
rumors of her success, and of the popularity Inez had acquired, often
reached me in my retirement from the busy scenes, in which they now
occupied so conspicuous a position, and I felt happy in knowing that
they were admired; and morning and evening, when I knelt in prayer, with
my heart filled with devotion towards that one all-wise, all-creative
Influence, I never failed to breathe a prayer for their future happiness
and prosperity.
“My own turn came next, four years after; the time had dragged along
drearily since the departure of my two friends, and I longed to go;
eight years had now elapsed since my advent at the institution. I had
perfected myself in three languages, all of which I could speak fluently,
and translate well. Madame Deville, and dear Madame Schiller, were both
tenderly attached to me, and I bore toward each the most respectful
regard.
“‘I trust, my dear Genevra,’ said Madame Deville to me one day, as I sat
in her room, making for her some wax flowers; ‘now that you are about to
be removed from my protection, I most fervently trust that you will ever
bear in mind the principles of integrity and truth, with which I have
ever endeavored to inspire you; and never, I beg of you, allow yourself
to be deceived by the skilful tongue of flattery. A beautiful actress
is invariably exposed to many temptations, which other women, occupying
a more private position in life, are seldom subjected to; you possess
accomplishments, and personal attractions, which will procure you the
admiration of men, and the envy of women; but if you pursue a virtuous
course in life, and place your trust in God, I doubt not you will be
rewarded.’
“‘I hope I shall ever remain true to the principles of honor and virtue,
which have been taught me by you, Madame, since I have been your pupil,’
I responded. I admired and respected my good preceptress; but her
knowledge of life had been circumscribed, during twenty-five years, to
the narrow limits of her school. She drew her conclusions of what the
world ought to be from her own thoughts, and she supposed that honesty
and virtue are ever rewarded, because she had read in some half-dozen
moral novels I had seen her peruse, that such was the case. Had she
mingled in the gay vortex of society, she would have seen that unblushing
assurance, combined with knavery, passes with the multitude for genuine
talent; that unassuming merit is never appreciated, and generally
descends to the tomb unsought for, and unknown. All these things I
learned from experience; a harsh, yet at the same time a just master; the
only one, perhaps, who can practically convince us of the truth of an
hypothesis.
“‘My child,’ suddenly exclaimed Madame, ‘you are composing a
parti-colored lily: I want a white one.’
“In fact, absorbed in thought and dreams of the future, I had arranged a
lily of red, blue and white leaves; I smiled at the odd effect and began
another.
“‘Monsieur Belmont informed me, the other day, that he intended taking
you to Naples, to make your first appearance there at the San Carlo,’
observed Madame, as she turned a page of the book she was reading.
“‘Ah! indeed,’ for this was unexpected news. ‘I thought I was going to
rejoin Inez and Blanche; I should like to be with them.’
“‘I thought so too, but it seems not; neither are they with each other at
present. Inez still performs at Berlin, where, it seems, she is a great
favorite; and Blanche is at Munich; the journals speak of her as warbling
like a nightingale. It scarcely seems four years since she left us; you
were all dutiful, obedient pupils, and have done honor to the school by
your great musical talents.’
“Madame closed her book, and left the room; I laid the bouquet of wax
flowers which I had just completed, upon a table, and rose to go also;
as I did so, my eyes unconsciously rested upon the enormous mirror, in
which eight years ago, I had seen my tiny person reflected, the first day
I came to school. I again saw myself reflected on its smooth surface;
instead of a small, delicate child, I beheld a well developed girl, whose
long hair fell in ringlets to her waist; the expression of her features
was thoughtful, almost sad. While gazing upon this inanimate image of
myself, I fell into a reverie; every little incident that had ever
happened, during my long residence at the house, seemed to be vividly
revived by memory. I looked around upon the parlor and its furniture; I
wished to impress the appearance of that room upon my mind, that I might
be able to recall it, perhaps for my amusement; at some future day. I
was going into the world, to enter into a new sphere of life, among new
faces, and new scenes. Inez and Blanche had before this been initiated
into its mysteries; perhaps too, they had changed and become women of the
world, but I trusted not.
“The loud ringing of the bell, which was always rung at twilight, to
assemble the pupils for study, aroused me, and I joined my companions.