IF I was punctual
in quitting Mdlle. Reuter's
domicile, I was
at least equally punctual in
arriving there; I came the next
day at five minutes before two,
and on reaching the schoolroom
door, before I opened it, I heard
a rapid, gabbling sound, which
warned
me that the "priere du midi" was not yet concluded. I waited the termination
thereof; it would have been impious to intrude my heretical presence during its
progress. How the repeater of the prayer did cackle and splutter! I never before
or since heard
language enounced with such steam-engine haste. "Notre Pere qui
etes au ciel" went off like a shot; then followed an address to
Marie "vierge celeste, reine des anges, maison d'or, tour
d'ivoire!" and then an invocation to the saint of the day; and then down they
all sat, and the solemn (?) rite was over; and I entered, flinging the door wide
and striding in fast, as it was my wont to do now; for I had found that in entering
with aplomb, and mounting the estrade with emphasis, consisted the grand secret
of ensuring immediate silence. The folding-doors between the two classes, opened
for the prayer, were instantly closed; a maitresse, work-box in hand, took her
seat at her appropriate desk; the pupils sat still with their pens and books
before them; my three beauties in the van, now well humbled by a demeanour of
consistent coolness, sat erect with their hands folded quietly on their knees;
they had given up giggling and whispering to each other, and no longer ventured
to utter pert speeches in my presence; they now only talked to me occasionally
with their eyes, by means of which organs they could still, however, say very
audacious and coquettish things. Had affection, goodness, modesty, real talent,
ever employed those bright orbs as interpreters, I do not think I could have
refrained from giving a kind and encouraging, perhaps an ardent reply now and
then; but as it was, I found pleasure in answering the glance of vanity with
the gaze of stoicism. Youthful, fair, brilliant, as were many of my pupils, I
can truly say that in me they never saw any other bearing than such as an austere,
though just guardian, might have observed towards them. If any doubt the accuracy
of this assertion, as inferring more conscientious self-denial or Scipio-like
self-control than they feel disposed to give me credit for, let them take into
consideration the following circumstances, which, while detracting from my merit,
justify my
veracity.
Know, O incredulous reader!
that a master stands in a somewhat
different relation towards a
pretty, light-headed, probably
ignorant girl, to that occupied
by a partner at a ball, or a
gallant on the promenade. A professor
does not meet his pupil to see
her dressed in satin and muslin,
with hair perfumed and curled,
neck scarcely shaded by aerial
lace, round white arms circled
with bracelets, feet dressed
for the gliding dance. It is
not his business to whirl her
through the waltz, to feed her
with compliments, to heighten
her beauty by the flush of gratified
vanity. Neither does he encounter
her on the smooth-rolled, tree
shaded Boulevard, in the green
and sunny park, whither she repairs
clad in her becoming walking
dress, her scarf thrown with
grace over her shoulders, her
little bonnet scarcely screening
her curls, the red rose under
its brim adding a new tint to
the softer rose on her cheek;
her face and eyes, too, illumined
with smiles, perhaps as transient
as the sunshine of the gala-day,
but also quite as brilliant;
it is not his office to walk
by her side, to listen to her
lively chat, to carry her parasol,
scarcely larger than a broad
green leaf, to lead in a ribbon
her Blenheim spaniel or Italian
greyhound. No: he finds her in
the schoolroom, plainly dressed,
with books before her. Owing
to her education or her nature
books are to her a nuisance,
and she opens them with aversion,
yet her teacher must instil into
her mind the contents of these
books; that mind resists the
admission of grave information,
it recoils, it grows restive,
sullen tempers are shown, disfiguring
frowns spoil the symmetry of
the face, sometimes coarse gestures
banish grace from the deportment,
while muttered expressions, redolent
of native and ineradicable vulgarity,
desecrate the sweetness of the
voice. Where the temperament
is serene though the intellect
be sluggish, an unconquerable
dullness opposes every effort
to instruct. Where there is cunning
but not energy, dissimulation,
falsehood, a thousand schemes
and tricks are put in play to
evade the necessity of application;
in short, to the tutor, female
youth, female charms are like
tapestry hangings, of which the
wrong side is continually turned
towards him; and even when he
sees the smooth, neat external
surface he so well knows what
knots, long stitches, and jagged
ends are behind that he has scarce
a temptation to admire too fondly
the seemly forms and bright colours
exposed to general view.
Our likings
are regulated by our circumstances.
The artist
prefers a hilly country because
it is picturesque; the engineer
a flat one because it is convenient;
the man of pleasure likes what
he calls "a fine woman"--she
suits him; the fashionable young
gentleman admires the fashionable
young lady--she is of his kind;
the toil-worn, fagged, probably
irritable tutor, blind almost
to beauty, insensible to airs
and graces, glories chiefly in
certain mental qualities: application,
love of knowledge, natural capacity,
docility, truthfulness, gratefulness,
are the charms that attract his
notice and win his regard. These
he seeks, but seldom meets; these,
if by chance he finds, he would
fain retain for ever, and when
separation deprives him of them
he feels as if some ruthless
hand had snatched from him his
only ewe-lamb. Such being the
case, and the ease it is, my
readers will agree with me that
there was nothing either very
meritorious or very marvellous
in the integrity and moderation
of my conduct at Mdlle. Reuter's
pensionnat de demoiselles.
My first business this afternoon
consisted in reading the list
of places for the month, determined
by the relative correctness of
the compositions given the preceding
day. The list was headed, as
usual, by the name of Sylvie,
that plain, quiet little girl
I have described before as being
at once the best and ugliest
pupil in the establishment; the
second place had fallen to the
lot of a certain Leonie Ledru,
a diminutive, sharp-featured,
and parchment-skinned creature
of quick wits, frail conscience,
and indurated feelings; a lawyer-like
thing, of whom I used to say
that, had she been a boy, she
would have made a model of an
unprincipled, clever attorney.
Then came Eulalie, the proud
beauty, the Juno of the school,
whom six long years of drilling
in the simple grammar of the
English language had compelled,
despite the stiff phlegm of her
intellect, to acquire a mechanical
acquaintance with most of its
rules. No smile, no trace of
pleasure or satisfaction appeared
in Sylvie's nun-like and passive
face as she heard her name read
first. I always felt saddened
by the sight of that poor girl's
absolute quiescence on all occasions,
and it was my custom to look
at her, to address her, as seldom
as possible; her extreme docility,
her assiduous perseverance, would
have recommended her warmly to
my good opinion; her modesty,
her intelligence, would have
induced me to feel most kindly--most
affectionately towards her, notwithstanding
the almost ghastly plainness
of her features, the disproportion
of her form, the corpse-like
lack of animation in her countenance,
had I not been aware that every
friendly word, every kindly action,
would be reported by her to her
confessor, and by him misinterpreted
and poisoned. Once I laid my
hand on her head, in token of
approbation; I thought Sylvie
was going to smile, her dim eye
almost kindled; but, presently,
she shrank from me; I was a man
and a heretic; she, poor child!
a destined nun and devoted Catholic:
thus a four-fold wall of separation
divided her mind from mine. A
pert smirk, and a hard glance
of triumph, was Leonie's method
of testifying her gratification;
Eulalie looked sullen and envious--she
had hoped to be first. Hortense
and Caroline exchanged a reckless
grimace on hearing their names
read out somewhere near the bottom
of the list; the brand of mental
inferiority was considered by
them as no disgrace, their hopes
for the future being based solely
on their personal attractions.
This affair arranged, the regular
lesson followed. During a brief
interval, employed by the pupils
in ruling their books, my eye,
ranging carelessly over the benches,
observed, for the first time,
that the farthest seat in the
farthest row--a seat usually
vacant--was again filled by the
new scholar, the Mdlle. Henri
so ostentatiously recommended
to me by the directress. To-day
I had on my spectacles; her appearance,
therefore, was clear to me at
the first glance; I had not to
puzzle over it. She looked young;
yet, had I been required to name
her exact age, I should have
been somewhat nonplussed; the
slightness of her figure might
have suited seventeen; a certain
anxious and pre-occupied expression
of face seemed the indication
of riper years. She was dressed,
like all the rest, in a dark
stuff gown and a white collar;
her features were dissimilar
to any there, not so rounded,
more defined, yet scarcely regular.
The shape of her head too was
different, the superior part
more developed, the base considerably
less. I felt assured, at first
sight, that she was not a Belgian;
her complexion, her countenance,
her lineaments, her figure, were
all distinct from theirs, and,
evidently, the type of another
race--of a race less gifted with
fullness of flesh and plenitude
of blood; less jocund, material,
unthinking. When I first cast
my eyes on her, she sat looking
fixedly down, her chin resting
on her hand, and she did not
change her attitude till I commenced
the lesson. None of the Belgian
girls would have retained one
position, and that a reflective
one, for the same length of time.
Yet, having intimated that her
appearance was peculiar, as being
unlike that of her Flemish companions,
I have little more to say respecting
it; I can pronounce no encomiums
on her beauty, for she was not
beautiful; nor offer condolence
on her plainness, for neither
was she plain; a careworn character
of forehead, and a corresponding
moulding of the mouth, struck
me with a sentiment resembling
surprise, but these traits would
probably have passed unnoticed
by any less crotchety observer.
Now, reader, though I have
spent more than a page in describing
Mdlle. Henri, I know well enough
that I have left on your mind's
eye no distinct picture of her;
I have not painted her complexion,
nor her eyes, nor her hair, nor
even drawn the outline of her
shape. You cannot tell whether
her nose was aquiline or retrousse,
whether her chin was long or
short, her face square or oval;
nor could I the first day, and
it is not my intention to communicate
to you at once a knowledge I
myself gained by little and little.
I gave a short
exercise: which they all wrote
down. I saw the
new pupil was puzzled at first
with the novelty of the form
and language; once or twice she
looked at me with a sort of painful
solicitude, as not comprehending:
at all what I meant; then she
was not ready when the others
were, she could not write her
phrases so fast as they did;
I would not help her, I went
on relentless. She looked at
me; her eye said most plainly, "I
cannot follow you." I disregarded
the appeal, and, carelessly leaning
back in my chair, glancing from
time to time with a NONCHALANT
air out of the window, I dictated
a little faster. On looking towards
her again, I perceived her face
clouded with embarrassment, but
she was still writing on most
diligently; I paused a few seconds;
she employed the interval in
hurriedly re-perusing what she
had written, and shame and discomfiture
were apparent in her countenance;
she evidently found she had made
great nonsense of it. In ten
minutes more the dictation was
complete, and, having allowed
a brief space in which to correct
it, I took their books; it was
with a reluctant hand Mdlle.
Henri gave up hers, but, having
once yielded it to my possession,
she composed her anxious face,
as if, for the present she had
resolved to dismiss regret, and
had made up her mind to be thought
unprecedentedly stupid. Glancing
over her exercise, I found that
several lines had been omitted,
but what was written contained
very few faults; I instantly
inscribed "Bon" at the bottom
of the page, and returned it
to her; she smiled, at first
incredulously, then as if reassured,
but did not lift her eyes; she
could look at me, it seemed,
when perplexed and bewildered,
but not when gratified; I thought
that scarcely fair.
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