THE young Anglo-Swiss evidently
derived both pleasure and profit
from the study of her mother-tongue.
In teaching her I did not, of
course, confine myself to the
ordinary school routine; I made
instruction in English a channel
for instruction in literature.
I prescribed to her a course
of reading; she had a little
selection of English classics,
a few of which had been left
her by her mother, and the others
she had purchased with her own
penny-fee. I lent her some more
modern works; all these she read
with avidity, giving me, in writing,
a clear summary of each work
when she had perused it. Composition,
too, she delighted in. Such occupation
seemed the very breath of her
nostrils, and soon her improved
productions wrung from me the
avowal that those qualities in
her I had termed taste and fancy
ought rather to have been denominated
judgment and imagination. When
I intimated so much, which I
did as usual in dry and stinted
phrase, I looked for the radiant
and exulting smile my one word
of eulogy had elicited before;
but Frances coloured. If she
did smile, it was very softly
and shyly; and instead of looking
up to me with a conquering glance,
her eyes rested on my hand, which,
stretched over her shoulder,
was writing some directions with
a pencil on the margin of her
book.
"Well, are you pleased that
I am satisfied with your progress?" I
asked.
"Yes," said
she slowly, gently, the blush
that had half subsided
returning.
"But I do not say enough, I
suppose?" I continued. "My praises
are too cool?"
She made no answer, and, I
thought, looked a little sad.
I divined her thoughts, and should
much have liked to have responded
to them, had it been expedient
so to do. She was not now very
ambitious of my admiration--not
eagerly desirous of dazzling
me; a little affection--ever
so little--pleased her better
than all the panegyrics in the
world. Feeling this, I stood
a good while behind her, writing
on the margin of her book. I
could hardly quit my station
or relinquish my occupation;
something retained me bending
there, my head very near hers,
and my hand near hers too; but
the margin of a copy-book is
not an illimitable space--so,
doubtless, the directress thought;
and she took occasion to walk
past in order to ascertain by
what art I prolonged so disproportionately
the period necessary for filling
it. I was obliged to go. Distasteful
effort--to leave what we most
prefer!
Frances did not become pale
or feeble in consequence of her
sedentary employment; perhaps
the stimulus it communicated
to her mind counterbalanced the
inaction it imposed on her body.
She changed, indeed, changed
obviously and rapidly; but it
was for the better. When I first
saw her, her countenance was
sunless, her complexion colourless;
she looked like one who had no
source of enjoyment, no store
of bliss anywhere in the world;
now the cloud had passed from
her mien, leaving space for the
dawn of hope and interest, and
those feelings rose like a clear
morning, animating what had been
depressed, tinting what had been
pale. Her eyes, whose colour
I had not at first known, so
dim were they with repressed
tears, so shadowed with ceaseless
dejection, now, lit by a ray
of the sunshine that cheered
her heart, revealed irids of
bright hazel--irids large and
full, screened with long lashes;
and pupils instinct with fire.
That look of wan emaciation which
anxiety or low spirits often
communicates to a thoughtful,
thin face, rather long than round,
having vanished from hers; a
clearness of skin almost bloom,
and a plumpness almost embonpoint,
softened the decided lines of
her features. Her figure shared
in this beneficial change; it
became rounder, and as the harmony
of her form was complete and
her stature of the graceful middle
height, one did not regret (or
at least I did not regret) the
absence of confirmed fulness,
in contours, still slight, though
compact, elegant, flexible--the
exquisite turning of waist, wrist,
hand, foot, and ankle satisfied
completely my notions of symmetry,
and allowed a lightness and freedom
of movement which corresponded
with my ideas of grace.
Thus improved, thus wakened
to life, Mdlle. Henri began to
take a new footing in the school;
her mental power, manifested
gradually but steadily, ere long
extorted recognition even from
the envious; and when the young
and healthy saw that she could
smile brightly, converse gaily,
move with vivacity and alertness,
they acknowledged in her a sisterhood
of youth and health, and tolerated
her as of their kind accordingly.
To speak truth, I watched this
change much as a gardener watches
the growth of a precious plant,
and I contributed to it too,
even as the said gardener contributes
to the development of his favourite.
To me it was not difficult to
discover how I could best foster
my pupil, cherish her starved
feelings, and induce the outward
manifestation of that inward
vigour which sunless drought
and blighting blast had hitherto
forbidden to expand. Constancy
of attention--a kindness as mute
as watchful, always standing
by her, cloaked in the rough
garb of austerity, and making
its real nature known only by
a rare glance of interest, or
a cordial and gentle word; real
respect masked with seeming imperiousness,
directing, urging her actions,
yet helping her too, and that
with devoted care: these were
the means I used, for these means
best suited Frances' feelings,
as susceptible as deep vibrating--her
nature at once proud and shy.
The benefits of my system became
apparent also in her altered
demeanour as a teacher; she now
took her place amongst her pupils
with an air of spirit and firmness
which assured them at once that
she meant to be obeyed--and obeyed
she was. They felt they had lost
their power over her. If any
girl had rebelled, she would
no longer have taken her rebellion
to heart; she possessed a source
of comfort they could not drain,
a pillar of support they could
not overthrow: formerly, when
insulted, she wept; now, she
smiled.
The public reading of one of
her devoirs achieved the revelation
of her talents to all and sundry;
I remember the subject--it was
an emigrant's letter to his friends
at home. It opened with simplicity;
some natural and graphic touches
disclosed to the reader the scene
of virgin forest and great, New-World
river --barren of sail and flag--amidst
which the epistle was supposed
to be indited. The difficulties
and dangers that attend a settler's
life, were hinted at; and in
the few words said on that subject,
Mdlle. Henri failed not to render
audible the voice of resolve,
patience, endeavour. The disasters
which had driven him from his
native country were alluded to;
stainless honour, inflexible
independence, indestructible
self-respect there took the word.
Past days were spoken of; the
grief of parting, the regrets
of absence, were touched upon;
feeling, forcible and fine, breathed
eloquent in every period. At
the close, consolation was suggested;
religious faith became there
the speaker, and she spoke well.
The devoir was powerfully written
in language at once chaste and
choice, in a style nerved with
vigour and graced with harmony.
Mdlle. Reuter
was quite sufficiently acquainted
with English to understand
it when read or spoken in her
presence, though she could neither
speak nor write it herself. During
the perusal of this devoir, she
sat placidly busy, her eyes and
fingers occupied with the formation
of a "riviere" or open-work hem
round a cambric handkerchief;
she said nothing, and her face
and forehead, clothed with a
mask of purely negative expression,
were as blank of comment as her
lips. As neither surprise, pleasure,
approbation, nor interest were
evinced in her countenance, so
no more were disdain, envy, annoyance,
weariness; if that inscrutable
mien said anything, it was simply
this--
"The matter
is too trite to excite an emotion,
or call forth
an opinion."
As soon as I had done, a hum
rose; several of the pupils,
pressing round Mdlle. Henri,
began to beset her with compliments;
the composed voice of the directress
was now heard:--
"Young ladies, such of you
as have cloaks and umbrellas
will hasten to return home before
the shower becomes heavier" (it
was raining a little), "the remainder
will wait till their respective
servants arrive to fetch them." And
the school dispersed, for it
was four o'clock.
"Monsieur, a word," said
Mdlle. Reuter, stepping on
to the estrade,
and signifying, by a movement
of the hand, that she wished
me to relinquish, for an instant,
the castor I had clutched.
"Mademoiselle,
I am at your service."
"Monsieur,
it is of course an excellent
plan to encourage
effort in young people by making
conspicuous the progress of any
particularly industrious pupil;
but do you not think that in
the present instance, Mdlle.
Henri can hardly be considered
as a concurrent with the other
pupils? She is older than most
of them, and has had advantages
of an exclusive nature for acquiring
a knowledge of English; on the
other hand, her sphere of life
is somewhat beneath theirs; under
these circumstances, a public
distinction, conferred upon Mdlle.
Henri, may be the means of suggesting
comparisons, and exciting feelings
such as would be far from advantageous
to the individual forming their
object. The interest I take in
Mdlle. Henri's real welfare makes
me desirous of screening her
from annoyances of this sort;
besides, monsieur, as I have
before hinted to you, the sentiment
of AMOUR-PROPRE has a somewhat
marked preponderance in her character;
celebrity has a tendency to foster
this sentiment, and in her it
should be rather repressed--she
rather needs keeping down than
bringing forward; and then I
think, monsieur--it appears to
me that ambition, LITERARY ambition
especially, is not a feeling
to be cherished in the mind of
a woman: would not Mdlle. Henri
be much safer and happier if
taught to believe that in the
quiet discharge of social duties
consists her real vocation, than
if stimulated to aspire after
applause and publicity? She may
never marry; scanty as are her
resources, obscure as are her
connections, uncertain as is
her health (for I think her consumptive,
her mother died of that complaint),
it is more than probable she
never will. I do not see how
she can rise to a position, whence
such a step would be possible;
but even in celibacy it would
be better for her to retain the
character and habits of a respectable
decorous female."
"Indisputably, mademoiselle," was
my answer. "Your opinion admits
of no doubt;" and, fearful of
the harangue being renewed, I
retreated under cover of that
cordial sentence of assent.
At the date of a fortnight
after the little incident noted
above, I find it recorded in
my diary that a hiatus occurred
in Mdlle. Henri's usually regular
attendance in class. The first
day or two I wondered at her
absence, but did not like to
ask an explanation of it; I thought
indeed some chance word might
be dropped which would afford
me the information I wished to
obtain, without my running the
risk of exciting silly smiles
and gossiping whispers by demanding
it. But when a week passed and
the seat at the desk near the
door still remained vacant, and
when no allusion was made to
the circumstance by any individual
of the class--when, on the contrary,
I found that all observed a marked
silence on the point--I determined,
COUTE QUI COUTE, to break the
ice of this silly reserve. I
selected Sylvie as my informant,
because from her I knew that
I should at least get a sensible
answer, unaccompanied by wriggle,
titter, or other flourish of
folly.
"Ou donc est Mdlle. Henri?" I
said one day as I returned an
exercise-book I had been examining.
"Elle est partie,
monsieur."
"Partie? et
pour combien de temps? Quand
reviendra-t-elle?"
"Elle est partie
pour toujours, monsieur; elle
ne reviendra plus."
"Ah!" was my
involuntary exclamation; then
after a pause:--
"En etes-vous
bien sure, Sylvie?"
"Oui, oui,
monsieur, mademoiselle la directrice
nous l'a dit elle-meme
il y a deux ou trois jours."
And I could pursue my inquiries
no further; time, place, and
circumstances forbade my adding
another word. I could neither
comment on what had been said,
nor demand further particulars.
A question as to the reason of
the teacher's departure, as to
whether it had been voluntary
or otherwise, was indeed on my
lips, but I suppressed it--there
were listeners all round. An
hour after, in passing Sylvie
in the corridor as she was putting
on her bonnet, I stopped short
and asked:--
"Sylvie, do you know Mdlle.
Henri's address? I have some
books of hers," I added carelessly, "and
I should wish to send them to
her."
"No, monsieur," replied Sylvie; "but
perhaps Rosalie, the portress,
will be able to give it you."
Rosalie's cabinet was just
at hand; I stepped in and repeated
the inquiry. Rosalie--a smart
French grisette--looked up from
her work with a knowing smile,
precisely the sort of smile I
had been so desirous to avoid
exciting. Her answer was prepared;
she knew nothing whatever of
Mdlle. Henri's address--had never
known it. Turning from her with
impatience--for I believed she
lied and was hired to lie--I
almost knocked down some one
who had been standing at my back;
it was the directress. My abrupt
movement made her recoil two
or three steps. I was obliged
to apologize, which I did more
concisely than politely. No man
likes to be dogged, and in the
very irritable mood in which
I then was the sight of Mdlle.
Reuter thoroughly incensed me.
At the moment I turned her countenance
looked hard, dark, and inquisitive;
her eyes were bent upon me with
an expression of almost hungry
curiosity. I had scarcely caught
this phase of physiognomy ere
it had vanished; a bland smile
played on her features; my harsh
apology was received with good-humoured
facility.
"Oh, don't mention it, monsieur;
you only touched my hair with
your elbow; it is no worse, only
a little dishevelled." She shook
it back, and passing her fingers
through her curls, loosened them
into more numerous and flowing
ringlets. Then she went on with
vivacity :-
Rosalie, I
was coming to tell you to go
instantly and close
the windows of the salon; the
wind is rising, and the muslin
curtains will be covered with
dust."
Rosalie departed. "Now," thought
I, "this will not do; Mdlle.
Reuter thinks her meanness in
eaves-dropping is screened by
her art in devising a pretext,
whereas the muslin curtains she
speaks of are not more transparent
than this same pretext." An impulse
came over me to thrust the flimsy
screen aside, and confront her
craft boldly with a word or two
of plain truth. "The rough-shod
foot treads most firmly on slippery
ground," thought I; so I began:-
"Mademoiselle
Henri has left your establishment--been
dismissed,
I presume?"
"Ah, I wished to have a little
conversation with you, monsieur," replied
the directress with the most
natural and affable air in the
world; "but we cannot talk quietly
here; will Monsieur step into
the garden a minute?" And she
preceded me, stepping out through
the glass-door I have before
mentioned.
"There," said
she, when we had reached the
centre of the
middle alley, and when the foliage
of shrubs and trees, now in their
summer pride, closing behind
end around us, shut out the view
of the house, and thus imparted
a sense of seclusion even to
this little plot of ground in
the very core of a capital.
"There, one
feels quiet and free when there
are only pear-trees
and rose-bushes about one; I
dare say you, like me, monsieur,
are sometimes tired of being
eternally in the midst of life;
of having human faces always
round you, human eyes always
upon you, human voices always
in your ear. I am sure I often
wish intensely for liberty to
spend a whole month in the country
at some little farm-house, bien
gentille, bien propre, tout entouree
de champs et de bois; quelle
vie charmante que la vie champetre!
N'est-ce pas, monsieur?"
"Cela depend,
mademoiselle."
"Que le vent est bon et frais!" continued
the directress; and she was right
there, for it was a south wind,
soft and sweet. I carried my
hat in my hand, and this gentle
breeze, passing through my hair,
soothed my temples like balm.
Its refreshing effect, however,
penetrated no deeper than the
mere surface of the frame; for
as I walked by the side of Mdlle.
Reuter, my heart was still hot
within me, and while I was musing
the fire burned; then spake I
with my tongue:--
"I understand
Mdlle. Henri is gone from hence,
and will
not return?"
"Ah, true!
I meant to have named the subject
to you some
days ago, but my time is so completely
taken up, I cannot do half the
things I wish: have you never
experienced what it is, monsieur,
to find the day too short by
twelve hours for your numerous
duties?"
"Not often.
Mdlle. Henri's departure was
not voluntary,
I presume? If it had been, she
would certainly have given me
some intimation of it, being
my pupil."
"Oh, did she
not tell you? that was strange;
for my part,
I never thought of adverting
to the subject; when one has
so many things to attend to,
one is apt to forget little incidents
that are not of primary importance."
"You consider
Mdlle. Henri's dismission,
then, as a very insignificant
event?"
"Dismission?
Ah! she was not dismissed;
I can say with truth,
monsieur, that since I became
the head of this establishment
no master or teacher has ever
been dismissed from it."
"Yet some have
left it, mademoiselle?"
"Many; I have
found it necessary to change
frequently--a change
of instructors is often beneficial
to the interests of a school;
it gives life and variety to
the proceedings; it amuses the
pupils, and suggests to the parents
the idea of exertion and progress."
"Yet when you
are tired of a professor or
maitresse, you
scruple to dismiss them?"
"No need to have recourse to
such extreme measures, I assure
you. Allons, monsieur le professeur--asseyons-nous;
je vais vous donner une petite
lecon dans votre etat d'instituteur." (I
wish I might write all she said
to me in French--it loses sadly
by being translated into English.)
We had now reached THE garden-chair;
the directress sat down, and
signed to me to sit by her, but
I only rested my knee on the
seat, and stood leaning my head
and arm against the embowering
branch of a huge laburnum, whose
golden flowers, blent with the
dusky green leaves of a lilac-bush,
formed a mixed arch of shade
and sunshine over the retreat.
Mdlle. Reuter sat silent a moment;
some novel movements were evidently
working in her mind, and they
showed their nature on her astute
brow; she was meditating some
CHEF D'OEUVRE of policy. Convinced
by several months' experience
that the affectation of virtues
she did not possess was unavailing
to ensnare me--aware that I had
read her real nature, and would
believe nothing of the character
she gave out as being hers--she
had determined, at last, to try
a new key, and see if the lock
of my heart would yield to that;
a little audacity, a word of
truth, a glimpse of the real. "Yes,
I will try," was her inward resolve;
and then her blue eye glittered
upon me--it did not flash--nothing
of flame ever kindled in its
temperate gleam.
"Monsieur fears to sit by me?" she
inquired playfully.
"I have no wish to usurp Pelet's
place," I answered, for I had
got the habit of speaking to
her bluntly--a habit begun in
anger, but continued because
I saw that, instead of offending,
it fascinated her. She cast down
her eyes, and drooped her eyelids;
she sighed uneasily; she turned
with an anxious gesture, as if
she would give me the idea of
a bird that flutters in its cage,
and would fain fly from its jail
and jailer, and seek its natural
mate and pleasant nest.
"Well--and your lesson?" I
demanded briefly.
"Ah!" she exclaimed, recovering
herself, "you are so young, so
frank and fearless, so talented,
so impatient of imbecility, so
disdainful of vulgarity, you
need a lesson; here it is then:
far more is to be done in this
world by dexterity than by strength;
but, perhaps, you knew that before,
for there is delicacy as well
as power in your character--policy,
as well as pride?"
"Go on." said
I; and I could hardly help
smiling, the flattery
was so piquant, so finely seasoned.
She caught the prohibited smile,
though I passed my hand over
my month to conceal it; and again
she made room for me to sit beside
her. I shook my head, though
temptation penetrated to my senses
at the moment, and once more
I told her to go on.
"Well, then, if ever you are
at the head of a large establishment,
dismiss nobody. To speak truth,
monsieur (and to you I will speak
truth), I despise people who
are always making rows, blustering,
sending off one to the right,
and another to the left, urging
and hurrying circumstances. I'll
tell you what I like best to
do, monsieur, shall I?" She looked
up again; she had compounded
her glance well this time--much
archness, more deference, a spicy
dash of coquetry, an unveiled
consciousness of capacity. I
nodded; she treated me like the
great Mogul; so I became the
great Mogul as far as she was
concerned.
"I like, monsieur,
to take my knitting in my hands,
and
to sit quietly down in my chair;
circumstances defile past me;
I watch their march; so long
as they follow the course I wish,
I say nothing, and do nothing;
I don't clap my hands, and cry
out 'Bravo! How lucky I am!'
to attract the attention and
envy of my neighbours--I am merely
passive; but when events fall
out ill --when circumstances
become adverse--I watch very
vigilantly; I knit on still,
and still I hold my tongue; but
every now and then, monsieur,
I just put my toe out--so--and
give the rebellious circumstance
a little secret push, without
noise, which sends it the way
I wish, and I am successful after
all, and nobody has seen my expedient.
So, when teachers or masters
become troublesome and inefficient--when,
in short, the interests of the
school would suffer from their
retaining their places--I mind
my knitting, events progress,
circumstances glide past; I see
one which, if pushed ever so
little awry, will render untenable
the post I wish to have vacated--the
deed is done--the stumbling-block
removed--and no one saw me: I
have not made an enemy, I am
rid of an incumbrance."
A moment since,
and I thought her alluring;
this speech concluded,
I looked on her with distaste. "Just
like you," was my cold answer. "And
in this way you have ousted Mdlle.
Henri? You wanted her office,
therefore you rendered it intolerable
to her?"
"Not at all,
monsieur, I was merely anxious
about Mdlle. Henri's
health; no, your moral sight
is clear and piercing, but there
you have failed to discover the
truth. I took--I have always
taken a real interest in Mdlle.
Henri's welfare; I did not like
her going out in all weathers;
I thought it would be more advantageous
for her to obtain a permanent
situation; besides, I considered
her now qualified to do something
more than teach sewing. I reasoned
with her; left the decision to
herself; she saw the correctness
of my views, and adopted them."
"Excellent!
and now, mademoiselle, you
will have the goodness to
give me her address."
"Her address!" and a sombre
and stony change came over the
mien of the directress. "Her
address? Ah?--well--I wish I
could oblige you, monsieur, but
I cannot, and I will tell you
why; whenever I myself asked
her for her address, she always
evaded the inquiry. I thought--I
may be wrong--but I THOUGHT her
motive for doing so, was a natural,
though mistaken reluctance to
introduce me to some, probably,
very poor abode; her means were
narrow, her origin obscure; she
lives somewhere, doubtless, in
the 'basse ville.'"
"I'll not lose sight of my
best pupil yet," said I, "though
she were born of beggars and
lodged in a cellar; for the rest,
it is absurd to make a bugbear
of her origin to me--I happen
to know that she was a Swiss
pastor's daughter, neither more
nor less; and, as to her narrow
means, I care nothing for the
poverty of her purse so long
as her heart overflows with affluence."
"Your sentiments are perfectly
noble, monsieur," said the directress,
affecting to suppress a yawn;
her sprightliness was now extinct,
her temporary candour shut up;
the little, red-coloured, piratical-looking
pennon of audacity she had allowed
to float a minute in the air,
was furled, and the broad, sober-hued
flag of dissimulation again hung
low over the citadel. I did not
like her thus, so I cut short
the TETE-A-TETE and departed.
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