CHAPTER IV.
“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.