CHAPTER XXIII
IT was two o'clock when I returned to my lodgings; my dinner, justbrought in from a neighbouring hotel, smoked on the table; I sat downthinking to eat--had the plate been heaped with potsherds and brokenglass, instead of boiled beef and haricots, I could not have made a moresignal failure: appetite had forsaken me. Impatient of seeing foodwhich I could not taste, I put it all aside into a cupboard, and thendemanded, "What shall I do till evening?" for before six P.M. it wouldbe vain to seek the Rue Notre Dame aux Neiges; its inhabitant (for meit had but one) was detained by her vocation elsewhere. I walked in thestreets of Brussels, and I walked in my own room from two o'clocktill six; never once in that space of time did I sit down. I was in mychamber when the last-named hour struck; I had just bathed my face andfeverish hands, and was standing near the glass; my cheek was crimson,my eye was flame, still all my features looked quite settled andcalm. Descending swiftly the stair and stepping out, I was glad to seeTwilight drawing on in clouds; such shade was to me like a gratefulscreen, and the chill of latter Autumn, breathing in a fitful wind fromthe north-west, met me as a refreshing coolness. Still I saw it was coldto others, for the women I passed were wrapped in shawls, and the menhad their coats buttoned close.
When are we quite happy? Was I so then? No; an urgent and growing dreadworried my nerves, and had worried them since the first moment goodtidings had reached me. How was Frances? It was ten weeks since I hadseen her, six since I had heard from her, or of her. I had answeredher letter by a brief note, friendly but calm, in which no mention ofcontinued correspondence or further visits was made. At that hour mybark hung on the topmost curl of a wave of fate, and I knew not on whatshoal the onward rush of the billow might hurl it; I would not thenattach her destiny to mine by the slightest thread; if doomed to spliton the rock, or run aground on the sand-bank, I was resolved no othervessel should share my disaster: but six weeks was a long time; andcould it be that she was still well and doing well? Were not all sagesagreed in declaring that happiness finds no climax on earth? DaredI think that but half a street now divided me from the full cup ofcontentment--the draught drawn from waters said to flow only in heaven?
I was at the door; I entered the quiet house; I mounted the stairs; thelobby was void and still, all the doors closed; I looked for the neatgreen mat; it lay duly in its place.
"Signal of hope!" I said, and advanced. "But I will be a little calmer;I am not going to rush in, and get up a scene directly." Forciblystaying my eager step, I paused on the mat.
"What an absolute hush! Is she in? Is anybody in?" I demanded tomyself. A little tinkle, as of cinders falling from a grate, replied;a movement--a fire was gently stirred; and the slight rustle of lifecontinuing, a step paced equably backwards and forwards, backwards andforwards, in the apartment. Fascinated, I stood, more fixedly fascinatedwhen a voice rewarded the attention of my strained ear--so low, soself-addressed, I never fancied the speaker otherwise than alone;solitude might speak thus in a desert, or in the hall of a forsakenhouse.
"'And ne'er but once, my son,' he said, 'Was yon dark cavern trod; In persecution's iron days, When the land was left by God. From Bewley's bog, with slaughter red, A wanderer hither drew; And oft he stopp'd and turn'd his head, As by fits the night-winds blew. For trampling round by Cheviot-edge Were heard the troopers keen; And frequent from the Whitelaw ridge The death-shot flash'd between.'" etc. etc.
The old Scotch ballad was partly recited, then dropt; a pause ensued;then another strain followed, in French, of which the purport,translated, ran as follows:--
I gave, at first, attention close; Then interest warm ensued; From interest, as improvement rose, Succeeded gratitude.
Obedience was no effort soon, And labour was no pain; If tired, a word, a glance alone Would give me strength again.
From others of the studious band, Ere long he singled me; But only by more close demand, And sterner urgency.
The task he from another took, From me he did reject; He would no slight omission brook, And suffer no defect.
If my companions went astray, He scarce their wanderings blam'd; If I but falter'd in the way, His anger fiercely flam'd.
Something stirred in an adjoining chamber; it would not do to besurprised eaves-dropping; I tapped hastily, and as hastily entered.Frances was just before me; she had been walking slowly in her room,and her step was checked by my advent: Twilight only was with her, andtranquil, ruddy Firelight; to these sisters, the Bright and the Dark,she had been speaking, ere I entered, in poetry. Sir Walter Scott'svoice, to her a foreign, far-off sound, a mountain echo, had uttereditself in the first stanzas; the second, I thought, from the style andthe substance, was the language of her own heart. Her face was grave,its expression concentrated; she bent on me an unsmiling eye--an eyejust returning from abstraction, just awaking from dreams: well-arrangedwas her simple attire, smooth her dark hair, orderly her tranquil room;but what--with her thoughtful look, her serious self-reliance, herbent to meditation and haply inspiration--what had she to do with love?"Nothing," was the answer of her own sad, though gentle countenance; itseemed to say, "I must cultivate fortitude and cling to poetry; one isto be my support and the other my solace through life. Human affectionsdo not bloom, nor do human passions glow for me." Other women have suchthoughts. Frances, had she been as desolate as she deemed, would nothave been worse off than thousands of her sex. Look at the rigid andformal race of old maids--the race whom all despise; they have fedthemselves, from youth upwards, on maxims of resignation and endurance.Many of them get ossified with the dry diet; self-control is socontinually their thought, so perpetually their object, that at lastit absorbs the softer and more agreeable qualities of their nature; andthey die mere models of austerity, fashioned out of a little parchmentand much bone. Anatomists will tell you that there is a heart in thewithered old maid's carcass--the same as in that of any cherished wifeor proud mother in the land. Can this be so? I really don't know; butfeel inclined to doubt it.
I came forward, bade Frances "good evening," and took my seat. The chairI had chosen was one she had probably just left; it stood by a littletable where were her open desk and papers. I know not whether she hadfully recognized me at first, but she did so now; and in a voice, softbut quiet, she returned my greeting. I had shown no eagerness; she tookher cue from me, and evinced no surprise. We met as we had always met,as master and pupil--nothing more. I proceeded to handle the papers;Frances, observant and serviceable, stepped into an inner room, broughta candle, lit it, placed it by me; then drew the curtain over thelattice, and having added a little fresh fuel to the already brightfire, she drew a second chair to the table and sat down at my righthand, a little removed. The paper on the top was a translation ofsome grave French author into English, but underneath lay a sheet withstanzas; on this I laid hands. Frances half rose, made a movement torecover the captured spoil, saying, that was nothing--a mere copy ofverses. I put by resistance with the decision I knew she never longopposed; but on this occasion her fingers had fastened on the paper. Ihad quietly to unloose them; their hold dissolved to my touch; her handshrunk away; my own would fain have followed it, but for the present Iforbade such impulse. The first page of the sheet was occupied withthe lines I had overheard; the sequel was not exactly the writer's ownexperience, but a composition by portions of that experience suggested.Thus while egotism was avoided, the fancy was exercised, and the heartsatisfied. I translate as before, and my translation is nearly literal;it continued thus:--
When sickness stay'd awhile my course, He seem'd impatient still, Because his pupil's flagging force Could not obey his will.
One day when summoned to the bed Where pain and I did strive, I heard him, as he bent his head, Say, "God, she must revive!"
I felt his hand, with gentle stress, A moment laid on mine,
And wished to mark my consciousness By some responsive sign.
But pow'rless then to speak or move, I only felt, within, The sense of Hope, the strength of Love, Their healing work begin.
And as he from the room withdrew, My heart his steps pursued; I long'd to prove, by efforts new; My speechless gratitude.
When once again I took my place, Long vacant, in the class, Th' unfrequent smile across his face Did for one moment pass.
The lessons done; the signal made Of glad release and play, He, as he passed, an instant stay'd, One kindly word to say.
"Jane, till to-morrow you are free From tedious task and rule; This afternoon I must not see That yet pale face in school.
"Seek in the garden-shades a seat, Far from the play-ground din; The sun is warm, the air is sweet: Stay till I call you in."
A long and pleasant afternoon I passed in those green bowers; All silent, tranquil, and alone With birds, and bees, and flowers.
Yet, when my master's voice I heard Call, from the window, "Jane!" I entered, joyful, at the word, The busy house again.
He, in the hall, paced up and down; He paused as I passed by; His forehead stern relaxed its frown: He raised his deep-set eye.
"Not quite so pale," he murmured low. "Now Jane, go rest awhile." And as I smiled, his smoothened brow Returned as glad a smile.
My perfect health restored, he took His mien austere again; And, as before, he would not brook The slightest fault from Jane.
The longest task, the hardest theme Fell to my share as erst, And still I toiled to place my name In every study first.
He yet begrudged and stinted praise, But I had learnt to read The secret meaning of his face, And that was my best meed.
Even when his hasty temper spoke In tones that sorrow stirred, My grief was lulled as soon as woke By some relenting word.
And when he lent some precious book, Or gave some fragrant flower, I did not quail to Envy's look, Upheld by Pleasure's power.
At last our school ranks took their ground, The hard-fought field I won The prize, a laurel-wreath, was bound My throbbing forehead on.
Low at my master's knee I bent, The offered crown to meet; Its green leaves through my temples sent A thrill as wild as sweet.
The strong pulse of Ambition struck In every vein I owned; At the same instant, bleeding broke A secret, inward wound.
The hour of triumph was to me The hour of sorrow sore; A day hence I must cross the sea, Ne'er to recross it more.
An hour hence, in my master's room I with him sat alone, And told him what a dreary gloom O'er joy had parting thrown.
He little said; the time was brief, The ship was soon to sail, And while I sobbed in bitter grief, My master but looked pale.
They called in haste; he bade me go, Then snatched me back again; He held me fast and murmured low, "Why will they part us, Jane?"
"Were you not happy in my care? Did I not faithful prove? Will others to my darling bear As true, as deep a love?
"O God, watch o'er my foster child! O guard her gentle head! When minds are high and tempests wild Protection round her spread!
"They call again; leave then my breast; Quit thy true shelter, Jane; But when deceived, repulsed, opprest, Come home to me again!"
I read--then dreamily made marks on the margin with my pencil; thinkingall the while of other things; thinking that "Jane" was now at my side;no child, but a girl of nineteen; and she might be mine, so my heartaffirmed; Poverty's curse was taken off me; Envy and Jealousy werefar away, and unapprized of this our quiet meeting; the frost of theMaster's manner might melt; I felt the thaw coming fast, whether I wouldor not; no further need for the eye to practise a hard look, for thebrow to compress its expanse into a stern fold: it was now permittedto suffer the outward revelation of the inward glow--to seek, demand,elicit an answering ardour. While musing thus, I thought that the grasson Hermon never drank the fresh dews of sunset more gratefully than myfeelings drank the bliss of this hour.
Frances rose, as if restless; she passed before me to stir the fire,which did not want stirring; she lifted and put down the littleornaments on the mantelpiece; her dress waved within a yard of me;slight, straight, and elegant, she stood erect on the hearth.
There are impulses we can control; but there are others which controlus, because they attain us with a tiger-leap, and are our masters erewe have seen them. Perhaps, though, such impulses are seldom altogetherbad; perhaps Reason, by a process as brief as quiet, a process thatis finished ere felt, has ascertained the sanity of the deed. Instinctmeditates, and feels justified in remaining passive while it isperformed. I know I did not reason, I did not plan or intend, yet,whereas one moment I was sitting solus on the chair near the table,the next, I held Frances on my knee, placed there with sharpness anddecision, and retained with exceeding tenacity.
"Monsieur!" cried Frances, and was still: not another word escaped herlips; sorely confounded she seemed during the lapse of the first fewmoments; but the amazement soon subsided; terror did not succeed, norfury: after all, she was only a little nearer than she had ever beenbefore, to one she habitually respected and trusted; embarrassment mighthave impelled her to contend, but self-respect checked resistance whereresistance was useless.
"Frances, how much regard have you for me?" was my demand. No answer;the situation was yet too new and surprising to permit speech. On thisconsideration, I compelled myself for some seconds to tolerate hersilence, though impatient of it: presently, I repeated the samequestion--probably, not in the calmest of tones; she looked at me; myface, doubtless, was no model of composure, my eyes no still wells oftranquillity.
"Do speak," I urged; and a very low, hurried, yet still arch voicesaid--
"Monsieur, vous me faites mal; de grace lachez un peu ma main droite."
In truth I became aware that I was holding the said "main droite" ina somewhat ruthless grasp: I did as desired; and, for the third time,asked more gently--
"Frances, how much regard have you for me?"
"Mon maitre, j'en ai beaucoup," was the truthful rejoinder.
"Frances, have you enough to give yourself to me as my wife?--to acceptme as your husband?"
I felt the agitation of the heart, I saw "the purple light of love" castits glowing reflection on cheeks, temples, neck; I desired to consultthe eye, but sheltering lash and lid forbade.
"Monsieur," said the soft voice at last,--"Monsieur desire savoir si jeconsens--si--enfin, si je veux me marier avec lui?"
"Justement."
"Monsieur sera-t-il aussi bon mari qu'il a ete bon maitre?"
"I will try, Frances."
A pause; then with a new, yet still subdued inflexion of the voice--aninflexion which provoked while it pleased me--accompanied, too, by a"sourire a la fois fin et timide" in perfect harmony with the tone:--
"C'est a dire, monsieur sera toujours un peu entete exigeant,volontaire--?"
"Have I been so, Frances?"
"Mais oui; vous le savez bien."
"Have I been nothing else?"
"Mais oui; vous avez ete mon meilleur ami."
"And what, Frances, are you to me?"
"Votre devouee eleve, qui vous aime de tout son coeur."
"Will my pupil consent to pass her life with me? Speak English now,Frances."
Some moments were taken for reflection the answer, pronounced slowly,ran thus:--
"You have always made me happy; I like to hear you speak; I like tosee you; I like to be near you; I believe you are very good, and verysuperior; I know you are stern to those who are careless and idle, butyou are kind,
very kind to the attentive and industrious, even if theyare not clever. Master, I should be GLAD to live with you always;"and she made a sort of movement, as if she would have clung to me, butrestraining herself she only added with earnest emphasis--"Master, Iconsent to pass my life with you."
"Very well, Frances."
I drew her a little nearer to my heart; I took a first kiss from herlips, thereby sealing the compact, now framed between us; afterwards sheand I were silent, nor was our silence brief. Frances' thoughts, duringthis interval, I know not, nor did I attempt to guess them; I was notoccupied in searching her countenance, nor in otherwise troubling hercomposure. The peace I felt, I wished her to feel; my arm, it is true,still detained her; but with a restraint that was gentle enough, so longas no opposition tightened it. My gaze was on the red fire; my heart wasmeasuring its own content; it sounded and sounded, and found the depthfathomless.
"Monsieur," at last said my quiet companion, as stirless in herhappiness as a mouse in its terror. Even now in speaking she scarcelylifted her head.
"Well, Frances?" I like unexaggerated intercourse; it is not my way tooverpower with amorous epithets, any more than to worry with selfishlyimportunate caresses.
"Monsieur est raisonnable, n'est-ce pas?"
"Yes; especially when I am requested to be so in English: but why doyou ask me? You see nothing vehement or obtrusive in my manner; am I nottranquil enough?"
"Ce n'est pas cela--" began Frances.
"English!" I reminded her.
"Well, monsieur, I wished merely to say, that I should like, of course,to retain my employment of teaching. You will teach still, I suppose,monsieur?"
"Oh, yes! It is all I have to depend on."
"Bon!--I mean good. Thus we shall have both the same profession. I likethat; and my efforts to get on will be as unrestrained as yours--willthey not, monsieur?"
"You are laying plans to be independent of me," said I.
"Yes, monsieur; I must be no incumbrance to you--no burden in any way."
"But, Frances, I have not yet told you what my prospects are. I haveleft M. Pelet's; and after nearly a month's seeking, I have got anotherplace, with a salary of three thousand francs a year, which I can easilydouble by a little additional exertion. Thus you see it would be uselessfor you to fag yourself by going out to give lessons; on six thousandfrancs you and I can live, and live well."
Frances seemed to consider. There is something flattering to man'sstrength, something consonant to his honourable pride, in the idea ofbecoming the providence of what he loves--feeding and clothing it, asGod does the lilies of the field. So, to decide her resolution, I wenton:--
"Life has been painful and laborious enough to you so far, Frances; yourequire complete rest; your twelve hundred francs would not form a veryimportant addition to our income, and what sacrifice of comfort to earnit! Relinquish your labours: you must be weary, and let me have thehappiness of giving you rest."
I am not sure whether Frances had accorded due attention to my harangue;instead of answering me with her usual respectful promptitude, she onlysighed and said,--
"How rich you are, monsieur!" and then she stirred uneasy in myarms. "Three thousand francs!" she murmured, "While I get only twelvehundred!" She went on faster. "However, it must be so for the present;and, monsieur, were you not saying something about my giving up myplace? Oh no! I shall hold it fast;" and her little fingers emphaticallytightened on mine.
"Think of my marrying you to be kept by you, monsieur! I could not doit; and how dull my days would be! You would be away teaching in close,noisy school-rooms, from morning till evening, and I should be lingeringat home, unemployed and solitary; I should get depressed and sullen, andyou would soon tire of me."
"Frances, you could read and study--two things you like so well."
"Monsieur, I could not; I like a contemplative life, but I like anactive life better; I must act in some way, and act with you. I havetaken notice, monsieur, that people who are only in each other's companyfor amusement, never really like each other so well, or esteem eachother so highly, as those who work together, and perhaps suffertogether."
"You speak God's truth," said I at last, "and you shall have your ownway, for it is the best way. Now, as a reward for such ready consent,give me a voluntary kiss."
After some hesitation, natural to a novice in the art of kissing, shebrought her lips into very shy and gentle contact with my forehead; Itook the small gift as a loan, and repaid it promptly, and with generousinterest.
I know not whether Frances was really much altered since the timeI first saw her; but, as I looked at her now, I felt that she wassingularly changed for me; the sad eye, the pale cheek, the dejectedand joyless countenance I remembered as her early attributes, were quitegone, and now I saw a face dressed in graces; smile, dimple, androsy tint rounded its contours and brightened its hues. I had beenaccustomed to nurse a flattering idea that my strong attachment to herproved some particular perspicacity in my nature; she was not handsome,she was not rich, she was not even accomplished, yet was she my life'streasure; I must then be a man of peculiar discernment. To-night my eyesopened on the mistake I had made; I began to suspect that it was only mytastes which were unique, not my power of discovering and appreciatingthe superiority of moral worth over physical charms. For me Franceshad physical charms: in her there was no deformity to get over; none ofthose prominent defects of eyes, teeth, complexion, shape, which hold atbay the admiration of the boldest male champions of intellect (forwomen can love a downright ugly man if he be but talented); had she beeneither "edentee, myope, rugueuse, ou bossue," my feelings towardsher might still have been kindly, but they could never have beenimpassioned; I had affection for the poor little misshapen Sylvie, butfor her I could never have had love. It is true Frances' mental pointshad been the first to interest me, and they still retained the strongesthold on my preference; but I liked the graces of her person too. Iderived a pleasure, purely material, from contemplating the clearnessof her brown eyes, the fairness of her fine skin, the purity of herwell-set teeth, the proportion of her delicate form; and that pleasureI could ill have dispensed with. It appeared, then, that I too was asensualist, in my temperate and fastidious way.
Now, reader, during the last two pages I have been giving you honeyfresh from flowers, but you must not live entirely on food so luscious;taste then a little gall--just a drop, by way of change.
At a somewhat late hour I returned to my lodgings: having temporarilyforgotten that man had any such coarse cares as those of eating anddrinking, I went to bed fasting. I had been excited and in action allday, and had tasted no food since eight that morning; besides, for afortnight past, I had known no rest either of body or mind; the last fewhours had been a sweet delirium, it would not subside now, and till longafter midnight, broke with troubled ecstacy the rest I so much needed.At last I dozed, but not for long; it was yet quite dark when I awoke,and my waking was like that of Job when a spirit passed before his face,and like him, "the hair of my flesh stood up." I might continue theparallel, for in truth, though I saw nothing, yet "a thing was secretlybrought unto me, and mine ear received a little thereof; there wassilence, and I heard a voice," saying--"In the midst of life we are indeath."
That sound, and the sensation of chill anguish accompanying it, manywould have regarded as supernatural; but I recognized it at once as theeffect of reaction. Man is ever clogged with his mortality, and it wasmy mortal nature which now faltered and plained; my nerves, which jarredand gave a false sound, because the soul, of late rushing headlong to anaim, had overstrained the body's comparative weakness. A horror of greatdarkness fell upon me; I felt my chamber invaded by one I had knownformerly, but had thought for ever departed. I was temporarily a prey tohypochondria.
She had been my acquaintance, nay, my guest, once before in boyhood; Ihad entertained her at bed and board for a year; for that space of timeI had her to myself in secret; she lay with me, she ate with me, shewalked out with me, showing me nooks
in woods, hollows in hills, wherewe could sit together, and where she could drop her drear veil over me,and so hide sky and sun, grass and green tree; taking me entirely to herdeath-cold bosom, and holding me with arms of bone. What tales she wouldtell me at such hours! What songs she would recite in my ears! How shewould discourse to me of her own country--the grave--and again and againpromise to conduct me there ere long; and, drawing me to the very brinkof a black, sullen river, show me, on the other side, shores unequalwith mound, monument, and tablet, standing up in a glimmer more hoarythan moonlight. "Necropolis!" she would whisper, pointing to the palepiles, and add, "It contains a mansion prepared for you."
But my boyhood was lonely, parentless; uncheered by brother or sister;and there was no marvel that, just as I rose to youth, a sorceress,finding me lost in vague mental wanderings, with many affections and fewobjects, glowing aspirations and gloomy prospects, strong desires andslender hopes, should lift up her illusive lamp to me in the distance,and lure me to her vaulted home of horrors. No wonder her spellsTHEN had power; but NOW, when my course was widening, my prospectbrightening; when my affections had found a rest; when my desires,folding wings, weary with long flight, had just alighted on the very lapof fruition, and nestled there warm, content, under the caress of a softhand--why did hypochondria accost me now?
I repulsed her as one would a dreaded and ghastly concubine coming toembitter a husband's heart toward his young bride; in vain; she kept hersway over me for that night and the next day, and eight succeeding days.Afterwards, my spirits began slowly to recover their tone; my appetitereturned, and in a fortnight I was well. I had gone about as usual allthe time, and had said nothing to anybody of what I felt; but I was gladwhen the evil spirit departed from me, and I could again seek Frances,and sit at her side, freed from the dreadful tyranny of my demon.
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