by Mary Shelley
CHAPTER VI.
It was late in the autumn when the travellers arrived at Odessa, whence they were to embark for Constantinople; in the neighbourhood of which city they intended to pass the winter.
It must not be supposed that Falkner journeyed in the luxurious and troublesome style of a Milord Anglais. A calèche was his only carriage. He had no attendant for himself, and was often obliged to change the woman hired for the service of Elizabeth. The Parisian, with whom they commenced their journey, was reduced to despair by the time they arrived at Hamburgh. The German who replaced her, was dismissed at Stockholm. The Swede next hired, became homesick at Moscow, and they arrived at Odessa without any servant. Falkner scarcely knew what to do, being quite tired of the exactions, caprices, and repinings of each expatriated menial — yet it was necessary that Elizabeth should have a female attendant; and, on his arrival at Odessa, he immediately set on foot various inquiries to procure one. Several presented themselves, who proved wholly unfit; and Falkner was made angry by their extortionate demands, and total incapacity.
At length a person was ushered into him, who looked, who was, English. She was below the middle stature — spare, and upright in figure, with a composed countenance, and an appearance of tidiness and quiet that was quite novel, and by no means unpleasing, contrasted with the animated gestures, loud voices, and exaggerated protestations of the foreigners.
“I hear, sir,” she began, “that you are inquiring for an attendant to wait on Miss Falkner, during your journey to Vienna: I should be very glad if you would accept my services.”
“Are you a lady’s maid, in any English family here?” asked Falkner.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” continued the little woman, primly, “I am a governess. I lived many years with a Russian lady, at St. Petersburgh; she brought me here, and is gone and left me.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed Falkner; “that seems a very unjust proceeding — how did it happen?”
“On our arrival at Odessa, sir, the lady, who had no such notion before, insisted on converting me to her church; and because I refused, she used me, I may say, very ill; and, hiring a Greek girl, left me here quite destitute.”
“It seems that you have the spirit of a martyr,” observed Falkner, smiling.
“I do not pretend to that,” she replied; “but I was born and brought up a Protestant — and I did not like to pretend to believe what I could not.”
Falkner was pleased with the answer, and looked more scrutinizingly on the applicant. She was not ugly — but slightly pitted with the small-pox — and with insignificant features; her mouth looked obstinate — and her light grey eyes, though very quick and intelligent, yet from their smallness, and the lids and brows being injured by the traces of the malady, did not redeem her countenance from an entirely common-place appearance, which might not disgust, but could not attract.
“Do you understand,” asked Falkner, “that I need a servant, and not a governess. I have no other attendant for my daughter; and you must not be above waiting on her as she has been accustomed.”
“I can make no objection,” she replied; “my first wish is to get away from this place, free from expense. At Vienna I can find a situation such as I have been accustomed to — now I shall be very glad to reach Germany safely in any creditable capacity — and I shall be grateful to you, sir, if you do not consider my being destitute against me, but be willing to help a countrywoman in distress.”
There was a simplicity, though a hardness in her manner, and an entire want of pretension or affectation that pleased Falkner. He inquired concerning her abilities as a governess, and began to feel that in that capacity also, she might be useful to Elizabeth. He had been accustomed, on all convenient occasions, to hire a profusion of masters; but this desultory sort of teaching did not inculcate those habits of industry and daily application which it is the best aim of education to promote. At the same time he much feared an improper female companion for the child, and had suffered a good deal of anxiety on account of the many changes he had been forced to make. He observed the lady before him narrowly — there was nothing prepossessing, but all seemed plain and unassuming; though formal, she was direct — her words few — her voice quiet and low, without being soft or constrained. He asked her what remuneration she would expect — she said that her present aim was to get to Vienna free of expense, and she did not expect much beyond — she had been accustomed to receive eighty pounds a year as governess, but as she was to serve Miss Falkner as maid, she would only ask twenty.
“But as I wish you to act as both,” said Falkner, “we must join the two sums, and I will pay you a hundred.”
A ray of pleasure actually for a second illuminated the little woman’s face; while with an unaltered tone of voice she replied: “I shall be very thankful, sir, if you think proper.”
“You must, however, understand our conditions,” said Falkner. “I talk of Vienna — but I travel for my pleasure, with no fixed bourn or time. I am not going direct to Germany — I spend the winter at Constantinople. It may be that I shall linger in those parts — it may be that from Greece I shall cross to Italy. You must not insist on my taking you to Vienna: it is enough for your purpose, I suppose, if you reach a civilized part of the world, and are comfortably situated, till you find some other family going whither you desire.”
She was acquiescent. She insisted, however, with much formality, that he should make inquiries concerning her from several respectable families at Odessa; otherwise, she said, he could not fitly recommend her to any other situation. Falkner complied. Every one spoke of her in high terms, lauding her integrity and kindness of heart. “Miss Jervis is the best creature in the world,” said the wife of the French Consul; “only she is English to the core — so precise, and formal, and silent, and quiet, and cold. Nothing can persuade her to do what she does not think right. After being so shamefully deserted, she might have lived in my house, or four or five others, doing nothing; but she chose to have pupils, and to earn money by teaching. This might have been merely for the sake of paying for her journey; but, besides this, we discovered that she supports some poor relation in England, and, while cast away here, she still remembered and sent remittances to one whom she thought in want. She has a heart of gold, though it does not shine.”
Pleased with this testimony, Falkner thought himself fortunate in securing her services, at the same time that he feared he should find her presence a considerable encumbrance. A servant was a cipher, but a governess must receive attention — she was an equal, who would perpetually form a third with him and Elizabeth. His reserve, his love of independence, and his regard for the feelings of another, would be perpetually at war. To be obliged to talk, when he wished to be silent; to listen to, and answer frivolous remarks; to know that at all times a stranger was there — all this seemed to him a gigantic evil; but it vanished after a few days’ trial of their new companion’s qualities. Whatever Miss Jervis’s latent virtues might be, she thought that the chief among them was to be
Content to dwell in decencies for ever —
her ambition was to be unimpeachably correct in conduct. It a little jarred with her notions to be in the house of a single gentleman — but her desolate situation at Odessa allowed her no choice; and she tried to counterbalance the evil by seeing as little of her employer as possible. Brought up from childhood to her present occupation, she was moulded to its very form; and her thoughts never strayed beyond her theory of a good governess. Her methods were all straight forward — pointing steadily to one undisguised aim — no freak of imagination ever led her out of one hard, defined, unerratic line. She had no pretension, even in the innermost recess of her heart, beyond her station. To be diligent and conscientious in her task of teaching, was the sole virtue to which she pretended; and, possessed of much good sense, great integrity, and untiring industry, she succeeded beyond what could have been expected from one apparently so insignificant and taciturn.
She was, at the begin
ning, limited very narrowly in the exercise of any authority over her pupil. She was obliged, therefore, to exert herself in winning influence, instead of controlling by reprimands. She took great pains to excite Elizabeth to learn; and once having gained her consent to apply to any particular study, she kept her to it with patience and perseverance; and the very zeal and diligence she displayed in teaching, made Elizabeth ashamed to repay her with an inattention that looked like ingratitude. Soon, also, curiosity, and a love of knowledge, developed itself. Elizabeth’s mind was of that high order which soon found something congenial in study. The acquirement of new ideas — the sense of order, and afterwards of power — awoke a desire for improvement. Falkner was a man of no common intellect; but his education had been desultory; and he had never lived with the learned and well-informed. His mind was strong in its own elements, but these lay scattered, and somewhat chaotic. His observation was keen, and his imagination fervid; but it was inborn, uncultivated, and unenriched by any vast stores of reading. He was the very opposite of a pedant. Miss Jervis was much of the latter; but the two served to form Elizabeth to something better than either. She learned from Falkner the uses of learning: from Miss Jervis she acquired the thoughts and experience of other men. Like all young and ardent minds, which are capable of enthusiasm, she found infinite delight in the pages of ancient history: she read biography, and speedily found models for herself, whereby she measured her own thoughts and conduct, rectifying her defects, and aiming at that honour and generosity which made her heart beat, and cheeks glow, when narrated of others.
There was another very prominent distinction between Falkner and the governess: it made a part of the system of the latter never to praise. All that she tasked her pupil to do, was a duty — when not done it was a deplorable fault — when executed, the duty was fulfilled, and she need not reproach herself, — that was all. Falkner, on the contrary, fond and eager, soon looked upon her as a prodigy; and though reserved, as far as his own emotions were concerned, he made no secret of his almost adoration of Elizabeth. His praise was enthusiastic — it brought tears into her eyes — and yet, strange to say, it is doubtful whether she ever strived so eagerly, or felt so satisfied with it, as for the parsimonious expressions of bare satisfaction from Miss Jervis. They excited two distinct sensations. She loved her protector the more for his fervid approbation — it was the crown of all his gifts — she wept sometimes only to remember his ardent expressions of approbation; but Miss Jervis inspired self-diffidence, and with it a stronger desire for improvement. Thus the sensibility of her nature was cultivated, while her conceit was checked; to feel that to be meritorious with Miss Jervis was impossible, — not to be faulty was an ambitious aim. She easily discovered that affection rather than discernment dictated the approbation of Falkner; and loved him better, but did not prize herself the more.
He, indeed, was transported by the progress she made. Like most self-educated, or uneducated men, he had a prodigious respect for learning, and was easily deceived into thinking much of what was little: he felt elated when he found Elizabeth eager to recite the wonders recorded in history, and to delineate the characters of ancient heroes — narrating their achievements, and quoting their sayings. His imagination and keen spirit of observation were, at the same time, of the utmost use. He analyzed with discrimination the actions of her favourites — brought the experience of a mind full of passion and reflection to comment upon every subject, and taught her to refer each maxim and boasted virtue to her own sentiments and situation; thus to form a store of principle by which to direct her future life.
Nor were these more masculine studies the only lessons of Miss Jervis — needlework entered into her plan of education, as well as the careful inculcation of habits of neatness and order; and thus Elizabeth escaped for ever the danger she had hitherto run of wanting those feminine qualities without which every woman must be unhappy — and, to a certain degree, unsexed. The governess, meanwhile, was the most unobtrusive of human beings. She never showed any propensity to incommode her employer by making him feel her presence. Seated in a corner of the carriage, with a book in her hand, she adopted the ghostly rule of never speaking, except when spoken to. When stopping at inns, or when, on arriving at Constantinople, they became stationary, she was even less obtrusive. At first Falkner had deemed it proper to ask her to accompany them in their excursions and drives; but she was so alive to the impropriety of being seen with a gentleman, with only a young child for their companion, that she always preferred staying at home. After ranging a beautiful landscape, after enjoying the breezes of heaven and the sight of the finest views in the world, when Elizabeth returned, she always found her governess sitting in the same place, away from the window, (because, when in London, she had been told that it was not proper to look out of window,) even though the sublimest objects of nature were spread for her view; and employed on needlework, or the study of some language that might hereafter serve to raise her in the class of governesses. She had travelled over half the habitable globe, and part of the uninhabited — but she had never diverged from the prejudices and habits of home — no gleam of imagination shed its golden hue over her drab-coloured mind: whatever of sensibility existed to soften or dulcify, she sedulously hid; yet such was her serenity, her justice, her trustworthiness, and total absence of pretension, that it was impossible not to esteem, and almost to like her.
The trio, thus diverse in disposition, yet, by the force of a secret harmony, never fell into discord. Miss Jervis was valued, and by Elizabeth obeyed in all that concerned her vocation — she therefore was satisfied. Falkner felt her use, and gladly marked the good effects of application and knowledge on the character of his beloved ward — it was the moulding of a block of Parian marble into a Muse; all corners — all superfluous surface — all roughness departed — the intelligent, noble brow — the serious, inquiring eye — the mouth — seat of sensibility — all these were developed with new beauty, as animated by the aspiring soul within. Her gentleness and sweetness increased with the cultivation of her mind. To be wise and good was her ambition — partly to please her beloved father — partly because her young mind perceived the uses and beauty of knowledge.
If any thing could have cured the rankling wounds of Falkner’s mind, it was the excellence of the young Elizabeth. Again and again he repeated to himself, that, brought up among the worldly and cold, her noblest qualities would either have been destroyed, or produced misery. In contributing to her happiness and goodness, he hoped to make some atonement for the past. There were many periods when remorse, and regret, and self-abhorrence held powerful sway over him: he was, indeed, during the larger portion of his time, in the fullest sense of the word — miserable. Yet there were gleams of sunshine he had never hoped to experience again — and he readily gave way to this relief; while he hoped that the worst of his pains were over.
In this idea he was egregiously mistaken. He was allowed to repose for a few years. But the cry of blood was yet unanswered — the evil he had committed unatoned; though they did not approach him, the consequences of his crime were full of venom and bitterness to others — and, unawares and unexpectedly, he was brought to view and feel the wretchedness of which he was the sole author.
CHAPTER VII.
Three more years passed thus over the head of the young Elizabeth; when, during the warm summer months, the wanderers established themselves for a season at Baden. They had hitherto lived in great seclusion — and Falkner continued to do so; but he was not sorry to find his adopted child noticed and courted by various noble ladies, who were charmed by the pure complexion — the golden hair, and spirited, though gentle, manners of the young English girl.
Elizabeth’s characteristic was an enthusiastic affectionateness — every little act of kindness that she received excited her gratitude: she felt as if she never could — though she would constantly endeavour — repay the vast debt she owed her benefactor. She loved to repass in her mind those sad days when, under the ca
re of the sordid Mrs. Baker, she ran every hazard of incurring the worst evils of poverty; ignorance, and blunted sensibility. She had preserved her little well-worn shoes, full of holes, and slipping from her feet, as a sort of record of her neglected situation. She remembered how her hours had been spent loitering on the beach — sometimes with her little book, from which her mother had taught her — oftener in constructing sand castles, decorated with pebbles and broken shells. She recollected how she had thus built an imitation of the church and church-yard, with its shady corner, and single stone, marking two graves: she remembered the vulgar, loud voice that called her from her employment, with, “Come, Missy, come to your dinner! The Lord help me! I wonder when any body else will give you a dinner.” She called to mind the boasts of Mrs. Baker’s children, contrasting their Sunday frock with hers — the smallest portion of cake given to her last, and with a taunt that made her little heart swell, and her throat feel choked, so that she could not eat it, but scattered it to the birds — on which she was beat for being wasteful; all this was contrasted with the vigilance, the tenderness, the respect of her protector. She brooded over these thoughts till he became sacred in her eyes; and, young as she was, her heart yearned and sickened for an occasion to demonstrate the deep and unutterable thankfulness that possessed her soul.
She was not aware of the services she rendered him in her turn. The very sight of her was the dearest — almost the only joy of his life. Devoured by disappointment, gloom, and remorse, he found no relief except in her artless prattle, or the consciousness of the good he did her. She perceived this, and was ever on the alert to watch his mood, and to try by every art to awaken complacent feelings. She did not know, it is true, the cause of his sufferings — the fatal memories that haunted him in the silence of night — and threw a dusky veil over the radiance of day. She did not see the fair, reproachful figure, that was often before him to startle and appal — she did not hear the shrieks that rung in his ears — nor behold her floating away, lifeless, on the turbid waves — who, but a little before, had stood in all the glow of life and beauty before him. All these agonizing images haunted silently his miserable soul, and Elizabeth could only see the shadow they cast over him, and strive to dissipate it. When she could perceive the dark hour passing off, chased away by her endeavours, she felt proud and happy. And when he told her that she had saved his life, and was his only tie to it — that she alone prevented his perishing miserably, or lingering in anguish and despair, her fond heart swelled with rapture; and what soul-felt vows she made to remain for ever beside him, and pay back to the last the incalculable debt she owed! If it be true that the most perfect love subsists between unequals — no more entire attachment ever existed, than that between this man of sorrows, and the happy innocent child. He, worn by passion, oppressed by a sense of guilt, his brow trenched by the struggles of many years — she, stepping pure and free into life, innocent as an angel — animated only by the most disinterested feelings. The link between them of mutual benefit and mutual interest had been cemented by time and habit — by each waking thought, and nightly dream. What is so often a slothful, unapparent sense of parental and filial duty, was with them a living, active spirit, for ever manifesting itself in some new form. It woke with them, went abroad with them — attuned the voice, and shone brightly in the eyes.