CHAPTER VII.
VILLETTE.
I awoke next morning with courage revived and spirits refreshed:physical debility no longer enervated my judgment; my mind felt promptand clear.
Just as I finished dressing, a tap came to the door: I said, "Come in,"expecting the chambermaid, whereas a rough man walked in and said,--
"Gif me your keys, Meess."
"Why?" I asked.
"Gif!" said he impatiently; and as he half-snatched them from my hand,he added, "All right! haf your tronc soon."
Fortunately it did turn out all right: he was from the custom-house.Where to go to get some breakfast I could not tell; but I proceeded,not without hesitation, to descend.
I now observed, what I had not noticed in my extreme weariness lastnight, viz. that this inn was, in fact, a large hotel; and as I slowlydescended the broad staircase, halting on each step (for I was inwonderfully little haste to get down), I gazed at the high ceilingabove me, at the painted walls around, at the wide windows which filledthe house with light, at the veined marble I trod (for the steps wereall of marble, though uncarpeted and not very clean), and contrastingall this with the dimensions of the closet assigned to me as a chamber,with the extreme modesty of its appointments, I fell into aphilosophizing mood.
Much I marvelled at the sagacity evinced by waiters and chamber-maidsin proportioning the accommodation to the guest. How could inn-servantsand ship-stewardesses everywhere tell at a glance that I, for instance,was an individual of no social significance, and little burdened bycash? They _did_ know it evidently: I saw quite well that they all, ina moment's calculation, estimated me at about the same fractionalvalue. The fact seemed to me curious and pregnant: I would not disguisefrom myself what it indicated, yet managed to keep up my spirits prettywell under its pressure.
Having at last landed in a great hall, full of skylight glare, I mademy way somehow to what proved to be the coffee-room. It cannot bedenied that on entering this room I trembled somewhat; felt uncertain,solitary, wretched; wished to Heaven I knew whether I was doing rightor wrong; felt convinced that it was the last, but could not helpmyself. Acting in the spirit and with the calm of a fatalist, I satdown at a small table, to which a waiter presently brought me somebreakfast; and I partook of that meal in a frame of mind not greatlycalculated to favour digestion. There were many other peoplebreakfasting at other tables in the room; I should have felt rathermore happy if amongst them all I could have seen any women; however,there was not one--all present were men. But nobody seemed to think Iwas doing anything strange; one or two gentlemen glanced at meoccasionally, but none stared obtrusively: I suppose if there wasanything eccentric in the business, they accounted for it by this word"Anglaise!"
Breakfast over, I must again move--in what direction? "Go to Villette,"said an inward voice; prompted doubtless by the recollection of thisslight sentence uttered carelessly and at random by Miss Fanshawe, asshe bid me good-by: "I wish you would come to Madame Beck's; she hassome marmots whom you might look after; she wants an Englishgouvernante, or was wanting one two months ago."
Who Madame Beck was, where she lived, I knew not; I had asked, but thequestion passed unheard: Miss Fanshawe, hurried away by her friends,left it unanswered. I presumed Villette to be her residence--toVillette I would go. The distance was forty miles. I knew I wascatching at straws; but in the wide and weltering deep where I foundmyself, I would have caught at cobwebs. Having inquired about the meansof travelling to Villette, and secured a seat in the diligence, Ideparted on the strength of this outline--this shadow of a project.Before you pronounce on the rashness of the proceeding, reader, lookback to the point whence I started; consider the desert I had left,note how little I perilled: mine was the game where the player cannotlose and may win.
Of an artistic temperament, I deny that I am; yet I must possesssomething of the artist's faculty of making the most of presentpleasure: that is to say, when it is of the kind to my taste. I enjoyedthat day, though we travelled slowly, though it was cold, though itrained. Somewhat bare, flat, and treeless was the route along which ourjourney lay; and slimy canals crept, like half-torpid green snakes,beside the road; and formal pollard willows edged level fields, tilledlike kitchen-garden beds. The sky, too, was monotonously gray; theatmosphere was stagnant and humid; yet amidst all these deadeninginfluences, my fancy budded fresh and my heart basked in sunshine.These feelings, however, were well kept in check by the secret butceaseless consciousness of anxiety lying in wait on enjoyment, like atiger crouched in a jungle. The breathing of that beast of prey was inmy ear always; his fierce heart panted close against mine; he neverstirred in his lair but I felt him: I knew he waited only for sun-downto bound ravenous from his ambush.
I had hoped we might reach Villette ere night set in, and that thus Imight escape the deeper embarrassment which obscurity seems to throwround a first arrival at an unknown bourne; but, what with our slowprogress and long stoppages--what with a thick fog and small, denserain--darkness, that might almost be felt, had settled on the city bythe time we gained its suburbs.
I know we passed through a gate where soldiers were stationed--so muchI could see by lamplight; then, having left behind us the miryChaussee, we rattled over a pavement of strangely rough and flintysurface. At a bureau, the diligence stopped, and the passengersalighted. My first business was to get my trunk; a small matter enough,but important to me. Understanding that it was best not to beimportunate or over-eager about luggage, but to wait and watch quietlythe delivery of other boxes till I saw my own, and then promptly claimand secure it, I stood apart; my eye fixed on that part of the vehiclein which I had seen my little portmanteau safely stowed, and upon whichpiles of additional bags and boxes were now heaped. One by one, I sawthese removed, lowered, and seized on.
I was sure mine ought to be by this time visible: it was not. I hadtied on the direction-card with a piece of green ribbon, that I mightknow it at a glance: not a fringe or fragment of green was perceptible.Every package was removed; every tin-case and brown-paper parcel; theoilcloth cover was lifted; I saw with distinct vision that not anumbrella, cloak, cane, hat-box or band-box remained.
And my portmanteau, with my few clothes and little pocket-bookenclasping the remnant of my fifteen pounds, where were they?
I ask this question now, but I could not ask it then. I could saynothing whatever; not possessing a phrase of _speaking_ French: and itwas French, and French only, the whole world seemed now gabbling aroundme. _What_ should I do? Approaching the conductor, I just laid my handon his arm, pointed to a trunk, thence to the diligence-roof, andtried to express a question with my eyes. He misunderstood me, seizedthe trunk indicated, and was about to hoist it on the vehicle.
"Let that alone--will you?" said a voice in good English; then, incorrection, "Qu'est-ce que vous faites donc? Cette malle est a moi."
But I had heard the Fatherland accents; they rejoiced my heart; Iturned: "Sir," said I, appealing to the stranger, without, in mydistress, noticing what he was like, "I cannot speak French. May Ientreat you to ask this man what he has done with my trunk?"
Without discriminating, for the moment, what sort of face it was towhich my eyes were raised and on which they were fixed, I felt in itsexpression half-surprise at my appeal and half-doubt of the wisdom ofinterference.
"_Do_ ask him; I would do as much for you," said I.
I don't know whether he smiled, but he said in a gentlemanly tone--thatis to say, a tone not hard nor terrifying,--"What sort of trunk wasyours?"
I described it, including in my description the green ribbon. Andforthwith he took the conductor under hand, and I felt, through all thestorm of French which followed, that he raked him fore and aft.Presently he returned to me.
"The fellow avers he was overloaded, and confesses that he removed yourtrunk after you saw it put on, and has left it behind at Boue-Marinewith other parcels; he has promised, however, to forward it to-morrow;the day after, therefore, you will find it safe at this bureau."
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"Thank you," said I: but my heart sank.
Meantime what should I do? Perhaps this English gentleman saw thefailure of courage in my face; he inquired kindly, "Have you anyfriends in this city?"
"No, and I don't know where to go."
There was a little pause, in the course of which, as he turned morefully to the light of a lamp above him, I saw that he was a young,distinguished, and handsome man; he might be a lord, for anything Iknew: nature had made him good enough for a prince, I thought. His facewas very pleasant; he looked high but not arrogant, manly but notoverbearing. I was turning away, in the deep consciousness of allabsence of claim to look for further help from such a one as he.
"Was all your money in your trunk?" he asked, stopping me.
How thankful was I to be able to answer with truth--"No. I have enoughin my purse" (for I had near twenty francs) "to keep me at a quiet inntill the day after to-morrow; but I am quite a stranger in Villette,and don't know the streets and the inns."
"I can give you the address of such an inn as you want," said he; "andit is not far off: with my direction you will easily find it."
He tore a leaf from his pocket-book, wrote a few words and gave it tome. I _did_ think him kind; and as to distrusting him, or his advice,or his address, I should almost as soon have thought of distrusting theBible. There was goodness in his countenance, and honour in his brighteyes.
"Your shortest way will be to follow the Boulevard and cross the park,"he continued; "but it is too late and too dark for a woman to gothrough the park alone; I will step with you thus far."
He moved on, and I followed him, through the darkness and the smallsoaking rain. The Boulevard was all deserted, its path miry, the waterdripping from its trees; the park was black as midnight. In the doublegloom of trees and fog, I could not see my guide; I could only followhis tread. Not the least fear had I: I believe I would have followedthat frank tread, through continual night, to the world's end.
"Now," said he, when the park was traversed, "you will go along thisbroad street till you come to steps; two lamps will show you where theyare: these steps you will descend: a narrower street lies below;following that, at the bottom you will find your inn. They speakEnglish there, so your difficulties are now pretty well over.Good-night."
"Good-night, sir," said I: "accept my sincerest thanks." And we parted.
The remembrance of his countenance, which I am sure wore a light notunbenignant to the friendless--the sound in my ear of his voice, whichspoke a nature chivalric to the needy and feeble, as well as theyouthful and fair--were a sort of cordial to me long after. He was atrue young English gentleman.
On I went, hurrying fast through a magnificent street and square, withthe grandest houses round, and amidst them the huge outline of morethan one overbearing pile; which might be palace or church--I could nottell. Just as I passed a portico, two mustachioed men came suddenlyfrom behind the pillars; they were smoking cigars: their dress impliedpretensions to the rank of gentlemen, but, poor things! they were veryplebeian in soul. They spoke with insolence, and, fast as I walked,they kept pace with me a long way. At last I met a sort of patrol, andmy dreaded hunters were turned from the pursuit; but they had driven mebeyond my reckoning: when I could collect my faculties, I no longerknew where I was; the staircase I must long since have passed. Puzzled,out of breath, all my pulses throbbing in inevitable agitation, I knewnot where to turn. It was terrible to think of again encountering thosebearded, sneering simpletons; yet the ground must be retraced, and thesteps sought out.
I came at last to an old and worn flight, and, taking it for grantedthat this must be the one indicated, I descended them. The street intowhich they led was indeed narrow, but it contained no inn. On Iwandered. In a very quiet and comparatively clean and well-pavedstreet, I saw a light burning over the door of a rather large house,loftier by a story than those round it. _This_ might be the inn atlast. I hastened on: my knees now trembled under me: I was gettingquite exhausted.
No inn was this. A brass-plate embellished the great porte-cochere:"Pensionnat de Demoiselles" was the inscription; and beneath, a name,"Madame Beck."
I started. About a hundred thoughts volleyed through my mind in amoment. Yet I planned nothing, and considered nothing: I had not time.Providence said, "Stop here; this is _your_ inn." Fate took me in herstrong hand; mastered my will; directed my actions: I rang thedoor-bell.
While I waited, I would not reflect. I fixedly looked at thestreet-stones, where the door-lamp shone, and counted them and notedtheir shapes, and the glitter of wet on their angles. I rang again.They opened at last. A bonne in a smart cap stood before me.
"May I see Madame Beck?" I inquired.
I believe if I had spoken French she would not have admitted me; but,as I spoke English, she concluded I was a foreign teacher come onbusiness connected with the pensionnat, and, even at that late hour,she let me in, without a word of reluctance, or a moment of hesitation.
The next moment I sat in a cold, glittering salon, with porcelainstove, unlit, and gilded ornaments, and polished floor. A pendule onthe mantel-piece struck nine o'clock.
A quarter of an hour passed. How fast beat every pulse in my frame! HowI turned cold and hot by turns! I sat with my eyes fixed on the door--agreat white folding-door, with gilt mouldings: I watched to see a leafmove and open. All had been quiet: not a mouse had stirred; the whitedoors were closed and motionless.
"You ayre Engliss?" said a voice at my elbow. I almost bounded, sounexpected was the sound; so certain had I been of solitude.
No ghost stood beside me, nor anything of spectral aspect; merely amotherly, dumpy little woman, in a large shawl, a wrapping-gown, and aclean, trim nightcap.
I said I was English, and immediately, without further prelude, we fellto a most remarkable conversation. Madame Beck (for Madame Beck itwas--she had entered by a little door behind me, and, being shod withthe shoes of silence, I had heard neither her entrance norapproach)--Madame Beck had exhausted her command of insular speech whenshe said, "You ayre Engliss," and she now proceeded to work awayvolubly in her own tongue. I answered in mine. She partly understoodme, but as I did not at all understand her--though we made together anawful clamour (anything like Madame's gift of utterance I had nothitherto heard or imagined)--we achieved little progress. She rang, erelong, for aid; which arrived in the shape of a "maitresse," who hadbeen partly educated in an Irish convent, and was esteemed a perfectadept in the English language. A bluff little personage this maitressewas--Labassecourienne from top to toe: and how she did slaughter thespeech of Albion! However, I told her a plain tale, which shetranslated. I told her how I had left my own country, intent onextending my knowledge, and gaining my bread; how I was ready to turnmy hand to any useful thing, provided it was not wrong or degrading;how I would be a child's-nurse, or a lady's-maid, and would not refuseeven housework adapted to my strength. Madame heard this; and,questioning her countenance, I almost thought the tale won her ear:
"Il n'y a que les Anglaises pour ces sortes d'entreprises," said she:"sont-elles donc intrepides ces femmes la!"
She asked my name, my age; she sat and looked at me--not pityingly, notwith interest: never a gleam of sympathy, or a shade of compassion,crossed her countenance during the interview. I felt she was not one tobe led an inch by her feelings: grave and considerate, she gazed,consulting her judgment and studying my narrative. A bell rang.
"Voila pour la priere du soir!" said she, and rose. Through herinterpreter, she desired me to depart now, and come back on the morrow;but this did not suit me: I could not bear to return to the perils ofdarkness and the street. With energy, yet with a collected andcontrolled manner, I said, addressing herself personally, and not themaitresse: "Be assured, madame, that by instantly securing my services,your interests will be served and not injured: you will find me one whowill wish to give, in her labour, a full equivalent for her wages; andif you hire me, it will be better that I should stay here this night:having no acquaintance in V
illette, and not possessing the language ofthe country, how can I secure a lodging?"
"It is true," said she; "but at least you can give a reference?"
"None."
She inquired after my luggage: I told her when it would arrive. Shemused. At that moment a man's step was heard in the vestibule, hastilyproceeding to the outer door. (I shall go on with this part of my taleas if I had understood all that passed; for though it was then scarceintelligible to me, I heard it translated afterwards).
"Who goes out now?" demanded Madame Beck, listening to the tread.
"M. Paul," replied the teacher. "He came this evening to give a readingto the first class."
"The very man I should at this moment most wish to see. Call him."
The teacher ran to the salon door. M. Paul was summoned. He entered: asmall, dark and spare man, in spectacles.
"Mon cousin," began Madame, "I want your opinion. We know your skill inphysiognomy; use it now. Read that countenance."
The little man fixed on me his spectacles: A resolute compression ofthe lips, and gathering of the brow, seemed to say that he meant to seethrough me, and that a veil would be no veil for him.
"I read it," he pronounced.
"Et qu'en dites vous?"
"Mais--bien des choses," was the oracular answer.
"Bad or good?"
"Of each kind, without doubt," pursued the diviner.
"May one trust her word?"
"Are you negotiating a matter of importance?"
"She wishes me to engage her as bonne or gouvernante; tells a tale fullof integrity, but gives no reference."
"She is a stranger?"
"An Englishwoman, as one may see."
"She speaks French?"
"Not a word."
"She understands it?"
"No."
"One may then speak plainly in her presence?"
"Doubtless."
He gazed steadily. "Do you need her services?"
"I could do with them. You know I am disgusted with Madame Svini."
Still he scrutinized. The judgment, when it at last came, was asindefinite as what had gone before it.
"Engage her. If good predominates in that nature, the action will bringits own reward; if evil--eh bien! ma cousine, ce sera toujours unebonne oeuvre." And with a bow and a "bon soir," this vague arbiter ofmy destiny vanished.
And Madame did engage me that very night--by God's blessing I wasspared the necessity of passing forth again into the lonesome, dreary,hostile street.