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CHAPTER XX - THE CONCERT
One morning, Mrs. Bretton, coming promptly into my room, desired me
to open my drawers and show her my dresses; which I did, without a
word.
"That will do," said she, when she had turned them over. "You must
have a new one."
She went out. She returned presently with a dressmaker. She had me
measured. "I mean," said she, "to follow my own taste, and to have my
own way in this little matter."
Two days after came home--a pink dress!
"That is not for me," I said, hurriedly, feeling that I would almost
as soon clothe myself in the costume of a Chinese lady of rank.
"We shall see whether it is for you or not," rejoined my godmother,
adding with her resistless decision: "Mark my words. You will wear it
this very evening."
I thought I should not; I thought no human force should avail to put
me into it. A pink dress! I knew it not. It knew not me. I had not
proved it.
My godmother went on to decree that I was to go with her and Graham to
a concert that same night: which concert, she explained, was a grand
affair to be held in the large salle, or hall, of the principal
musical society. The most advanced of the pupils of the Conservatoire
were to perform: it was to be followed by a lottery "au benefice des
pauvres;" and to crown all, the King, Queen, and Prince of Labassecour
were to be present. Graham, in sending tickets, had enjoined attention
to costume as a compliment due to royalty: he also recommended
punctual readiness by seven o'clock.
About six, I was ushered upstairs. Without any force at all, I found
myself led and influenced by another's will, unconsulted, unpersuaded,
quietly overruled. In short, the pink dress went on, softened by some
drapery of black lace. I was pronounced to be en grande tenue, and
requested to look in the glass. I did so with some fear and trembling;
with more fear and trembling, I turned away. Seven o'clock struck; Dr.
Bretton was come; my godmother and I went down. _She_ was clad in
brown velvet; as I walked in her shadow, how I envied her those folds
of grave, dark majesty! Graham stood in the drawing-room doorway.
"I _do_ hope he will not think I have been decking myself out to
draw attention," was my uneasy aspiration.
"Here, Lucy, are some flowers," said he, giving me a bouquet. He took
no further notice of my dress than was conveyed in a kind smile and
satisfied nod, which calmed at once my sense of shame and fear of
ridicule. For the rest; the dress was made with extreme simplicity,
guiltless of flounce or furbelow; it was but the light fabric and
bright tint which scared me, and since Graham found in it nothing
absurd, my own eye consented soon to become reconciled.
I suppose people who go every night to places of public amusement, can
hardly enter into the fresh gala feeling with which an opera or a
concert is enjoyed by those for whom it is a rarity: I am not sure
that I expected great pleasure from the concert, having but a very
vague notion of its nature, but I liked the drive there well. The snug
comfort of the close carriage on a cold though fine night, the
pleasure of setting out with companions so cheerful and friendly, the
sight of the stars glinting fitfully through the trees as we rolled
along the avenue; then the freer burst of the night-sky when we issued
forth to the open chaussee, the passage through the city gates, the
lights there burning, the guards there posted, the pretence of
inspection, to which we there submitted, and which amused us so much--
all these small matters had for me, in their novelty, a peculiarly
exhilarating charm. How much of it lay in the atmosphere of friendship
diffused about me, I know not: Dr. John and his mother were both in
their finest mood, contending animatedly with each other the whole
way, and as frankly kind to me as if I had been of their kin.
Our way lay through some of the best streets of Villette, streets
brightly lit, and far more lively now than at high noon. How brilliant
seemed the shops! How glad, gay, and abundant flowed the tide of life
along the broad pavement! While I looked, the thought of the Rue
Fossette came across me--of the walled-in garden and school-house, and
of the dark, vast "classes," where, as at this very hour, it was my
wont to wander all solitary, gazing at the stars through the high,
blindless windows, and listening to the distant voice of the reader in
the refectory, monotonously exercised upon the "lecture pieuse." Thus
must I soon again listen and wander; and this shadow of the future
stole with timely sobriety across the radiant present.
By this time we had got into a current of carriages all tending in one
direction, and soon the front of a great illuminated building blazed
before us. Of what I should see within this building, I had, as before
intimated, but an imperfect idea; for no place of public entertainment
had it ever been my lot to enter yet.
We alighted under a portico where there was a great bustle and a great
crowd, but I do not distinctly remember further details, until I found
myself mounting a majestic staircase wide and easy of ascent, deeply
and softly carpeted with crimson, leading up to great doors closed
solemnly, and whose panels were also crimson-clothed.
I hardly noticed by what magic these doors were made to roll back--Dr.
John managed these points; roll back they did, however, and within was
disclosed a hall--grand, wide, and high, whose sweeping circular
walls, and domed hollow ceiling, seemed to me all dead gold (thus with
nice art was it stained), relieved by cornicing, fluting, and
garlandry, either bright, like gold burnished, or snow-white, like
alabaster, or white and gold mingled in wreaths of gilded leaves and
spotless lilies: wherever drapery hung, wherever carpets were spread,
or cushions placed, the sole colour employed was deep crimson. Pendent
from the dome, flamed a mass that dazzled me--a mass, I thought, of
rock-crystal, sparkling with facets, streaming with drops, ablaze with
stars, and gorgeously tinged with dews of gems dissolved, or fragments
of rainbows shivered. It was only the chandelier, reader, but for me
it seemed the work of eastern genii: I almost looked to see if a huge,
dark, cloudy hand--that of the Slave of the Lamp--were not hovering in
the lustrous and perfumed atmosphere of the cupola, guarding its
wondrous treasure.
We moved on--I was not at all conscious whither--but at some turn we
suddenly encountered another party approaching from the opposite
direction. I just now see that group, as it flashed--upon me for one
moment. A handsome middle-aged lady in dark velvet; a gentleman who
might be her son--the best face, the finest figure, I thought, I had
ever seen; a third person in a pink dress and black lace mantle.
I noted them all--the third person as well as the other two--and for
the fraction of a moment believed them all strangers, thus receiving
an impartial impression of their appearance. But the impression was
hardly felt and not fixed, before the consciousness that I faced a
great mirror, filling a compartment between two pillars, dispelled it:
the party was our own party. Thus for the first, and perhaps only time
in my life, I enjoyed the "giftie" of seeing myself as others see me.
No need to dwell on the result. It brought a jar of discord, a pang of
regret; it was not flattering, yet, after all, I ought to be thankful;
it might have been worse.
At last, we were seated in places commanding a good general view of
that vast and dazzling, but warm and cheerful hall. Already it was
filled, and filled with a splendid assemblage. I do not know that the
women were very beautiful, but their dresses were so perfect; and
foreigners, even such as are ungraceful in domestic privacy, seem to
posses the art of appearing graceful in public: however blunt and
boisterous those every-day and home movements connected with peignoir
and papillotes, there is a slide, a bend, a carriage of the head and
arms, a mien of the mouth and eyes, kept nicely in reserve for gala
use--always brought out with the grande toilette, and duly put on with
the "parure."
Some fine forms there were here and there, models of a peculiar style
of beauty; a style, I think, never seen in England; a solid, firm-set,
sculptural style. These shapes have no angles: a caryatid in marble is
almost as flexible; a Phidian goddess is not more perfect in a certain
still and stately sort. They have such features as the Dutch painters
give to their madonnas: low-country classic features, regular but
round, straight but stolid; and for their depth of expressionless
calm, of passionless peace, a polar snow-field could alone offer a
type. Women of this order need no ornament, and they seldom wear any;
the smooth hair, closely braided, supplies a sufficient contrast to
the smoother cheek and brow; the dress cannot be too simple; the
rounded arm and perfect neck require neither bracelet nor chain.
With one of these beauties I once had the honour and rapture to be
perfectly acquainted: the inert force of the deep, settled love she
bore herself, was wonderful; it could only be surpassed by her proud
impotency to care for any other living thing. Of blood, her cool veins
conducted no flow; placid lymph filled and almost obstructed her
arteries.
Such a Juno as I have described sat full in our view--a sort of mark
for all eyes, and quite conscious that so she was, but proof to the
magnetic influence of gaze or glance: cold, rounded, blonde, and
beauteous as the white column, capitalled with gilding, which rose at
her side.
Observing that Dr. John's attention was much drawn towards her, I
entreated him in a low voice "for the love of heaven to shield well
his heart. You need not fall in love with _that_ lady," I said,
"because, I tell you beforehand, you might die at her feet, and she
would not love you again."
"Very well," said he, "and how do you know that the spectacle of her
grand insensibility might not with me be the strongest stimulus to
homage? The sting of desperation is, I think, a wonderful irritant to
my emotions: but" (shrugging his shoulders) "you know nothing about
these things; I'll address myself to my mother. Mamma, I'm in a
dangerous way."
"As if that interested me!" said Mrs. Bretton.
"Alas! the cruelty of my lot!" responded her son. "Never man had a
more unsentimental mother than mine: she never seems to think that
such a calamity can befall her as a daughter-in-law."
"If I don't, it is not for want of having that same calamity held over
my head: you have threatened me with it for the last ten years.
'Mamma, I am going to be married soon!' was the cry before you were
well out of jackets."
"But, mother, one of these days it will be realized. All of a sudden,
when you think you are most secure, I shall go forth like Jacob or
Esau, or any other patriarch, and take me a wife: perhaps of these
which are of the daughters of the land."
"At your peril, John Graham! that is all."
"This mother of mine means me to be an old bachelor. What a jealous
old lady it is! But now just look at that splendid creature in the
pale blue satin dress, and hair of paler brown, with 'reflets satines'
as those of her robe. Would you not feel proud, mamma, if I were to
bring that goddess home some day, and introduce her to you as Mrs.
Bretton, junior?"
"You will bring no goddess to La Terrasse: that little chateau will
not contain two mistresses; especially if the second be of the height,
bulk, and circumference of that mighty doll in wood and wax, and kid
and satin."
"Mamma, she would fill your blue chair so admirably!"
"Fill my chair? I defy the foreign usurper! a rueful chair should it
be for her: but hush, John Graham! Hold your tongue, and use your
eyes."
During the above skirmish, the hall, which, I had thought, seemed full
at the entrance, continued to admit party after party, until the
semicircle before the stage presented one dense mass of heads, sloping
from floor to ceiling. The stage, too, or rather the wide temporary
platform, larger than any stage, desert half an hour since, was now
overflowing with life; round two grand pianos, placed about the
centre, a white flock of young girls, the pupils of the Conservatoire,
had noiselessly poured. I had noticed their gathering, while Graham
and his mother were engaged in discussing the belle in blue satin, and
had watched with interest the process of arraying and marshalling
them. Two gentlemen, in each of whom I recognised an acquaintance,
officered this virgin troop. One, an artistic-looking man, bearded,
and with long hair, was a noted pianiste, and also the first music-
teacher in Villette; he attended twice a week at Madame Beck's
pensionnat, to give lessons to the few pupils whose parents were rich
enough to allow their daughters the privilege of his instructions;
his name was M. Josef Emanuel, and he was half-brother to M. Paul:
which potent personage was now visible in the person of the second
gentleman.
M. Paul amused me; I smiled to myself as I watched him, he seemed so
thoroughly in his element--standing conspicuous in presence of a wide
and grand assemblage, arranging, restraining, over-aweing about one
hundred young ladies. He was, too, so perfectly in earnest--so
energetic, so intent, and, above all, so of the foreigners then
resident in Villette. These took possession of the crimson benches;
the ladies were seated; most of the men remained standing: their sable
rank, lining the background, looked like a dark foil to the splendour
displayed in front. Nor was this splendour without varying light and
shade and gradation: the middle distance was filled with matrons in
velvets and satins, in plumes and gems; the benches in the foreground,
to the Queen's right hand, seemed devoted exclusively to young girls,
the flower--perhaps, I should rather say, the bud--of Villette
aristocracy. Here were no jewels, no head-dresses, no velvet pile or
silken sheen purity, simplicity, and aerial grace reigned in that
virgin band. Young heads simply braided, and fair forms (I was going
to write _sylph_ forms, but that would have been quite untrue:
several of these "jeunes filles," who had not numbered more than
sixteen or seventeen years, boasted contours as robust and solid as
those of a stout Englishwoman of five-and-twenty)--fair forms robed in
white, or pale rose, or placid blue, suggested thoughts of heaven and
angels. I knew a couple, at least, of these "rose et blanche"
specimens of humanity. Here was a pair of Madame Beck's late pupils--
Mesdemoiselles Mathilde and Angelique: pupils who, during their last
year at school, ought to have been in the first class, but whose
brains never got them beyond the second division. In English, they had
been under my own charge, and hard work it was to get them to
translate rationally a page of _The Vicar of Wakefield_. Also
during three months I had one of them for my vis-a-vis at table, and
the quantity of household bread, butter, and stewed fruit, she would
habitually consume at "second dejeuner" was a real world's wonder--to
be exceeded only by the fact of her actually pocketing slices she
could not eat. Here be truths--wholesome truths, too.
I knew another of these seraphs--the prettiest, or, at any rate, the
least demure and hypocritical looking of the lot: she was seated by
the daughter of an English peer, also an honest, though haughty-
looking girl: both had entered in the suite of the British embassy.
She (_i.e._ my acquaintance) had a slight, pliant figure, not at
all like the forms of the foreign damsels: her hair, too, was not
close-braided, like a shell or a skull-cap of satin; it looked
_like_ hair, and waved from her head, long, curled, and flowing.
She chatted away volubly, and seemed full of a light-headed sort of
satisfaction with herself and her position. I did not look at Dr.
Bretton; but I knew that he, too, saw Ginevra Fanshawe: he had become
so quiet, he answered so briefly his mother's remarks, he so often
suppressed a sigh. Why should he sigh? He had confessed a taste for
the pursuit of love under difficulties; here was full gratification
for that taste. His lady-love beamed upon him from a sphere above his
own: he could not come near her; he was not certain that he could win
from her a look. I watched to see if she would so far favour him. Our
seat was not far from the crimson benches; we must inevitably be seen
thence, by eyes so quick and roving as Miss Fanshawe's, and very soon
those optics of hers were upon us: at least, upon Dr. and Mrs.
Bretton. I kept rather in the shade and out of sight, not wishing to
be immediately recognised: she looked quite steadily at Dr. John, and
then she raised a glass to examine his mother; a minute or two
afterwards she laughingly whispered her neighbour; upon the
performance commencing, her rambling attention was attracted to the
platform.
On the concert I need not dwell; the reader would not care to have my
impressions thereanent: and, indeed, it would not be worth while to
record them, as they were the impressions of an ignorance crasse. The
young ladies of the Conservatoire, being very much frightened, made
rather a tremulous exhibition on the two grand pianos. M. Josef
Emanuel stood by them while they played; but he had not the tact or
influence of his kinsman, who, under similar circumstances, would
certainly have _compelled_ pupils of his to demean themselves
with heroism and self-possession. M. Paul would have placed the
hysteric debutantes between two fires--terror of the audience, and
terror of himself--and would have inspired them with the courage of
desperation, by making the latter terror incomparably the greater: M.
Josef could not do this.
Following the white muslin pianistes, came a fine, full-grown, sulky
lady in white satin. She sang. Her singing just affected me like the
tricks of a conjuror: I wondered how she did it--how she made her
voice run up and down, and cut such marvellous capers; but a simple
Scotch melody, played by a rude street minstrel, has often moved me
more deeply.
Afterwards stepped forth a gentleman, who, bending his body a good
deal in the direction of the King and Queen, and frequently
approaching his white-gloved hand to the region of his heart, vented a
bitter outcry against a certain "fausse Isabelle." I thought he seemed
especially to solicit the Queen's sympathy; but, unless I am
egregiously mistaken, her Majesty lent her attention rather with the
calm of courtesy than the earnestness of interest. This gentleman's
state of mind was very harrowing, and I was glad when he wound up his
musical exposition of the same.
Some rousing choruses struck me as the best part of the evening's
entertainment. There were present deputies from all the best
provincial choral societies; genuine, barrel-shaped, native
Labassecouriens. These worthies gave voice without mincing the matter
their hearty exertions had at least this good result--the ear drank
thence a satisfying sense of power.
Through the whole performance--timid instrumental duets, conceited
vocal solos, sonorous, brass-lunged choruses--my attention gave but
one eye and one ear to the stage, the other being permanently retained
in the service of Dr. Bretton: I could not forget him, nor cease to
question how he was feeling, what he was thinking, whether he was
amused or the contrary. At last he spoke.
"And how do you like it all, Lucy? You are very quiet," he said, in
his own cheerful tone.
"I am quiet," I said, "because I am so very, _very_ much
interested: not merely with the music, but with everything about me."
He then proceeded to make some further remarks, with so much
equanimity and composure that I began to think he had really not seen
what I had seen, and I whispered--"Miss Fanshawe is here: have you
noticed her?"
"Oh, yes! and I observed that you noticed her too?"
"Is she come with Mrs. Cholmondeley, do you think?"
"Mrs. Cholmondeley is there with a very grand party. Yes; Ginevra was
in _her_ train; and Mrs. Cholmondeley was in Lady ----'s train,
who was in the Queen's train. If this were not one of the compact
little minor European courts, whose very formalities are little more
imposing than familiarities, and whose gala grandeur is but homeliness
in Sunday array, it would sound all very fine."
"Ginevra saw you, I think?"
"So do I think so. I have had my eye on her several times since you
withdrew yours; and I have had the honour of witnessing a little
spectacle which you were spared."
I did not ask what; I waited voluntary information, which was
presently given.
"Miss Fanshawe," he said, "has a companion with her--a lady of rank. I
happen to know Lady Sara by sight; her noble mother has called me in
professionally. She is a proud girl, but not in the least insolent,
and I doubt whether Ginevra will have gained ground in her estimation
by making a butt of her neighbours."
"What neighbours?"
"Merely myself and my mother. As to me it is all very natural:
nothing, I suppose, can be fairer game than the young bourgeois
doctor; but my mother! I never saw her ridiculed before. Do you know,
the curling lip, and sarcastically levelled glass thus directed, gave
me a most curious sensation?"
"Think nothing of it, Dr. John: it is not worth while. If Ginevra were
in a giddy mood, as she is eminently to-night, she would make no
scruple of laughing at that mild, pensive Queen, or that melancholy
King. She is not actuated by malevolence, but sheer, heedless folly.
To a feather-brained school-girl nothing is sacred."
"But you forget: I have not been accustomed to look on Miss Fanshawe
in the light of a feather-brained school-girl. Was she not my
divinity--the angel of my career?"
"Hem! There was your mistake."
"To speak the honest truth, without any false rant or assumed romance,
there actually was a moment, six months ago, when I thought her
divine. Do you remember our conversation about the presents? I was not
quite open with you in discussing that subject: the warmth with which
you took it up amused me. By way of having the full benefit of your
lights, I allowed you to think me more in the dark than I really was.
It was that test of the presents which first proved Ginevra mortal.
Still her beauty retained its fascination: three days--three hours
ago, I was very much her slave. As she passed me to-night, triumphant
in beauty, my emotions did her homage; but for one luckless sneer, I
should yet be the humblest of her servants. She might have scoffed at
_me_, and, while wounding, she would not soon have alienated me:
through myself, she could not in ten years have done what, in a
moment, she has done through my mother."
He held his peace awhile. Never before had I seen so much fire, and so
little sunshine in Dr. John's blue eye as just now.
"Lucy," he recommenced, "look well at my mother, and say, without fear
or favour, in what light she now appears to you."
"As she always does--an English, middle-class gentlewoman; well,
though gravely dressed, habitually independent of pretence,
constitutionally composed and cheerful."
"So she seems to me--bless her! The merry may laugh _with_ mamma,
but the weak only will laugh _at_ her. She shall not be ridiculed,
with my consent, at least; nor without my--my scorn--my antipathy--my--"
He stopped: and it was time--for he was getting excited--more it
seemed than the occasion warranted. I did not then know that he had
witnessed double cause for dissatisfaction with Miss Fanshawe. The
glow of his complexion, the expansion of his nostril, the bold curve
which disdain gave his well-cut under lip, showed him in a new and
striking phase. Yet the rare passion of the constitutionally suave and
serene, is not a pleasant spectacle; nor did I like the sort of
vindictive thrill which passed through his strong young frame.
"Do I frighten you, Lucy?" he asked.
"I cannot tell why you are so very angry."
"For this reason," he muttered in my ear. "Ginevra is neither a pure
angel, nor a pure-minded woman."
"Nonsense! you exaggerate: she has no great harm in her."
"Too much for me. _I_ can see where _you_ are blind. Now
dismiss the subject. Let me amuse myself by teasing mamma: I will
assert that she is flagging. Mamma, pray rouse yourself."
"John, I will certainly rouse you if you are not better conducted.
Will you and Lucy be silent, that I may hear the singing?"
They were then thundering in a chorus, under cover of which all the
previous dialogue had taken place.
"_You_ hear the singing, mamma! Now, I will wager my studs, which
are genuine, against your paste brooch--"
"My paste brooch, Graham? Profane boy! you know that it is a stone of
value."
"Oh! that is one of your superstitions: you were cheated in the
business."
"I am cheated in fewer things than you imagine. How do you happen to
be acquainted with young ladies of the court, John? I have observed
two of them pay you no small attention during the last half-hour."
"I wish you would not observe them."
"Why not? Because one of them satirically levels her eyeglass at me?
She is a pretty, silly girl: but are you apprehensive that her titter
will discomfit the old lady?"
"The sensible, admirable old lady! Mother, you are better to me than
ten wives yet."
"Don't be demonstrative, John, or I shall faint, and you will have to
carry me out; and if that burden were laid upon you, you would reverse
your last speech, and exclaim, 'Mother, ten wives could hardly be
worse to me than you are!'"
* * * * *
The concert over, the Lottery "au benefice des pauvres" came next: the
interval between was one of general relaxation, and the pleasantest
imaginable stir and commotion. The white flock was cleared from the
platform; a busy throng of gentlemen crowded it instead, making
arrangements for the drawing; and amongst these--the busiest of all--
re-appeared that certain well-known form, not tall but active, alive
with the energy and movement of three tall men. How M. Paul did work!
How he issued directions, and, at the same time, set his own shoulder
to the wheel! Half-a-dozen assistants were at his beck to remove the
pianos, &c.; no matter, he must add to their strength his own. The
redundancy of his alertness was half-vexing, half-ludicrous: in my
mind I both disapproved and derided most of this fuss. Yet, in the
midst of prejudice and annoyance, I could not, while watching, avoid
perceiving a certain not disagreeable naivete in all he did and said;
nor could I be blind to certain vigorous characteristics of his
physiognomy, rendered conspicuous now by the contrast with a throng of
tamer faces: the deep, intent keenness of his eye, the power of his
forehead, pale, broad, and full--the mobility of his most flexible
mouth. He lacked the calm of force, but its movement and its fire he
signally possessed.
Meantime the whole hall was in a stir; most people rose and remained
standing, for a change; some walked about, all talked and laughed. The
crimson compartment presented a peculiarly animated scene. The long
cloud of gentlemen, breaking into fragments, mixed with the rainbow
line of ladies; two or three officer-like men approached the King and
conversed with him. The Queen, leaving her chair, glided along the
rank of young ladies, who all stood up as she passed; and to each in
turn I saw her vouchsafe some token of kindness--a gracious word, look
or smile. To the two pretty English girls, Lady Sara and Ginevra
Fanshawe, she addressed several sentences; as she left them, both, and
especially the latter, seemed to glow all over with gratification.
They were afterwards accosted by several ladies, and a little circle
of gentlemen gathered round them; amongst these--the nearest to
Ginevra--stood the Count de Hamal.
"This room is stiflingly hot," said Dr. Bretton, rising with sudden
impatience. "Lucy--mother--will you come a moment to the fresh air?"
"Go with him, Lucy," said Mrs. Bretton. "I would rather keep my seat."
Willingly would I have kept mine also, but Graham's desire must take
precedence of my own; I accompanied him.
We found the night-air keen; or at least I did: he did not seem to
feel it; but it was very still, and the star-sown sky spread
cloudless. I was wrapped in a fur shawl. We took some turns on the
pavement; in passing under a lamp, Graham encountered my eye.
"You look pensive, Lucy: is it on my account?"
"I was only fearing that you were grieved."
"Not at all: so be of good cheer--as I am. Whenever I die, Lucy, my
persuasion is that it will not be of heart-complaint. I may be stung,
I may seem to droop for a time, but no pain or malady of sentiment has
yet gone through my whole system. You have always seen me cheerful at
home?"
"Generally."
"I am glad she laughed at my mother. I would not give the old lady for
a dozen beauties. That sneer did me all the good in the world. Thank
you, Miss Fanshawe!" And he lifted his hat from his waved locks, and
made a mock reverence.
"Yes," he said, "I thank her. She has made me feel that nine parts in
ten of my heart have always been sound as a bell, and the tenth bled
from a mere puncture: a lancet-prick that will heal in a trice."
"You are angry just now, heated and indignant; you will think and feel
differently to-morrow."
"_I_ heated and indignant! You don't know me. On the contrary,
the heat is gone: I am as cool as the night--which, by the way, may be
too cool for you. We will go back."
"Dr. John, this is a sudden change."
"Not it: or if it be, there are good reasons for it--two good reasons:
I have told you one. But now let us re-enter."
We did not easily regain our seats; the lottery was begun, and all was
excited confusion; crowds blocked the sort of corridor along which we
had to pass: it was necessary to pause for a time. Happening to glance
round--indeed I half fancied I heard my name pronounced--I saw quite
near, the ubiquitous, the inevitable M. Paul. He was looking at me
gravely and intently: at me, or rather at my pink dress--sardonic
comment on which gleamed in his eye. Now it was his habit to indulge
in strictures on the dress, both of the teachers and pupils, at Madame
Beck's--a habit which the former, at least, held to be an offensive
impertinence: as yet I had not suffered from it--my sombre daily
attire not being calculated to attract notice. I was in no mood to
permit any new encroachment to-night: rather than accept his banter, I
would ignore his presence, and accordingly steadily turned my face to
the sleeve of Dr. John's coat; finding in that same black sleeve a
prospect more redolent of pleasure and comfort, more genial, more
friendly, I thought, than was offered by the dark little Professor's
unlovely visage. Dr. John seemed unconsciously to sanction the
preference by looking down and saying in his kind voice, "Ay, keep
close to my side, Lucy: these crowding burghers are no respecters of
persons."
I could not, however, be true to myself. Yielding to some influence,
mesmeric or otherwise--an influence unwelcome, displeasing, but
effective--I again glanced round to see if M. Paul was gone. No, there
he stood on the same spot, looking still, but with a changed eye; he
had penetrated my thought, and read my wish to shun him. The mocking
but not ill-humoured gaze was turned to a swarthy frown, and when I
bowed, with a view to conciliation, I got only the stiffest and
sternest of nods in return.
"Whom have you made angry, Lucy?" whispered Dr. Bretton, smiling. "Who
is that savage-looking friend of yours?"
"One of the professors at Madame Beck's: a very cross little man."
"He looks mighty cross just now: what have you done to him? What is it
all about? Ah, Lucy, Lucy! tell me the meaning of this."
"No mystery, I assure you. M. Emanuel is very exigeant, and because I
looked at your coat-sleeve, instead of curtseying and dipping to him,
he thinks I have failed in respect."
"The little--" began Dr. John: I know not what more he would have
added, for at that moment I was nearly thrown down amongst the feet of
the crowd. M. Paul had rudely pushed past, and was elbowing his way
with such utter disregard to the convenience and security of all
around, that a very uncomfortable pressure was the consequence.
"I think he is what he himself would call 'mechant,'" said Dr.
Bretton. I thought so, too.
Slowly and with difficulty we made our way along the passage, and at
last regained our seats. The drawing of the lottery lasted nearly an
hour; it was an animating and amusing scene; and as we each held
tickets, we shared in the alternations of hope and fear raised by each
turn of the wheel. Two little girls, of five and six years old, drew
the numbers: and the prizes were duly proclaimed from the platform.
These prizes were numerous, though of small value. It so fell out that
Dr. John and I each gained one: mine was a cigar-case, his a lady's
head-dress--a most airy sort of blue and silver turban, with a
streamer of plumage on one side, like a snowy cloud. He was
excessively anxious to make an exchange; but I could not be brought to
hear reason, and to this day I keep my cigar-case: it serves, when I
look at it, to remind me of old times, and one happy evening.
Dr. John, for his part, held his turban at arm's length between his
finger and thumb, and looked at it with a mixture of reverence and
embarrassment highly provocative of laughter. The contemplation over,
he was about coolly to deposit the delicate fabric on the ground
between his feet; he seemed to have no shadow of an idea of the
treatment or stowage it ought to receive: if his mother had not come
to the rescue, I think he would finally have crushed it under his arm
like an opera-hat; she restored it to the band-box whence it had
issued.
Graham was quite cheerful all the evening, and his cheerfulness seemed
natural and unforced. His demeanour, his look, is not easily
described; there was something in it peculiar, and, in its way,
original. I read in it no common mastery of the passions, and a fund
of deep and healthy strength which, without any exhausting effort,
bore down Disappointment and extracted her fang. His manner, now,
reminded me of qualities I had noticed in him when professionally
engaged amongst the poor, the guilty, and the suffering, in the Basse-
Ville: he looked at once determined, enduring, and sweet-tempered. Who
could help liking him? _He_ betrayed no weakness which harassed
all your feelings with considerations as to how its faltering must be
propped; from _him_ broke no irritability which startled calm and
quenched mirth; _his_ lips let fall no caustic that burned to the
bone; _his_ eye shot no morose shafts that went cold, and rusty,
and venomed through your heart: beside him was rest and refuge--around
him, fostering sunshine.
And yet he had neither forgiven nor forgotten Miss Fanshawe. Once
angered, I doubt if Dr. Bretton were to be soon propitiated--once
alienated, whether he were ever to be reclaimed. He looked at her more
than once; not stealthily or humbly, but with a movement of hardy,
open observation. De Hamal was now a fixture beside her; Mrs.
Cholmondeley sat near, and they and she were wholly absorbed in the
discourse, mirth, and excitement, with which the crimson seats were as
much astir as any plebeian part of the hall. In the course of some
apparently animated discussion, Ginevra once or twice lifted her hand
and arm; a handsome bracelet gleamed upon the latter. I saw that its
gleam flickered in Dr. John's eye--quickening therein a derisive,
ireful sparkle; he laughed:----
"I think," he said, "I will lay my turban on my wonted altar of
offerings; there, at any rate, it would be certain to find favour: no
grisette has a more facile faculty of acceptance. Strange! for after
all, I know she is a girl of family."
"But you don't know her education, Dr. John," said I. "Tossed about
all her life from one foreign school to another, she may justly
proffer the plea of ignorance in extenuation of most of her faults.
And then, from what she says, I believe her father and mother were
brought up much as she has been brought up."
"I always understood she had no fortune; and once I had pleasure in
the thought," said he.
"She tells me," I answered, "that they are poor at home; she always
speaks quite candidly on such points: you never find her lying, as
these foreigners will often lie. Her parents have a large family: they
occupy such a station and possess such connections as, in their
opinion, demand display; stringent necessity of circumstances and
inherent thoughtlessness of disposition combined, have engendered
reckless unscrupulousness as to how they obtain the means of
sustaining a good appearance. This is the state of things, and the
only state of things, she has seen from childhood upwards."
"I believe it--and I thought to mould her to something better: but,
Lucy, to speak the plain truth, I have felt a new thing to-night, in
looking at her and de Hamal. I felt it before noticing the
impertinence directed at my mother. I saw a look interchanged between
them immediately after their entrance, which threw a most unwelcome
light on my mind."
"How do you mean? You have been long aware of the flirtation they keep
up?"
"Ay, flirtation! That might be an innocent girlish wile to lure on the
true lover; but what I refer to was not flirtation: it was a look
marking mutual and secret understanding--it was neither girlish nor
innocent. No woman, were she as beautiful as Aphrodite, who could give
or receive such a glance, shall ever be sought in marriage by me: I
would rather wed a paysanne in a short petticoat and high cap--and be
sure that she was honest."
I could not help smiling. I felt sure he now exaggerated the case:
Ginevra, I was certain, was honest enough, with all her giddiness. I
told him so. He shook his head, and said he would not be the man to
trust her with his honour.
"The only thing," said I, "with which you may safely trust her. She
would unscrupulously damage a husband's purse and property, recklessly
try his patience and temper: I don't think she would breathe, or let
another breathe, on his honour."
"You are becoming her advocate," said he. "Do you wish me to resume my
old chains?"
"No: I am glad to see you free, and trust that free you will long
remain. Yet be, at the same time, just."
"I am so: just as Rhadamanthus, Lucy. When once I am thoroughly
estranged, I cannot help being severe. But look! the King and Queen
are rising. I like that Queen: she has a sweet countenance. Mamma,
too, is excessively tired; we shall never get the old lady home if we
stay longer."
"I tired, John?" cried Mrs. Bretton, looking at least as animated and
as wide-awake as her son. "I would undertake to sit you out yet: leave
us both here till morning, and we should see which would look the most
jaded by sunrise."
"I should not like to try the experiment; for, in truth, mamma, you
are the most unfading of evergreens and the freshest of matrons. It
must then be on the plea of your son's delicate nerves and fragile
constitution that I found a petition for our speedy adjournment."
"Indolent young man! You wish you were in bed, no doubt; and I suppose
you must be humoured. There is Lucy, too, looking quite done up. For
shame, Lucy! At your age, a week of evenings-out would not have made
me a shade paler. Come away, both of you; and you may laugh at the old
lady as much as you please, but, for my part, I shall take charge of
the bandbox and turban."
Which she did accordingly. I offered to relieve her, but was shaken
off with kindly contempt: my godmother opined that I had enough to do
to take care of myself. Not standing on ceremony now, in the midst of
the gay "confusion worse confounded" succeeding to the King and
Queen's departure, Mrs. Bretton preceded us, and promptly made us a
lane through the crowd. Graham followed, apostrophizing his mother as
the most flourishing grisette it had ever been his good fortune to see
charged with carriage of a bandbox; he also desired me to mark her
affection for the sky-blue turban, and announced his conviction that
she intended one day to wear it.
The night was now very cold and very dark, but with little delay we
found the carriage. Soon we were packed in it, as warm and as snug as
at a fire-side; and the drive home was, I think, still pleasanter than
the drive to the concert. Pleasant it was, even though the coachman--
having spent in the shop of a "marchand de vin" a portion of the time
we passed at the concert--drove us along the dark and solitary
chaussee far past the turn leading down to La Terrasse; we, who were
occupied in talking and laughing, not noticing the aberration till, at
last, Mrs. Bretton intimated that, though she had always thought the
chateau a retired spot, she did not know it was situated at the
world's end, as she declared seemed now to be the case, for she
believed we had been an hour and a half en route, and had not yet
taken the turn down the avenue.
Then Graham looked out, and perceiving only dim-spread fields, with
unfamiliar rows of pollards and limes ranged along their else
invisible sunk-fences, began to conjecture how matters were, and
calling a halt and descending, he mounted the box and took the reins
himself. Thanks to him, we arrived safe at home about an hour and a
half beyond our time.
Martha had not forgotten us; a cheerful fire was burning, and a neat
supper spread in the dining-room: we were glad of both. The winter
dawn was actually breaking before we gained our chambers. I took off
my pink dress and lace mantle with happier feelings than I had
experienced in putting them on. Not all, perhaps, who had shone
brightly arrayed at that concert could say the same; for not all had
been satisfied with friendship--with its calm comfort and modest hope.
Content of CHAPTER XX - THE CONCERT [Charlotte Bronte's novel: Villette]
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