CHAPTER XVII.
LA TERRASSE.
These struggles with the natural character, the strong native bent ofthe heart, may seem futile and fruitless, but in the end they do good.They tend, however slightly, to give the actions, the conduct, thatturn which Reason approves, and which Feeling, perhaps, too oftenopposes: they certainly make a difference in the general tenour of alife, and enable it to be better regulated, more equable, quieter onthe surface; and it is on the surface only the common gaze will fall.As to what lies below, leave that with God. Man, your equal, weak asyou, and not fit to be your judge, may be shut out thence: take it toyour Maker--show Him the secrets of the spirit He gave--ask Him how youare to bear the pains He has appointed--kneel in His presence, and praywith faith for light in darkness, for strength in piteous weakness, forpatience in extreme need. Certainly, at some hour, though perhaps not_your_ hour, the waiting waters will stir; in _some_ shape, thoughperhaps not the shape you dreamed, which your heart loved, and forwhich it bled, the healing herald will descend, the cripple and theblind, and the dumb, and the possessed will be led to bathe. Herald,come quickly! Thousands lie round the pool, weeping and despairing, tosee it, through slow years, stagnant. Long are the "times" of Heaven:the orbits of angel messengers seem wide to mortal vision; they mayenring ages: the cycle of one departure and return may clasp unnumberedgenerations; and dust, kindling to brief suffering life, and throughpain, passing back to dust, may meanwhile perish out of memory again,and yet again. To how many maimed and mourning millions is the firstand sole angel visitant, him easterns call Azrael!
I tried to get up next morning, but while I was dressing, and atintervals drinking cold water from the _carafe_ on my washstand, withdesign to brace up that trembling weakness which made dressing sodifficult, in came Mrs. Bretton.
"Here is an absurdity!" was her morning accost. "Not so," she added,and dealing with me at once in her own brusque, energetic fashion--thatfashion which I used formerly to enjoy seeing applied to her son, andby him vigorously resisted--in two minutes she consigned me captive tothe French bed.
"There you lie till afternoon," said she. "My boy left orders before hewent out that such should be the case, and I can assure you my son ismaster and must be obeyed. Presently you shall have breakfast."
Presently she brought that meal--brought it with her own activehands--not leaving me to servants. She seated herself on the bed whileI ate. Now it is not everybody, even amongst our respected friends andesteemed acquaintance, whom we like to have near us, whom we like towatch us, to wait on us, to approach us with the proximity of a nurseto a patient. It is not every friend whose eye is a light in a sickroom, whose presence is there a solace: but all this was Mrs. Brettonto me; all this she had ever been. Food or drink never pleased me sowell as when it came through her hands. I do not remember the occasionwhen her entrance into a room had not made that room cheerier. Ournatures own predilections and antipathies alike strange. There arepeople from whom we secretly shrink, whom we would personally avoid,though reason confesses that they are good people: there are otherswith faults of temper, &c., evident enough, beside whom we livecontent, as if the air about them did us good. My godmother's livelyblack eye and clear brunette cheek, her warm, prompt hand, herself-reliant mood, her decided bearing, were all beneficial to me asthe atmosphere of some salubrious climate. Her son used to call her"the old lady;" it filled me with pleasant wonder to note how thealacrity and power of five-and-twenty still breathed from her andaround her.
"I would bring my work here," she said, as she took from me the emptiedteacup, "and sit with you the whole day, if that overbearing JohnGraham had not put his veto upon such a proceeding. 'Now, mamma,' hesaid, when he went out, 'take notice, you are not to knock up yourgod-daughter with gossip,' and he particularly desired me to keep closeto my own quarters, and spare you my fine company. He says, Lucy, hethinks you have had a nervous fever, judging from your look,--is thatso?"
I replied that I did not quite know what my ailment had been, but thatI had certainly suffered a good deal especially in mind. Further, onthis subject, I did not consider it advisable to dwell, for the detailsof what I had undergone belonged to a portion of my existence in whichI never expected my godmother to take a share. Into what a new regionwould such a confidence have led that hale, serene nature! Thedifference between her and me might be figured by that between thestately ship cruising safe on smooth seas, with its full complement ofcrew, a captain gay and brave, and venturous and provident; and thelife-boat, which most days of the year lies dry and solitary in an old,dark boat-house, only putting to sea when the billows run high in roughweather, when cloud encounters water, when danger and death dividebetween them the rule of the great deep. No, the "Louisa Bretton" neverwas out of harbour on such a night, and in such a scene: her crew couldnot conceive it; so the half-drowned life-boat man keeps his owncounsel, and spins no yarns.
She left me, and I lay in bed content: it was good of Graham toremember me before he went out.
My day was lonely, but the prospect of coming evening abridged andcheered it. Then, too, I felt weak, and rest seemed welcome; and afterthe morning hours were gone by,--those hours which always bring, evento the necessarily unoccupied, a sense of business to be done, of taskswaiting fulfilment, a vague impression of obligation to beemployed--when this stirring time was past, and the silent descent ofafternoon hushed housemaid steps on the stairs and in the chambers, Ithen passed into a dreamy mood, not unpleasant.
My calm little room seemed somehow like a cave in the sea. There was nocolour about it, except that white and pale green, suggestive of foamand deep water; the blanched cornice was adorned with shell-shapedornaments, and there were white mouldings like dolphins in theceiling-angles. Even that one touch of colour visible in the red satinpincushion bore affinity to coral; even that dark, shining glass mighthave mirrored a mermaid. When I closed my eyes, I heard a gale,subsiding at last, bearing upon the house-front like a settling swellupon a rock-base. I heard it drawn and withdrawn far, far off, like atide retiring from a shore of the upper world--a world so high abovethat the rush of its largest waves, the dash of its fiercest breakers,could sound down in this submarine home, only like murmurs and alullaby.
Amidst these dreams came evening, and then Martha brought a light; withher aid I was quickly dressed, and stronger now than in the morning, Imade my way down to the blue saloon unassisted.
Dr. John, it appears, had concluded his round of professional callsearlier than usual; his form was the first object that met my eyes as Ientered the parlour; he stood in that window-recess opposite the door,reading the close type of a newspaper by such dull light as closing dayyet gave. The fire shone clear, but the lamp stood on the table unlit,and tea was not yet brought up.
As to Mrs. Bretton, my active godmother--who, I afterwards found, hadbeen out in the open air all day--lay half-reclined in herdeep-cushioned chair, actually lost in a nap. Her son seeing me, cameforward. I noticed that he trod carefully, not to wake the sleeper; healso spoke low: his mellow voice never had any sharpness in it;modulated as at present, it was calculated rather to soothe thanstartle slumber.
"This is a quiet little chateau," he observed, after inviting me to sitnear the casement. "I don't know whether you may have noticed it inyour walks: though, indeed, from the chaussee it is not visible; just amile beyond the Porte de Crecy, you turn down a lane which soon becomesan avenue, and that leads you on, through meadow and shade, to the verydoor of this house. It is not a modern place, but built somewhat in theold style of the Basse-Ville. It is rather a manoir than a chateau;they call it 'La Terrasse,' because its front rises from a broad turfedwalk, whence steps lead down a grassy slope to the avenue. See yonder!The moon rises: she looks well through the tree-boles."
Where, indeed, does the moon not look well? What is the scene, confinedor expansive, which her orb does not hallow? Rosy or fiery, she mountednow above a not distant bank; even while we watched her flushed ascent,she cleared to gold,
and in very brief space, floated up stainless intoa now calm sky. Did moonlight soften or sadden Dr. Bretton? Did ittouch him with romance? I think it did. Albeit of no sighing mood, hesighed in watching it: sighed to himself quietly. No need to ponder thecause or the course of that sigh; I knew it was wakened by beauty; Iknew it pursued Ginevra. Knowing this, the idea pressed upon me that itwas in some sort my duty to speak the name he meditated. Of course hewas ready for the subject: I saw in his countenance a teeming plenitudeof comment, question and interest; a pressure of language andsentiment, only checked, I thought, by sense of embarrassment how tobegin. To spare him this embarrassment was my best, indeed my sole use.I had but to utter the idol's name, and love's tender litany would flowout. I had just found a fitting phrase, "You know that Miss Fanshawe isgone on a tour with the Cholmondeleys," and was opening my lips tospeak to it, when he scattered my plans by introducing another theme.
"The first thing this morning," said he, putting his sentiment in hispocket, turning from the moon, and sitting down, "I went to the RueFossette, and told the cuisiniere that you were safe and in good hands.Do you know that I actually found that she had not yet discovered yourabsence from the house: she thought you safe in the great dormitory.With what care you must have been waited on!"
"Oh! all that is very conceivable," said I. "Goton could do nothing forme but bring me a little tisane and a crust of bread, and I hadrejected both so often during the past week, that the good woman gottired of useless journeys from the dwelling-house kitchen to theschool-dormitory, and only came once a day at noon to make my bed. Ibelieve, however, that she is a good-natured creature, and would havebeen delighted to cook me cotelettes de mouton, if I could have eatenthem."
"What did Madame Beck mean by leaving you alone?"
"Madame Beck could not foresee that I should fall ill."
"Your nervous system bore a good share of the suffering?"
"I am not quite sure what my nervous system is, but I was dreadfullylow-spirited."
"Which disables me from helping you by pill or potion. Medicine cangive nobody good spirits. My art halts at the threshold ofHypochondria: she just looks in and sees a chamber of torture, but canneither say nor do much. Cheerful society would be of use; you shouldbe as little alone as possible; you should take plenty of exercise."
Acquiescence and a pause followed these remarks. They sounded allright, I thought, and bore the safe sanction of custom, and thewell-worn stamp of use.
"Miss Snowe," recommenced Dr. John--my health, nervous system included,being now, somewhat to my relief, discussed and done with--"is itpermitted me to ask what your religion is? Are you a Catholic?"
I looked up in some surprise--"A Catholic? No! Why suggest such anidea?"
"The manner in which you were consigned to me last night made me doubt."
"I consigned to you? But, indeed, I forget. It yet remains for me tolearn how I fell into your hands."
"Why, under circumstances that puzzled me. I had been in attendance allday yesterday on a case of singularly interesting and criticalcharacter; the disease being rare, and its treatment doubtful: I saw asimilar and still finer case in a hospital in Paris; but that will notinterest you. At last a mitigation of the patient's most urgentsymptoms (acute pain is one of its accompaniments) liberated me, and Iset out homeward. My shortest way lay through the Basse-Ville, and asthe night was excessively dark, wild, and wet, I took it. In ridingpast an old church belonging to a community of Beguines, I saw by alamp burning over the porch or deep arch of the entrance, a priestlifting some object in his arms. The lamp was bright enough to revealthe priest's features clearly, and I recognised him; he was a man Ihave often met by the sick beds of both rich and poor: and chiefly thelatter. He is, I think, a good old man, far better than most of hisclass in this country; superior, indeed, in every way, better informed,as well as more devoted to duty. Our eyes met; he called on me to stop:what he supported was a woman, fainting or dying. I alighted.
"'This person is one of your countrywomen,' he said: 'save her, if sheis not dead.'
"My countrywoman, on examination, turned out to be the English teacherat Madame Beck's pensionnat. She was perfectly unconscious, perfectlybloodless, and nearly cold.
"'What does it all mean?' was my inquiry.
"He communicated a curious account; that you had been to him thatevening at confessional; that your exhausted and suffering appearance,coupled with some things you had said--"
"Things I had said? I wonder what things!"
"Awful crimes, no doubt; but he did not tell me what: there, you know,the seal of the confessional checked his garrulity, and my curiosity.Your confidences, however, had not made an enemy of the good father; itseems he was so struck, and felt so sorry that you should be out onsuch a night alone, that he had esteemed it a Christian duty to watchyou when you quitted the church, and so to manage as not to lose sightof you, till you should have reached home. Perhaps the worthy manmight, half unconsciously, have blent in this proceeding some little ofthe subtlety of his class: it might have been his resolve to learn thelocality of your home--did you impart that in your confession?"
"I did not: on the contrary, I carefully avoided the shadow of anyindication: and as to my confession, Dr. John, I suppose you will thinkme mad for taking such a step, but I could not help it: I suppose itwas all the fault of what you call my 'nervous system.' I cannot putthe case into words, but my days and nights were grown intolerable: acruel sense of desolation pained my mind: a feeling that would make itsway, rush out, or kill me--like (and this you will understand, Dr.John) the current which passes through the heart, and which, ifaneurism or any other morbid cause obstructs its natural channels,seeks abnormal outlet. I wanted companionship, I wanted friendship, Iwanted counsel. I could find none of these in closet or chamber, so Iwent and sought them in church and confessional. As to what I said, itwas no confidence, no narrative. I have done nothing wrong: my life hasnot been active enough for any dark deed, either of romance or reality:all I poured out was a dreary, desperate complaint."
"Lucy, you ought to travel for about six months: why, your calm natureis growing quite excitable! Confound Madame Beck! Has the little buxomwidow no bowels, to condemn her best teacher to solitary confinement?"
"It was not Madame Beck's fault," said I; "it is no living being'sfault, and I won't hear any one blamed."
"Who is in the wrong, then, Lucy?"
"Me--Dr. John--me; and a great abstraction on whose wide shoulders Ilike to lay the mountains of blame they were sculptured to bear: me andFate."
"'Me' must take better care in future," said Dr. John--smiling, Isuppose, at my bad grammar.
"Change of air--change of scene; those are my prescriptions," pursuedthe practical young doctor. "But to return to our muttons, Lucy. Asyet, Pere Silas, with all his tact (they say he is a Jesuit), is nowiser than you choose him to be; for, instead of returning to the RueFossette, your fevered wanderings--there must have been high fever--"
"No, Dr. John: the fever took its turn that night--now, don't make outthat I was delirious, for I know differently."
"Good! you were as collected as myself at this moment, no doubt. Yourwanderings had taken an opposite direction to the pensionnat. Near theBeguinage, amidst the stress of flood and gust, and in the perplexityof darkness, you had swooned and fallen. The priest came to yoursuccour, and the physician, as we have seen, supervened. Between us weprocured a fiacre and brought you here. Pere Silas, old as he is, wouldcarry you up-stairs, and lay you on that couch himself. He wouldcertainly have remained with you till suspended animation had beenrestored: and so should I, but, at that juncture, a hurried messengerarrived from the dying patient I had scarcely left--the last dutieswere called for--the physician's last visit and the priest's last rite;extreme unction could not be deferred. Pere Silas and myself departedtogether, my mother was spending the evening abroad; we gave you incharge to Martha, leaving directions, which it seems she followedsuccessfully. Now, are you a Catholic?" r />
"Not yet," said I, with a smile. "And never let Pere Silas know where Ilive, or he will try to convert me; but give him my best and truestthanks when you see him, and if ever I get rich I will send him moneyfor his charities. See, Dr. John, your mother wakes; you ought to ringfor tea."
Which he did; and, as Mrs. Bretton sat up--astonished and indignant atherself for the indulgence to which she had succumbed, and fullyprepared to deny that she had slept at all--her son came gaily to theattack.
"Hushaby, mamma! Sleep again. You look the picture of innocence in yourslumbers."
"My slumbers, John Graham! What are you talking about? You know I never_do_ sleep by day: it was the slightest doze possible."
"Exactly! a seraph's gentle lapse--a fairy's dream. Mamma, under suchcircumstances, you always remind me of Titania."
"That is because you, yourself, are so like Bottom."
"Miss Snowe--did you ever hear anything like mamma's wit? She is a mostsprightly woman of her size and age."
"Keep your compliments to yourself, sir, and do not neglect your ownsize: which seems to me a good deal on the increase. Lucy, has he notrather the air of an incipient John Bull? He used to be slender as aneel, and now I fancy in him a sort of heavy dragoon bent--a beef-eatertendency. Graham, take notice! If you grow fat I disown you."
"As if you could not sooner disown your own personality! I amindispensable to the old lady's happiness, Lucy. She would pine away ingreen and yellow melancholy if she had not my six feet of iniquity toscold. It keeps her lively--it maintains the wholesome ferment of herspirits."
The two were now standing opposite to each other, one on each side thefire-place; their words were not very fond, but their mutual looksatoned for verbal deficiencies. At least, the best treasure of Mrs.Bretton's life was certainly casketed in her son's bosom; her dearestpulse throbbed in his heart. As to him, of course another love sharedhis feelings with filial love, and, no doubt, as the new passion wasthe latest born, so he assigned it in his emotions Benjamin's portion.Ginevra! Ginevra! Did Mrs. Bretton yet know at whose feet her own youngidol had laid his homage? Would she approve that choice? I could nottell; but I could well guess that if she knew Miss Fanshawe's conducttowards Graham: her alternations between coldness and coaxing, andrepulse and allurement; if she could at all suspect the pain with whichshe had tried him; if she could have seen, as I had seen, his finespirits subdued and harassed, his inferior preferred before him, hissubordinate made the instrument of his humiliation--_then_ Mrs. Brettonwould have pronounced Ginevra imbecile, or perverted, or both. Well--Ithought so too.
That second evening passed as sweetly as the first--_more_ sweetlyindeed: we enjoyed a smoother interchange of thought; old troubles werenot reverted to, acquaintance was better cemented; I felt happier,easier, more at home. That night--instead of crying myself asleep--Iwent down to dreamland by a pathway bordered with pleasant thoughts.