CHAPTER THE FIRST
Madame Pratolungo presents Herself
You are here invited to read the story of an Event which occurred in anout-of-the-way corner of England, some years since.
The persons principally concerned in the Event are:--a blind girl; two(twin) brothers; a skilled surgeon; and a curious foreign woman. I am thecurious foreign woman. And I take it on myself--for reasons which willpresently appear--to tell the story.
So far we understand each other. Good. I may make myself known to you asbriefly as I can.
I am Madame Pratolungo--widow of that celebrated South American patriot,Doctor Pratolungo. I am French by birth. Before I married the Doctor, Iwent through many vicissitudes in my own country. They ended in leavingme (at an age which is of no consequence to anybody) with some experienceof the world; with a cultivated musical talent on the pianoforte; andwith a comfortable little fortune unexpectedly bequeathed to me by arelative of my dear dead mother (which fortune I shared with good Papaand with my younger sisters). To these qualifications I added another,the most precious of all, when I married the Doctor; namely--a stronginfusion of ultra-liberal principles. _Vive la Republique!_
Some people do one thing, and some do another, in the way of celebratingthe event of their marriage. Having become man and wife, DoctorPratolungo and I took ship to Central America--and devoted ourhoney-moon, in those disturbed districts, to the sacred duty ofdestroying tyrants.
Ah! the vital air of my noble husband was the air of revolutions. Fromhis youth upwards he had followed the glorious profession of Patriot.Wherever the people of the Southern New World rose and declared theirindependence--and, in my time, that fervent population did nothingelse--there was the Doctor self-devoted on the altar of his adoptedcountry. He had been fifteen times exiled, and condemned to death in hisabsence, when I met with him in Paris--the picture of heroic poverty,with a brown complexion and one lame leg. Who could avoid falling in lovewith such a man? I was proud when he proposed to devote me on the altarof his adopted country, as well as himself--me, and my money. For, alas!everything is expensive in this world; including the destruction oftyrants and the saving of Freedom. All my money went in helping thesacred cause of the people. Dictators and filibusters flourished in spiteof us. Before we had been a year married, the Doctor had to fly (for thesixteenth time) to escape being tried for his life. My husband condemnedto death in his absence; and I with my pockets empty. This is how theRepublic rewarded us. And yet, I love the Republic. Ah, youmonarchy-people, sitting fat and contented under tyrants, respect that!
This time, we took refuge in England. The affairs of Central America wenton without us.
I thought of giving lessons in music. But my glorious husband could notspare me away from him. I suppose we should have starved, and made a sadlittle paragraph in the English newspapers--if the end had not come inanother way. My poor Pratolungo was in truth worn out. He sank under hissixteenth exile. I was left a widow--with nothing but the inheritance ofmy husband's noble sentiments to console me.
I went back for awhile to good Papa and my sisters in Paris. But it wasnot in my nature to remain and be a burden on them at home. I returnedagain to London, with recommendations: and encountered inconceivabledisasters in the effort to earn a living honorably. Of all the wealthabout me--the prodigal, insolent, ostentatious wealth--none fell to myshare. What right has anybody to be rich? I defy you, whoever you may be,to prove that anybody has a right to be rich.
Without dwelling on my disasters, let it be enough to say that I got upone morning, with three pounds, seven shillings, and fourpence in mypurse; with my fervid temper, and my republican principles--and withabsolutely nothing in prospect, that is to say with not a halfpenny moreto come to me, unless I could earn it for myself.
In this sad case, what does an honest woman who is bent on winning herown independence by her own work, do? She takes three and sixpence out ofher little humble store; and she advertises herself in a newspaper.
One always advertises the best side of oneself. (Ah, poor humanity!) Mybest side was my musical side. In the days of my vicissitudes (before mymarriage) I had at one time had a share in a millinery establishment inLyons. At another time, I had been bedchamber-woman to a great lady inParis. But in my present situation, these sides of myself were, forvarious reasons, not so presentable as the pianoforte side. I was not agreat player--far from it. But I had been soundly instructed; and I had,what you call, a competent skill on the instrument. Brief, I made thebest of myself, I promise you, in my advertisement.
The next day, I borrowed the newspaper, to enjoy the pride of seeing mycomposition in print.
Ah, heaven! what did I discover? I discovered what other wretchedadvertising people have found out before me. Above my own advertisement,the very thing I wanted was advertised for by somebody else! Look in anynewspaper; and you will see strangers who (if I may so express myself)exactly fit each other, advertising for each other, without knowing it. Ihad advertised myself as "accomplished musical companion for a lady. Withcheerful temper to match." And there above me was my unknown necessitousfellow-creature, crying out in printers' types:--"Wanted, a companion fora lady. Must be an accomplished musician, and have a cheerful temper.Testimonials to capacity, and first-rate references required." Exactlywhat I had offered! "Apply by letter only, in the first instance."Exactly what I had said! Fie upon me, I had spent three and sixpence fornothing. I threw down the newspaper, in a transport of anger (like afool)--and then took it up again (like a sensible woman), and applied byletter for the offered place.
My letter brought me into contact with a lawyer. The lawyer envelopedhimself in mystery. It seemed to be a professional habit with him to tellnobody anything, if he could possibly help it.
Drop by drop, this wearisome man let the circumstances out. The lady wasa young lady. She was the daughter of a clergyman. She lived in a retiredpart of the country. More even than that, she lived in a retired part ofthe house. Her father had married a second time. Having only the younglady as child by his first marriage, he had (I suppose by way of achange) a large family by his second marriage. Circumstances rendered itnecessary for the young lady to live as much apart as she could from thetumult of a houseful of children. So he went on, until there was nokeeping it in any longer--and then he let it out. The young lady wasblind!
Young--lonely--blind. I had a sudden inspiration. I felt I should loveher.
The question of my musical capacity was, in this sad case, a serious one.The poor young lady had one great pleasure to illumine her darklife--Music. Her companion was wanted to play from the book, and playworthily, the works of the great masters (whom this young creatureadored)--and she, listening, would take her place next at the piano, andreproduce the music morsel by morsel, by ear. A professor was appointedto pronounce sentence on me, and declare if I could be trusted not tomisinterpret Mozart, Beethoven, and the other masters who have writtenfor the piano. Through this ordeal I passed with success. As for myreferences, they spoke for themselves. Not even the lawyer (though hetried hard) could pick holes in them. It was arranged on both sides thatI should, in the first instance, go on a month's visit to the young lady.If we both wished it at the end of the time, I was to stay, on termsarranged to my perfect satisfaction. There was our treaty!
The next day I started for my visit by the railway.
My instructions directed me to travel to the town of Lewes in Sussex.Arrived there, I was to ask for the pony-chaise of my young lady'sfather--described on his card as Reverend Tertius Finch. The chaise wasto take me to the rectory-house in the village of Dimchurch. And thevillage of Dimchurch was situated among the South Down Hills, three orfour miles from the coast.
When I stepped into the railway carriage, this was all I knew. After myadventurous life--after the volcanic agitations of my republican careerin the Doctor's time--was I about to bury myself in a remote Englishvillage, and live a life as monotonous as the life of a sheep on a hill?Ah, with all my experience, I had
yet to learn that the narrowest humanlimits are wide enough to contain the grandest human emotions. I had seenthe Drama of Life amid the turmoil of tropical revolutions. I was to seeit again, with all its palpitating interest, in the breezy solitudes ofthe South Down Hills.