GENEVRA;
OR, THE
HISTORY OF A PORTRAIT,

BY AN AMERICAN LADY.
A RESIDENT OF WASHINGTON CITY.

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.

Philadelphia:
T. B. PETERSON, No. 98 CHESNUT STREET.
ONE DOOR ABOVE THIRD.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
T. B. PETERSON,
In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the United States,
in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.

TO
MARIE DE CARVALLO,
MINISTERESS FROM CHILI;
AS A SLIGHT BUT SINCERE TOKEN OF ADMIRATION AND ESTEEM, THIS
WORK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, BY
THE AUTHOR.

GENEVRA;
OR, THE
HISTORY OF A PORTRAIT.

CHAPTER I.

“Clarence, my dear fellow, pray ring the bell, and let us know when that confounded dinner will be ready; the carriage will be here before we are ready for a drive to the Campagna.”

I felt out of spirits and in an ill mood; but mechanically I rose and rang the bell. Our Italian attendant soon made his appearance. “Peppo,”—demanded my friend, the Hon. Augustus Morton, in a mixture of bad Italian and French, which he had learned during our two weeks’ sojourn at Rome,—“Peppo, when will dinner be ready? Don’t you know I told you this morning to prepare for us a nice English dinner, and have it early too?”

“Si Signor,” replied Peppo, standing with his toes bent in, twisting a dirty velvet cap in his hand, ornamented round the edge with tarnished gilt lace, “ma Signor Inglese, say cinque bra, non rolamente che tre ora adesso.”

“O, it’s only three, eh—how came I to make such a mistake?” He looked at his watch: it had stopped. “Well, Peppo,” he continued, in Italian, “can’t you tell them to hurry their operations, and let us have our dinner now. We have an engagement. Go and see if they cannot serve it at once.”

Peppo made his obeisance, and disappeared through the low, narrow door. “It is unfortunate that I did not think to set the time. We need not have returned from Tivoli for an hour.”

“I am not at all sorry, for my part,” I rejoined. “I take but little interest in broken columns, decayed monuments, and old ruins, places of assignations for owls and bats; in fact, one half the persons who visit Rome care no more about these remains of Rome’s ancient grandeur than the doves who make their nests amid the ruins. It has become fashionable of late years to visit Rome, and carry home from the city a collection of antique relics, busts, and every variety of curiosities, all of which are treasured as rare trophies of travel in classic land; a feeling I cannot at all sympathize with. You have the enthusiasm of the grandeur of Rome almost entirely to yourself, my friend. I assure you I have had but few attacks of the fashionable epidemic since my arrival.”

“You are in an ill humor to day, I see, Clarence,” goodnaturedly replied Morton, as he walked to and fro in our dingy dining-room with his hands under his coat tails; “but it is not Rome that vexes you, half as much as the comfortless dreary way in which they manage everything here. If we could only transport our English neatness and comfort to this beautiful climate, it would be a heaven on earth.”

At this moment Peppo returned with the intelligence that the cook absolutely could not serve dinner a moment before the time appointed.

“Well, what can’t be cured, must be endured,” responded Morton, with a shrug of the shoulders. “But since we have two hours on our hands, and nothing to amuse us in-doors, suppose we take a walk toward the Coliseum, and take another look at it. It bears observation more than once. There is a fine artist, Signor Carrara, who lives in that vicinity, and, with your leave, we will drop in at his studio, and examine his gallery of paintings.”

“As you please, Augustus,” I answered; for Morton being five years my senior, naturally took the lead. We had graduated at Oxford together; and on leaving England for a two years’ jaunt to the continent, my father had particularly recommended his darling son to Morton’s fraternal care. We had spent some time in Paris, flirting with the prettiest women we saw; but that’s not saying much for them, after all; for the French women do not depend for their attractions on beauty. They are sprightly, piquant, and witty generally, but they do not possess that native beauty of form and face, we meet with so frequently among the higher classes of the German and English women. Taste in dress and the arts of coquetry, so well understood and practised by the French women, supply the place of greater personal beauty. While in Paris, Morton had purchased and shipped for England a perfect cabinet shop of curiosities; but I, being less influenced by the mania for everything foreign, bought but little.

We had descended the Rhine together, and together admired the wild majesty of its scenery. And sometimes as our bark glided past one of those perpendicular mountains, whose summit seems to kiss the clouds, on top of which, you frequently see perched the ruins of one of those castles built in the olden days of feudal war and terror. Sometimes, I say, I felt a desire to fix my abode, and pass my days in solitude, far from the busy haunts of men, on the banks of that noble river. But then, the thought recurred to my mind: A life spent in dreamy abstraction is a useless one. A life without action, is like a body without a soul. The busy world; the cares, disappointments, and numberless vexations one meets with, all tend to develope many faculties of mind, which, buried in the depths of solitude, might remain forever undiscovered.

We had visited Vienna, the seat of elegance and learning; and after spending sometime in the smaller towns of Germany and Switzerland, we found ourselves one bright day at Rome. During a fortnight we had been occupied every day in sight-seeing; visiting the Vatican, Saint Peter’s, his Holiness the Pope, and all the wonders of the eternal city; and eternal to me, in sober truth, it seemed, as, entering the ancient town by Romulus’ gate, the city dawned upon my view like a vast ocean before me.

But where did I leave my friend? Oh, he took his hat, and so, cautious reader, will I take mine, and follow him. We traversed several grass grown streets, faced on each side, by old houses, built in the Italian style, now fast tottering to decay. Before one of these, stood a company of street singers. A man advanced in years, whose gray hair was illumined by the bright rays of the sun, stood playing on a hand-organ, while a sweet little girl of eight or nine years, with light hair and fine blue eyes, jingled a tambourine at his side. There was something in the sad subdued look of the child, as she timidly advanced toward us, perceiving we were strangers, that almost called the tears to my eyes, as Morton and myself simultaneously threw a gold piece into the old tambourine she extended to receive it.

We passed on, and the next corner hid them from our view. “What a pity such a pretty child should be trained to beggary,” remarked I, as we walked on.

“Yes, it is; but such things are so common in this country, they have ceased to astonish me: indeed, it would be difficult to say what had best be done for the amelioration of the Italians; like everything else, they have had their day; and now night and darkness are hanging over them.”

I scarcely heard him; for now we came full in view of that massive structure, the Coliseum. One side of it is much decayed and crumbled away, and forms a gap in the round outline. We entered through one of the ivy-hung arches, and found ourselves in the vast interior. Several little shrines, the devout offerings of humble superstition, occupied the vast space, where, so many hundred years ago, the gladiators had fought in the yearly games. At one of these, covered with a white cloth, on which were placed a crucifix and bottle of holy water, knelt a young woman with her hands clasped in prayer. She wore the picturesque costume of the Neapolitans. The attitude of devotion contrasted strangely with my recollection of the scenes of which that place had once been the theatre of action.

“This is a most extraordinary structure, so immense!” exclaimed Morton, whose ideas were of the most matter-of-fact description.

I made no reply. My mind was abstracted, it had flown back to the olden times. I thought I saw the dying gladiator leaning on his sword, while the arena rung with shouts of triumph for his conqueror. I saw start up from all parts of the old ruin, that vast wall of human faces, all gazing upon the dying man; but what mattered it to him, the world and all its cares was vanishing fast from his view; his glazed eyes close, his clenched hands stiffen, and his spirit leaves its earthly tenement with the last shout of applause for his conqueror.

I started from my day-dream, and looking for my friend, saw him standing at the other end of the amphitheatre, gazing wistfully up at the sky, through the gap which yawned above us. As I approached him, he exclaimed, “We had better go, or we shall not have time to see Signor Carrara’s paintings before dinner, as we have been here an hour.”

“An hour! impossible, it is not more than ten minutes.”

“I know it seems no more than that to you; but it is, nevertheless, an hour since we entered here; and I am afraid of taking cold from the dampness of the ground; but you were dreaming of the ‘Sorrows of Werter,’ or some other sentimental subject, and of course, thought not of time. Come, mon ami, let us depart.” He linked his arm in mine and we passed out into the street, leading to that part of the city he had designated as the abode of Signor Carrara.

After a few minutes’ walk, he stopped before an old mansion, built in the Venetian style, with a balcony and latticed windows, jealously closed. The appearance of the house was antique and gloomy, even more so than any of the private mansions I had yet seen in Rome. Morton ascended the door-steps, and vigorously rang the bell. The sound seemed to echo through the whole house, as though it were deserted. A moment after I heard the grating of bolts being undone, the door swing back heavily on its hinges; and, standing on its threshold, I saw an old domestic, with a grave, sad countenance, and dressed with greater neatness than the generality of Italian servants. He smiled gaily, and greeted Morton with a respectful obeisance, saying something in Italian, which I did not understand; for Morton was an old friend of the Signor’s, having visited Rome four years before. His question, “Was the Signor at home?” he answered, “Yes,” and requested us to follow him. We traversed a long gallery, then ascended a lofty staircase, ornamented with fine paintings and statues, placed in niches along the wall. At the end of another gallery, the Italian stopped at a door, and knocked. An elderly man, whose hair was slightly tinged with gray, attired in a plain suit of black velvet, opened the door, and, upon seeing Morton, shook him heartily by the hand, and welcomed him back to Rome, in terms of the most polite affability. His manner seemed to partake more of English cordiality than of the grave distant manner the Italians generally preserve to strangers. To my surprise, he spoke to me in good English, upon Morton’s presenting me as Mr. Mowbray of London. Augustus entered the room with the air of one perfectly familiar to its precincts, and seated himself in a crimson velvet arm-chair, near the artist’s easel. Persia’s carpets covered the floor; curtains of crimson velvet fell in heavy folds from the windows; but the splendid paintings with which the walls of the studio were hung, constituted its greatest ornament. There were the faces of youth, and the faces of age. Side by side they hung. There were Cardinals in their black velvet hats, and the heavy folds of their black robes. There were the handsome faces of many of Italy’s proudest sons, and the fair, unfurrowed brow, the black eye, large and languishing, of many a one of its fair daughters.

“You have not been long in Rome, I presume, Signor,” remarked Carrara, as he returned to his easel, with his palette in his hand.

“But two weeks.”

“Two weeks! indeed, you owed an old friend a visit sooner,” addressing Morton.

“I should have done myself the pleasure of calling on you before this, but I have been engaged in such a continual round of business, that I really could not snatch time.” What a confounded lie, thought I to myself, as I stood with my back to them, attentively regarding a picture, which hung encased in a magnificent frame, opposite me. But Morton would say anything as an excuse, to avoid offending a friend, and Signor Carrara, as I afterward discovered, had been to him a very kind one.

The picture upon which I gazed, was the portrait of a lady in the dawn of youth. I felt certain that it was, or had been taken as the resemblance of some earthly object. She was young and very beautiful. She could not have numbered more than twenty summers when that was painted. She sat, inclining forward, as if to speak. Her finger pressed to her rosy lip, as though she said ‘beware.’ Her robe hung in light folds over the full bust, and was confined at the waist by a scarf. A circlet of gems clasped the small aristocratic head, and sparkled on the auburn hair. The hair, put smooth back from the face, was gathered in two long braids behind, which fell below the waist. The complexion, white as alabaster. The eyes, so deeply beautifully blue. All these attributes combined to form an expression of angelic purity and sweetness, such as I had never seen expressed in any human countenance before.

“Of whom is this a portrait, Signor?” I inquired of the Italian, interrupting his conversation with Morton.

Carrara’s black eyes rested sadly upon the picture a moment, then turned suddenly away.

“It is the portrait of an Austrian lady. A Viennese,” he answered abruptly.

“Is she living still?” I asked.

“No, she has been dead many years.”

“Is it not flattered? was she as beautiful as this?”

“She was far more beautiful than I have been able to portray her.”

“How long since it was painted?”

“More than twenty years ago.”

“What picture is it you are talking about, Clarence?” demanded Morton, looking up from a portfolio of prints which lay upon the artist’s table.

“This one,” I replied, pointing to it.

“Ah, yes. I see a very handsome woman. I admire your taste. Pray, may I ask her name, Signor Carrara, unless, indeed,” he added archly, “she happened to be a beau ideal of yours; in that case, I waive the question.”

The Italian blushed to his very eyebrows, and looked almost angry for an instant; but he answered immediately,

“You are welcome to ask the name of that or any other portrait in my studio. Her name was Genevra Sfonza.”

“I like the style in which it is taken. Very fanciful and airy. She almost seems to be floating on a cloud,” observed my friend, as he came and stood by my side before it. “If I had a wife and were going to have her portrait taken, I should choose such an attitude. But I am thankful to be a bachelor, untrammelled and free. A single man can visit, seek lady’s society, if he wants it; in short, do what he pleases, without having some jealous Juno tearing after him, if he happen to look at any other set of features than his ‘cara spanta’s.’”

Carrara smiled, and I laughed, as I always did at my friends’ drolleries. “Come Clarence,” he exclaimed, seizing me by the arm, “let’s take a general look at all the pictures, and then, if you are willing, return home. Dinner will be waiting for us.”

“We took a general survey of the rest of the paintings, among which were some valuable originals, by the old masters. But none of them, in grace of attitude, or beauty of expression, could compare with that of the lovely Viennese.

“I am quite in love with this picture,” I remarked to the artist, as I again stopped before it; after looking at all the politicians, warriors, sculptors, artists, and beauties portrayed on canvass.

“Almost every one who visits my room, admires it,” responded Carrara.

I felt almost jealous, as he said this, that any one but myself should be allowed the pleasure of gazing upon that sweet face. I wished to have it exclusively to myself, where I alone could come and look upon its beauty. What selfish creatures men are.

The kind hearted Italian offered us a collation of Smyrna figs, grapes, oranges, and light Catalonia wine. We partook slightly, and then took our hats to depart.

“I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you frequently, during your stay in Rome,” was his parting invitation, as he accompanied us through the long galleries, and down the lofty stair-case we had ascended.

“We shall certainly trespass frequently on your politeness, Signor,” was our parting response, as we passed into the street and wended homeward.

Arrived at our hotel by the same route we came; we entered our comfortless dingy saloon, which served in the double capacity of dining-room and parlor. The table was set for dinner, but no dinner served, and Morton impatiently pulled the bell. Peppo answered the summons, bearing in his hands a dish of roast beef, burnt almost black, while treading close on his heels, came his female colleague, Jeannetta, her hands loaded also with plates of different sizes, and looking as if she bore the fate of Cato and of Rome upon her shoulders, attired in all that dirty finery, for which the lower classes of the Italians are distinguished. Peppo deposited, what he considered, this elegant repast, upon the table, with the air of a conqueror offering his mistress the spoil of foreign lands.

“Here, Signor, here be one English dinner, la veritable chose, tout entierement l’Inglese,” exclaimed Peppo, who valued himself upon his acquirements in the languages, understanding about a dozen words of English, French, and Spanish; but like many another fool, if he was happy in his ignorance, and imagined himself wise, why it was just the same—at least to him the same. I have often wondered, whether it were not better to slumber on in ignorance, rather than make some little progress in knowledge, and after all, discover (even should we reach the highest point of earthly wisdom) that all is doubt and conjecture.

“Come Mowbray, my friend,” cried Augustus, as he drew a chair to the table, “come let us commence operations, for I am nearly famished. Peppo where are the wine coolers and goblets, make haste and bring them. You can go Jeannetta. Clarence what will you take?”

I requested a piece of the before-mentioned burnt beef, and helped myself to some peas, which looked as if they had been grown beneath the burning suns of Syria, dashed over with some description of Italian sauce; as for potatoes, they are an eatable unknown in Italy; nature, however, has kindly supplied the place of many of our northern vegetables, by the luxurious fruits of the country; one scarcely needs any other food beside the luscious champagne grape, the yellow orange, pine-apple, zapota, and a dozen other fine fruits, the names of which escape my recollection.

“Here, Peppo, come take away this elegant English dinner of yours, and serve dessert,” said Morton laughingly, after having tried in vain to masticate some of the tough meats, and dried up vegetables. “Don’t make another attempt in the English style, I beg of you, for really this one is quite killing.”

“Le diner no good,” ejaculated Peppo, holding up both hands in amazement, “apres tous les soins que j’ai pris; je vous assure, Signor, que c’est une diner a l’Anglaise.”

“I assure you, my good fellow, that it is perfectly uneatable; here take it all away, and hand the fruit and wine. I am sorry I told you to attempt any thing in English style. I might have known we should get nothing to suit us; however, make haste, for our carriage is at the door, to take us to the campagna.”

Peppo, in great agitation, at the failure of his attempt, removed the dishes, and as soon as we had dispatched dessert, we entered our Stanhope, and drove to the campagna.

I kept my promise, and often visited Signor Carrara. I liked him more, the better I became acquainted with him; there are some characters who only show their fine traits upon a close acquaintance. We all of us, more or less, feel an attraction of sympathy, or repulsion of antipathy at first sight, an indefinite presentiment that we shall either like or dislike; there was something in Carrara’s manner, so different to the giddy light-heartedness of the generality of his countrymen, calculated to inspire one with confidence in his integrity: his calm countenance expressed benevolence, patience, and philosophical indifference. I might have sought in vain for those deep traces of satiety and discontent, which pleasure imprints upon the faces of her votaries. He seemed to be at peace with all mankind, and among all his extensive acquaintance in Rome, I never once heard him unkindly spoken of. I frequently passed hours in his studio, while Morton was engaged in a continual round of pleasure.

CHAPTER II.

Carrara inhabited but two apartments in his stately mansion, besides his elegant studio, and a large exhibition room of magnificent paintings. All the other apartments were locked up, and left untenanted, although the old domestic, who had been a household fixture for more than twenty years, informed me they were all splendidly furnished; although uninhabited, and seldom opened, except twice a year, to be cleaned; I could not help wondering that any man, especially a bachelor artist, should keep a large, vacant house to himself, of no use to him, without letting it to some one, as an Englishman would have done; unless, indeed, he were a man of rank and fortune, but this Carrara, I presumed, was not, and I had seen enough of him to be convinced of his unassuming mind, and simple mode of living. Perhaps he had accumulated a comfortable fortune by his unwearied application, and economy, and having secured sufficient means for the future years of his life, thought it unnecessary to make money by his house. Of his private circumstances I knew nothing, and, therefore, dismissed the subject from my mind.

“How many different faces, and what varieties of character you must see in the course of a year,” I one day remarked to him, as he stood at his easel, a large bunch of brushes in his hand, busily employed in painting a naked nymph, bathing in a limpid stream.

“Yes,” he replied, “an artist has ample opportunity, if he is capable of doing so, of observing characters, as well as faces.”

“Are you a physiognomist?”

“I make no pretensions to being one.”

“Can you tell an honest man from a rogue?”

“I think I can.”

“Then tell me, my friend, tell me truly, what do you think of my face?”

I pushed back my hair from my forehead, as I asked the kind old Italian this odd question; and he looked at me rather quizzically for a second, as if to ascertain whether I was in earnest, or seeking to make game of him; being assured, I suppose, by the grave expression of my countenance, that I was serious, he answered:

“You have a frank, talented, amorous expression of face, such as many of your countrymen, whom I have seen, possessed.”

“Amorous, is it possible you have made such a dreadful mistake?—you, a man of so much penetration, to say such a thing as that; why my dear Signor, I am as cold as the eternal snows of Russia’s mountains. I follow the fashionable plan, and invariably treat all womankind with polite rudeness; in fact, I think I hate women: the sexes are, of course, natural enemies to each other.”

“You cold, about as cold as the crater of Mount Etna; how can you sit there, and presume to tell me such shocking stories?” Carrara laughed; he seldom laughed, or even smiled, but when he did, his face lighted up with a sunny glow. I was about to deny this accusation flatly, merely for the sake of a laughing argument, when, in looking for a stray engraving I was copying, which had fallen on the floor, I knocked down an unfinished picture, which stood with its face to the wall; I glanced at it, and was about to replace it in its original position, when Carrara observed, glancing at it as he spoke,

“Talking of variety of character, that woman certainly was an oddity in her way: I never saw a more singular person.”

“The original of this picture, do you mean?” I asked, as I set it back again.

“Yes,” replied the artist; “she was the friend of Prince Monteolene. I painted a half length portrait for her, and began this one, but the prince parted from her, after having lived with her three or four years, and she left the city, leaving this picture unfinished on my hands.”

“She was handsome,” I remarked, as I looked at the face more attentively—“a voluptuous, not a pure, or spiritual beauty.”

“Such was her character; she possessed some fine traits of disposition, however, which, had they been accompanied by a well balanced mind, trained to virtue, she might have been an ornament to society. She took an interesting little girl from one of the nunnery schools, had her well educated, and taught the science of vocal music thoroughly, then placed her on the stage, through the influence of some of the professors of music, who felt interested in the child; where she now is, a brilliant star in the musical world. That action, certainly showed a kind, generous disposition.”

“Such incidents of character, are extraordinary, even among the best of human beings, leaving the immoral out of the question,” and, I added, “you artists have every facility, here in Italy, in regard to obtaining models.”

“We have more applications from poor girls, some reputable, some disreputable, than we wish or require; many have offered themselves to me as models, without price, and the very prettiest can be had for a small sum.”

“Are any of these models virtuous?”

“I have known many who were correct in their behaviour, and, on the contrary, many who were dissolute. A person, whether man or woman, reared to all the comforts and elegancies of a luxurious life, can scarcely conceive the many temptations to which these poor girls are exposed; living in miserable huts, feeding upon the coarsest food; while men of fashion and fortune, attracted by their pretty looks, frequently make them liberal offers of protection, which they sometimes refuse, but generally end by accepting. Besides, the standard of female virtue, does not rank as high in our country as in yours; therefore, their departure from the paths of virtue, is looked upon more in a philosophical point of view, as a foible, incident to all humanity, and tolerated with more leniency.”

“I sometimes think the Italian plan the best.”

“It may not be best, as regards the mass of the population, but considered individually, I cannot but prefer it.”

“Do you never feel sad, Signor?”—I asked suddenly, after having been silent some minutes, absorbed in thought—“do you never feel sad sometimes, when you reflect upon the frailties and miseries of poor human nature?”

“You are now, my young friend,” answered Carrara, “just on the dawn of manhood, when, having indulged ideal dreams of what the world ought to be, you are gradually awakening to a perception of the vast difference between the ideal and the actual; what now appears to you so sentimentally sad, will gradually become a matter of course, and you will grow fond of the world as it is; as your freshness of feeling, and ideality of mind wears away, habit becomes a second nature; we may dislike our habitation, but we dislike a change, because we are accustomed to the old abode. Middle age and the decline of life, which lessen our sense of enjoyment, increase our love of life for that reason; and you will find, as you journey on, the longer you live, the more tenaciously will you cling to life.”

“I presume you are right, and if I live long enough to realize your sage prediction, then I will think of your words.”

I took my hat as I said this, considering that I had bored my kind friend long enough, by a visit of three hours, and left the studio, with his repeated invitation ringing in my ears, that I should come very soon again, and pass every morning, if it pleased me, at his house. I directed my steps toward modern Rome, and the Piazza del populo; as I passed along the principal streets, I saw the shops adorned with every description of masquerade dresses, and immense quantities of bonbons, in anticipation of the approaching carnival; many of the giddy throng were already attired in masquerade, passing each other; and all unlucky foot passengers, with the “corfette” the Italians make such liberal use of during the carnival, their animated gestures, and sprightly looks, forming a picturesque scene. While above my head shone the cerulean sky, dotted with golden clouds, and the horizon’s verge reflected the brilliant red of the setting sun’s declining fires.

The happy dispositions and buoyant temperaments of these Italians, enable them to bear misfortunes, and even the squalid poverty, to which they are frequently subjected, with a serenity of temper, and happy confidence in the future, unknown to the colder inhabitants of northern climes. A proud Englishman would put an end to his existence, were he obliged to encounter half what an Italian would endure with philosophic indifference.

I found the Piazza del populo crowded with equestrians, pedestrians, and every description of equipages, giving a brilliant, showy effect, to this classic and beautiful square. How many recollections of happy hours and days, are connected in my memory, with the name of Rome; of weeks and months, that sped like hours, borne only too rapidly away upon the wings of Time.

The ladies talked, laughed, and flirted with the gentlemen, as they promenaded up and down, just as we do in England, or any other civilized land; the liveried footmen stood together in groups, and chatted, perhaps of scandal transpiring in their little world of action; monks glided past me, their heads bowed down, telling their rosarys while they stealthily eyed the women; the peasant girls in their tasteful costume, the red or blue woollen petticoat, ornamented with black horizontal bands, exchanged love tokens with their lovers; the military rode through the square, with much display; the nobility bowed and smiled to each other, as they drove swiftly by in their stately carriages; all nature, and almost every face wore a smile.

Leaving the gay scene, I passed out at the gate opposite to that through which I had entered, and was standing gazing upon the lofty dome, and magnificent colonnade of Saint Peter’s, which rose towering above all other objects in the distance, when I felt my arm suddenly grasped, and a stentorian voice exclaimed, “Why, good heavens, Clarence, is this you? where in the name of wonder have you been all day? I’ve been wanting you to accompany me to a hundred and one places, and here you are dreaming about the Persian invasion, perhaps in the Piazza del populo. I’ve met some very fine people here,” he continued, as he linked his arm in mine, and gently turned me in the direction of our hotel. “Among others, there’s a Countess Dettore, who having heard what a fine, agreeable fellow you are, sends you an invitation, through me, to her grand party, to-morrow night; come now, do be civil, and say you’ll go; I am going; really, you have grown so desperately sentimental since your arrival here, there’s no doing anything with you; you should go into society, be gay, and enjoy yourself.”

“All people don’t have the same mode of enjoyment,” I replied. “I enjoy myself in my way, and you in yours; but who is this Countess of whom you speak; how came she to hear of me, and send me an invitation to her ball?”

“Oh, I knew her when I was here before, four years ago; she’s a pleasant, chatty kind of person, gives nice balls, and that, you know, is the principal thing; I dare say you’ll be pleased with her, however, when you get acquainted; she’s often heard me speak of you since my arrival, and so, being about to give a ball, took the liberty of sending you an invitation, both verbal and written,” and he handed me a delicate little note, superscribed in a small, feminine handwriting.

“You’ve been with Carrara, I suppose, the principal part of the day? you seem to have become great friends in a very short space of time. Carrara’s a kind-hearted, eccentric creature: I never knew him to take so sudden a fancy to any one, as he has to you. I went to Tivoli again this morning, after you left me,” added my rattling friend, without waiting for an answer. “I was charmed; such pure air, delightful scenery; met Coningsby, he’s just from home, says he’s coming down to see you to-morrow; he’ll return before we do, so we can send letters by him, if you like, to your parents.”

We passed the magnificent arch of Constantine, and I paused to admire the exquisite fluting of the corinthian columns, and the statues of Dacian warriors, with which its front is adorned; while Morton strolled on ahead, picking wild flowers from the turf at his feet, and commenting upon the absurdity of old ruined arches, and sentimentalizing on ancient times.

We found, on reaching our hotel, that my valet Henri, had been passing away the time during my absence, by getting up a slight row with another fellow of his own stamp, in which he seemed to have got the worst of it, for he made his appearance with a black eye, and numerous other small wounds, in the shape of sundry scratches and knocks in the face from his assailant’s fists. He had a long and grievous complaint to make me, of the ill usage he had received, and finished his speech by cursing Rome and everything Roman, wishing himself safe back again in the land of his nativity, the green mountains of the Tyrol. I interrupted him, however, by my stern commands and solemn adjurations, not to implicate himself in another such a fracas, hinting the fact, that upon a second repetition of the same thing, he would be obliged to enter the service of some other individual than myself, as I could not tolerate such disgraceful conduct in a personal attendant. The poor fellow looked remarkably foolish on hearing my stern rebuke, and promised obedience for the future, adding in extenuation of his behavior, “that he had not sought the row: Gustave had provoked him beyond himself; when others let him alone, he let everybody else alone.”

I afterward discovered, to my great amusement, that the whole affair had originated from Gustave’s having taken a fancy to the same girl, of whom my valet Henri was also desperately enamored; the result was, Henri in a fit of jealous rage at her manifest preference for his rival, said some insulting things to Gustave, which the latter would not take, and they ended the matter by a personal encounter; not after the style of the renowned knight of La Mancha, but in the genuine old fashion of pummelling each other with their fists. Gustave possessing a more athletic form and stronger muscles than my unfortunate valet, succeeded in gaining a complete triumph over his rival in the courts of love. The whole affair was vastly ridiculous, and Morton and myself laughed vehemently at the discomfiture of poor Henri.

“After all,” laughed Morton, “isn’t it ridiculous to see what a devilish fool a man will make of himself for love of woman: it’s all the same thing from a king to a beggar; the feeling is the same, the manner of showing it alone, is different. Now I really do wonder if any woman could excite me to the pitch I’ve seen this poor fellow wound up to, to-day?”

“I dare say,” was my reply, “you and I are both human, and possess passions and feelings in common with every one else.”

“Well, I haven’t lost my heart since I’ve been here; that’s to say, if I really possessed any when I made my advent into this confounded old ruined place; as for you, I believe you’re in love with an inanimate picture. I prefer the real Simon pure flesh and blood myself; this falling in love with senseless canvass I consider quite absurd.”

“You need not take the trouble to tell me that, Morton,” I ejaculated, bursting into a fit of uproarious laughter; “one need only look at your face, to be assured that your feelings are not by any means too Platonic.”

He laughed most heartily, although the jest was at his expense; and chancing to turn our eyes toward the door, we saw Peppo, who stood there bowing with all his might, like a chinese mandarin, and he informed us, after many demonstrations of respect and divers flourishes, that dinner awaited us in the new saloon, which had just been completed a few days previous. The saloon, which poor Peppo considered such a perfect chef-d’œuvre of architecture, proved to be a large, barn-like room, built of rough beams, stuccoed over with a coarse, inferior sort of plaster, very cold and comfortless looking, destitute of carpeting, and furnished with a long dining table, chairs set round it, and an iron lamp suspended from the ceiling, on this grand occasion of inaugurating us into our new dining-room; the dinner was extraordinarily fine, although everything was covered with oil and cayenne pepper in abundance, and Peppo officiated with becoming dignity.

This was Friday; the next day, Saturday, began the carnival, the great annual fête of Rome. We breakfasted earlier than usual, and Augustus joined the gay throng which crowded the streets in the direction of the Corso, where I agreed to join him, after having paid a morning call on Signor Carrara. Augustus declined accompanying me, as he said he wished to observe the populace and the different costumes before the sport began, and I, therefore, proceeded to Carrara’s house alone.

At the street door, I learned from his old attendant Guiseppe, that the Signor had not yet risen, being somewhat indisposed from a slight cold and sore throat; I sent in my card, and was about leaving to rejoin my friend, when Guiseppe came running back, saying the Signor “would be happy to see me in his room, if I would honor him.”

I followed the old man up the lofty stair-case, through the long galleries past the studio, when he turned down a short passage and ushered me into a small elegantly furnished room, where lay Carrara in a black velvet gown and cap, reclining upon a sofa.

“So you are too sick to accompany us to the gay Corso to-day, my kind friend?” I asked, after having cordially shaken hands with him and drawn my chair close to his sofa.

“I do not feel well enough to venture out,” he replied; “nevertheless, I thank you most sincerely for your politeness in calling for me; this is a mere transient attack of sore throat, I presume; I have had many such before, I shall be recovered from it in a day or two; I regret not being able to see the horse races and the ball to-night, as I have been an annual spectator for the last twenty years. You will attend the masquerade ball this evening? of course, I need not ask, every one goes to the carnival ball.”

“I have not yet made up my mind, perhaps I may: it will be a gay affair I suppose?”

“Very: one sees such variety of costume, and variety of faces, it forms altogether an interesting sight, especially to a stranger.”

“I should think,” I remarked, glancing around the quiet room, “I should think, my dear Signor, that you would sometimes feel lonesome, shut up alone in this spacious house of yours, especially when sick, with no female relative or friend to nurse you?”

“Guiseppe generally answers all my purposes as nurse and attendant; he is faithful and constant; when very ill I sometimes employ a hired nurse; but as for other higher attentions, what is there about my person, a poor, ugly old man, already tottering on the brink of the grave, what is there about me to attract beauty’s gentle care? No, no, my dear young friend, myself has sufficed thus far, and myself will suffice to the end; my own thoughts and recollections of the past, are society enough for me.”

I had never heard Carrara speak so sadly before, for although philosophic in his tone of mind, he was generally cheerful, sometimes even gay. I attributed it to his slight indisposition and his solitude, and took my leave, promising to call on the morrow, and bring an entertaining English novel to read aloud to him.

As I mechanically traversed the long distance which intervened between his house and the Corso, I soliloquized upon the lonely life a man leads without wife or children. He seems to hang, as it were, a loose disjointed member upon society, disconnected from the rest of his fellow beings, by all those household ties, which seem to form the connecting links of life. I thought of myself, and then my thoughts reverted to the beautiful portrait in Carrara’s studio, and I ardently wished that I might see the original of that picture. “Suppose you should see her this day,” reason said, “will not time have changed her? where would be the rosy hue of health and beauty’s bloom?” I suddenly remembered, Carrara had told me she was dead. “She receives naught now, then, but the clammy embraces of death; better that, however, than live to become a withered hag, after having being so gloriously beautiful.”

I reached the Corso, and sought diligently for Augustus, amid the dense crowd there; but nothing could I see of him in that multitude, moving to and fro like the gigantic waves of the ocean. I tried several times to pass over to the other side of the street, but was pushed back at every movement I made; I gave up the attempt at last, in despair, and was about fixing my temporary abode upon a large sign post, commanding an extensive view of the street and the course where the horses were to race, when I felt myself gently plucked by the sleeve, and turning, saw a young peasant, who quietly requested me to follow him; he had spoken to me in broken English, supposing, I presume, that I did not understand Italian, but I boldly demanded in his native tongue, what he wanted of me. Some recollections flashed through my mind of stories I had heard, about strangers in Rome being entrapped at carnival time by brigands in masquerade; but a single glance at the face of this unsophisticated child of nature reassured me, and I felt that my suspicions in this instance were absurd. He uttered a joyful exclamation at hearing me speak Italian, and said that my friend, seeing me in the crowd, had sent him to find me, and requested me to come to him on the balcony of one of the old Palazzo’s fronting the Corso.

My peasant elbowed his way through the multitude to the steps of the Palazzo; he then conducted me up stairs, through a splendid suite of rooms, and out upon a balcony, where I was received by Augustus, who anxiously inquired about the good old artist; and hearing that he was too sick to accompany me, we mutually turned our attention upon the gay scene at our feet. The Corso was already filled with coaches, and persons on foot of every nation under the sun; but I saw but few masks. A ceremony of some kind or other took place, I heard, at the Capitol, which we did not see; in which a deputation of Jews formally petition the governor of the city for permission to remain in it another year, which he grants them upon condition of their paying the expenses of the races. The military swept through the streets in their showy uniform; and presently came the governor and senator (Rome’s fallen grandeur boasts but one now) in a grand procession of gilded coaches, while behind them came a great number of men, showily dressed, on horseback, bearing in their hands beautiful banners, some of them elegantly embroidered and presented by the ladies of Rome; after these had passed, the fun and merriment began.

A general pelting commenced from the windows of showers of sugar nuts, which were exchanged by those in coaches as they passed. The whole street presented a scene of childish gayety and confusion, perfectly indescribable, and, absurd as it appeared to me at first, I became much interested in the sport, and filling my pockets with “corfette,” began pelting as manfully as the silliest among them.

The windows and balconies were hung with rich silks and velvets, which, waving in a gentle breeze beneath that glorious sunny sky, mingled with the rich dresses, and often lovely faces beaming with smiles, as they surveyed the animated multitude from the windows and balconies of their homes. The loud laughter and sprightly movements of the crowd, all combined to present a brilliant scene.

The amusements of the day concluded with the horse race; a trumpet was sounded, and fifteen or sixteen ponies made their appearance, led by grooms very gayly dressed; who, after some difficulty, arranged the fiery little steeds behind a rope stretched across the street. At a given signal the rope was dropped, and away they flew down the Corso, as if the evil one was at their heels; at their sides were suspended leaden balls, filled with needles, which lashed them as they spurred forward, and the wild shouts of the crowd as they closed in behind them, sent them on with the fleetness of the wind; they ran furiously for about a mile, to the end of the street, where they were stopped by a large canvass, suspended across the way; not more than half reached the goal, and three or four, I noticed, who seemed to dislike these kinds of operations, ran off, knocking down everything and everybody who obstructed their progress. The races are repeated every evening near sunset, during the carnival.

The day’s sport being over, gradually this odd medly of human beings left the Corso. I watched the different faces and forms as they slowly disappeared; the women looking tired and languid, like drooping water lilies; the robust peasant, and languid nobleman in his carriage; the horse jockeys, and confused assortment of all sorts of vehicles, in the course of a few moments had vacated the square.

Augustus and I also left our position on the balcony, he, rather reluctantly, for he seemed to have been quite enchanted by a young beauty, stationed upon the balcony of a large house next door to the Palazzo, who had been making love to him with her lovely dark eyes during the morning; he said he should like to know who she was sighed, and seemed to feel the premonitory symptoms of one of those attacks of sentiment he had so often deprecated in me.

A grand masquerade ball was to be given in the evening at one of the theatres, for this purpose the pit was covered over, and the whole establishment thrown open. One could wear costume or not, as they chose; we preferred the civilian dress, and notwithstanding our preconceived notions of its absurdity, and determined to be mere lookers on, we had not been long there, before we became involved in the giddy whirl of fun and nonsense, and talked and laughed as foolishly as any there; almost all wore costume, but there were but few masks, many of the costumes were tasteful and costly, others were wretched, and would have disgraced the wardrobe of one of our strolling circus companys. I saw his satanic majesty sipping ices with a Polish lady, while close behind them stood a beautiful Aspasia, in another part of the room Achilles was savagely flourishing his sword, and Venus sat at the feet of her Mars. Brother Jonathan knocked against me, trying to make a first rate bargain; and Paul Pry was there, attending to everybody’s business but his own. I was deserted by Morton, who dashed after a blue domino, whom he took to be his beauty of the balcony; he was disappointed, however, for although the lady’s face was beautiful, it was not she. I saw many long-bearded Turks, fops of a hundred years ago, and exquisites of the present day, mad poets, quack doctors; and lastly, I saw what recalled to mind many early associations—two handsome young persons, evidently lovers, in the costume of Petrarch and his Laura; the girl’s face was fair and sweet in its expression, she was a fine impersonation of that interesting character, the records of whose life have been so blended with romance, that we can with difficulty distinguish the real from the fictitious; certain it is, however, that such a being as Laura once existed, and that Petrarch, enamored of her real or fancied beauty, addressed to her those eloquent sonnets, which are an ornament to the literature of his time. I remembered to have read them when a boy, by a favorite sister’s side, beneath the linden trees in the park of my father’s country seat; now that sister slept the dreamless sleep of death, under the shade of those very trees where in childhood she had played. The costume of these lovers, and the recollection of the sonnets, and my companion in their perusal, revived many a forgotten reminiscence of by-gone years.

Aurora had already begun to display her golden banner in the East, when, fagged out, and nearly stupified by our potations of champagne, we left the ball-room; daylight had begun to force its way into the salon de dance, displaying to no very fine effect, the tinsel finery, glazed muslins and pasteboards, of which the generality of the costumes were composed.

“A ball is a stupid thing anyhow,” said Morton, yawning, “particularly when its all over, and one has talked and danced one’s self nearly to death.”

I felt too stupid myself to make any reply to this philosophical observation, as I followed my friend into our carriage.

In such scenes passed off the gay carnival during eight days. Punch’s performance, the gay masquerading, the odd tricks performed by itinerant mountebanks, and divers absurdities of the populace themselves, formed the daily routine, usually concluded at night by a ball. On the last day, at night, after the races, the Corso appeared illuminated as if by magic, with thousands of lights carried by those on foot, in carriages, and displayed at all the windows; those are indeed unfortunate who cannot afford a light on the occasion. It is every one’s business to extinguish his neighbor’s light and preserve his own as long as he can; it is impossible to give an idea of the effect produced by such an odd scene, the glitter and confusion as they each endeavor to extinguish each other’s torches and preserve their own, when viewed from the commanding position we occupied on the balcony of the Palazzo, the effect was singular and beautiful; gradually the lights became fewer and fewer, until at last they disappeared, the noise of the multitude died away, and the carnival was over.

The next morning, after breakfast, Augustus absolutely persisted in making me promise to accompany him to Tivoli, to pay a visit to Coningsby, who had hired a villa there; and although I cared little about going, yet to oblige him I consented. I sent the novel I had promised Carrara by my valet, with my compliments and inquiries about his health, but we had started for Tivoli before Henri returned with an answer.

We remained a week with our friend, who, delighted to see us, entertained us with noble hospitality. The tasteful arrangement of his villa, the salubrious air and charming scenery of the surrounded country, over which was scattered many an ancient ruin, successively claimed our attention and admiration. Time spent agreeably flies rapidly away, on the contrary moments passed in pain or sorrow, are anxiously numbered. When our stanhope again stopped before the door of our hotel, it seemed but a few hours since we had left it.

CHAPTER III.

It wanted two hours of dinner, and, leaving Augustus to scold the servants and make whatever domestic arrangements he choose, I took my hat and sought the way to Carrara’s house; the windows facing the street were bolted and barred as usual; I knocked loudly at the street door, but no one came; and after waiting a few minutes I knocked again, still no answer; I concluded Carrara must be out of town, perhaps on a visit, and was about going away when I saw old Guiseppe coming slowly toward the house; I waited until he reached me, and then asked if his master was well?

The old man looked at me with grave surprise, and mournfully exclaimed, “Ah, Signor! I see you have not heard the sad news. Master died the second day after you left for Tivoli, and was buried yesterday.”

“Carrara dead!” I shrieked, rather than spoke; “you or I must be dreaming; it is impossible he could have died so very suddenly; he was living a week ago when I left for Tivoli.”

“He had been sick, you know sir, all carnival time; it was only a simple sore-throat, to be sure, but he neglected it, he said it would get well of itself; but he grew worse instead of better, and gangrene had taken place before he would allow me to send for a physician. It was then too late; master became delirious, and talked constantly about you, and somebody whom he called “Genevra.” He got his senses a little, just before he died, and calling me to his bedside, told me to give you a packet, which he placed in my hands. I told him you had gone to Tivoli for a few days, and that when you returned I would do so. He said he was very sorry you were not here to see him die; that he never should see you again in this world. Shortly after, he became speechless, and the second day after your departure, in the afternoon, he died; a relative of his came to town just in time to witness his death, and attend to his funeral. He had written upon the back of the will, that it was not to be opened or read until your return, and Signor Terra told me to request you to call upon him as soon as you could after your return to town.”

I scarcely heard him: I felt as if oppressed by a frightful nightmare. The idea that that kind old man was dead, whom I had so lately seen in good health and spirits; and dead so suddenly, so unexpectedly, was too strange and unaccountable for me to realize. Mechanically I followed Guiseppe into the house, and entered the studio, in which I had passed so many pleasant hours since my arrival in Rome; nothing was displaced from the position in which he had left it, when first taken sick; and notwithstanding the consciousness of his death, I momentarily expected to see his tall thin form, and benevolent face, appear at the open door. Guiseppe had left the room, and I fell into a reverie, in which were blended my sad regrets at this unexpected loss, when the old domestic returned, and handed me the packet his master bequeathed me as a legacy, together with the address of the lawyer who wished to see me. I put them both in my pocket: and then turned to the old man, who stood by my side, with his arms folded.

“And you, my good Guiseppe, what do you intend doing, now the good Signor is dead, where do you think of going to?”

Tears startled in the old man’s eyes, as he replied—“I hardly know myself, sir, what I shall do; I think I will return into the country with Signor Carrara’s cousin; I only liked Rome, because I could live with my dear, kind master; and now he’s gone, I would rather go than stay.”

“If you conclude to remain, Guiseppe, and if my influence can be of service in obtaining you another situation, call on me, and I will do whatever I can for you.”

“I thank you a thousand times, Signor,” answered the grateful Italian; and I sadly retraced my steps to our hotel. Augustus was almost as surprised as I had been, on hearing of the sudden death of his artist-friend; he could scarcely believe it, so unexpected had been the sad event, and expressed some curiosity to learn what I had to do with Carrara’s will.

I had not spoken of the packet to Augustus: that was my own little secret; and when night had assumed her reign, I took a “bougie” and established myself in my chamber, with the door locked to prevent intrusion, and proceeded to the examination of this mysterious package. After taking off the paper wrapper, I saw a small silver casket, locked, and the little gold key belonging to it, lying within the paper; upon unlocking it, I saw a bundle of manuscript, and a letter addressed to myself in Carrara’s handwriting. Some of the papers of the diary had already become yellow from age. I hurriedly opened the letter, anxious to learn what this singular present meant; it was dated some days back, during carnival time; the contents were thus:—

“My dear young Friend,

“I feel a presentiment of my approaching dissolution; already the angel of death fans me with his wings, he beckons me to come to that unknown shore; he invites me to drink of the cup of oblivion, and forget all things in the quiet sleep of death. I am now an old man; I have experienced all that I shall ever experience of pleasure; the world is no longer either pleasing or new to me. Death, therefore, so far from appearing an enemy, seems like a dear friend, who comes to release me from future decrepitude and imbecility.

“You will recollect you one day asked me, while gazing upon the portrait of the beautiful Countess Calabrella, what had been her character, and her destiny in life? you seemed to admire, and love to look upon, that picture; when living, no man ever looked upon her without loving her; the manuscript enclosed within the casket is a diary of her own life, which she, confiding in my discretion, promised, and sent to me, previous to her final departure from Rome.

“The perusal of these sad recollections of her childhood, I feel confident, will interest you; they will, at least, exemplify the virtuous struggles of a noble soul, and that determined will, and perseverance in the paths of rectitude and morality, which sooner or later rises triumphantly over the transient contingencies of fortune.

“Farewell my friend, farewell; a mist seems gathering around my eyes. Oh, it is nothing, I—”

This unfinished letter was scarcely legible from blots and blurs; my poor friend had evidently indited it but a little while before his death, when his mind, as well as his body, enfeebled by illness, was becoming confused. He could not have bequeathed me a “memento” more acceptable to myself than this autobiography.

I opened the papers, which were written in a bold free hand; snuffed the candle, and began to read; as I did so, a small alabaster time-piece upon my mantle struck nine.

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

“While sitting to you for my portrait, you have often paid me compliments upon my beauty. I will not say that the language of compliment is unknown to me; yet, could you have seen me fourteen years ago, a ragged, houseless, wandering orphan child, you would never be able to recognize in my present self the same creature. My earliest recollections do not extend beyond the age of six years; but I still retain an indefinite remembrance of a tall, slender woman, who used to walk the floor with me, and hush me to sleep in her arms; it seemed to be in the country, for I remember hearing the mournful sighing of the winds, as they whistled through the trees, and of being frightened at the sound; these may be, however, merely the fancies or dreams of childhood.

“My first distinct remembrance, is of being a ragged, dirty child,—the protegé, or rather the slave of an old hag, the inhabitant of a wretched hovel; when not subjected to her abuse and savage tyranny, I was generally the companion of any little vagabonds I chanced to meet playing in the streets. What right that old woman had to my person, or how she ever obtained possession of me, I never knew; chance or fate, whichever it is that rules the actions of mankind, removed me so soon from her pernicious influence, and depraved example, that I never learned how our destinies came to be united. She sometimes sent me out alone at night, to the most public squares in the city of Vienna, and commanded me not to return without a certain number of sous, under penalty of being whipped with rods, till the blood ran down my back; frequently she beat me from sheer malice, merely to exercise her ill humor. In winter, my bed was a heap of dirty straw, in the loft of this miserable hut, where I lay and shivered with cold, while my Hecate-like protector, crouched in the chimney corner of the only room the house contained, dozed, and muttered over the embers of her fire. During summer I played about the streets, or grown bold from habit, boldly asked pennys from the passers-by, while the old woman performed her daily routine of thieving or begging in different parts of the town.

“Thus passed two years, in this depraved and wretched way; I was then eight years old, and reason began to shed some glimmering rays of light upon my benighted mind. I saw that hundreds of other children did not live as I did: some were beautifully dressed, their hair combed smoothly, their faces and hands clean, while mine were as dirty as the rags I wore. All this was a perfect mystery to me; I could in no way explain it to myself, that other children, no prettier than myself, should revel in luxury, while I was left a neglected beggar child; alas! knowledge of the ways of the world has since then taught me the reason why. I always experienced a sorrowful regret, when I saw other children gayly dressed, smiling and happy. I did not envy them, but I wished to be so situated myself. The old woman, whom I called Granny, sometimes imposed upon the credulity of the vulgar, by telling fortunes; her wild eyes, of a greenish color, and straggling gray hair, accompanied by strange mysterious gestures, would not have disgraced the queen of the witches herself; and I presume she would have taught me the same nefarious trade, had not an unexpected event changed the whole course of my life.

“It was on a cold, dark evening in December; the air was keen and raw, and flakes of snow came driving along on the wind, when, after having treated me with unusual severity during the day, the old woman dismissed me to one of the principal squares, and forbade me to return until I had obtained ten sous.

“I took a little paper lantern, lighted by a bit of tallow candle, to guide my steps through the dark and lonely streets, and went to the square. I had been there sometime, and had collected but five sous, from the unwilling charity of the passers-by; some of them, when I timidly asked them for a sou, looked at me harshly, and passed on, making me no reply; others gave it me in a contemptuous manner; and one woman, as she swept past me, her long robe trailing the pavement, remarked how absurd it was for the police to allow pauper children to annoy people by their importunity. I felt so degraded and unhappy, that unconsciously the bitter tears ran down my cheeks, and leaning my head upon my arm, which rested on one of the iron seats of the piazza, I wept bitterly; I longed to go home, but I dreaded the severe punishment which I knew awaited me, if I did not return with ten sous.

“I heard heavy steps coming up the gravel walk, and rose upon my feet; it was a tall, stout man, enveloped in a large cloak; I could not see his face; my little lantern was extinguished, and the moon had hidden herself beneath the snowy clouds. I extended one of my cold little hands, and falteringly asked him for a sou.

“‘I haven’t a single sou about me, my little one,’ he replied, in a rough, kind voice, ‘nothing but a bank note.’

“He was about passing on, when trembling and animated by a sort of desperation, I seized his cloak with both hands, and was beginning to entreat him once more, when tears choked my utterance, and I sobbed piteously; the man seemed touched by my grief, he stopped, and raising me off the ground, exclaimed jocosely,

“‘What, all this weeping about one sou, come with me across the piazza, and I’ll get a bill changed and give you a hundred, if that will dry your tears, poor little one;’ and then, inquiring, ‘In what part of the town do you live, and who is it that sends you out such cold, stormy nights as this, to beg; have you a father or mother?’

“‘No sir.’

“‘Who takes care of you?’

“‘An old woman.’

“‘Is she kind to you?’

“‘No; she sends me out to beg, and beats and abuses me, if I don’t bring her as many sous as she bids me bring.’

“‘Why don’t you run away?’

“‘I can’t: there’s nobody to take care of me if I did.’

“‘Come with me, and let me see how you look.’ He took my hand, cast his ample cloak around my shivering shoulders, and I walked by his side to a small fancy shop, the other side of the square. He began singing an air as he walked along; it sounded perfectly celestial to my ears.

“A pretty girl stood behind the counter, serving customers; she looked like an angel to me then; and I thought that poor little shop must certainly contain every beautiful thing on the face of the earth. After getting a bank note changed, my new friend pushed back my matted hair from my face, and attentively surveyed me from head to foot. I now saw his face; he was a tall, well made man, and his countenance bore a good-humored expression; the result of his investigations seemed satisfactory; for, turning to the shop girl, he said to her:

“‘Mademoiselle Marie, can you oblige me by having this child’s face and hands washed clean?’ and pointing to a child’s dress of blue merino, hanging on the wall; ‘fit her, if you please, with a robe of that description, with suitable clothing, and I will pay whatever you may charge.’ The young girl looked astonished at this; but her amazement in no way equalled mine. To be presented with, what appeared to me, a princely gift, from an utter stranger, seemed too beautiful to be true. I imagined he must be my guardian angel, who had assumed humanity to watch over me; I was too young to perceive that the man had any motive in doing this benevolent action.

“I followed the girl, whom he called Mademoiselle Marie, to a small, neat chamber up stairs; where by dint of perseverance, and some strength, she succeeded in restoring my face, neck and hands, to their original color; she then took a comb and smoothed my tangled locks, put clean shoes and stockings on my feet, clean under-clothing, and lastly, the pretty dress. I walked across the room to a large mirror, and struck with astonishment, contemplated my metamorphosis. I beheld a tall, slender child, with an oval face, whose large blue eyes and auburn hair, gave a pensive expression to the countenance; my complexion would have been a delicate white, had it not been turned by constant exposure to the sun. Was it possible that this interesting child was myself? I concluded it must be an agreeable dream.

“Mademoiselle led me down stairs again, to my new protector. ‘She looks much better now, sir; don’t you think so, now she’s dressed nice and clean?’

“‘Wonderful,’ cried my new friend, ‘I should scarcely know her. Now, my child, I’ll tell you why I give you this pretty dress; I want you to leave the old woman who has you now, and come with me and learn to be an actress; would you not like to be a great actress, rather than beg in the streets?’

“‘I don’t like to ask money of people; I don’t like that way of living at all; but I don’t know what you mean by an actress; what do they do?’

“‘Poor child,’ ejaculated Mademoiselle, ‘how dreadfully ignorant.’

“‘Oh, it is the most charming life in the world; perfectly delightful; you may yet become a great actress, and a happy woman.’

“I could neither appreciate, not understand what greatness was; but I felt a vague comprehension of the word happy, for I had never been anything but unhappy. After paying for my new clothes, my protector asked me to show him the house where I lived. I dreaded to return to the old woman, lest she should deprive me of my new clothes, and replace them with rags; I, therefore, earnestly begged him not to take me back to her; told him she would beat and abuse me, and take away my clothes; he laughed.

“‘Do you suppose,’ he answered, ‘that I care for an old hob-goblin witch. I am merely going to see how much she will sell you for, and relinquish all future right to your person; were I to take you without doing so, she might trouble me hereafter.’

“‘Oh, I don’t want to be sold for a slave,’ I cried; struck with a sudden fear; that perhaps he intended to make some kind of merchandise of me.

“‘A slave, my child; I have no intention of making a slave of you, or any one else I know of, at present. You don’t understand, my little one; therefore show me the way, and be silent.’

“I led him to the old woman’s house; she did not recognise me at first, as I entered, followed by the man, and placed her withered hand over her eyes, to shade the sudden light, and distinguish who I was; for my companion carried a large lantern in his hand, which he raised high above my head, as he came in behind me.

“‘It’s you, is it, you little devil; where have you been so long? where did you get those new clothes; you stole them, didn’t you? I know you did; oh, I’ll beat you, I’ll beat you.’

“She started, when she perceived my protector, who quietly closed the door, and came toward her.

“‘What do you want here, fellow?’ she sharply demanded; ‘what are you doing alone at night with my girl? I sent her out to beg, and you bring her back to me with fine clothes on; she shan’t keep them; I’ll strip her of every piece; she shall be a beggar, a hag like I am.’

“‘Look here, my good woman,’ said the man, in a low quiet tone; ‘look me straight in the face, and let us talk quietly.’ She obeyed; and taking her pipe from her mouth, fixed her gaggle green eyes on his. His cool determined manner seemed to exercise a novel influence upon her unsettled mind.

“‘This poor girl can be of little use to you; I should think, on the contrary, she would be in your way?”

“‘Oh, yes, she’s a deal of trouble to me; so bad, I can’t—’ She left the sentence unfinished, and began smoking her pipe again, as she bent over the fire.

“‘I’ve taken a fancy to the child,’ he continued, ‘and came back with her to-night, to offer you whatever sum you should ask, if you would give her to me; I wish to bring her up, and educate her to the stage.’

“‘It’s satan’s own home; no, I’ll never consent that she shall be made an actress. I mean to bring her up as I was brought up, to be a wandering gipsy girl.’

“‘She is not your child, that is quite certain?’

“‘No, she is not mine.’

“‘How did you obtain her? did you steal her?’

“‘I shall not tell you.’

“He took a purse of gold from his pocket, and shook it between his hands; the old woman eyed it eagerly; ‘come my good woman, you had better consent to let me have the child; you may one day have the satisfaction of seeing her a distinguished woman, and of knowing that it is the same being you once took care of.’

“‘Great satisfaction will it be to me, when I shall be rotting in a pauper’s grave; and great gratitude will she owe me for the kicks and cuffs I’ve given her.’ The old woman laughed, a sneering, devilish laugh. ‘No,’ she continued in a low muttering tone, as if to herself; ‘my sand is nearly run, almost gone; I see it in the embers; I feel it in my bones. What difference does it make when you’re dead, whether you’re buried in the ground, or burnt up? I’d as soon have a hole in the ground, as a fine tomb.’

“During this dialogue I had remained silent, in a distant corner of the room. The fitful gleams from the decaying fire, and the muffled light of the lantern, partially illumined this witch-like apartment, and cast fantastic shadows along the wall; in one corner was thrown a straw bed, upon which the old woman slept; a table, two or three ricketty chairs and a few pieces of broken crockery, constituted its sole furniture; a ladder, placed against the wall, led to my sleeping place, to which I nightly ascended through a hole in the ceiling. At length, arousing herself from her reverie, she said,

“‘You may have the girl for ten louis; if you’ll give me that, you may have her.’

“‘Will you sign a paper I shall draw up; promising never to seek to see her, or speak to her after she leaves you, as I wish to change her turn of mind, and teach her better things.’

“‘Oh, yes; the girl hates me, and what should we want to see each other for. As for me, I hate the whole world; yes, I hate it, I have had my revenge; I have robbed, I have stole, and begged; and steal and beg I always will, until I’m put in the ground. The world owes me a living for the troubles I’ve had. No, I shall never want to see her again, if she leaves me.’

“In the meantime, my new friend took a piece of paper from his pocket, and wrote something upon it in pencil mark. I did not even know my alphabet then; it is therefore impossible for me to say what were the contents of that paper. I presume it was merely a legal technicality, transferring all her rights over to himself. When he had finished, he handed it to her to sign.

“‘I can’t write,’ said she, ‘but I’ll make my mark.’

“‘Well, make a cross, that will do.’ She obeyed, and scrawled two lines across each other; he took the paper from her hand, and put it in his pocket-book; then counted ten louis from his purse, and placed them in her withered claws. She carefully counted them over after him, and being satisfied that the number was correct, deposited the money in a piece of rag, torn off one of her garments, tied a string around it, and laid it in her bosom.

“The man rose, and gathered his cloak around him.

“‘Come my child, my business with her is done; let us depart.’

“Strange anomaly in human nature; I, who one hour previous had desired nothing so earnestly as to leave this wretched hag, now, on being offered an opportunity of leaving, even for a new bright home, felt an undefined sentiment of regret at doing so; perhaps it was the result of old associations and habits, which we all of us, more or less, find difficult to shake off.

“I timidly advanced toward her, to say farewell, for I had ever stood in awe of her violence, and savage nature; but she sullenly turned her back upon both him and me, and began chanting, with her eyes fixed on vacancy.

“‘You need not take the trouble of saying good bye, child,’ remarked my self-appointed guardian, as he pushed open the latchless door—‘she wouldn’t care a farthing if you were to die to-night. Come, little one, are you ready?’ I took one hand; he grasped the lantern with the other; she did not turn her face toward me as I went out. When my feet left the threshold of that hut, I bade adieu to beggary forever, and entered upon a new career in life.

“I felt shy, and almost afraid, as I walked quickly along to keep pace with him; for now that all ties were forever severed between old Granny (as I was wont to call her) and myself, I looked upon him as my saviour and protector; he traversed many streets, turning now to the right, now to the left, in parts of the city where I had never been before; I wished he had taken me back to the little shop and Mademoiselle Marie, but we went nowhere in the direction of the piazza. At length, he stopped before some building, and knocked at the door; I could not judge of the size of the house, or its appearance, the night was too dark; the door was opened by a male servant, holding a heavy silver candlestick, with a wax candle in it, in his hand; my protector said something to him, in a language I did not understand, and the man shut the door after him, and removed his cloak from his shoulders. I now saw, by the light of a large globe lamp suspended from the ceiling, that we stood in a spacious hall, or vestibule, off which opened on either side beautifully carved, mahogany doors; from the farther end ascended a lofty stair-case. My new friend opened one of these doors, and I followed him into an elegant apartment, where a bright coal fire burned cheerfully in the grate; the walls were hung with costly paintings and mirrors; numerous instruments of music lay scattered round. Such a place I had never seen, scarcely even dreamed of; surely this must be fairy land.

“‘Now child,’ said my friend, as he rolled a costly arm-chair before the fire, and seated himself in it, ‘you must be hungry; have you had anything to eat to-day?’

“‘Only a crust of bread this morning, sir.’

“‘Well, you shall have some supper, and then go to bed, and to-morrow we will talk of your future prospects.’

“I had no idea of what ‘future prospects’ meant; but the idea of getting something to eat delighted me; he rang a bell, and when the same domestic answered the summons, who had opened the door for us, he again spoke to him in the same unknown tongue. It was not German, or rather a degenerate dialect I had always been accustomed to hear; it was a softer, a more liquid language; he told me, in German, to go with the man, whom he called Jean, and he would give me my supper, and if I wanted anything to address him in German, and he would understand me.

“I followed Jean across the hall to an immense room, opposite the drawing-room, extending the whole length of the house, beautifully carpeted with Brussels; while up and down the apartment, on either side, were placed stationary seats of scarlet velvet, fixed to the wall; a magnificent chandelier hung from the ceiling; eight large windows on each side, set with mirror plate, reflected and multiplied every object in this handsome and commodious saloon.

“In a distant corner stood a small table, set with supper for two persons, all sorts of cakes, preserves, dried fruit, and bread; on a side table sat two silver urns, one containing coffee, the other tea; a warm, delightful heat seemed to pervade the room; but I saw no fire, and could not imagine whence it came; the atmosphere of peace and repose, which seemed to reign within this house, so different to the scenes of strife and destitution, to which I had alone been accustomed, shed a soothing influence upon my mind. In the course of the last three hours, I had thought more than I ever had during my whole dark, blank existence.

“Jean waited on me, while I ate ravenously. A comfortable meal was something I had never enjoyed before; it is not, therefore, astonishing that I was attentive to its merits; my usual repast had generally been a few crusts of dry bread, sometimes the old woman gave me a bit of tough meat, frequently tainted; this constituted my ordinary fare; yet, I was then healthy and cheerful, notwithstanding my disconsolate condition. I did not know for what purpose this man had taken me from the street, this dark, tempestuous night, and placed me in so splendid a home; had I been older, and wiser, I should naturally have suspected that he had some motive or object in this strange act of benevolence; as it was, I enjoyed, with a keen sense of pleasure, the fine supper, and many glittering objects I saw around me, without thinking, knowing, or caring, what became of me hereafter. When I had finished supper, Jean reconducted me to my protector, who still sat by the fire reading a newspaper; he asked me if I had had supper enough; and upon my answering in the affirmative, and gratefully thanking him for his kindness, he took me up stairs to a little room in the second story, where he gave me in charge to a neat-looking woman, dressed in black, with a white, frilled cap upon her head; after telling her to attend me, and put me to bed, he returned to the drawing-room. It was now past ten o’clock; and, fatigued by the exciting events of the evening, I began to feel stupid and sleepy; the waiting maid undressed me, and after seeing me comfortably wrapped up in bed, left the room, and I fell speedily in a profound slumber.

“The waiting maid, whose name I learned to be Marguerite, came early to dress me; and I found my friend already at his breakfast, in a small breakfast room back of the drawing-room; he drew a chair to the table, told me to help myself, and went on eating and singing at the same time; I needed no second invitation, and complied. When he had completed his breakfast, he leaned back in his chair, and producing a large handkerchief, vigorously rubbed his face; then turning to me, who sat quietly beside him, drinking my coffee, he asked:

“‘Did you sleep well last night, child?’

“‘Yes sir, very comfortably indeed.’

“‘It is awkward speaking to you, without calling you by name; by what name did that old woman call you?’

“‘I don’t know that I ever had a name. Granny used to call me Nancy.’

“‘Nancy, that sounds harsh, I don’t like it;’ he seemed to think a minute, and then said,

“‘Genevra is a pretty name: I will call you that, since you are unprovided with one; hereafter, remember to answer to the name of Genevra.’

“‘Yes sir, I will.’

“‘Now come here, and sit upon my knee; I want to tell you what I intend doing for you.’ I obeyed, and he placed me on his knee.

“‘Now, Genevra, I call you by your right name; you remember hearing me say last night to that old woman, that I intended educating you for the stage, if I took you from her; you are too young yet to know what that means, but you will learn in time. I have already adopted two little girls, situated much as you were, and mean to educate them also as actresses. I hope time will show that you possess a tractable disposition, and sweet temper, without which no accomplishments can be of advantage to you. You are to be placed at the same school with these girls, who will, doubtless, be friends and companions to you in your studies; in the course of five or six years, if you live, you will be prepared, by dint of hard study and application, to make your debut.’

“One half of these remarks I had not understood; I only comprehended, that I was required to perform something very difficult to be done; I presumed a sort of punishment, which was to prepare me for some future eclat; but after having experienced so much of destitution, slight privations seemed light as air, and I joyfully welcomed the idea of, as I thought, going to work.

“He told me to run up stairs, and ask Marguerite to find me some sort of hood, or bonnet, to wear out in the street. After an active search, she at length discovered a gingham hood, which I hastily tied on, and ran back to my protector; he took my hand, and we passed out into the street; it was a fine clear day, I remember; the sun shone bright, although the air was somewhat cold; how different I felt in spirit, as I gayly trotted along by his side; I did not feel the same acute sense of degradation I had always felt with that depraved old hag; the happy buoyant sense of being, which is the principal of happiness in youth, was gradually springing up again in my heart, which had been, as it were, stunted and depressed, by a malevolent genius.

“At a short distance from his own house, he stopped before a gloomy looking dwelling, chequered alternately on the front, with red and black brick; he knocked at a large gate, which seemed to form the only mode of entrance to this convent-like abode; it was slowly unbarred and opened by a stout german woman, dressed in the usual style of the peasantry; my friend passed her without remark, and we ascended a heavy stone stair-case, which wound upward from the court-yard; at the first landing place he led me into a large parlor, furnished plainly, but tastefully; the floor was uncarpeted, but waxed and rubbed till it shone, and reflected every object like a mirror; a piano stood in one corner, and all the chairs were covered with cushions, elegantly embroidered in German worsted; two sofas were also ornamented with the same beautiful work; there was no fire in the grate, however, and the room had a cold, comfortless air about it; one mirror, inserted between the windows, and opposite the door, as we entered, afforded me a full length view of myself, and I started with astonishment at seeing the pretty form reflected there; very different did it look from the ragged, dirty child, I was accustomed to see reflected in the shop windows as I passed.

“We had been seated scarcely a moment, when the door opened, and a small thin woman, with a sharp, bright expression of face, wearing a calico dress, and wrapped in a red shawl, came tripping in; they spoke together for some time, in the same unintelligible language I had heard the night before; at length, turning to me, the lady said in German, ‘So my dear, you are to be a pupil of mine, I hear; I trust I shall find you obedient and diligent.’ They resumed their conversation, while I sat quietly by the side of my new-found guardian; holding his hand in mine, for I felt sad, at thus being obliged so soon to part from him. I heard the sound of mirthful laughter, and noisy whispering, which seemed to be in the vicinity of the parlor, and looking down the stone-paved gallery, I saw at its farthest extremity a door open, and within the room many young girls seated at desks, studying. The house, in its architecture, resembled more one of those old gothic cathedrals, I have since seen in my travels, than anything else I can compare it to; it was lofty, antique, and gloomy, one almost felt like the ghosts themselves, as one walked through its stone galleries, and heard one’s steps resound with a hollow echo.

“When my guardian and the lady had finished their conference, which lasted more than half an hour, he took his hat, preparatory to departure. At the idea of losing this kind man, and being left in a strange house, to form acquaintances with people whom I neither knew, nor cared for, I burst into tears; the lady endeavored to console me, patting me on the head, telling me I should be her little favorite, and she was sure I would be contented and happy. Monsieur Belmont (I heard her call him so) shook me repeatedly by the hand, saying he should see me regularly twice a week; that I must obey Madame Deville in all things, and study hard, that I might become an accomplished girl.

“‘I have no doubt she will be both happy and satisfied, when she becomes a little accustomed to the pupils and myself,’ observed Madame to Monsieur Belmont, as she stood beside me, pressing my hand in hers.

“‘I hope so,’ was his reply, ‘it will be at least three months, I presume, before I can begin to give her instruction in music, she is so totally uninformed.’

“‘Oh yes,’ cried she, with the sharp, quick intonation of a French woman: ‘it will require at least that length of time to instruct her in the rudiments; I shall try and do my best, Monsieur, I assure you, with your protegé; before you go, would you not like to have Inez and Blanche called from the school-room, that they may be introduced to their future companion?’

“‘Yes,’ answered Monsieur, ‘if it is convenient, I should like to see them.’

“Madame rang a small bell, which stood on a table beside her; a moment after, a tall mulatto made his appearance. I had never seen any of the negro race before, and was much astonished at, what I considered, the odd color of his skin; he received her message, delivered to him in French, and directed his steps toward the room at the end of the gallery, from which he returned in a few minutes, leading by the hand two young girls, both older than I; the one a brunette, the other a blonde; their manner was lady-like, gentle, and winning. Inez’s hair was raven black, her eyes large, voluptuous, and star-like in their expression; Blanche, on the contrary, was timid as a fawn, in her look and ways: there was a dreamy languor in her sad blue eyes, which seemed to tell of love’s present or future reveries—a love, however, of a more spiritual kind than Inez would ever be capable of feeling; a profusion of pale flaxen hair shaded her sweet face, and hung nearly to her waist in long curls; they were both dressed alike, in frocks of cheap calico; they bowed respectfully to their teacher on entering her parlor, and upon Monsieur Belmont’s presenting me to them as one who was to become a companion in their studies, they politely kissed me on each cheek, and bade me welcome to their school. I could not realize, while contemplating the refinement of these two girls, that they had been taken, a few short years before, from the same position in life, from which this philanthropic man had rescued me but one day previous; truly, it is education, and the society in which we mingle, which impress in youth that bias of mind for right or wrong, which only leaves us when life does.

“‘You three will occupy the same room,’ said Madame. ‘I hope you will be good friends. Inez and Blanche soon cultivated a friendship for each other after they came.’

“The tears still flowed from my eyes; my heart in after days, became too hard and dry to allow me to weep often; but then the fount of feeling was a fresh, pure spring, uncontaminated by the mud and refuse of inferior streams. I often look back, through the heavy mist time has left lowering upon those early days, and regret the loss of those fallacious hopes; those splendid castles built in air, which always crumbled into dust whenever I attempted to approach them.

“Monsieur Belmont, after speaking to Inez and Blanche a moment, in French, shook hands with me, bade me not cry, and departed. Madame Deville reassuming the school-mistress deportment, and her gravity, which had been laid aside to entertain a visitor, led me to the schoolroom, and the two girls returned to their desks, their silence, and their studies. It was a very large room, lighted by two enormous windows, one at each end; the walls hung, not with superb paintings like Monsieur Belmont’s elegant house, but with charts and maps; rows of desks were ranged each side of the apartment, and more than a hundred girls, of all sizes, shapes, and ages, were seated at them, busily engaged in coning over their lessons for recitation. Upon my entrance, being a new scholar, all eyes were bent on me, and a subdued whispering ran through all the ranks of girls. Madame put me at a desk between Inez and Blanche, and then taking her seat upon an elevated dias at the head of the room. She struck her desk with a ruler, and called one of the classes; the girls, who were called loudly, all rose, shut their books, and placed themselves before her in a row. This class was composed of large girls, neatly dressed, some of them were passably pretty; no two in the room, however, could be compared to Inez and Blanche. They all stared at me as they passed; it was a lesson in ancient history they were to recite. Madame taking one of the books in her hand, asked the questions in a loud, clear tone; and the pupils replied, some well, some wrong, according as they had learned their lessons; the recitation ended, Madame marked those who had missed upon a large day-book, which always lay open upon her desk before her. Several smaller classes were heard, and Inez and Blanche left my side for a while, to recite their lessons; then I heard the sound of a deep-toned bell, rung for several minutes: it was now recess for an hour; all the girls clamorously rushed from the school-room, seized their sun-bonnets, and poured themselves into the court-yard. It was a gloomy spot for a play-ground; there were no trees, no flowers, which we are ever wont to associate in mind with children’s gambols. Nothing but the square flag-stones, flanked on all four sides, by the brick walls of the house, met my view. Inez and Blanche put up their books, and turning to me, Blanche said, ‘Come, Genevra, come with us to the yard, and play hide and seek.’ Inez also pressed me to go and play with them, for I felt shy and strange, and would have preferred remaining where I was. Blanche evidently was a favorite with Madame, for as she went out of the school-room, to rest herself a few minutes in her parlor, before the pupils returned to their studies, she kissed me, saying I must laugh and play, and enjoy myself with the other children; and then said to Blanche, ‘Well, my dear, how is that fine soprano voice of yours, have you practiced well this morning?’ Blanche smilingly replied she had; there was a sweetness about that smile of hers, and an expression of guileless innocence in her lovely eyes, I could never forget.

“How little did we three inexperienced girls imagine what the future had in store for us. Could a magician, at that period of time, have shown us in a magic mirror, our several destinies in life, would we have believed, that the fatal sisters had allotted to us so chequered and sad a career? I am certain I would not. How grateful should we be to Divine Providence, that all insight into futurity is forbidden us; how unable would we be to contend with the many trials and difficulties, which constantly assail us in the rough pathway of life; could we foresee the sacrifices which are so frequently demanded of us as we journey on.

“Inez, Blanche, and myself, descended hand-in-hand to the court-yard; the girls were all joyously at play. I always was a grave child; I cared but little for the sports and amusements children so dearly covet, but on this occasion I forgot my usual sadness and joined them in an animated race, which lasted several minutes, when the bell again was rung; and the girls arranging their disordered dresses, and composing their faces, returned to the school-room in pairs, as they had left it.

“Order was restored, and the rest of the afternoon spent in recitation and writing; I saw several teachers, whom I had not seen during the morning, having been absent in different parts of the house, giving lessons in music and dancing. They were all thin, and had a starved and hungry look, excepting Miss Jones, a fat, good-humored English teacher. I became quite fond of her during my long residence at the school. I learned from Blanche, that Monsieur Belmont, was a Frenchman, from Paris, manager of the Royal Italian Opera, and considered the most splendid singer in Vienna; he also gave lessons in vocal music to some of the pupils at the school, among whom were Inez and Blanche; the girl dwelt with touching sadness upon the humble condition, from which this kind man had taken both Inez and herself, what advantages of education had been afforded them, and how grateful they felt towards him.

CHAPTER IV.

“Blanche had just finished her little story, related with an air of childish simplicity, which gave infinite interest, when the loud sound of a gun reverberated through the house. I had never heard one then, and imagined it was thunder. Twilight’s dusky hue had stolen into the room, before we were aware of its approach. Madame Deville commissioned my future instructor, Madame Schiller, to attend to me, and, following her, we went to the refectory; it was a long, low ceiled, narrow room; two long tables extended almost as far as my eye could reach, covered with snow-white table linen, and scanty portions of bread and butter; a glass of water stood by each plate; weak tea was handed to the teachers, who stood together in a group, apart from the girls, and chatted of their own affairs. I could not help mentally comparing this meagre fare, with the delicacies I had eaten the night before at Monsieur Belmont’s. It may seem surprising, that a beggar girl should regret a style of living, of which she had only caught a passing glance; but luxury is infinitely more attractive than want; we sooner become accustomed to it, and lament its loss when deprived of it. Very few would conscientiously prefer, had they their choice, a life of rigorous self-sacrifice, to one of wealth and splendor. It is generally a matter of compulsion and self-love induces us to advocate that which we cannot change.

“An unbroken silence was preserved during the meal; nearly two hundred girls were gathered around the tables; they ate their slices of bread and butter quietly, and scarce a sound was heard in the room, save the whispered conversation of the teachers. At its conclusion, Madame Deville said grace, and we all proceeded up stairs, through a long gallery, paved with stone, as were all the vestibules in the house, to the study room; this was a large apartment, near the dormitories, fitted up in much the same style as the saloon at Monsieur Belmont’s; the monthly exhibitions of the pupils, Inez told me, were held here. Every evening, for two hours, the girls studied their lessons for the following day; the two hours seemed an eternity to me, while the scholars industriously applied themselves to their books. Madame sat at the head of the room in a sort of pulpit, and with her finger pressed to her lips, might have passed for the goddess of Wisdom herself. The expression of her features, when in repose, was somewhat stern, still there was a kindness blended with it, which showed she possessed a benevolent heart. I still think of her with love and respect, although the remembrance of those days is faint and dim. Another bell rang; the movements of the whole household seemed to be regulated by bells; bed-time had arrived; a certain number of girls were allotted to each dormitory, over whom presided one of the teachers. I was to become one of Madame Schiller’s little flock. A shrine, tastefully decorated, was placed at the head of each sleeping room, and the ceremony of the office was read every night before the girls retired to rest. Madame Schiller, with her hands clasped, knelt upon the floor, and we all gathered around her; the low and solemn voice with which she read the ‘office,’ made a deep impression on my mind. Inez and Blanche, with their heads bowed down, devoutly told their beads. The ceremony occupied perhaps half an hour, then the girls hastily undressed themselves, and hurried to bed; the beds were small, but the bedding neat and clean; they were arranged like the desks in the school-room, in two rows each side of the room; mine was next to that of Blanche. I heard Madame ask, ‘Are you all in bed, children?’ Some one answered ‘yes;’ she extinguished the lamp, and silence and darkness reigned. I fell asleep and had a singular dream. I thought I saw myself grown to be a woman, a tall handsome woman. I stood upon the deck of a ship, driving furiously before the gale, upon a stormy sea; the dark clouds lowered above my head, the waves ran mountains high: a crowd of helpless frightened beings lay around me. I alone seemed the only one on board this doomed vessel who fearlessly met my fate. We were rushing fast on the rocks off the coast. I stood with my arms folded on the forecastle; onward dashed the ship, the masts shivered to splinters, and sails flying like ribbonds in the wind. As we passed a high black rock, which rose menacingly above our heads, I looked upward, and upon its summit, saw a man, who stood with arms folded like myself, calmly contemplating the unhappy bark. He looked like an angel stationed there, that after the pangs of death were past, he might convey to heaven our souls; instinctively I extended toward him my hands, and cried, ‘Save me, oh save me!’ He also opened his arms to receive me, and answered, ‘Come.’ At this moment, the vessel struck the breakers; one wild unearthly yell I heard, and was engulphed amid the waves; I struggled violently, but in vain, to reach the shore; the water filled my mouth and my ears. I was suffocated, and lost my senses. I awoke, covered with a profuse perspiration, trembling with fear; it was not yet day, all was quiet in the dormitory, every one asleep. I lay still for a few minutes, and gradually realized the conviction, that it was all a dream. I went to sleep again; this time I dreamed nothing, and was awoke by Blanche’s hand being laid on mine. Madame was calling the girls; she said it was time to rise. I rose, dressed myself, and washed my face and hands at Blanche’s ‘toilette,’ there being none yet provided for me. When all were dressed, prayers were said. Day had just began to dawn, it was not more than five o’clock, and very cold in the dormitory, sleeping without fire; I felt chilled and stupified by the raw atmosphere; we descended the stairs again, and traversed the long vestibules through which we had ascended the night before; the girls looked almost like shades from the tomb, as they flitted along, and their pattering steps reverberated as they passed.

“They went to the music room, where every morning, from five till seven o’clock, the pupils in music practised in little cabinets, within each of which was placed a piano; a glass window inserted in the door of each room, enabled the teacher to observe whether they were attentive to their duty. Not being a music scholar, I left Inez and Blanche to pursue their practising, and went with Madame Schiller to the school-room; it was dreary and cold. I sat down at my desk, and wished I knew how to read, that I might entertain myself with a book. Several girls were in the room, busily occupied with their lessons; having nothing to do, I leaned my head on my desk and fell into a sort of doze; the time whiled slowly away: at last I was startled by the loud sound of the gong; I started up, sought out my two new friends among the crowd of girls in the gallery, and having found them, went into the refectory to breakfast; the table presented no novelty; the same slices of bread and butter, arranged as I had seen at supper; a cup of weak coffee placed at each plate, instead of the glass of water, constituted the only variation. I tasted mine, it was execrable; yet ‘to the hungry man every bitter thing is sweet,’ and being hungry myself, I ate my bread and butter, and drank my coffee, without paying much attention to the taste of either; breakfast over, we returned to the school-room, and I took my first lesson in my native tongue, by beginning the alphabet. Madame Schiller was my teacher; Madame Deville was also very attentive; she frequently said many kind, encouraging things to me. I have described the routine of one day, so it was every day, monotonous and regular as the ticking of a clock; at first I thought it inconceivably dull; but gradually becoming accustomed to the school, and being occupied and interested in my own mental culture, Time, which at first dragged wearily along, flew more rapidly away, and I became happy in my new home. I made several acquaintances among the pupils, and these childish friendships added to my love of the school.

“Two days after my advent at Madame Deville’s, a trunk, containing several complete suits of clothing, was sent me, labelled ‘Genevra Sfonza,’ from Monsieur Belmont; Blanche read the superscription, for I could not; while I, delighted, contemplated the contents of this unexpected gift; how kind, I thought, to send me such pretty clothes; the dresses were of worsted, made high and plain, suitable to the cold season of the year, and my school occupations; how I longed to see my good benefactor, that I might thank him for all his care and attention to me.

“The following day I saw him; he came to give Inez and Blanche their singing lesson; I was called to the music room; I found Monsieur Belmont there, talking to the two girls; they were the only tenants of the room; at seeing me, he extended his arms and smiled; I ran in to them, with the joyful glee of an infant re-united to its parent, for indeed, he seemed to me more like a protector and friend, whom I had known for years, than the self-constituted patron of a beggar-girl. He asked me if I was an attentive, obedient pupil; if Inez, Blanche, and myself were good friends, and if I were happy at the school. To all these questions I most sincerely answered ‘yes,’ for the few days I had passed there, had been the only happy ones of my whole life.

“‘Don’t you wish you were far enough advanced in music, to be able to sing with your two friends?’ asked Monsieur, as Blanche took her seat at the piano, and arranged her music before her.

“‘Indeed, I should like to sing very much; how long will it be before I can begin to learn?’

“‘In the course of two or three months, if you are studious;’ and he turned his attention to Blanche as she commenced her song. It was a sweet melancholy air from one of the Operas; the words impassioned, and reproachful. The clear, harmonious voice of Blanche, rose gradually from a low, quiet tone, to a wild, bird-like burst of passion. She executed the most difficult passages, with apparently, the greatest ease; higher and higher, rose her tones; then slowly depressing them, they died imperceptibly away. The song had ceased, and I had fallen into a reverie, seated close to the piano, by Monsieur Belmont’s side; one might wonder what I could have found to muse about, at that juvenile period of life; but I always was a dreamy child, and still am a dreamy woman, with this difference alone; my dreams now, are sorrowful regrets over the past; then, they were the fanciful speculations of youth; my visions, then, transported me to some sort of fairy, etherial existence, my spirit seemed to leave my body and rove through infinite space; lovers, or passion, had no share in those dreams of mine. I have since then endeavored, but in vain, to recall those visions of fairyland; time, and the bustle of an active life, have obliterated them from my mind.

“Monsieur praised her improvement, and bade her be diligent at her practising; then Inez came to sing her piece: her voice was a fine, rich contralto, deep and melodious in tone. She sang a bold naval song, with great spirit and effect. The next monthly exhibition was approaching, and all the music pupils were preparing their pieces for the occasion. Inez and Blanche were considered the two best musicians at the institution. Monsieur Belmont advanced them more rapidly, it was said, than he did the other pupils; probably he wished to perfect them more thoroughly for their future debut on the stage.

“Each took a lesson on a new piece, then our teacher departed.

“‘Don’t you ever get tired of singing and practising, Blanche?’ I asked, as she stood leaning thoughtfully against the piano, her eyes downcast, while Inez gazed from the window upon the dreary street below.

“‘Sometimes, yes; yet we know it is our duty to obey Monsieur, and if he tells us to practise extra hours, we must do so.’

“‘How long do you practise each day?’

“‘Four, often five hours.’

“‘Oh, that must be very dull!’

“‘I am sure I think it is,’ exclaimed Inez, who was the most petulant of the two; ‘I often wish I were a woman, and an actress; I should at least be my own mistress, and obtaining money for myself; here I have been for the last three, and you for the last two years; the same old monotonous round of school duties to perform every day; no change, no home to go to in vacation, always here. I don’t believe I shall ever live to get away; when you have been here as long as we have, you will be tired of it too, Genevra!’

“‘I don’t know; I hardly think I shall grow very tired; I like the school; I love you and Blanche, and I am glad and grateful to have some one to take care of me, and a home to stay in.’

“‘In a few years,’ said Blanche, ‘we shall leave the school, and go out into the great world, to make our own way alone; then, perhaps, we may look back and wish we were at school again.’

“At this moment one of the teachers made her appearance at the door, and called us to our studies. Time passed quietly and regularly on for two weeks; I learned my alphabet, and began to spell in words of two syllables; the girls became used to my appearance, and no longer stared and whispered when they saw me, as girls always do upon the advent of a new scholar at a school. Inez was fourteen, Blanche twelve, and I eight years old. In the course of a year or two, Monsieur Belmont intended withdrawing Inez from Madame Deville’s, to teach her the art of acting, preparatory to her entree into the gay world. That world, of which she, nor any of us, as yet knew anything, and from which, in after years, I so often turned away, disgusted with its heartlessness and insincerity, and wished myself buried amid the inaccessible solitudes of Mount Lebanon.

“It wanted but a few days of the monthly ‘soiree;’ the servants were cleaning and arranging the saloon, where it was to be given. Inez, Blanche, and myself, had been running furious races together during the recess; I felt fatigued, from the violent exercise, and sat down where a strong current of air, from a door, blew full upon me for some minutes; when we returned to our desks in the school-room, my cheeks burnt like fire, and my head felt heavy; I could not take my usual interest in my lesson; for anxious to improve, I diligently applied myself; the letters seemed to turn red, blue, and yellow, and swam before my eyes; late in the afternoon, noticing my languor, as I sat leaning my head on Blanche’s shoulder, Madame Deville asked me, if I felt unwell; I answered, ‘no, I did not, but my head ached.’

“‘You don’t look well, my dear; I am afraid you are going to be sick; you must go to the infirmary to-night, and be attended to. Wilhelmina,’ addressing a tall, stout, flaxen-haired German girl, ‘take Genevra to the infirmary, and tell Miss Jones to attend to her, and put her name on the sick list, at least till to-morrow, when I will see how she is. Go my dear.’

“The infirmary was a large, gloomy room, at the other end of the house, where the pupils were sent, to be nursed, when the least indisposed, if it was only a headache, or ordinary cold, and Madame happened to notice a heavy eye, or listless demeanor, among any of her flock, they were immediately dismissed to the sick room.

“I did not want to go; it was only a slight cold I had taken from over exercise, but Madame’s word was law, and must be obeyed, and I, therefore, reluctantly followed my conductress to the infirmary. Wilhelmina repeated her message to Miss Jones, and then returned. Twilight was stealing over that vast city, not the unclouded twilight of a summer’s eve, but winter’s dusky clouds, mingled with the clear blue of the atmosphere.

“Miss Jones, although English, spoke German well; she asked me if I felt sick, and what ailed me? I replied, ‘only a slight headache and vertigo; that I would have remained at my desk, but Madame, imagining I was ill, had told me to come to the infirmary.’

“‘Madame is right, of course, my child; for all you know, these may be the premonitory symptoms of a fever,’ and Miss Jones, with a learned air, felt my pulse. I could scarcely help smiling at the comical expression of assumed wisdom in the good-natured little woman’s face. ‘Your head is hot,’ placing her hand upon my head, ‘and your eyes look heavy; sit down quietly here; the doctor is coming soon, to prescribe for Miss Clarendon, and then I’ll ask him what I shall do for you?’

“The little woman bustled about the room awhile, and then went out to order some gruel made for one of the sick girls. I sat still, where she had left me, in an arm-chair, near the window, and looked around the room. Some half dozen girls were its occupants, all sick, and with the exception of one, all in bed; my eyes dwelt more particularly upon her than any other, being the most beautiful and conspicuous one among the invalids, it was the young girl the teacher had called Miss Clarendon. I afterwards learned from one of the pupils, that she was the daughter of a widowed English nobleman, who had placed her at the institution to complete her education, while he pursued his travels alone in the East. She sat in a large fauteuil, nearly opposite me, on the other side of the room; her whole person, except her etherial looking face, enveloped in an enormous cashmere shawl. Her maid, a mulatto woman, stood by her, bathing her pale face with eau de Cologne; her large blue eyes, heavy and listless from ill health, and probably low spirits, were gazing on vacancy; a slight, bright tinge of pink illumined each cheek, and gave a brilliant expression of evanescent bloom to the countenance of this dying beauty.

“For dying she evidently was, of that most insidious and deceptive of all diseases, consumption; far away from the home and associations of her childhood,—alone, in a land of strangers. I thought, while looking at her, that I had never seen any one half as lovely. Inez and Blanche were beautiful, but they were not to be compared to her; they did not possess that elegant bearing, that innate consciousness of superiority, which showed itself in the very looks of this girl. She looked so calm, so lady-like; at intervals she pressed one of her small, delicate hands to her mouth, as if to stifle the hacking cough, which seemed to convulse her frame. Her attendant offered her a lozenge; she took it mechanically, put it in her mouth, and still gazed on. I walked across the room and took a seat near her; she looked at me languidly, but made no remark.

“‘Are you sick, Miss?’ I asked, curiously, for I wanted to hear her speak. ‘Are you one of Madame Deville’s pupils? I have not seen you before.’

“‘You are a new pupil, I suppose, and I have been sick for many weeks,’ she replied, in intelligible German, but with a marked English accent; her voice was sweet, and intonation very clear, ‘Are you on the sick list?’ she asked.

“‘Yes, Madame says so; she sent me here because I had a bad headache and vertigo, but I don’t like the room, it’s so still and gloomy.’

“‘I wish I had nothing but a headache, I should not complain of the gloomy room.’ Tears started in those soft blue eyes, and ran down her cheeks. ‘Oh my father,’ she murmured in broken tones, ‘if you only knew how desolate and lonely I am, I am sure you would come to me.’

“‘Don’t cry,’ I exclaimed, moved at her grief, and wishing to console her, ‘I am sure you’ll get well yet.’

“‘Go away, child, you worry me; you cannot bring me what I long for, my dear father.’

“‘Where is your father, is he very far from here? why don’t he come to see you, when you want to see him?’

“‘He don’t know that I am ill, that I am dying; if he did, oh how quickly would he fly to me.’

“‘Why don’t you write to him, and ask him to take you away from the school?’

“‘I have written several times, but I know my letters are never sent, if they had been, he would have been here long ago; I know I shall die soon; it is now two years since father placed me here, and I have been sick for more than a year. He went to Greece and Sicily. Oh, how I wish I were with him. It must be a dreadful thing to die,’ she continued, after a moment’s pause; ‘did you ever think about dying, child?’

“‘No, I never thought much about it; I always thought about being happy, and wished to be so.’

“‘At home in dear England, I was happy, with all dear friends around us; but to be ill in a strange country, among people I care nothing about, and who care nothing for me, oh how dreadful it is.’ She hid her face in her hands, and sighed, and sobbed. I wished I had been better acquainted with her, I would have thrown my arms around her neck, and kissed her, but I did not like to take such a liberty with an utter stranger. Miss Jones stole suddenly upon us, followed by the physician, and I glided back to my former position. He talked for sometime to Miss Clarendon in a low voice, and she replied in the same subdued tone; I could not catch any of their conversation. Then he passed to the bedsides of some of the other invalids, and paused for some time at that of a little girl, who was raving deliriously with typhus fever; her little hands lay outside the coverlid, and she sometimes clasped them frantically above her head, and demanded her golden crown. Poor little innocent, I hope she obtained it in a better, brighter sphere; for, a few days after, I saw the same slight form arrayed in its grave clothes, and she was borne to her last and silent resting place.

“The physician prescribed for me abstinence for twenty-four hours, and a dose of Epsom salts, both of which recipes I considered entirely unnecessary, as fasting was a virtue which we, from necessity, were constantly obliged to practise, and as for the salts, I really did not need it. It was now quite dark, and two lamps, shedding a dim light, were placed by the nurse on tables at either end of the room. I saw the young English girl undress, and her servant assisted her into bed; she coughed continually, and the traces of tears were still on her cheeks; how sorry I felt for her, if I had been a carrier-pigeon, how willingly would I have flown to Sicily, or anywhere on earth, to have told that beloved parent of her sad condition, and restored him to her.