THE GREY WOMAN
Portion 1
There is a mill by the Neckar-side, to which many people resort forcoffee, according to the fashion which is almost national in Germany.There is nothing particularly attractive in the situation of this mill;it is on the Mannheim (the flat and unromantic) side of Heidelberg. Theriver turns the mill-wheel with a plenteous gushing sound; theout-buildings and the dwelling-house of the miller form a well-keptdusty quadrangle. Again, further from the river, there is a garden fullof willows, and arbours, and flower-beds not well kept, but veryprofuse in flowers and luxuriant creepers, knotting and looping thearbours together. In each of these arbours is a stationary table ofwhite painted wood, and light moveable chairs of the same colour andmaterial.
I went to drink coffee there with some friends in 184--. The statelyold miller came out to greet us, as some of the party were known to himof old. He was of a grand build of a man, and his loud musical voice,with its tone friendly and familiar, his rolling laugh of welcome, wentwell with the keen bright eye, the fine cloth of his coat, and thegeneral look of substance about the place. Poultry of all kindsabounded in the mill-yard, where there were ample means of livelihoodfor them strewed on the ground; but not content with this, the millertook out handfuls of corn from the sacks, and threw liberally to thecocks and hens that ran almost under his feet in their eagerness. Andall the time he was doing this, as it were habitually, he was talkingto us, and ever and anon calling to his daughter and the serving-maids,to bid them hasten the coffee we had ordered. He followed us to anarbour, and saw us served to his satisfaction with the best ofeverything we could ask for; and then left us to go round to thedifferent arbours and see that each party was properly attended to;and, as he went, this great, prosperous, happy-looking man whistledsoftly one of the most plaintive airs I ever heard.
'His family have held this mill ever since the old Palatinate days; orrather, I should say, have possessed the ground ever since then, fortwo successive mills of theirs have been burnt down by the French. Ifyou want to see Scherer in a passion, just talk to him of thepossibility of a French invasion.'
But at this moment, still whistling that mournful air, we saw themiller going down the steps that led from the somewhat raised gardeninto the mill-yard; and so I seemed to have lost my chance of puttinghim in a passion.
We had nearly finished our coffee, and our 'kucken,' and our cinnamoncake, when heavy splashes fell on our thick leafy covering; quicker andquicker they came, coming through the tender leaves as if they weretearing them asunder; all the people in the garden were hurrying undershelter, or seeking for their carriages standing outside. Up the stepsthe miller came hastening, with a crimson umbrella, fit to cover everyone left in the garden, and followed by his daughter, and one or twomaidens, each bearing an umbrella.
'Come into the house--come in, I say. It is a summer-storm, and willflood the place for an hour or two, till the river carries it away.Here, here.'
And we followed him back into his own house. We went into the kitchenfirst. Such an array of bright copper and tin vessels I never saw; andall the wooden things were as thoroughly scoured. The red tile floorwas spotless when we went in, but in two minutes it was all over slopand dirt with the tread of many feet; for the kitchen was filled, andstill the worthy miller kept bringing in more people under his greatcrimson umbrella. He even called the dogs in, and made them lie downunder the tables.
His daughter said something to him in German, and he shook his headmerrily at her. Everybody laughed.
'What did she say?' I asked.
'She told him to bring the ducks in next; but indeed if more peoplecome we shall be suffocated. What with the thundery weather, and thestove, and all these steaming clothes, I really think we must ask leaveto pass on. Perhaps we might go in and see Frau Scherer.'
My friend asked the daughter of the house for permission to go into aninner chamber and see her mother. It was granted, and we went into asort of saloon, over-looking the Neckar; very small, very bright, andvery close. The floor was slippery with polish; long narrow pieces oflooking-glass against the walls reflected the perpetual motion of theriver opposite; a white porcelain stove, with some old-fashionedornaments of brass about it; a sofa, covered with Utrecht velvet, atable before it, and a piece of worsted-worked carpet under it; a vaseof artificial flowers; and, lastly, an alcove with a bed in it, onwhich lay the paralysed wife of the good miller, knitting busily,formed the furniture. I spoke as if this was all that was to be seen inthe room; but, sitting quietly, while my friend kept up a briskconversation in a language which I but half understood, my eye wascaught by a picture in a dark corner of the room, and I got up toexamine it more nearly.
It was that of a young girl of extreme beauty; evidently of middlerank. There was a sensitive refinement in her face, as if she almostshrank from the gaze which, of necessity, the painter must have fixedupon her. It was not over-well painted, but I felt that it must havebeen a good likeness, from this strong impress of peculiar characterwhich I have tried to describe. From the dress, I should guess it tohave been painted in the latter half of the last century. And Iafterwards heard that I was right.
There was a little pause in the conversation.
'Will you ask Frau Scherer who this is?'
My friend repeated my question, and received a long reply in German.Then she turned round and translated it to me.
'It is the likeness of a great-aunt of her husband's.' (My friend wasstanding by me, and looking at the picture with sympathetic curiosity.)'See! here is the name on the open page of this Bible, "Anna Scherer,1778." Frau Scherer says there is a tradition in the family that thispretty girl, with her complexion of lilies and roses, lost her colourso entirely through fright, that she was known by the name of the GreyWoman. She speaks as if this Anna Scherer lived in some state oflife-long terror. But she does not know details; refers me to herhusband for them. She thinks he has some papers which were written bythe original of that picture for her daughter, who died in this veryhouse not long after our friend there was married. We can ask HerrScherer for the whole story if you like.'
'Oh yes, pray do!' said I. And, as our host came in at this moment toask how we were faring, and to tell us that he had sent to Heidelbergfor carriages to convey us home, seeing no chance of the heavy rainabating, my friend, after thanking him, passed on to my request.
'Ah!' said he, his face changing, 'the aunt Anna had a sad history. Itwas all owing to one of those hellish Frenchmen; and her daughtersuffered for it--the cousin Ursula, as we all called her when I was achild. To be sure, the good cousin Ursula was his child as well. Thesins of the fathers are visited on their children. The lady would liketo know all about it, would she? Well, there are papers--a kind ofapology the aunt Anna wrote for putting an end to her daughter'sengagement--or rather facts which she revealed, that prevented cousinUrsula from marrying the man she loved; and so she would never have anyother good fellow, else I have heard say my father would have beenthankful to have made her his wife.' All this time he was rummaging inthe drawer of an old-fashioned bureau, and now he turned round, with abundle of yellow MSS. in his hand, which he gave to my friend, saying,'Take it home, take it home, and if you care to make out our crabbedGerman writing, you may keep it as long as you like, and read it atyour leisure. Only I must have it back again when you have done withit, that's all.'
And so we became possessed of the manuscript of the following letter,which it was our employment, during many a long evening that ensuingwinter, to translate, and in some parts to abbreviate. The letter beganwith some reference to the pain which she had already inflicted uponher daughter by some unexplained opposition to a project of marriage;but I doubt if, without the clue with which the good miller hadfurnished us, we could have made out even this much from thepassionate, broken sentences that made us fancy that some scene betweenthe mother and daughter--and possibly a third person--had occurred justbefore the mother had begun to write.
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'Thou dost not love thy child, mother! Thou dost not care if her heartis broken!' Ah, God! and these words of my heart-beloved Ursula ring inmy ears as if the sound of them would fill them when I lie a-dying. Andher poor tear-stained face comes between me and everything else. Child!hearts do not break; life is very tough as well as very terrible. But Iwill not decide for thee. I will tell thee all; and thou shalt bear theburden of choice. I may be wrong; I have little wit left, and never hadmuch, I think; but an instinct serves me in place of judgement, andthat instinct tells me that thou and thy Henri must never be married.Yet I may be in error. I would fain make my child happy. Lay this paperbefore the good priest Schriesheim; if, after reading it, thou hastdoubts which make thee uncertain. Only I will tell thee all now, oncondition that no spoken word ever passes between us on the subject. Itwould kill me to be questioned. I should have to see all present again.
My father held, as thou knowest, the mill on the Neckar, where thynew-found uncle, Scherer, now lives. Thou rememberest the surprise withwhich we were received there last vintage twelvemonth. How thy uncledisbelieved me when I said that I was his sister Anna, whom he had longbelieved to be dead, and how I had to lead thee underneath the picture,painted of me long ago, and point out, feature by feature, the likenessbetween it and thee; and how, as I spoke, I recalled first to my ownmind, and then by speech to his, the details of the time when it waspainted; the merry words that passed between us then, a happy boy andgirl; the position of the articles of furniture in the room; ourfather's habits; the cherry-tree, now cut down, that shaded the windowof my bedroom, through which my brother was wont to squeeze himself, inorder to spring on to the topmost bough that would bear his weight; andthence would pass me back his cap laden with fruit to where I sat onthe window-sill, too sick with fright for him to care much for eatingthe cherries.
And at length Fritz gave way, and believed me to be his sister Anna,even as though I were risen from the dead. And thou rememberest how hefetched in his wife, and told her that I was not dead, but was comeback to the old home once more, changed as I was. And she would scarcebelieve him, and scanned me with a cold, distrustful eye, till atlength--for I knew her of old as Babette Mueller--I said that I waswell-to-do, and needed not to seek out friends for what they had togive. And then she asked--not me, but her husband--why I had keptsilent so long, leading all--father, brother, every one that loved mein my own dear home--to esteem me dead. And then thine uncle (thourememberest?) said he cared not to know more than I cared to tell; thatI was his Anna, found again, to be a blessing to him in his old age, asI had been in his boyhood. I thanked him in my heart for his trust; forwere the need for telling all less than it seems to me now I could notspeak of my past life. But she, who was my sister-in-law still, heldback her welcome, and, for want of that, I did not go to live inHeidelberg as I had planned beforehand, in order to be near my brotherFritz, but contented myself with his promise to be a father to myUrsula when I should die and leave this weary world.
That Babette Mueller was, as I may say, the cause of all my life'ssuffering. She was a baker's daughter in Heidelberg--a great beauty, aspeople said, and, indeed, as I could see for myself I, too--thou sawestmy picture--was reckoned a beauty, and I believe I was so. BabetteMueller looked upon me as a rival. She liked to be admired, and had noone much to love her. I had several people to love me--thy grandfather,Fritz, the old servant Kaetchen, Karl, the head apprentice at themill--and I feared admiration and notice, and the being stared at asthe 'Schoene Muellerin,' whenever I went to make my purchases inHeidelberg.
Those were happy, peaceful days. I had Kaetchen to help me in thehousework, and whatever we did pleased my brave old father, who wasalways gentle and indulgent towards us women, though he was sternenough with the apprentices in the mill. Karl, the oldest of these, washis favourite; and I can see now that my father wished him to marry me,and that Karl himself was desirous to do so. But Karl was rough-spoken,and passionate--not with me, but with the others--and I shrank from himin a way which, I fear, gave him pain. And then came thy uncle Fritz'smarriage; and Babette was brought to the mill to be its mistress. Notthat I cared much for giving up my post, for, in spite of my father'sgreat kindness, I always feared that I did not manage well for so largea family (with the men, and a girl under Kaetchen, we sat down eleveneach night to supper). But when Babette began to find fault withKaetchen, I was unhappy at the blame that fell on faithful servants; andby-and-by I began to see that Babette was egging on Karl to make moreopen love to me, and, as she once said, to get done with it, and takeme off to a home of my own. My father was growing old, and did notperceive all my daily discomfort. The more Karl advanced, the more Idisliked him. He was good in the main, but I had no notion of beingmarried, and could not bear any one who talked to me about it.
Things were in this way when I had an invitation to go to Carlsruhe tovisit a schoolfellow, of whom I had been very fond. Babette was all formy going; I don't think I wanted to leave home, and yet I had been veryfond of Sophie Rupprecht. But I was always shy among strangers. Somehowthe affair was settled for me, but not until both Fritz and my fatherhad made inquiries as to the character and position of the Rupprechts.They learned that the father had held some kind of inferior positionabout the Grand-duke's court, and was now dead, leaving a widow, anoble lady, and two daughters, the elder of whom was Sophie, my friend.Madame Rupprecht was not rich, but more than respectable--genteel. Whenthis was ascertained, my father made no opposition to my going; Babetteforwarded it by all the means in her power, and even my dear Fritz hadhis word to say in its favour. Only Kaetchen was against it--Kaetchen andKarl. The opposition of Karl did more to send me to Carlsruhe thananything. For I could have objected to go; but when he took uponhimself to ask what was the good of going a-gadding, visiting strangersof whom no one knew anything, I yielded to circumstances--to thepulling of Sophie and the pushing of Babette. I was silently vexed, Iremember, at Babette's inspection of my clothes; at the way in whichshe settled that this gown was too old-fashioned, or that too common,to go with me on my visit to a noble lady; and at the way in which shetook upon herself to spend the money my father had given me to buy whatwas requisite for the occasion. And yet I blamed myself, for every oneelse thought her so kind for doing all this; and she herself meantkindly, too.
At last I quitted the mill by the Neckar-side. It was a long day'sjourney, and Fritz went with me to Carlsruhe. The Rupprechts lived onthe third floor of a house a little behind one of the principalstreets, in a cramped-up court, to which we gained admittance through adoorway in the street. I remember how pinched their rooms looked afterthe large space we had at the mill, and yet they had an air of grandeurabout them which was new to me, and which gave me pleasure, faded assome of it was. Madame Rupprecht was too formal a lady for me; I wasnever at my ease with her; but Sophie was all that I had recollectedher at school: kind, affectionate, and only rather too ready with herexpressions of admiration and regard. The little sister kept out of ourway; and that was all we needed, in the first enthusiastic renewal ofour early friendship. The one great object of Madame Rupprecht's lifewas to retain her position in society; and as her means were muchdiminished since her husband's death, there was not much comfort,though there was a great deal of show, in their way of living; just theopposite of what it was at my father's house. I believe that my comingwas not too much desired by Madame Rupprecht, as I brought with meanother mouth to be fed; but Sophie had spent a year or more inentreating for permission to invite me, and her mother, having onceconsented, was too well bred not to give me a stately welcome.
The life in Carlsruhe was very different from what it was at home. Thehours were later, the coffee was weaker in the morning, the pottage wasweaker, the boiled beef less relieved by other diet, the dresses finer,the evening engagements constant. I did not find these visits pleasant.We might not knit, which would have relieved the tedium a little; butwe sat in a circle, talking together, only interrupted occasionally bya gentle
man, who, breaking out of the knot of men who stood near thedoor, talking eagerly together, stole across the room on tiptoe, hishat under his arm, and, bringing his feet together in the position wecalled the first at the dancing-school, made a low bow to the lady hewas going to address. The first time I saw these manners I could nothelp smiling; but Madame Rupprecht saw me, and spoke to me next morningrather severely, telling me that, of course, in my country breeding Icould have seen nothing of court manners, or French fashions, but thatthat was no reason for my laughing at them. Of course I tried never tosmile again in company. This visit to Carlsruhe took place in '89, justwhen every one was full of the events taking place at Paris; and yet atCarlsruhe French fashions were more talked of than French politics.Madame Rupprecht, especially, thought a great deal of all Frenchpeople. And this again was quite different to us at home. Fritz couldhardly bear the name of a Frenchman; and it had nearly been an obstacleto my visit to Sophie that her mother preferred being called Madame toher proper title of Frau.
One night I was sitting next to Sophie, and longing for the time whenwe might have supper and go home, so as to be able to speak together, athing forbidden by Madame Rupprecht's rules of etiquette, whichstrictly prohibited any but the most necessary conversation passingbetween members of the same family when in society. I was sitting, Isay, scarcely keeping back my inclination to yawn, when two gentlemencame in, one of whom was evidently a stranger to the whole party, fromthe formal manner in which the host led him up, and presented him tothe hostess. I thought I had never seen any one so handsome or soelegant. His hair was powdered, of course, but one could see from hiscomplexion that it was fair in its natural state. His features were asdelicate as a girl's, and set off by two little 'mouches,' as we calledpatches in those days, one at the left corner of his mouth, the otherprolonging, as it were, the right eye. His dress was blue and silver. Iwas so lost in admiration of this beautiful young man, that I was asmuch surprised as if the angel Gabriel had spoken to me, when the ladyof the house brought him forward to present him to me. She called himMonsieur de la Tourelle, and he began to speak to me in French; butthough I understood him perfectly, I dared not trust myself to reply tohim in that language. Then he tried German, speaking it with a kind ofsoft lisp that I thought charming. But, before the end of the evening,I became a little tired of the affected softness and effeminacy of hismanners, and the exaggerated compliments he paid me, which had theeffect of making all the company turn round and look at me. MadameRupprecht was, however, pleased with the precise thing that displeasedme. She liked either Sophie or me to create a sensation; of course shewould have preferred that it should have been her daughter, but herdaughter's friend was next best. As we went away, I heard MadameRupprecht and Monsieur de la Tourelle reciprocating civil speeches withmight and main, from which I found out that the French gentleman wascoming to call on us the next day. I do not know whether I was moreglad or frightened, for I had been kept upon stilts of good manners allthe evening. But still I was flattered when Madame Rupprecht spoke asif she had invited him, because he had shown pleasure in my society,and even more gratified by Sophie's ungrudging delight at the evidentinterest I had excited in so fine and agreeable a gentleman. Yet, withall this, they had hard work to keep me from running out of the salonthe next day, when we heard his voice inquiring at the gate on thestairs for Madame Rupprecht. They had made me put on my Sunday gown,and they themselves were dressed as for a reception.
When he was gone away, Madame Rupprecht congratulated me on theconquest I had made; for, indeed, he had scarcely spoken to anyoneelse, beyond what mere civility required, and had almost invitedhimself to come in the evening to bring some new song, which was allthe fashion in Paris, he said. Madame Rupprecht had been out allmorning, as she told me, to glean information about Monsieur de laTourelle. He was a proprietaire, had a small chateau on the Vosgesmountains; he owned land there, but had a large income from somesources quite independent of this property. Altogether, he was a goodmatch, as she emphatically observed. She never seemed to think that Icould refuse him after this account of his wealth, nor do I believe shewould have allowed Sophie a choice, even had he been as old and ugly ashe was young and handsome. I do not quite know--so many events havecome to pass since then, and blurred the clearness of myrecollections--if I loved him or not. He was very much devoted to me;he almost frightened me by the excess of his demonstrations of love.And he was very charming to everybody around me, who all spoke of himas the most fascinating of men, and of me as the most fortunate ofgirls. And yet I never felt quite at my ease with him. I was alwaysrelieved when his visits were over, although I missed his presence whenhe did not come. He prolonged his visit to the friend with whom he wasstaying at Carlsruhe, on purpose to woo me. He loaded me with presents,which I was unwilling to take, only Madame Rupprecht seemed to considerme an affected prude if I refused them. Many of these presentsconsisted of articles of valuable old jewellery, evidently belonging tohis family; by accepting these I doubled the ties which were formedaround me by circumstances even more than by my own consent. In thosedays we did not write letters to absent friends as frequently as isdone now, and I had been unwilling to name him in the few letters thatI wrote home. At length, however, I learned from Madame Rupprecht thatshe had written to my father to announce the splendid conquest I hadmade, and to request his presence at my betrothal. I started withastonishment. I had not realized that affairs had gone so far as this.But when she asked me, in a stern, offended manner, what I had meant bymy conduct if I did not intend to marry Monsieur de la Tourelle--I hadreceived his visits, his presents, all his various advances withoutshowing any unwillingness or repugnance--(and it was all true; I hadshown no repugnance, though I did not wish to be married to him,--atleast, not so soon)--what could I do but hang my head, and silentlyconsent to the rapid enunciation of the only course which now remainedfor me if I would not be esteemed a heartless coquette all the rest ofmy days?
There was some difficulty, which I afterwards learnt that mysister-in-law had obviated, about my betrothal taking place from home.My father, and Fritz especially, were for having me return to the mill,and there be betrothed, and from thence be married. But the Rupprechtsand Monsieur de la Tourelle were equally urgent on the other side; andBabette was unwilling to have the trouble of the commotion at the mill;and also, I think, a little disliked the idea of the contrast of mygrander marriage with her own.
So my father and Fritz came over to the betrothal. They were to stay atan inn in Carlsruhe for a fortnight, at the end of which time themarriage was to take place. Monsieur de la Tourelle told me he hadbusiness at home, which would oblige him to be absent during theinterval between the two events; and I was very glad of it, for I didnot think that he valued my father and my brother as I could havewished him to do. He was very polite to them; put on all the soft,grand manner, which he had rather dropped with me; and complimented usall round, beginning with my father and Madame Rupprecht, and endingwith little Alwina. But he a little scoffed at the old-fashioned churchceremonies which my father insisted on; and I fancy Fritz must havetaken some of his compliments as satire, for I saw certain signs ofmanner by which I knew that my future husband, for all his civil words,had irritated and annoyed my brother. But all the money arrangementswere liberal in the extreme, and more than satisfied, almost surprised,my father. Even Fritz lifted up his eyebrows and whistled. I alone didnot care about anything. I was bewitched,--in a dream,--a kind ofdespair. I had got into a net through my own timidity and weakness, andI did not see how to get out of it. I clung to my own home-people thatfortnight as I had never done before. Their voices, their ways were allso pleasant and familiar to me, after the constraint in which I hadbeen living. I might speak and do as I liked without being corrected byMadame Rupprecht, or reproved in a delicate, complimentary way byMonsieur de la Tourelle. One day I said to my father that I did notwant to be married, that I would rather go back to the dear old mill;but he seemed to feel this speech of mine as a dereliction of duty asgreat
as if I had committed perjury; as if, after the ceremony ofbetrothal, no one had any right over me but my future husband. And yethe asked me some solemn questions; but my answers were not such as todo me any good.
'Dost thou know any fault or crime in this man that should preventGod's blessing from resting on thy marriage with him? Dost thou feelaversion or repugnance to him in any way?'
And to all this what could I say? I could only stammer out that I didnot think I loved him enough; and my poor old father saw in thisreluctance only the fancy of a silly girl who did not know her ownmind, but who had now gone too far to recede.
So we were married, in the Court chapel, a privilege which MadameRupprecht had used no end of efforts to obtain for us, and which shemust have thought was to secure us all possible happiness, both at thetime and in recollection afterwards.
We were married; and after two days spent in festivity at Carlsruhe,among all our new fashionable friends there, I bade good-by for ever tomy dear old father. I had begged my husband to take me by way ofHeidelberg to his old castle in the Vosges; but I found an amount ofdetermination, under that effeminate appearance and manner, for which Iwas not prepared, and he refused my first request so decidedly that Idared not urge it. 'Henceforth, Anna,' said he, 'you will move in adifferent sphere of life; and though it is possible that you may havethe power of showing favour to your relations from time to time, yetmuch or familiar intercourse will be undesirable, and is what I cannotallow.' I felt almost afraid, after this formal speech, of asking myfather and Fritz to come and see me; but, when the agony of biddingthem farewell overcame all my prudence, I did beg them to pay me avisit ere long. But they shook their heads, and spoke of business athome, of different kinds of life, of my being a Frenchwoman now. Onlymy father broke out at last with a blessing, and said, 'If my child isunhappy--which God forbid--let her remember that her father's house isever open to her.' I was on the point of crying out, 'Oh! take me backthen now, my father! oh, my father!' when I felt, rather than saw, myhusband present near me. He looked on with a slightly contemptuous air;and, taking my hand in his, he led me weeping away, saying that shortfarewells were always the best when they were inevitable.
It took us two days to reach his chateau in the Vosges, for the roadswere bad and the way difficult to ascertain. Nothing could be moredevoted than he was all the time of the journey. It seemed as if hewere trying in every way to make up for the separation which every hourmade me feel the more complete between my present and my former life. Iseemed as if I were only now wakening up to a full sense of whatmarriage was, and I dare say I was not a cheerful companion on thetedious journey. At length, jealousy of my regret for my father andbrother got the better of M. de la Tourelle, and he became so muchdispleased with me that I thought my heart would break with the senseof desolation. So it was in no cheerful frame of mind that weapproached Les Rochers, and I thought that perhaps it was because I wasso unhappy that the place looked so dreary. On one side, the chateaulooked like a raw new building, hastily run up for some immediatepurpose, without any growth of trees or underwood near it, only theremains of the stone used for building, not yet cleared away from theimmediate neighbourhood, although weeds and lichens had been sufferedto grow near and over the heaps of rubbish; on the other, were thegreat rocks from which the place took its name, and rising closeagainst them, as if almost a natural formation, was the old castle,whose building dated many centuries back.
It was not large nor grand, but it was strong and picturesque, and Iused to wish that we lived in it rather than in the smart,half-furnished apartment in the new edifice, which had been hastily gotready for my reception. Incongruous as the two parts were, they werejoined into a whole by means of intricate passages and unexpecteddoors, the exact positions of which I never fully understood. M. de laTourelle led me to a suite of rooms set apart for me, and formallyinstalled me in them, as in a domain of which I was sovereign. Heapologised for the hasty preparation which was all he had been able tomake for me, but promised, before I asked, or even thought ofcomplaining, that they should be made as luxurious as heart could wishbefore many weeks had elapsed. But when, in the gloom of an autumnalevening, I caught my own face and figure reflected in all the mirrors,which showed only a mysterious background in the dim light of the manycandles which failed to illuminate the great proportions of thehalf-furnished salon, I clung to M. de la Tourelle, and begged to betaken to the rooms he had occupied before his marriage, he seemed angrywith me, although he affected to laugh, and so decidedly put aside thenotion of my having any other rooms but these, that I trembled insilence at the fantastic figures and shapes which my imagination calledup as peopling the background of those gloomy mirrors. There was myboudoir, a little less dreary--my bedroom, with its grand and tarnishedfurniture, which I commonly made into my sitting-room, locking up thevarious doors which led into the boudoir, the salon, the passages--allbut one, through which M. de la Tourelle always entered from his ownapartments in the older part of the castle. But this preference of minefor occupying my bedroom annoyed M. de la Tourelle, I am sure, thoughhe did not care to express his displeasure. He would always allure meback into the salon, which I disliked more and more from its completeseparation from the rest of the building by the long passage into whichall the doors of my apartment opened. This passage was closed by heavydoors and portieres, through which I could not hear a sound from theother parts of the house, and, of course, the servants could not hearany movement or cry of mine unless expressly summoned. To a girlbrought up as I had been in a household where every individual livedall day in the sight of every other member of the family, never wantedeither cheerful words or the sense of silent companionship, this grandisolation of mine was very formidable; and the more so, because M. dela Tourelle, as landed proprietor, sportsman, and what not, wasgenerally out of doors the greater part of every day, and sometimes fortwo or three days at a time. I had no pride to keep me from associatingwith the domestics; it would have been natural to me in many ways tohave sought them out for a word of sympathy in those dreary days when Iwas left so entirely to myself, had they been like our kindly Germanservants. But I disliked them, one and all; I could not tell why. Somewere civil, but there was a familiarity in their civility whichrepelled me; others were rude, and treated me more as if I were anintruder than their master's chosen wife; and yet of the two sets Iliked these last the best.
The principal male servant belonged to this latter class. I was verymuch afraid of him, he had such an air of suspicious surliness abouthim in all he did for me; and yet M. de la Tourelle spoke of him asmost valuable and faithful. Indeed, it sometimes struck me thatLefebvre ruled his master in some things; and this I could not makeout. For, while M. de la Tourelle behaved towards me as if I were someprecious toy or idol, to be cherished, and fostered, and petted, andindulged, I soon found out how little I, or, apparently, any one else,could bend the terrible will of the man who had on first acquaintanceappeared to me too effeminate and languid to exert his will in theslightest particular. I had learnt to know his face better now; and tosee that some vehement depth of feeling, the cause of which I could notfathom, made his grey eye glitter with pale light, and his lipscontract, and his delicate cheek whiten on certain occasions. But allhad been so open and above board at home, that I had no experience tohelp me to unravel any mysteries among those who lived under the sameroof. I understood that I had made what Madame Rupprecht and her setwould have called a great marriage, because I lived in chateau withmany servants, bound ostensibly to obey me as a mistress. I understoodthat M. de la Tourelle was fond enough of me in his way--proud of mybeauty, I dare say (for he often enough spoke about it to me)--but hewas also jealous, and suspicious, and uninfluenced by my wishes, unlessthey tallied with his own. I felt at this time as if I could have beenfond of him too, if he would have let me; but I was timid from mychildhood, and before long my dread of his displeasure (coming downlike thunder into the midst of his love, for such slight causes as ahesitation in reply, a wrong word, or a
sigh for my father), conqueredmy humorous inclination to love one who was so handsome, soaccomplished, so indulgent and devoted. But if I could not please himwhen indeed I loved him, you may imagine how often I did wrong when Iwas so much afraid of him as to quietly avoid his company for fear ofhis outbursts of passion. One thing I remember noticing, that the moreM. de la Tourelle was displeased with me, the more Lefebvre seemed tochuckle; and when I was restored to favour, sometimes on as sudden animpulse as that which occasioned my disgrace, Lefebvre would lookaskance at me with his cold, malicious eyes, and once or twice at suchtimes he spoke most disrespectfully to M. de la Tourelle.
I have almost forgotten to say that, in the early days of my life atLes Rochers, M. de la Tourelle, in contemptuous indulgent pity at myweakness in disliking the dreary grandeur of the salon, wrote up to themilliner in Paris from whom my corbeille de mariage had come, to desireher to look out for me a maid of middle age, experienced in thetoilette, and with so much refinement that she might on occasion serveas companion to me.
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