Continental Monthly, Vol. I, No. V, May, 1862 by Various

V >> Various >> Continental Monthly, Vol. I, No. V, May, 1862

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* * * * *

A TRUE STORY.

Alone in the world! alone in the great city of Paris, a world in itself!
alone, and with scarcely a livre in my purse!

Such were my reflections as I turned away from the now empty house, in
which for two-and-twenty years I had dwelt with my poor, wasteful,
uncalculating father. My father was a scholar of most stupendous
attainments, particularly in Oriental literature, but a perfect child in
all that related to the ordinary affairs of life. Absorbed in his
studies, he let his pecuniary matters take care of themselves.
Consequently, when death suddenly laid him low, and deprived me of my
only friend and protector, his affairs were found to be in a state of
inextricable confusion. His effects, including the noble library of
Eastern lore which it had been the labor of his life to collect, were
seized, and sold to pay his debts, and were found insufficient.

My mother had died when I was a child, and my father had educated me
himself, pouring into my young and eager mind the treasures of knowledge
he possessed. I was--I say it without boasting--a prodigy of learning;
but in all that relates to domestic economy, as well as to the ordinary
attainments of woman, I was as ignorant as my father himself.

I lingered in the house until the sale was over and the last cart-load
of goods had been removed. Then I repaired to a wretched garret in the
Rue du Temple, where I had found a refuge, and where I designed to
remain until such time as I could, by the exercise of my talents,
replenish my purse and procure a better lodging. Here I sat down, took a
calm survey of my position, and questioned myself as to what employment
I was fit for.

Of the usual feminine accomplishments, I possessed none. I could neither
draw nor paint; I could not play a note of music on any instrument; I
could sing, it is true, but knew nothing of the science of vocal music;
I did not know a word of Spanish, or Italian, or German, or English;
even with the literature of France I was but little acquainted; but I
could read the cuneiform characters of Babylon and Persepolis as readily
as you read this page, while Sanscrit, Hebrew, Arabic, Syriac, and
Chaldaic, flowed from my tongue as freely as a nursery rhyme. As an
instructress of young ladies, therefore, I could not hope to find a
livelihood, but as an assistant to some learned man or body of men, I
knew that my attainments would be invaluable.

Full of hope, therefore, and with a cheerful heart, I set about
obtaining a situation.

Hearing that the Oriental department of the Bibliotheque du Roi was
about to undergo some alterations, and that an assistant librarian was
wanted to reaerrange and re-catalogue the books, I applied at once for
the situation. I was closely examined as to my qualifications, and much
surprise manifested at the proficiency I had attained in these unwonted
studies; but my application was refused, because--I was a woman.

I next answered by letter the advertisement of a distinguished _savant_
who was about to undertake the translation of the Sacred Vedas, and was
in want of an amanuensis. To this I received the following reply:

'MADEMOISELLE: If your attainments in Sanscrit are such as you
represent them, I am convinced that you would exactly suit me,
were you a young man. But I am a bachelor; there is not a single
female in my establishment; your sex, therefore, renders it
impossible for me to employ you as my amanuensis.'

_My sex_ again! Discouraged, but not daunted, I applied successively to
the Societe Asiatique, to the librarian of the Institute, and to three
or four private individuals of more or less note. From all of them I
received the same answer--the situation was not open to women.

Meantime the few francs I had had at my father's death vanished, one by
one. The woman from whom I hired my room became clamorous for the rent.
I had a few superfluous articles of clothing. I disposed of them at the
Mont-de-Piete, and thus kept the wolf from the door a little longer.
When they were all gone, what should I do?

I persevered in my quest for employment. It was all in vain. Many people
added insults to their harsh refusal of my application, accusing me of
being an impostor; for who ever heard, said they, of a young girl like
me being acquainted with these abstruse studies! Day after day, week
after week, I plodded on through the mire and dirt, for it was winter,
the weeping winter of Paris, and the obscure and narrow streets
(traversed by a filthy kennel in the center, and destitute of sidewalks)
through which my researches led me, were in a dreadful condition. And
evermore the question recurred to me, What shall I do?

As day after day passed, and still no opening appeared, I thought of the
river, rolling darkly through the heart of the city, in whose silent
tide so many a poor unfortunate has sought a refuge from present misery.
One day, as in the course of my peregrinations I passed the Morgue, I
saw the dead body of a young woman which had been taken that morning
from the river, and laid out for recognition by her friends. As I looked
on her livid, bloated face, her drenched and tattered garments, her long
dark hair hanging in dank matted masses, and streaming over the edge of
the table on which she lay, my heart was moved with pity. Yet I half
envied her position, and might have followed her example, but for my
belief in a future state. Her body was free from every mortal ill, but
her poor soul, where was it?

But besides, looking at it from a merely human point of view, there is
in my nature a certain stern and rugged resolution, a sort of
'never-give-up' feeling, which induces me to hope and struggle on, and
leads me to think, with the great Napoleon, that suicide is the act of a
coward, since it is an attempt to fly from those evils which God has
laid upon us, rather than to bear them with a brave, enduring trust in
Providence.

Still, as I passed by the river, spanned by its noble bridges, and
covered with those innumerable barges in which the washerwomen of Paris
ply their unceasing trade, eating, sleeping, and living constantly in
their floating dwellings, I would think, with a shudder, that unless
relief soon arrived, I must choose between its silent waters and a
lingering death by starvation.

True, there are in Paris many employments open to women, but what was
that to me? Could I stand behind a counter and set forth with a glib
tongue the merits of ribbons and laces; or bend over the rich
embroidered robe of the fashionable lady; or even, like those poor
washerwomen, earn my scanty livelihood by arduous manual labor? I knew
nothing of business; I knew nothing of embroidery; and I had neither the
strength nor the capital necessary to set up the establishment of a
_blanchicheuse_.

I had returned home, one evening, after another weary tramp. As I looked
from my lofty attic, and saw Paris glittering with her million lights, I
said to myself: 'Must I perish of hunger in these streets? Must I starve
in the midst of that abundance which might be mine but for the fact that
I am _a woman_? No! I shall abjure my sex, and in the semblance of
themselves, win from men that subsistence which they deny to a woman.'

The thought was no sooner conceived than executed. Tearing off part of
my woman's attire, I threw around me an old cloak of my father's, which
now served as a coverlet to my lowly bed, and descended the long flights
of stairs to the street. Determined to have legal sanction for what I
was about to do, I went straight to the Prefecture of Police. It was not
yet very late, and the Prefect was still in his _bureau_. I entered his
presence, told him my story, and demanded permission to put on male
attire, and assume a masculine name, in order to obtain the means of
subsistence. He heard me respectfully, treated me kindly, and advised me
to ponder well before I took a step so unusual and unseemly. But I was
firm. Seeing my determination, he granted me a written permission.

Early next morning I took what remained of my feminine wardrobe and
hastened to the Marche de Vieux Linge, (old clothes market,) which was
not far distant from my place of abode. Built on the site of the ancient
Temple, the princely residence of the Knights Templar of old, and in
later times the prison of Louis XVI. previous to his execution--this
vast market, with its eighteen hundred and eighty-eight stalls, hung
with the cast-off garments of both sexes, and of every age, condition
and clime, presents the appearance of a miniature city. Men's apparel,
women's apparel, garments for children of all sizes, boots and shoes,
hats and bonnets, tawdry finery of every description, sheets and
blankets, carpets, tattered and stained, military accouterments, swords
and belts, harness, old pots and kettles, and innumerable other
articles, attract attention in the different stalls. There, on every
side, sharp-faced and shrill-voiced dealers haggle with timid customers
over garments more or less decayed. There the adroit thief finds a ready
market for the various articles he has procured from chamber and entry,
or purloined from the pockets of the unwary. There the petted lady's
maid disposes of the rich robe which her careless mistress has given
her, and the Parisian grisette, with the money her nimble fingers have
earned, purchases it to adorn her neat and pretty form for the _Bal pare
et masque_, to which her lover takes her, at Belleville or Montmartre.
In yonder stall hangs a tattered coat which once belonged to a marquis,
but has gone through so many hands since then, and accumulated so much
dirt and grease in the process, that one wonders how the dealer would
have ventured to advance the few sous which its last wretched owner had
raised upon it.

In this place I exchanged, without much difficulty, my female
habiliments for a suit of respectable masculine attire. I took it home,
and with a feeling of shame of which I could not get rid, but yet with
unflinching resolution, arrayed myself in it. As a woman I know I am not
handsome; my mouth is large and my skin dark; but this rather favored my
disguise; for had I been very pretty, my beardless face and weak voice
might have awakened more suspicion. I cut my hair off short, parted it
at one side, brushed it with great care, and crowned it with a jaunty
cap, which, I must say, was very becoming to me. In this dress I
appeared a tolerably well-looking youth of nineteen or thereabout, for
the change of garments made me look younger than I was.

As I surveyed myself in the little cracked looking-glass which served me
as a mirror, I could not forbear laughing at the transformation.
Certainly no one would have recognized me, for I could scarcely
recognize myself.

Folding the old cloak around me, I sallied forth. With the long, thick
braid of hair I had cut from my head, I purchased a breakfast, the best
I had eaten in a long time.

Then I went direct to the residence of the gentleman who had said I
would suit him exactly, if I were a young man. There had been something
in the tone of this gentleman's letter that attracted me, I could not
tell why. To my great joy, he had not yet found the person he wanted;
and after a short conversation he engaged me, at what seemed to me a
princely salary.

He told me laughingly that a young woman had applied for the situation a
short time previous; and seemed very much amused at the circumstance.

My employer was a man already past his prime. His hair was slightly
sprinkled with gray, and his form showed that tendency to fullness so
frequently found in persons of sedentary habits. But in his fine,
thoughtful eyes, and expansive brow, one saw evidence of that noble
intellect for which he was distinguished, while his beaming smile and
pleasant voice showed a genial and benevolent heart. The kindness of his
voice and manner went straight to my lonely and desolate heart, and
affected me so much that I almost disgraced my manhood by bursting into
tears.

He occupied a modest but commodious house in the Quartier Latin. His
domestic affairs were administered by a respectable-looking elderly man,
who performed the part of cook, to his own honor and the entire
satisfaction of his master; while a smart but mischievous imp of a boy
ran of errands, tended the fires, swept the rooms, and kept old
Dominique in a continual fret, by his tricks and his short-comings.

Here, in the well-furnished library of my new master, with every
convenience for annotation and elucidation, the translation of the Vedas
was commenced. Like my father, my employer was possessed of vast
erudition; but, unlike him, he was also a man of the world, high in
favor at court, wealthy, honored, and enjoying the friendship of all the
most noted savans and other celebrities of the metropolis. During the
progress of the work some of these would occasionally enter the study
where I sat writing almost incessantly, and I saw more than one to whom
I had applied in the days of my misery, and been rejected. But happily
no one recognized me.

My kind master expressed great astonishment at my proficiency in
Sanscrit, and frequently declared my services to be invaluable to him. I
was sometimes able to render a passage which he had given up as
intractable; and he more than once asserted that my name should appear
on the title-page as well as his own. My name? Alas! I had no name.

My master frequently chid me for my unceasing devotion to my work; and
would sometimes playfully come behind, as I sat writing, snatch the
manuscript from my desk, and substitute in its place some new and
popular book, or some time-honored French classic, to which he would
command me to give my whole attention for the next two hours, on pain of
his displeasure.

His kindness to me knew no bounds. He ordered Dominique and the boy Jean
to treat me with as much respect as himself. He took me with him to the
Oriental lectures of the Bibliotheque du Roi. He procured for me the
_entree_ to the discussions of several literary and scientific bodies,
and afforded me every facility for the improvement of my mind and the
development of my powers. He introduced me to all that was noblest and
best in the great aristocracy of intellect, and constantly spoke of me
as a young man of great promise, who would one day be heard of in the
world.

He used to rally me on my studious habits, and often expressed surprise
that a young man of my years should not seek the society of his
compeers, and especially of that _other sex_, to which the heart of
youth usually turns with an irresistible, magnet-like attraction. Little
did he dream that the person he addressed belonged to that very sex of
which he spoke.

One day he startled me by saying: 'What pretty hair you have, Eugene; it
is as soft and fine as that of a young girl.'

The conscious blush rushed to my face, for I thought he had surely
discovered my secret; but one glance at his calm countenance reassured
me. In his large, open, honest heart there never entered a suspicion of
the 'base deception' that had been practiced upon him.

He did not notice my emotion, and I answered, in as calm a voice as I
could command: 'My mother had fine, soft hair; I have inherited it from
her.'

Thus passed a year, the happiest I had ever known. My master became
kinder and more affectionate every day. He would often address me as
'_mon fils_,' and seemed indeed to regard me with feelings as warm as
those of a father to a son.

And I--what were my sentiments toward this good and noble man who was so
kind to me? I worshiped him; he was every thing to me. Father and mother
were gone, sisters and brothers I had none, other friends I had never
known. My master was all the world to me. To serve him was all I lived
for. To love him, though with a love that could never be known, never be
returned, was enough for me.

I have said that I was happy; but there was one drawback to my
happiness. It lay in the self-reproach I felt for the deception
practiced on my benefactor. Many times I resolved to resume my woman's
garments, (a suit of which I always kept by me, safe under lock and
key,) fall at his feet, and confess all. But the fear that he would
spurn me, the certainty that he would drive me from his presence,
restrained me. I could not exist under his displeasure; I could not
endure life away from him.

Although he was, of course, unconscious of the intensity of the feeling
with which I regarded him, he knew--for I did not conceal it--that I was
much attached to him; and I was aware that I, or rather Eugene, was very
dear to him. On one occasion, as we sat together in the study, he said
to me, abruptly:

'How old are you, Eugene?'

'Twenty-two,' I answered.

He sat silent for some moments; then he said:

'If I had married in my early years, I might have had a son as old as
you. Take my advice, Eugene, marry early; form family ties; then your
old age will not be lonely as mine is.'

'O my dear master!' cried I, safe under my disguise, 'no son could love
you as dearly as I do. A son would leave you to win a place for himself
in the world; but your faithful Eugene will cling to you through life;
he only asks to remain with you always--always.'

'My good Eugene!' said my master, grasping my hand warmly, 'your words
make me happy. I am a lonely man, and the affection which you, a
stranger youth, entertain for me, fills me with profound and heart-felt
joy.'

Ah! then my trembling heart asked itself the question: 'What would he
think if he knew that it was a young girl who felt for him this pure and
tender affection?' Something whispered me that he would be rather
pleased than otherwise, and a wild temptation seized me to tell him
all--but I could not--I could not.

As my labors approached their completion, a gloomy feeling of dread
oppressed me. I feared that when the Vedas were finished my master would
no longer require my services. But he relieved my fears by reengaging
me, and expressing a desire to retain me as his secretary until I became
too famous and too proud to fill the office contentedly.

Scarcely was this cause of dread removed when another, more terrible
still, overtook me.

One evening he took me with him to a literary _reuenion_, at which every
_bel-esprit_ of the capital was to be present. At first I refused to go,
for I feared that the eyes of some of my own sex might penetrate my
disguise; but he seemed so much hurt at my refusal that I was forced to
withdraw it. The soiree was a very brilliant one. But little notice was
taken of the shy, awkward, silent youth, who glided from room to room,
hovering ever near the spot where his beloved, master stood or sat, in
conversation with the gifted of both sexes. How I envied the ladies
whose hands he touched, and to whom his polite attentions were
addressed. For, as I have said, my master was a man of the world,
wealthy and distinguished; and notwithstanding his advanced years,
ladies still courted his attentions.

There was one lady in particular, who spared no pains to attract him to
herself. She was the widow of a celebrated _litterateur_ and was herself
well known as a brilliant but shallow writer. She was not young, but she
was well-preserved, and owed much to the arts of the toilet. I saw her
lavishing her smiles and blandishments on my dear master; I saw that he
was not insensible to the power of her charms, artificial as they were;
and a cruel jealousy fastened, like the vulture of Prometheus, on my
vitals.

Could I but have entered the lists with her on equal ground; could I but
have appeared before him in my own proper person, arrayed in appropriate
and maidenly costume, I felt sure of gaining the victory, for I had
youth on my side; I had already an interest in his heart; but, alas! I
could not do this without first announcing myself as an impostor, as a
liar and deceiver, to the man whose good opinion I prized above all
earthly things.

A dreadful thought now rested on my mind day and night: What if this
woman should accomplish her designs? What if my master should marry her?
What would then become of me?

But I was spared this trial.

The translation was finished; it was in the hands of the publisher; and
the proof-sheets had been carefully revised, partly by my master, partly
by myself. He had insisted on putting my name with his own on the
title-page; but I refused my consent with a pertinacity which he could
not comprehend, and which came nearer making him angry than any thing
that had ever transpired between us.

One day, as I sat in the library, I saw my master come home, accompanied
by two gentlemen. He did not, as was his custom with his intimates,
bring them into the library, but received them in the little used
reception-room. They remained some time.

When they left, my master came into the library, rubbing his hands and
looking exceedingly well-pleased. But at sight of me, his countenance
fell. He approached me, and in a tone of regret, said:

'My poor Eugene! we must part.'

Part? It seemed as if the sun was suddenly blotted from the heavens.

I started up, and looked at him with a face so white and terror-stricken
that he came up to me and laid his hand kindly on my shoulder.

'My poor Eugene!' he repeated, 'it is too true--we must part.'

I tried to speak. 'Part!' I cried. 'O my master--'

Tears and sobs choked my utterance, in spite of all my efforts to
restrain them. I sat down again, and gave free vent to my irrepressible
grief.

My master was much affected by the sight of my emotion; and for some
minutes the silence was unbroken, save by my heart-wrung sobs.

'Nay, Eugene, this is womanish; bear it like a man,' said he, wiping the
tears from his own eyes. 'Most gladly would I spare you this sorrow;
most gladly retain you near me; but in this matter I am powerless. I
have received an appointment from government, to travel in Northern
Asia, in order to study the dialects of that vast region. Every
individual who is to accompany me has been officially specified, and
there is no place left for my poor Eugene.'

'O my dear, dear master!' cried I, with clasped hands and streaming
eyes, 'take me with you--I shall die if you, leave me--put me in the
place of some one else.'

'Impossible,' said he. 'The government has filled up every place with
its own creatures--except,' he added, with a faint smile, 'that they
have left provision for my wife--if married. I would I had the wand of
an enchanter, Eugene, that I might transform you to a woman, and make
you my wife.'

His wife! his wife! Had I heard the words aright? I sprang to my feet. I
tried to say, 'I _am_ a woman--I will be your wife!' but my tongue
refused its utterance--there was a rushing sound in my ears--I grasped
the air wildly--I heard my master cry, 'Eugene! Eugene!' as he rushed
forward to support me, and the next moment I lost consciousness.

* * * * *

When I recovered my senses, I was still in the arms of my master. He had
borne me to the window, and torn open my vest and shirt-collar. I
looked up in his face. One glance revealed to me that my secret was
discovered.

Blushing and trembling, I tried to raise myself from his arms; but he
held me fast.

'Eugene,' said he, in earnest tones, 'tell me the truth. Are you indeed
a woman?'

'I am. My name is Eugenie D----, O my dear master! forgive the deception
I have practiced. Do not despise me.'

'Eugenie!' cried he, in joyful accents, 'you shall go with me to the
East! You shall go as _my wife! Vive I' Empereur_!

'But wherefore this disguise?' he added.

I told him my story in few words; and informed him that I was that very
_young woman_ who had applied to him for the office I now held.

'Is it possible?' exclaimed he. 'But, Eugenie, tell me--do you really
love me as you have so often protested you did?'

'Yes, my dear master,' I whispered.

'_Vive l'Empereur_!' cried he again; 'but for his strictness I should
never have found it out. Now go; array yourself in your woman's gear,
and let me see you as you really are.'

I went; and resumed, with a pleasure I can not describe, the garments I
had for a whole year forsworn.

When I returned, my master caught me to his heart, and thanked Heaven
for the 'charming wife' so unexpectedly sent him.

* * * * *

MACCARONI AND CANVAS.

III.

ON THE CAMPAGNA.

There was an indefinable charm, to a lively man like Caper, in spending
a day in the open country around Rome. Whether it was passed, gun in
hand, near the Solfatara, trying to shoot snipe and woodcock, or, with
paint-box and stool, seated under a large white cotton umbrella,
sketching in the valley of Poussin or out on the Via Appia, that day was
invariably marked down to be remembered.

On one of those golden February mornings, when the pretty English girls
tramp through the long grass of the Villa Borghese, gathering the
perfumed violets into those modest little bouquets, that peep out from
their setting of green leaves, like faith struggling with jealousy,
Caper, Rocjean, and a good-natured German, named Von Bluhmen, made an
excursion out in the Campagna.

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