Before dinner,my mother came to talk about the governess with me.Ihave decided to keep Miss Griffith,who was recommended by the English ambassador.Miss Griffith is the daughter of a clergyman;her mother was of good family,and she is perfectly well bred.She is thirty-six,and will teach me English.The good soul is quite handsome enough to have ambitions;she is Scotch--poor and proud--and will act as my chaperon.She is to sleep in Rose's room.Rose will be under her orders.I saw at a glance that my governess would be governed by me.
In the six days we have been together,she has made very sure that Iam the only person likely to take an interest in her;while,for my part,I have ascertained that,for all her statuesque features,she will prove accommodating.She seems to me a kindly soul,but cautious.
I have not been able to extract a word of what passed between her and my mother.
Another trifling piece of news!My father has this morning refused the appointment as Minister of State which was offered him.This accounts for his preoccupied manner last night.He says he would prefer an embassy to the worries of public debate.Spain in especial attracts him.
This news was told me at lunch,the one moment of the day when my father,mother,and brother see each other in an easy way.The servants then only come when they are rung for.The rest of the day my brother,as well as my father,spends out of the house.My mother has her toilet to make;between two and four she is never visible;at four o'clock she goes out for an hour's drive;when she is not dining out,she receives from six to seven,and the evening is given to entertainments of various kinds--theatres,balls,concerts,at homes.
In short,her life is so full,that I don't believe she ever has a quarter of an hour to herself.She must spend a considerable time dressing in the morning;for at lunch,which takes place between eleven and twelve,she is exquisite.The meaning of the things that are said about her is dawning on me.She begins the day with a bath barely warmed,and a cup of cold coffee with cream;then she dresses.
She is never,except on some great emergency,called before nine o'clock.In summer there are morning rides,and at two o'clock she receives a young man whom I have never yet contrived to see.
Behold our family life!We meet at lunch and dinner,though often I am alone with my mother at this latter meal,and I foresee that still oftener I shall take it in my own rooms (following the example of my grandmother)with only Miss Griffith for company,for my mother frequently dines out.I have ceased to wonder at the indifference my family have shown to me.In Paris,my dear,it is a miracle of virtue to love the people who live with you,for you see little enough of them;as for the absent--they do not exist!
Knowing as this may sound,I have not yet set foot in the streets,and am deplorably ignorant.I must wait till I am less of the country cousin and have brought my dress and deportment into keeping with the society I am about to enter,the whirl of which amazes me even here,where only distant murmurs reach my ear.So far I have not gone beyond the garden;but the Italian opera opens in a few days,and my mother has a box there.I am crazy with delight at the thought of hearing Italian music and seeing French acting.
Already I begin to drop convent habits for those of society.I spend the evening writing to you till the moment for going to bed arrives.
This has been postponed to ten o'clock,the hour at which my mother goes out,if she is not at the theatre.There are twelve theatres in Paris.
I am grossly ignorant and I read a lot,but quite indiscriminately,one book leading to another.I find the names of fresh books on the cover of the one I am reading;but as I have no one to direct me,Ilight on some which are fearfully dull.What modern literature I have read all turns upon love,the subject which used to bulk so largely in our thoughts,because it seemed that our fate was determined by man and for man.But how inferior are these authors to two little girls,known as Sweetheart and Darling--otherwise Renee and Louise.Ah!my love,what wretched plots,what ridiculous situations,and what poverty of sentiment!Two books,however,have given me wonderful pleasure--/Corinne/and /Adolphe/.Apropos of this,I asked my father one day whether it would be possible for me to see Mme.de Stael.My father,mother,and Alphonse all burst out laughing,and Alphonse said:
"Where in the world has she sprung from?"
To which my father replied:
"What fools we are!She springs from the Carmelites.""My child,Mme.de Stael is dead,"said my mother gently.
When I finished /Adolphe/,I asked Miss Griffith how a woman could be betrayed.
"Why,of course,when she loves,"was her reply.
Renee,tell me,do you think we could be betrayed by a man?
Miss Griffith has at last discerned that I am not an utter ignoramus,that I have somewhere a hidden vein of knowledge,the knowledge we learned from each other in our random arguments.She sees that it is only superficial facts of which I am ignorant.The poor thing has opened her heart to me.Her curt reply to my question,when I compare it with all the sorrows I can imagine,makes me feel quite creepy.
Once more she urged me not to be dazzled by the glitter of society,to be always on my guard,especially against what most attracted me.This is the sum-total of her wisdom,and I can get nothing more out of her.
Her lectures,therefore,become a trifle monotonous,and she might be compared in this respect to the bird which has only one cry.
