Perhaps her character has been misunderstood and
maligned. Can I render her a greater service than to apprize her of the
aspersions that have rested on it, and afford her the opportunity of
vindication? Perhaps she is indeed selfish and profligate; the betrayer
of youth and the agent of lasciviousness. Does she not deserve to know
the extent of her errors and the ignominy of her trade? Does she not
merit the compassion of the good and the rebukes of the wise? To shrink
from the task would prove me cowardly and unfirm. Thus far, at least,
let my courage extend. Alas! Clemenza is unacquainted with my language. My thoughts cannot make
themselves apparent but by words, and to my words she will be able to
affix no meaning. Yet is not that a hasty decision? The version from the
dramas of Zeno which I found in her toilet was probably hers, and proves
her to have a speculative knowledge of our tongue. Near half a year has
since elapsed, during which she has dwelt with talkers of English, and
consequently could not fail to have acquired it. This conclusion is
somewhat dubious, but experiment will give it certainty. Hitherto I had strolled along the path at a lingering pace. Time enough,
methought, to reach your threshold between sunrise and moonlight, if my
way had been three times longer than it was. You were the pleasing
phantom that hovered before me and beckoned me forward. What a total
revolution had occurred in the course of a few seconds! for thus long
did my reasonings with regard to Clemenza and the Villars require to
pass through my understanding, and escape, in half-muttered soliloquy,
from my lips. My muscles trembled with eagerness, and I bounded forward
with impetuosity. I saw nothing but a vista of catalpas, leafless,
loaded with icicles, and terminating in four chimneys and a painted
roof. My fancy outstripped my footsteps, and was busy in picturing faces
and rehearsing dialogues. Presently I reached this new object of my
pursuit, darted through the avenue, noticed that some windows of the
house were unclosed, drew thence a hasty inference that the house was
not without inhabitants, and knocked, quickly and loudly, for admission. Some one within crept to the door, opened it with seeming caution, and
just far enough to allow the face to be seen. It was the timid, pale,
and unwashed face of a girl who was readily supposed to be a servant,
taken from a cottage, and turned into a bringer of wood and water and a
scourer of tubs and trenches. She waited in timorous silence the
delivery of my message. Was Mrs. Villars at home? "No; she has gone to town." Were any of her daughters within? She could not tell; she believed--she thought--which did I want? Miss
Hetty or Miss Sally? "Let me see Miss Hetty." Saying this, I pushed gently against the door. The girl, half reluctant, yielded way; I entered the passage, and,
putting my hand on the lock of a door that seemed to lead into a
parlour,--"Is Miss Hetty in this room?" No; there was nobody there. "Go call her, then. Tell her there is one who wishes to see her on
important business. I will wait for her coming in this room." So saying,
I opened the door, and entered the apartment, while the girl withdrew to
perform my message. The parlour was spacious and expensively furnished, but an air of
negligence and disorder was everywhere visible. The carpet was wrinkled
and unswept; a clock on the table, in a glass frame, so streaked and
spotted with dust as scarcely to be transparent, and the index
motionless, and pointing at four instead of nine; embers scattered on
the marble hearth, and tongs lying on the fender with the handle in the
ashes; a harpsichord, uncovered, one end loaded with _scores_, tumbled
together in a heap, and the other with volumes of novels and plays, some
on their edges, some on their backs, gaping open by the scorching of
their covers; rent; blurred; stained; blotted; dog-eared; tables awry;
chairs crowding each other; in short, no object but indicated the
neglect or the ignorance of domestic neatness and economy. My leisure was employed in surveying these objects, and in listening
for the approach of Miss Hetty. Some minutes elapsed, and no one came. A
reason for delay was easily imagined, and I summoned patience to wait. I
opened a book; touched the instrument; surveyed the vases on the
mantel-tree; the figures on the hangings, and the print of Apollo and
the Sibyl, taken from Salvator, and hung over the chimney. I eyed my own
shape and garb in the mirror, and asked how my rustic appearance would
be regarded by that supercilious and voluptuous being to whom I was
about to present myself. Presently the latch of the door was softly moved: it opened, and the
simpleton, before described, appeared. She spoke, but her voice was so
full of hesitation, and so near a whisper, that much attention was
needed to make out her words:--Miss Hetty was not at home; she was gone
to town with her _mistress_. This was a tale not to be credited. How was I to act? She persisted in
maintaining the truth of it.--"Well, then," said I, at length, "tell
Miss Sally that I wish to speak with her. She will answer my purpose
just as well." Miss Sally was not at home neither. She had gone to town too. They would
not be back, she did not know when; not till night, she supposed. It was
so indeed; none of them wasn't at home; none but she and Nanny in the
kitchen: indeed there wasn't. "Go tell Nanny to come here; I will leave my message with her." She
withdrew, but Nanny did not receive the summons, or thought proper not
to obey it. All was vacant and still. My state was singular and critical. It was absurd to prolong it; but to
leave the house with my errand unexecuted would argue imbecility and
folly. To ascertain Clemenza's presence in this house, and to gain an
interview, were yet in my power. Had I not boasted of my intrepidity in
braving denials and commands when they endeavoured to obstruct my
passage to this woman? But here were no obstacles nor prohibition. Suppose the girl had said truth, that the matron and her daughters were
absent, and that Nanny and herself were the only guardians of the
mansion. So much the better. My design will not be opposed. I have only
to mount the stair, and go from one room to another till I find what I
seek. There was hazard, as well as plausibility, in this scheme. I thought it
best once more to endeavour to extort information from the girl, and
persuade her to be my guide to whomsoever the house contained. I put my
hand to the bell and rung a brisk peal. No one came. I passed into the
entry, to the foot of a staircase, and to a back-window. Nobody was
within hearing or sight. Once more I reflected on the rectitude of my intentions, on the
possibility that the girl's assertions might be true, on the benefits of
expedition, and of gaining access to the object of my visit without
interruption or delay.