Poor Miss Finch | Page 5

leaving me (at an age which is of no consequence to anybody)
with some experience of the world; with a cultivated musical talent on
the pianoforte; and with a comfortable little fortune unexpectedly
bequeathed to me by a relative of my dear dead mother (which fortune I
shared with good Papa and with my younger sisters). To these

qualifications I added another, the most precious of all, when I married
the Doctor; namely--a strong infusion of ultra-liberal principles. _Vive
la Re'publique!_
Some people do one thing, and some do another, in the way of
celebrating the event of their marriage. Having become man and wife,
Doctor Pratolungo and I took ship to Central America--and devoted our
honey-moon, in those disturbed districts, to the sacred duty of
destroying tyrants.
Ah! the vital air of my noble husband was the air of revolutions. From
his youth upwards he had followed the glorious profession of Patriot.
Wherever the people of the Southern New World rose and declared
their independence--and, in my time, that fervent population did
nothing else--there was the Doctor self-devoted on the altar of his
adopted country. He had been fifteen times exiled, and condemned to
death in his absence, when I met with him in Paris--the picture of
heroic poverty, with a brown complexion and one lame leg. Who could
avoid falling in love with such a man? I was proud when he proposed
to devote me on the altar of his adopted country, as well as himself--me,
and my money. For, alas! everything is expensive in this world;
including the destruction of tyrants and the saving of Freedom. All my
money went in helping the sacred cause of the people. Dictators and
filibusters flourished in spite of us. Before we had been a year married,
the Doctor had to fly (for the sixteenth time) to escape being tried for
his life. My husband condemned to death in his absence; and I with my
pockets empty. This is how the Republic rewarded us. And yet, I love
the Republic. Ah, you monarchy-people, sitting fat and contented under
tyrants, respect that!
This time, we took refuge in England. The affairs of Central America
went on without us.
I thought of giving lessons in music. But my glorious husband could
not spare me away from him. I suppose we should have starved, and
made a sad little paragraph in the English newspapers--if the end had
not come in another way. My poor Pratolungo was in truth worn out.
He sank under his sixteenth exile. I was left a widow--with nothing but

the inheritance of my husband's noble sentiments to console me.
I went back for awhile to good Papa and my sisters in Paris. But it was
not in my nature to remain and be a burden on them at home. I returned
again to London, with recommendations: and encountered
inconceivable disasters in the effort to earn a living honorably. Of all
the wealth about me--the prodigal, insolent, ostentatious wealth--none
fell to my share. What right has anybody to be rich? I defy you,
whoever you may be, to prove that anybody has a right to be rich.
Without dwelling on my disasters, let it be enough to say that I got up
one morning, with three pounds, seven shillings, and fourpence in my
purse; with my fervid temper, and my republican principles--and with
absolutely nothing in prospect, that is to say with not a halfpenny more
to come to me, unless I could earn it for myself.
In this sad case, what does an honest woman who is bent on winning
her own independence by her own work, do? She takes three and
sixpence out of her little humble store; and she advertises herself in a
newspaper.
One always advertises the best side of oneself. (Ah, poor humanity!)
My best side was my musical side. In the days of my vicissitudes
(before my marriage) I had at one time had a share in a millinery
establishment in Lyons. At another time, I had been
bedchamber-woman to a great lady in Paris. But in my present situation,
these sides of myself were, for various reasons, not so presentable as
the pianoforte side. I was not a great player--far from it. But I had been
soundly instructed; and I had, what you call, a competent skill on the
instrument. Brief, I made the best of myself, I promise you, in my
advertisement.
The next day, I borrowed the newspaper, to enjoy the pride of seeing
my composition in print.
Ah, heaven! what did I discover? I discovered what other wretched
advertising people have found out before me. Above my own
advertisement, the very thing I wanted was advertised for by somebody

else! Look in any newspaper; and you will see strangers who (if I may
so