Carmilla

I and my father constituted the family at the schloss. My mother, a

Styrian lady, died in my infancy, but I had a good-natured governess,

who had been with me from, I might almost say, my infancy. I could not

remember the time when her fat, benignant face was not a familiar

picture in my memory.

This was Madame Perrodon, a native of Berne, whose care and good nature

now in part supplied to me the loss of my mother, whom I do not even

remember, so early I lost her. She made a third at our little dinner

party. There was a fourth, Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, a lady such as

you term, I believe, a "finishing governess." She spoke French and

German, Madame Perrodon French and broken English, to which my father

and I added English, which, partly to prevent its becoming a lost

language among us, and partly from patriotic motives, we spoke every

day. The consequence was a Babel, at which strangers used to laugh, and

which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in this narrative. And there

were two or three young lady friends besides, pretty nearly of my own

age, who were occasional visitors, for longer or shorter terms; and

these visits I sometimes returned.

These were our regular social resources; but of course there were chance

visits from "neighbors" of only five or six leagues distance. My life

was, notwithstanding, rather a solitary one, I can assure you.

My gouvernantes had just so much control over me as you might conjecture

such sage persons would have in the case of a rather spoiled girl, whose

only parent allowed her pretty nearly her own way in everything.

The first occurrence in my existence, which produced a terrible

impression upon my mind, which, in fact, never has been effaced, was one

of the very earliest incidents of my life which I can recollect. Some

people will think it so trifling that it should not be recorded here.

You will see, however, by-and-by, why I mention it. The nursery, as it

was called, though I had it all to myself, was a large room in the upper

story of the castle, with a steep oak roof. I can't have been more than

six years old, when one night I awoke, and looking round the room from

my bed, failed to see the nursery maid. Neither was my nurse there; and

I thought myself alone. I was not frightened, for I was one of those

happy children who are studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories, of

fairy tales, and of all such lore as makes us cover up our heads when

the door cracks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the

shadow of a bedpost dance upon the wall, nearer to our faces. I was

vexed and insulted at finding myself, as I conceived, neglected, and I

began to whimper, preparatory to a hearty bout of roaring; when to my

surprise, I saw a solemn, but very pretty face looking at me from the

side of the bed. It was that of a young lady who was kneeling, with her

hands under the coverlet. I looked at her with a kind of pleased wonder,

and ceased whimpering. She caressed me with her hands, and lay down

beside me on the bed, and drew me towards her, smiling; I felt

immediately delightfully soothed, and fell asleep again. I was wakened

by a sensation as if two needles ran into my breast very deep at the

same moment, and I cried loudly. The lady started back, with her eyes

fixed on me, and then slipped down upon the floor, and, as I thought,

hid herself under the bed.