would endeavour to have some linen to send her, for the following
day. Marguerite replied that it was absolutely necessary, for without
it she could not change Marianne's poultices. Ernestine was very
much embarrassed; she was afraid of Madame Bastien, who had been in
the family thirty years, and possessed great authority. The servants
feared her, because she was exact and economical, and Ernestine,
without knowing why, did the same. At that moment, she would have
been very glad if her papa and mamma had themselves undertaken to
provide for Marianne's wants. She saw in this charge a host of
embarrassments, from which she knew not how to extricate herself, but
she did not dare to say so. While standing, thoughtfully, on the spot
where Marguerite had left her, she saw Madame Bastien approaching.
She blushed, for she thought of what she had to ask her, and stooped
down as if to look at her _Hortensia_, which was placed upon the
step, at the side of the yard. Madame Bastien stopped to look at it,
and remarked that it was very beautiful. Ernestine, who was anxious
to prolong the conversation, showed her two slips from it which she
had planted the preceding year; they each bore two buds which were
beginning to swell. Madame Bastien admired these also.
"Will you accept of them?" asked Ernestine, with eagerness. Madame
Bastien refused, saying she did not like to deprive her of them.
"Oh yes! yes!" said Ernestine, and taking the two pots under her
arm she lightly descended the steps and ran to place them on the
window of the lower room, where Madame Bastien usually worked. Madame
Bastien followed her, thanking her very much for this present, with
which she seemed to be greatly pleased, and at the same time admiring
the hortensias. Ernestine went and got some water for them, wiped the
leaves, and changed the sticks intended for their support, but which
were beginning to be too short for them. Madame Bastien hardly knew
how to thank her sufficiently for so much attention.
"Madame Bastien," said Ernestine, as she tied the last prop, "could
you not give me some old linen for poor Marianne? Mamma has given me
permission to ask you for some."
"Very willingly," said Madame Bastien, in the best-humoured manner
in the world; "the poor woman shall have as much as she requires;
she is laid up for a long time;" and she took Ernestine to the linen
closet, where she made up a large parcel, which Ernestine, her heart
bounding with joy, carried off, and hastened to show it triumphantly
to her mother, who allowed her to take it herself to Marianne. Whilst
waiting on the step for her nurse, she saw Suzette, Marianne's little
girl, enter the yard, walking slowly by the side of the wall, looking
first on one side, and then on the other, as if fearful, yet anxious
to be seen. Ernestine descended a few steps and called to her.
"How is your mother?" she asked. "Pretty well," replied Suzette, with
a heavy sigh.
"What are you looking for?"
"Nothing;" and this _nothing_ was followed by a sigh still heavier
than the former. She began to look at Ernestine's flowers, and said,
"What beautiful flowers!" then, as if continuing the conversation,
she added:
"I have had no dinner to-day."
"You have had no dinner?"
"No, and I don't think I shall get any."
"Why not?"
"Because mother cannot give me any."
"Stay, then," said Ernestine, and running to her mother, she
exclaimed, "Mamma, here is Suzette, and she has had no dinner."
"Very well, my child, something must be done for her."
"Yes, mamma; do you think," and she hesitated--"do you think it would
be a positive expense if Suzette were to be fed here? It seems to me
that there is sufficient in the pantry...."
"I think, my dear, there is; there would only be the bread...."
"Oh, yes; but, mamma, they bake at home for the servants; would it be
necessary to bake more on account of Suzette?"
"I think not, provided at least that you will not waste it as you are
in the habit of doing, by cutting large slices to give to Turc, who
ought to have only the fragments."
Ernestine promised, and Madame de Cideville consented to Suzette's
being fed at the château, during her mother's illness. While now
waiting for her dinner, Ernestine got her a piece of bread, to which
she added, as it was the first time, a little gingerbread cake which
she brought from her own room, as it belonged to her. In passing by
Turc, who as soon as he saw her, came out of his kennel, and got as
near to her as the length of his chain would permit, all the time
wagging his tail and lowering his ears: "My poor Turc," said she,
"you will have nothing now but the pieces." Nevertheless she begged
Suzette to give him a bit of her bread, as a mark of friendship, and
promised herself to go and look for some in the piece-basket, in
order not to forfeit Turc's good graces.
She would carry the bundle of linen herself, although it was rather
heavy. Fortunately, Marianne lived quite close to the château.
On reaching her house, all flushed with pleasure as well as
embarrassment, she said, "Here, Marianne, here is some old linen I
have got for you."
"I assure you," said the nurse, "she was very anxious to bring it to
you."
"It is very kind, Mademoiselle Ernestine," said one of the women who
was there, "to come and comfort poor people."
This speech gratified Ernestine, but embarrassed her still more.
Children, and especially girls, are timid with the poor, because
they have seen little of them, are unaccustomed to their manners and
language, and do not know how to talk to them. This timidity, which
they do not sufficiently endeavour to overcome, often causes them to
be accused of haughtiness. Fortunately for Ernestine, Suzette, who
had followed her, came forward eating, with good appetite, a piece of
bread. She was asked where she got it, and replied that Mademoiselle
Ernestine had given it to her.
"I have asked mamma," said Ernestine, addressing Marianne, "to let
her be fed at the château, all the time you are ill."
"This is just what was wanted to cure her," said the woman who had
before spoken, "for she has done nothing for a long time but cry, and
say, '_Who will take care of my poor child?_' I told her that if she
tormented herself in that manner her blood would be curdled."
"Suzette shall want for nothing, my poor Marianne," said Ernestine,
with great earnestness, "nor you either, I hope."
Joy and gratitude were painted on the suffering countenance of
Marianne; she clasped her hands under the bedclothes, for she had
been forbidden to move. An old woman who was seated near her bed, let
fall her crutch, and taking the hand of Ernestine within her own,
said to her, "You are a good young lady, and God will bless you."
Ernestine was so moved, that tears almost came to her eyes. She now
felt more at her ease and her nurse having questioned the women who
were there as to what had been done, and what ordered by the surgeon,
she joined in the conversation, and in a short time her embarrassment
quite vanished. When she left, Marianne raised her feeble voice to
bless her; and the old woman again said, "You are a good young lady."
The other woman followed her to the door and looked after her. She
felt that they would talk about her in that poor cottage, and say
that she was good, and this thought made her experience a pleasure
which had hitherto been unknown to her. Suzette, who followed her
like her shadow, she considered as under her especial protection,
and she seemed to herself to be older and more reasonable, now that
she was able to protect some one. At this moment, she would not
have exchanged the pleasure of having Marianne under her charge for
all the enjoyments in the world. She hastened to communicate to her
parents all the joy she experienced, and they shared it with her. She
told her mother that there was still one thing which she had to beg
of her, but she hoped that it would be the last. It was some broth
for Marianne; "I could easily," she said, "boil her some meat, but
then I should require wood, and besides meat would not be good for
her. If the broth were made for two days, it would turn at the first
storm; and, besides, it would give more trouble to her neighbours.
Perhaps some could be sent to her from here without increasing the
expense."
"I see," said her mother, smiling, "that you begin to understand what
you are about." This was the result of her conversation with the
women who took care of Marianne. Madame de Cideville permitted her
to ask M. François the cook for some broth, and M. François promised
to give her some with great pleasure, provided Mademoiselle Ernestine
did not incessantly say to him, "M. François, do not so often give us
melted butter with asparagus in it;" "M. François, the spinach had no
taste to-day;" or else, "I do not like pease soup!"
Ernestine promised to be satisfied with everything, and she was, at
all events, perfectly satisfied with her day's work.
In the afternoon, she gathered in the fields several of the herbs
which she had been told might be required for Marianne. She also
learned to distinguish a few which grew in the uncultivated parts of
the park, and even in the crevices of the walls. They were shown to
the surgeon, who thought many of them very good; some others were
necessary, and these he promised to supply himself; Ernestine asked
him the price. "Nothing to you, my dear young lady," he replied, "I
do not wish to ruin so pretty a sister of charity." Ernestine blushed
and thanked him, and from that moment treated him with a degree of
respect and politeness, which charmed the good doctor so much, that
he redoubled his attentions to Marianne. He gave Ernestine an account
of her condition, and told her what was necessary to be done, and
Ernestine thanked him in a manner which completely won his heart. He
joked with her, she laughed with him; they became the best friends
imaginable. One day a rather expensive drug was wanted: Ernestine
insisted on paying for it; he would not allow it; "I am also an
apothecary," he said; "I prepare that myself."
"Yes, but you would sell it."
"That is not certain. There are drugs which must be prepared in
advance, in order that they may always be ready in case of need, and
which, nevertheless, if kept too long, run the risk of being spoiled.
This risk we are obliged to charge against those who have money, by
making them pay a higher price, which is but just; but it is also
just that the poor should profit by it in receiving for nothing what
might otherwise be spoiled."
Ernestine was satisfied with the surgeon's arguments, but she told
her mother that as she wished to make him a present which would not
be very expensive to her, she had determined to embroider a waistcoat
for him, which would suit his portly person wonderfully well. Her
mother approved of her idea, and even assisted her, and when the
waistcoat was completed, the surgeon was invited to dinner. Ernestine
placed it under his napkin, and it gave him so much pleasure, that
there was certainly nothing in the world which he would not have done
to oblige his little sister of charity, as he always called her.
From the moment that Marianne began to improve, she had required
soup, and the surgeon wished it to be made of lighter bread than that
which was baked for the servants, that it might not injure a stomach
weakened as much by want as by illness. Ernestine, at first, bought
some, but she afterwards remarked that large pieces were frequently
left from that served at their own table, which no one made use of,
and which were only thrown into the refuse-basket. She had, at first,
some scruples as to the propriety of making use of these.
"Mamma," said she to Madame de Cideville, "is it not wrong to collect
pieces for Marianne as we do for Turc?"
"It is not at all the same thing, my child; for they ought only to
be given to Turc, on the supposition that they cannot be put to
any other use. If you gave them to Marianne only because they were
refused by every one else, that would undoubtedly be wrong, for you
know that God punished the wicked rich man, because he did nothing
for Lazarus, except permitting him to eat the crumbs that fell from
his table. Instead of performing an act of charity, you would show a
cruel and odious contempt of the poor; but so far from its being a
contempt of Marianne, that you collect this bread, you do it, on the
contrary, for the sake of having additional means of benefiting her."
Ernestine, though thus encouraged by her mother, nevertheless felt
rather embarrassed when she carried these pieces to Marianne, after
having cut them as neatly as possible. She wished to take them
herself, although Suzette was her usual messenger in these cases, and
she blushed, as she showed them to the neighbour who was to prepare
the soup. The latter showed them to Marianne, who seemed much pleased
at the prospect of having such pieces every day, and Ernestine
saw plainly that where there is real kindness, there is never any
danger of hurting the feelings of those whom we oblige; it is only
intentional slight, or inattention, which can really wound. From this
time Ernestine carefully made the round of the table each day, after
breakfast, and after dinner, and sometimes, in order that she might
carry to Marianne a little loaf quite whole, she said at breakfast
that she preferred the household bread with her milk and butter.
Under all this care, the health of Marianne improved daily, but
Ernestine looked with anxiety to the moment when her patient would
again have to provide for herself and daughter, more especially as
during her illness she had been obliged to neglect her little garden,
which supplied her with vegetables. One day Ernestine saw Geneviève,
the daughter of Jacques, the gardener, returning from catechism,
crying. She was to make her first communion this year, and went to
catechism to be instructed; but as she had no mother, and as her
father had not time to hear her repeat her lesson, Geneviève, who was
naturally indolent, always learned it badly, and was reprimanded.
Ernestine, who was much more advanced, although younger than
Geneviève, offered to go over her lessons with her, and by dint of
pains at last succeeded in fixing them in her mind. Her only object,
at first, had been to be useful to Geneviève, but the same day, the
gardener having asked her how Marianne was getting on, she replied,
"Pretty well, but I am afraid her garden is doing very badly, for no
one takes care of it."
"We must see to that," said Jacques, and Ernestine smiled graciously
as he went away. The next day, while in the garden hearing Geneviève
her lesson, she saw Jacques returning from Marianne's, in whose
garden he had been planting a few cabbages. He ordered Geneviève to
go in the afternoon, and pull up the weeds, and promised Ernestine,
who thanked him warmly, to take care of it as long as it might be
necessary. She put Geneviève in a condition to receive her first
communion, and when on leaving the church, Geneviève came to thank
her, Ernestine experienced great delight, and a very pardonable
pride, in seeing herself already useful to several people.
She was rewarded for her benevolence to Marianne in more ways than
one; for as she had often favours to ask for, she became obliging to
every one, and displayed a degree of attention and kindness which she
had never previously manifested, so that every one became eager to
gratify her. Her nurse, especially, had never before been so pleased
with her, and hardly knew how to express her satisfaction. She took
her to Marianne as often as she wished, and offered to teach Suzette
to work; they also taught her to take care of her mother, as soon as
she became convalescent, in order that her neighbours might return to
their own affairs. They showed her, besides, how to weed and water
the garden. Ernestine made her do this under her own superintendence,
while one of the servants of the château, whom she politely begged to
assist them, drew the buckets of water from the well. Ernestine often
watered it herself; it was her chief recreation, for she no longer
took pleasure in childish sports.
The serious and useful occupations in which she was engaged, inspired
her with rational tastes, and she could no longer amuse herself with
childish frivolities. At the same time, she had never felt so happy
or less disposed to _ennui_; for when she had nothing else to do, she
would take her knitting, and make a petticoat for Marianne, or she
would arrange an old dress for Suzette, or work for herself; for her
mother had promised her that the money she saved by making her own
dresses, should be spent in wine for Marianne.
At length the time arrived when Marianne was allowed to get up. "I
cannot yet walk," said she to Ernestine, "but I am able to work.
If I had some hemp, I could spin." Ernestine bought her some, and
Marianne, who was very industrious, and terribly wearied from having
so long remained idle, spun from morning till night. She sent the
thread to a weaver, who, in exchange, gave her a certain quantity of
coarse linen cloth, which Madame de Cideville purchased of her for
the use of the kitchen. She procured some fresh hemp, and began to
spin again. A short time after Marianne's accident, Ernestine had
bought for her a little pig, which she had obtained very cheap. A
sty had been made for it in the yard of the château, out of some old
planks, and it was fed from the refuse of the kitchen. Ernestine had
taught Suzette to collect for it everything that could serve as food,
and as it was now grown large, she gave it to Marianne. The garden
had afforded a good crop of potatoes, and Ernestine was able to
return to Paris, at the beginning of the winter, without any anxiety
about the subsistence of her protegée, whose health was now quite
re-established.
"Well, are you satisfied with the use you have made of your louis?"
said M. de Cideville, when they were in the carriage. Ernestine threw
her arms round her father's neck. This louis had made her so happy!
It is true she had spent something additional, and had besides been
well assisted.
"You have laid us under contribution for Marianne," said M. de
Cideville, smiling. "When you are older, you will know that we ought
not to concentrate the whole of our benevolence on a single object,
but endeavour to make all the unfortunate who are within our reach,
partakers of our bounty."
"But, papa, I was only able to take care of Marianne."
"Undoubtedly, and I am not blaming you; but as you will hereafter
have greater means, you will, I hope, know how to combine your
resources in such a manner that many may be benefited by them.
Meanwhile, you have made so good a use of your louis, that I promise
to give you one every three months, to be disposed of in a similar
manner."
Ernestine clapped her hands with an exclamation of surprise and joy,
and again threw herself into her father's arms.
"But remember," he said, "that this sum ought to form the smallest
portion of the means you employ in doing good, and that you ought
only to have recourse to it when you cannot manage otherwise."
Ernestine assured him that this was her intention, and that she would
be very careful to spare her money.
"We ought to spare expense," replied her father, "whenever we can
supply its place by care, industry, and order. The true use of money
is to give us those things which we could not otherwise obtain; for
instance, we cannot make our own shoes or clothes; therefore, we pay
for having them made; and according to the usages of society, we
cannot enjoy a certain position, and still wait upon ourselves; we
therefore pay, in order to have servants. But a lady who, instead of
taking care of her own household, and superintending her servants,
pays another to do it in her place, makes but a bad use of her money;
for it is absurd to employ it in purchasing from others what we can
do ourselves. The same may be said of those who, instead of employing
their activity and care in doing good, only make use of their money.
They spend a great deal, and accomplish very little; for he who does
everything with money, has never sufficient."
"It seems to me," said Ernestine, "that we also lose the pleasure
of doing good; for if I had had ten louis to give to Marianne, they
would not have afforded me so much happiness as the care which you
have allowed me to take of her all the summer."
M. de Cideville informed his daughter, that there were many persons
who believed they could render themselves happy by getting rid of
everything which occasioned them the slightest trouble, but who, on
the contrary, gave themselves up to the most frightful _ennui_. He
told her that this happened to all those who shrank from struggling
with the first difficulties and annoyances of a project: and, in
fact, Ernestine remembered that, at the first moment, she would
gladly have transferred to her parents, had she dared to do so, the
care of providing for Marianne's wants, and thus have lost all the
happiness she had since enjoyed.
Ernestine has grown up. It is usually on her father's estate that she
employs, every year, the four louis, and especially the astonishing
talent she has acquired of doing a great deal of good with very
little money. She is adored by every one in the village, and as she
has rendered services to many among them, she readily obtains from
them assistance for those who stand in need of it. Thus her resources
multiply. She has sown, in a corner of her father's park, those
medicinal plants which are most generally required, and has also
learned to dry them. She hopes that Suzette, who is becoming a pretty
good workwoman, will soon, under her direction, be able to instruct
the other girls of the village. She and her nurse have also taught
her to read. As for herself, she endeavours to learn everything which
can aid her in doing good, without spending too much money, and she
laughs very heartily when she calls to mind the regret she once felt
at not being able to spend a louis on a moving picture.
FRANÇOU.
As Madame d'Inville was one day walking along the Boulevard,
accompanied by her grandson Eugène, and her granddaughter Mélanie,
they saw a concourse of people collected, in the form of a circle,
around one of those men who perform difficult and perilous feats. He
had with him a little girl, dressed partly as a boy and partly as a
girl. Her hair was arranged in female fashion, as was the upper part
of her dress, but the lower part terminated in trousers. This little
girl was walking upon her hands, with her head downwards, and her
feet in the air, and performing a variety of tricks, which amused
the children very much, so that Madame d'Inville was kind enough to
stop and look at them for some time. At length, after giving them
some money, she went away. It was not that Madame d'Inville felt much
pleasure in giving to persons who follow useless occupations; but as
her grandchildren had been much amused, she thought it but right to
pay for the pleasure they had received.
As they were walking along, Mélanie expressed her admiration of the
dress of the little girl, all covered with spangles and chains of
different colours. Eugène remarked that it was all dirty and torn,
and that most of the things she saw glittering were nothing more than
strips of gilt paper. Nevertheless, Mélanie appeared to be so dazzled
with this costume, that her grandmamma jestingly proposed that she
should go and take the little girl's place. Mélanie exclaimed against
this, and Eugène said, "Probably Mélanie would not mind being beaten,
as perhaps that poor little thing is every morning, before putting on
her beautiful dress."
"And why beaten?" asked Mélanie.
"To make her work. You saw the other day that man who was making the
dogs dance, and you remember how sorry you were when he beat one of
them, because he would not make a bow in the minuet. Well, it must be
pretty nearly the same thing in the present case."
"It is quite bad enough to beat a dog," said Mélanie. "I hope people
don't beat their children in the same way."
"Perhaps the little girl," continued Madame d'Inville, "does not
belong to this mountebank. Sometimes poor people, not being able to
maintain their children, confide them to the first person who will
take charge of them, and who hopes to gain something by making them
work. These poor children, removed from their parents, learn nothing
good, and are often unhappy. I knew one...."
"You knew one, dear grandmamma!" cried both the children at once.
"It was a little girl," said Madame d'Inville, "who was taken away
from her native province by a fortune-teller; she was in danger of
perishing of hunger, and of being crippled, and what is much worse,
she ran the risk of becoming a thief."
"Oh! dear! how much I should like to know her history!" said Mélanie.
As they had reached the Champs-Elysées, Madame d'Inville sat down,
the two children seated themselves on the stool which she put under
her feet, and, holding each other round the neck, to avoid falling,
they listened to the history of Françou.