in the amusements of young people, proposed to visit a very beautiful
park, situated about four leagues from Romecourt; they were to spend
the day there, and return home in the evening.
Eudoxia and her companions were delighted at the thought of this
party; but on the evening before it was to take place, when they were
thinking of the arrangement of the carriages, they found that Madame
de Rivry's calèche would only hold four persons, therefore as it was
necessary that she herself should be one of the four, the whole of
the girls could not be with her; one of them must necessarily go in
Madame de Croissy's carriage, with that lady and Madame d'Aubonne.
This made a great difference in the pleasure of the journey.
Madame de Rivry, obliged to do the honours of her house, decided
that it must be Julia who was to go in the carriage. Julia exclaimed
loudly against this, and declared she would much prefer not going at
all. She answered her mother in the disrespectful manner which she
always assumed when anything displeased her, and said that it was
very convenient for her mother, who was going in the calèche, to put
her to be wearied to death in the carriage.
Madame de Rivry endeavoured in vain to induce her daughter to listen
to reason; but as her indulgence did not extend so far as to make her
forget what she owed to others, she resisted all her complaints.
Madame de Croissy offered to take one of her grandchildren with her,
but this offer was not made with any emphasis, as she was desirous
of seeing justice done, and would have been very sorry if, on this
occasion, Madame de Rivry had yielded to her daughter. Madame
d'Aubonne said nothing, for she saw that it would have been quite
useless.
Julia sulked, and even cried, the whole afternoon. She was so much
accustomed to have her own way, that the slightest contradiction was
a violent grief to her. During their walk she was constantly wiping
her eyes, while Madame de Rivry tried to console her, but to no
purpose. This distressed Eudoxia so much, that she whispered to her
mother, "If I dared, I would beg Madame de Rivry to give my place to
Julia."
"It would do no good," said her mother; "but if you like, as you have
a slight cold, I will say to-morrow that I should prefer your not
going in the calèche, I think that will be better."
"Oh no, mamma," said Eudoxia quickly, "I assure you the calèche will
not do my cold any harm."
"I agree with you, my child, that the inconvenience is not of
sufficient importance to deprive you of this pleasure, neither
should I have proposed it to you, had I not thought that you wished
to give up your place to Julia."
"And I do wish to do so, mamma, but...."
"You would like perhaps to propose it in such a way that her mother
would refuse it?"
"Oh! no, mamma, I do assure you."
"Or else you wish it to be known that it is you who give it up to
her?"
"But, mamma, is it not natural to wish Julia to know that it is I who
would give her this pleasure, and not any one else?"
"And even if that were possible, do you think that this mode of
affording Julia pleasure would be agreeable to her? Suppose, for
instance, that you had behaved in as childish a manner as she has
done, and that any one of your age had offered to yield her place
to you, and thus shown how very good she was, and how much the
reverse you were, would you not have felt greatly humiliated by this
kindness?"
"Oh! yes, mamma, that is very true."
"Nevertheless this is the humiliation you wish to impose on Julia, as
the price of the pleasure you would afford her."
"I assure you, mamma, I have no wish whatever to humble her."
"No, but you wish to prove to her, as well as to every one else, that
you are better than she is; for it does not seem to be sufficient for
you to know this yourself."
"But, mamma, is it only allowable to be a little satisfied with
ourselves, when we conceal from others what we do for them?"
"When the result of what we do for them is to cause ourselves to be
esteemed much more than them, and at their expense, we only barter
one advantage for another, and we have no reason to be very proud of
ourselves, for we have made no great sacrifices for them."
"Mamma," said Eudoxia, after a moment's reflection, "if you like, you
can tell Madame de Rivry that I have a cold."
"Just as you please, my child," and they said no more about the
matter.
The following day the weather was superb, and Eudoxia beheld the
calèche waiting in the yard, the horses pawing the ground, impatient
to be off.
"My cold is almost gone," she said.
"I think, indeed," said Madame d'Aubonne, "that the calèche will do
you no great harm."
"You know, mamma," said Eudoxia, with a sigh, "that it is not I who
am going in it."
"You can still do as you like, my child, for I have not spoken on the
subject to Madame de Rivry; you are not obliged, therefore, to make
this sacrifice, if it be painful to you."
"But, mamma, I think it would be right to make it," said Eudoxia,
with sadness.
"My dear child, when once the idea of performing a generous action
has occurred to us, if we do not perform it we run the risk of having
to reproach ourselves afterwards. It is possible that when you are
in the calèche, the thought that Julia is moping in the carriage
may greatly interfere with your pleasure: that is all; for I again
repeat, that there is no duty which obliges you to yield your place
to her."
"Unless it be, mamma, that I think I have more courage than she has
to bear this contradiction."
"I agree with you, as we have before observed, that there are
particular duties imposed upon those who feel themselves possessed of
more strength and reason than others."
"Mamma, I will go in the carriage."
"Are you quite sure that you really wish to do so, my child?"
"I am quite sure, mamma, that I wish Julia to go in the calèche."
Madame d'Aubonne tenderly embraced her daughter, for she was
extremely pleased with her conduct. They entered the drawing-room,
and she expressed her desire of keeping Eudoxia in the carriage; the
request was granted without difficulty.
The good-natured Madame de Rivry was very glad to be able to spare
her daughter any annoyance, without being wanting in attention to
her friends. Eudoxia said nothing, but this occasioned no surprise,
as all were accustomed to her obedience. Julia, though delighted,
nevertheless blushed a little, for it is very humiliating to find
that one has had the weakness to grieve over a misfortune, which
after all does not happen; but no one, however, was discontented with
the arrangement except Madame de Croissy, who lost the pleasure of
seeing a spoiled child contradicted at least once in her life.
"I should have imagined," said she, ironically, "that the education
of Mademoiselle Eudoxia would have made her less afraid of catching
cold."
Madame d'Aubonne looked at her daughter with a smile, and this smile
prevented Eudoxia from being irritated by the remark.
When in the carriage, Madame de Croissy, feeling too warm, wished to
put down one of the windows, "provided," she again said, "that it
will not give Mademoiselle Eudoxia cold." Madame d'Aubonne and her
daughter again glanced at each other, with a scarcely perceptible
smile, and Eudoxia found that there is a great pleasure in feeling,
in our own conscience, that we are better than others take us to be.
She enjoyed herself very much in the park. In the evening, she felt
some regret at losing the drive home in the calèche, on a beautiful
moonlight night; but at last she retired to rest, pleased with
the day's amusement, pleased with herself, and pleased with the
satisfaction she had given her mother, who, during the whole day,
was more than usually attentive to her, calling her whenever she saw
anything pretty, and experiencing no pleasure unless shared by her.
The following morning, a painter, with whom Madame de Rivry was
acquainted, called _en passant_ at Romecourt; he was on his way back
to Paris, and had only half an hour to spend at the château.
Whilst the breakfast was preparing, he expressed a wish to see the
drawings of the young ladies, and Adèle was ordered to show them.
Eudoxia and herself had undertaken to copy from the antique a
beautiful head of a vestal, and Adèle, though according to custom,
she had scarcely worked at all, yet, according to custom also,
she had told her grandmamma that her drawing was finished, and
Madame de Croissy, who never looked at her work, made no further
inquiries about it. However, as she could not exhibit this drawing,
she determined to show as her own the one which Eudoxia had done.
The artist was delighted with it, and it was, indeed, the best
thing Eudoxia had ever done. While he was still examining it,
Madame de Croissy called Adèle into the garden, and with her usual
thoughtlessness she ran off without putting away the drawing; during
this time Madame d'Aubonne and Eudoxia entered by another door.
"Here is a beautiful head drawn by Mademoiselle Adèle!" said the
painter.
"By Adèle?" said Eudoxia, blushing, and looking at her mother.
"I do not think it can be Adèle's," said Madame d'Aubonne.
"Oh! I beg your pardon," said the painter, "she told me so herself;"
and going to the door which led into the garden, where Adèle was
standing on the step, talking to her grandmamma, he said to her, "Is
not the drawing you have just shown me your work, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, sir," said Adèle, scarcely turning her head, for fear her
grandmamma should notice it, and ask to see the drawing.
The painter then resumed his praise of it. Eudoxia waited for her
mamma to speak, but she said nothing, and Eudoxia finding her silent,
did not dare to speak herself.
The artist wished to see some of her drawings; she said that she
had nothing to show; but perceiving a portfolio, inscribed with her
name, he drew from it an old study, with which Eudoxia was not at all
satisfied, and which she had brought into the country to correct. He
pointed out its defects, coldly praised the talent it indicated, and
again reverted to the head of the vestal.
[Illustration: "I do not think it can be Adèle's," said Madame
d'Aubonne.--P. 176.]
Eudoxia's heart was bursting, and she looked at her mother as if to
entreat her to speak; but the breakfast was announced. The painter
being asked what he thought of the drawings, spoke courteously
relative to the talents of the other three young ladies, but asserted
that Adèle would be very successful.
"Ah! not so much so as Mademoiselle Eudoxia," said Madame de Croissy,
casting upon Eudoxia a look of ironical satisfaction.
"I assure you, madame," said the painter, "that the head of the
vestal which Mademoiselle Adèle showed me, displays the very highest
promise."
Adèle's face became alternately pale and crimson, and she did not
dare to raise her head.
"I assure you, nevertheless," said Madame de Croissy, in the same
tone, "that if you had heard Mademoiselle Eudoxia, and the advice she
gives, you could not doubt that she was the most skilful young lady
of her age."
The painter looked at Eudoxia with astonishment. She felt indignant,
but her mother, who was seated near her, pressed her hand beneath the
table, in order to calm her. She could not eat, and immediately after
breakfast, she went into the garden, where her mother followed her,
and found her crying with vexation and impatience.
"What is the matter, my dearest Eudoxia?" said she, pressing her
tenderly in her arms.
"Really, mamma," said Eudoxia, much agitated, "this is very hard, and
Madame de Croissy again...."
"What does the injustice of Madame de Croissy matter to you? Which of
us believes a word of what she says?"
"But the painter will believe it. Indeed I should have said nothing
before her; but why must he think that my drawing was done by Adèle?
Mamma, you have encouraged Adèle's falsehood," she added, in a tone
of reproach.
"I have nothing to do with the education of Adèle," replied Madame
d'Aubonne, "whereas I am responsible for yours; it is my duty to
foster your virtues as I would my own, and to point out to you your
duty, without thinking of that of other people."
"It was not my duty," replied Eudoxia, more mildly, "to allow it to
be thought that my drawing was Adèle's."
"It was certainly not the duty of one who aspires to nothing more
than to be able to draw well, but it was the duty of one who wishes
to possess more strength and virtue than another, not to sacrifice
the reputation of a companion to her own self-love. Tell me, my
child, if in order to save yourself the slight vexation of being
considered less clever than Adèle, you had in the presence of this
artist covered her with the disgrace of having told a falsehood,
would you not now feel very much embarrassed in her presence?"
"I think, indeed, I should, mamma."
"And it would be natural for you to feel so, for you would not have
had the courage to make a trifling sacrifice, in order to save her
from a great humiliation."
"That is true, mamma; but it is sometimes necessary to do very
difficult things, in order to be always satisfied with one's self."
"And if this pleasure could be attained without difficulty, do
you not suppose, my child, that every one would be as anxious as
yourself to secure it?"
Although softened by this conversation with her mother, Eudoxia,
nevertheless, could not help feeling some degree of bitterness
against Adèle, and during a part of the day she avoided speaking to
her. But she saw Adèle so ashamed when in her company, so occupied
in endeavouring to give her pleasure without daring to approach her,
or address her directly, that her anger was changed into compassion.
She felt that the severest trial we can experience, is the having
a serious fault to reproach ourselves with; and also that it is
impossible to preserve any resentment against one who was suffering
under so great an evil. She therefore spoke to Adèle as usual, and as
soon as her irritation vanished, her grief also ceased.
But she had still to pass through a severe ordeal. Honorine, whom
nothing ever restrained when once she took a fancy into her head,
having one day found the park-gate open, thought it would be very
pleasant to go and walk upon the high road. Eudoxia was alone with
her at the time, and feeling how improper it was to act in this
manner, she entreated her to return. Perceiving some one approaching,
and trembling lest Honorine should be noticed, she ventured, in order
to call her back, to pass the threshold of the gate herself, and
standing quite close to the railing, she exclaimed,
"Honorine, my dear Honorine, come back! I entreat you to come back."
Just at this moment she fancied she heard the voice of Madame
de Croissy, and rushed forward to hasten Honorine, who was not
returning fast enough: her dress caught in the gate, she was thrown
down, while the door was drawn forward and closed, and thus they
were both outside, without any means of getting back. Eudoxia tried
to open the gate, by passing her hand through the bars, but in vain;
the lock was stiff; perhaps even it had a secret spring; she could
not succeed. Greatly distressed, she wanted to call out for some one
to open it for them, determined, without throwing any blame upon
Honorine, to explain what had happened to herself: but Honorine, who
had as little courage to encounter a slight reprimand, as she had
sense to avoid meriting a great one, entreated her not to do so.
She knew that her grandmamma was walking in the garden, and might
hear them, and therefore thought it would be better to return to
the château by the back entrance. To reach this, however, it was
necessary to make a considerable circuit, and Eudoxia did not wish to
leave the gate; but at last Honorine having taken her own course, she
was obliged to follow her, as by calling after her, she would have
led to a discovery of her imprudent conduct.
She followed her with trembling steps, keeping close to the park
walls, and walking as quickly as possible, fearful of being seen, and
constantly calling to Honorine, who, on the contrary, was much amused
at her alarm, and kept running from side to side, and even into the
fields. While still at a considerable distance from the yard of the
château, they saw coming along the road, which crossed in front of
them, a carriage filled with company, going to dine at Romecourt.
Eudoxia was now more than ever in despair, as she imagined that
she had been recognised; she therefore redoubled her speed, while
Honorine, who was beginning to be afraid, on the contrary slackened
hers, in order to defer, as long as possible, the moment of danger.
Their fears were not groundless; they had been perceived. As soon as
the carriage arrived at Romecourt, they were sought for, together
with Adèle and Julia, in order to entertain a young lady, who had
accompanied her mother and two other ladies; but they were not to be
found.
"I think," said a gentleman, who had accompanied the carriage on
horseback, "that I saw them on the road."
"On the road alone!" exclaimed Madame de Croissy.
"I thought it very strange," said one of the ladies, "nevertheless it
was certainly them."
A new search was made everywhere; Adèle did not know where her sister
was, neither could Madame d'Aubonne tell what had become of her
daughter. She had gone down to the drawing-room, and was beginning to
feel very uneasy, when a servant who observed them enter the yard,
exclaimed, "Here they are!"
Every one ran out upon the step, and the two girls perceived, from
a distance, the assembly that awaited them. Eudoxia, though almost
ready to faint with fear and shame, was, nevertheless, obliged to
drag Honorine, who would not advance. They had hardly reached the
middle of the yard when they heard Madame de Croissy calling out
to them, "Is it possible, young ladies! Is it to be believed!..."
Madame d'Aubonne hastened to meet her daughter: "Eudoxia," said she,
"what can have happened? How is it"....
Eudoxia did not dare to reply, on account of Honorine, who was by
her side, but she pressed and kissed her mother's hand, looked at
her, and then at Honorine, in such a way that Madame d'Aubonne was
convinced that her daughter had done nothing wrong.
They reached the house at last, still accompanied by the reproofs
and exclamations of Madame de Croissy, who while they were ascending
the steps, turned towards the company and said, "I beg you at all
events to believe, that Honorine is not so ill brought up, as to
have thought of such an escapade as this, of her own accord. It was
Mademoiselle Eudoxia who led her away, and almost by force too; I was
a witness to this." Eudoxia was on the point of exclaiming--"Yes,
Mademoiselle," continued Madame de Croissy, with an air of command,
"I was walking in the shrubbery near the railings, when you said,
'_Come, I entreat you._' I was not then aware of the nature of your
request; I see it now, but should never have imagined it. Deny it if
you dare."
Madame de Croissy had indeed heard, but misunderstood what Eudoxia
had said, in order to induce Honorine to return. Eudoxia did not deny
the charge, but cast down her eyes, and burst into tears. Madame
d'Aubonne looked at her anxiously, and led her aside, when Eudoxia,
weeping, related what had occurred.
"I do not know, my niece, what tale she may be fabricating," cried
Madame de Croissy, "but I heard her with my own ears, and I hope I
am to be believed, as much as Mademoiselle Eudoxia."
"Aunt," said Madame d'Aubonne, with firmness, "Eudoxia is not
fabricating any tales; and if I am satisfied with her conduct, I beg
to say, with all deference, that no one else shall interfere with
her."
"Most assuredly, I shall not take that liberty," replied Madame de
Croissy, very much irritated, "but she will have the kindness not to
go near her cousins, and she may then make herself as ridiculous as
she pleases; I shall trouble myself very little about it."
Eudoxia was no longer able to support herself; her mother led her
away, embraced and consoled her. "Mamma," she said, weeping, "without
you, I never should have had resolution enough."
"I am sure, my child, that you would. You would have borne everything
rather than have exposed Honorine to the anger of her grandmamma;
but we are both in the same predicament, and must mutually aid and
support each other. Do you not imagine that they think me as much to
blame as yourself?"
Eudoxia embraced her mother with transport; she was so happy and
proud at being placed by her on the same level with herself. "But,
mamma," she said, "although we say nothing to Madame de Croissy, we
might at least explain the truth to the others."
"Would you then let them know that Honorine had the cowardice
to allow you to bear the blame of a fault which she herself had
committed? Would you wish to be weak in your turn? Your not accusing
Honorine was an act of simple kindness merely; many others would
have done as much; if you stop at this point, you have no right to
consider yourself more generous than others."
"Mamma, this pleasure then must be very dearly purchased?"
"My child, it is only granted to those who have sufficient resolution
to sacrifice every other pleasure to it."
Eudoxia, strengthened by her mother's words, returned with her
resolutely to the drawing-room, where pardon had already been
obtained for Honorine, whom Madame de Croissy would have sent to dine
by herself in her own room. The modest but tranquil countenance of
Eudoxia, and the tender but unaffected manner in which her mother
treated her, imposed silence on Madame de Croissy, while the others
began to suspect that she could not be so much in fault as Madame de
Croissy had supposed; and Madame de Rivry, who knew her well, had
already told them that the thing appeared to her quite impossible.
Julia, by dint of questioning, at length extracted the truth from
Honorine, and told her mother, on condition that nothing should be
said to Madame de Croissy; but the company were informed of it, and
from that moment treated Eudoxia with a degree of attention which
proved to her that the approbation of others, although we ought not
to calculate upon it, is still almost invariably accorded to those
whose actions are performed solely from a sense of duty.
EDWARD AND EUGENIA;
OR THE EMBROIDERED BAG AND THE NEW COAT.
"Oh! I do love you so!" said Eugenia to little Agatha, her
schoolfellow, to whom she had taken a violent fancy; and as she said
this, she almost smothered her with kisses.
"And I love you very much too," said Agatha, disengaging herself from
her arms. "But why do you not like me to play with Fanny?"
"Because you would love her more than me."
"Is Fanny then more amiable?" asked one of the governesses, who had
overheard her.
"Certainly not," said Eugenia, whom this supposition very much
displeased. "But I do not wish her to love Fanny even as much as she
loves me."
"You do not then know how to be sufficiently amiable to make yourself
more loved than another?"
"Oh! yes, I do," replied Eugenia, with increasing irritability, "but
I do not wish her to play with Fanny." Thus saying, she took Agatha
by the hand, and made her run with her in the walk before them. The
governess allowed them to go, quite sure of finding an opportunity of
renewing the conversation. After they had run about for some time,
Eugenia, feeling fatigued, as it was a holiday, seated herself on a
bench in the garden, with a book of tales, which had been given her
on the previous evening, and which amused her very much. But Agatha,
who was not fond of reading, wished to continue playing. She walked
round and round Eugenia, trod upon her dress, and pulled the marker
of her book, in order to prevent her from reading. At length she came
behind her with a handful of grass, and holding it above her head,
she let it fall before her eyes, upon her person, and upon the page
with which she was occupied. Eugenia become angry, tore the grass
from her hands, and told her to let her alone, for she annoyed her.
"Agatha, go and play with Fanny," said the governess, who was passing
at the moment.
"Why do you wish her to go and play with Fanny," asked Eugenia,
hastily rising, and ready to fly into a passion, had she dared to do
so. At the same time, she threw down the book, in order to go and
catch Agatha, who had already set off.
"You do not wish to play with her; probably Fanny might be more
obliging...."
"But I have already been playing."