without being sure of having the power of accomplishing it. For
what happened to Louisa and Paul arose from their not sufficiently
considering, before they went out to the toy-shop, whether they
should be able to reach it without going astray, and without being
afraid of the carriages; just as you did not sufficiently consider,
before you took charge of the mice, whether you were able to take
proper care of them."
"But, mamma, it would have been necessary to have foreseen."
"That you would have been careless; that the mice would escape from
an open case; that when they were out, the cat would eat them. All
this you might very easily have thought of, had you been able to
profit by the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine."
Julia thought her mother's raillery very disagreeable, but she was
soon consoled, for her friend, to whom she wrote an account of her
misfortune, told her, in reply, that she was not angry with her,
and besides, she was invited to a ball, the first to which she had
been since she had left school. Julia danced pretty well. During
the two years she had passed at school, she had been one of those
selected to dance the gavotte, at the distribution of prizes, and as
always happens in polished society, many compliments had been paid
her, so that she felt the greatest desire to dance the gavotte at a
ball. Scarcely had she arrived at this one, when she communicated
her wishes to the daughter of her hostess, who was her cousin, and
the mother having become acquainted with her desire, arranged one
for her, towards the middle of the ball. Madame de Vallonay being
quite ignorant of the matter, was greatly astonished when they came
for Julia to dance. She at first refused to let her go, but the lady
of the house had calculated upon her performing this dance with her
son, and thought it would be very pretty to see them in it, as they
were nearly of a size, and also much alike. Madame de Vallonay,
finding that she made a point of it, that the company were already
arranged for the gavotte, and that this discussion attracted general
attention, consented to let her daughter go, although with extreme
reluctance, because she considered it absurd to take up in this
manner the attention of every one, in looking at persons who do not
possess any talent capable of affording amusement.
Not so with Julia: convinced that she was going to delight every
one, she walked across the room with a lofty air, which caused much
laughter. She heard this, and reddened with anger, especially when
she saw one lady speaking in a whisper, while looking at her with a
quizzical air, and heard another behind her saying, "How ridiculous
to interrupt the ball, in order to let that little girl dance the
gavotte!" However, she was not discouraged; she did her best, held
her head still higher than usual, and displayed all those graces
which had obtained her such brilliant success at school. She was,
therefore, dreadfully annoyed when, at the end, the ironical laughter
which mingled with the applause, and even the exaggeration of the
applause itself, showed her that she was an object of ridicule.
Scarcely had she finished her last courtesy, when the young ladies
and gentlemen crowded forward to take their places in the country
dance. Julia, as with difficulty she passed through them, conducted
by her partner, who was wiping his brow, heard it murmured around
her, "It is well that that is over; it has been a very stupid affair."
She felt deeply humiliated; her heart was oppressed, and she cast
down her eyes: she supposed that no one would again ask her to dance,
and indeed, two country dances had taken place without her having
been invited to join. Anticipating, therefore, nothing but vexation
from this ball, from which she had promised herself so much pleasure,
she told her mother that she was tired, and entreated her to go home.
Madame de Vallonay easily guessed the cause of her fatigue; but that
she might not increase her annoyance, she did not mention the subject
that evening. The following day, however, she wished to know whether
it was she who requested to dance the gavotte. Julia, though very
much ashamed, confessed that it was.
"It has turned out very unfortunately for you, my poor Julia," said
Madame de Vallonay; "what a pity that you did not call to mind at
that moment the story of Madame Croque-Mitaine."
"And what use would it have been to me?"
"It would have taught you that we always run the risk of committing
folly, when we wish to follow one general course of action, without
reflecting whether the circumstances are altered. Thus, Louisa and
Paul, who were accustomed to run about alone, in the country, in
places where there was no danger of their meeting with carriages,
or cabriolets, or passers by, never thought that in the streets of
Paris, it would be quite a different affair; and you, who were in the
habit of dancing the gavotte at school, where you were applauded,
because the strangers who were there were anxious to please the
mistress, did not reflect that it would be quite another matter when
you danced it in the midst of a large number of persons, who took no
interest in you, and who were assembled there to dance themselves,
and not to look at you."
"But, mamma," said Julia, who was anxious to turn the conversation,
"you find everything in Madame Croque-Mitaine."
"I could find many other things also; and if you wish, we shall have
enough there for a long time to come."
"Oh! no, no, mamma, I entreat you."
"I shall be very glad not to speak of it any more, my child, but only
on one condition, which is, that for the future, you will not take
it into your head to imagine that what is said by grownup people can
be a fit subject of raillery for a little girl like you; and that,
when their conversation wearies you, instead of pretending that it
does so, because it is ridiculous, you will, on the contrary, say to
yourself, that it is because you have not sufficient penetration to
understand it, or sufficient sense to profit by it. Take care, for
if you fail, I shall send you again for instruction to the story of
Madame Croque-Mitaine."
AGLAÏA AND LEONTINE;
OR MANOEUVRING.
Aglaïa resided in a provincial town, with her grandmother, Madame
Lacour, the widow of a respectable notary. As Madame Lacour was in
easy circumstances, and, moreover, exact and economical, she was
enabled to live very agreeably, associating only with persons of
her own class, without seeking those who were distinguished by a
more elevated rank, or greater wealth. She received company every
Thursday, and spent the other evenings in visiting her friends at
their own houses. Aglaïa, who always went with her, met on these
occasions young people of her own age, and these in like manner
accompanied their parents on the Thursdays to Madame Lacour's
_soirées_. In the summer they made up parties for the country,
and spent the day in the gardens belonging to one or other of the
society. These gardens not being very distant, the young people
walked there, while the elder ones rode upon donkeys. They amused
themselves in the fields, and returned home in the evening very
tired, but very happy, and a few days afterwards commenced again.
Aglaïa, who was mild and amiable, was very much beloved by her
companions; but her greatest friends were Hortense Guimont, and her
brother Gustave, the children of the physician of the town. Hortense
was fourteen years of age, Aglaïa a year younger, while Gustave
was sixteen. Though Aglaïa was less familiar with him than with
Hortense, she was still very fond of him. She even felt for him a
certain degree of deference, for Gustave was much advanced for his
age, highly esteemed in the town for his diligence and success in
his studies, and looked upon as one destined to obtain honourable
distinction in his future career. Even those who had known him from
his childhood, no longer called him _little Guimont_, but _young
Guimont_. Some even said _M. Guimont_. Parents held him up as a model
to their sons, and his companions were proud of him, and always
treated him with respect.
His sister, Hortense, was also very amiable and sensible. M. Guimont,
their father, brought them up very judiciously. Although his society
was much courted by the most distinguished families of the town, not
only on account of his talents as a physician, but also on account
of his amiability and conversational powers, he would never take
his children into the high circles which he occasionally frequented
himself. "I wish my daughter," he said, "to remain among those with
whom she is destined to pass her life; and as to my son, if his
talents procure him hereafter the means of being well received in the
world, I shall be delighted; but I will not inspire him with a taste
for elevated society, until I am quite sure that he will be able to
maintain his position there with honour."
It was sometimes said to him, "With your extensive connection, you
might easily advance your son." He replied, "If my son has merit,
he will advance himself; and if he has not, I would not wish to
place him in a position in which he would only discover his own
incapacity;" and he added, "Gustave is in a much better position than
I was when I began, for there are many persons, I believe, who will
be disposed to take an interest in him on my account; he must do the
rest for himself, and he will be able to do it much better than I
could do it for him, for I cannot make people take an interest in
him on his own account." Nevertheless, M. Guimont could not entirely
resist the importunities of some friends, who were particularly
attached to him, and who pressed him very much to bring his son to
visit them. However, Gustave, who was proud, felt ill at ease in
the society of persons with whom he was not on an equality, and who
thought they were conferring an honour on him, in receiving him into
their circle; and he was equally ill at ease with the young people
of this class, since he could not treat them as companions. He was
afraid of being too cold, and did not wish to be too polite, because
an excess of politeness might have been regarded as adulation;
neither did he wish to be too attentive, because he felt that his
attentions could not be flattering to any one. He therefore entreated
his father not to take him again into such company, and resolved to
devote his energies to the acquirement of personal merit, that he
might hope one day to be sought for on his own account, to confer,
in his turn, honour on those who received him, and see them attach
importance to his attentions.
He always felt happy at Madame Lacour's, who was a woman of good
sense, and an intimate friend of his father. He was very fond of
Aglaïa, who had been brought up by her grandmother, as well as any
young lady could be in a country town, and who showed a disposition
to improve her mind. Madame Lacour had begged him to revise her
exercises, and he was a severe master; indeed, Aglaïa was more
afraid of his disapprobation than of that of her grandmother.
Whenever he was dissatisfied with her, it was always Hortense who
restored peace between them, and being older and more advanced than
Aglaïa, she generally looked over her exercises before they were
shown to Gustave, so much was she afraid of his finding fault with
her. Notwithstanding all this, however, they agreed very well, and,
next to his sister, Aglaïa was the person in whom he reposed most
confidence. She was very proud of this, for all the young people with
whom she was acquainted, attached great value to Gustave's friendship.
The nobility and people of wealth seldom spent more than the winter
in the town. In summer all went to their country seats. The town,
however, was not on this account any the less gay for Aglaïa, or the
reunions of Madame Lacour; but as it was more quiet, every unusual
occurrence created a proportionate sensation. People were therefore
very much taken up with M. d'Armilly, and his daughter Leontine,
who had just arrived there. M. d'Armilly had recently purchased a
château in the environs, which being uninhabitable, he was having
rebuilt; and in order to be able to superintend the operations, he
had established himself in the town: but he was very seldom at home,
and usually slept at a neighbouring farm, that he might be nearer
his workmen. He left his daughter under the care of a confidential
person, who acted as her governess, and who could have educated
her very well, as she was herself well educated, had she not, for
the sake of pleasing M. d'Armilly, who quite spoiled his daughter,
allowed her to have her own way in everything.
Leontine was as foolish as a spoiled child, and excessively proud.
She was fifteen years old, just the age when ridiculous ideas are
most apt to enter the head of a young girl. Having some relations of
high rank, she had lived in Paris in the most fashionable society,
and had assumed some of the airs of a woman, while adding to them all
the follies of a child. Her father and herself having been received,
on their arrival, with all the respect with which an innkeeper is
usually inspired by the sight of one of the greatest landowners of
his neighbourhood, she thought she must maintain her dignity by
corresponding manners. She asked if at that time there was any one in
the town whom she could visit; they named Madame Lacour, M. Guimont,
M. André, a linen-manufacturer, M. Dufour, a wholesale wine-merchant,
&c. She inquired about some persons of higher rank, whom she knew
were resident there, but all were then out of town; and Leontine,
satisfied with having indicated by her questions the kind of society
to which she had been accustomed, did not dare, however much she may
have felt inclined to be impertinent, to display more than half the
ridiculous airs which she had prepared to mark her contempt for the
more humble names.
Reduced to the society of her governess, and to a few excursions
made with her father to the château which was in course of erection,
Leontine's only amusement was to select from her wardrobe whatever
was most novel, and best calculated to produce an extraordinary
sensation in a provincial town, and then to go daily and display her
haughty airs on the public promenade. Every one looked at her, but
this was what she wished; every one ridiculed her without her being
aware of it, but in secret all the young girls began to imitate her.
It was soon observed that they carried their heads much higher, and
that an innovation was made in the manner of fastening their sashes.
Aglaïa had already turned and returned her bonnet in two or three
different ways, in the hope of imparting to it something of the style
which Leontine's displayed, and she had also tried two or three modes
of arranging the folds of her shawl.
Gustave had remarked this, and laughed at her, and though she would
not admit the charge, she still felt very much annoyed with him,
because he would not appreciate the beauty of a bow, which she had
succeeded in placing in precisely the same manner in which Leontine's
had been arranged on the previous evening.
The excitement became general: even Hortense, accustomed as she was
to defer to her brother's opinion, had already twice disputed with
him, maintaining that it did not follow, that because a fashion had
been introduced by Leontine, it was not pretty; and that if it was
pretty, it was quite rational to adopt it. Gustave, almost as much
a child, in his own way, as Aglaïa in hers, would not allow that
Leontine should be imitated in anything, so much was he annoyed at
the importance attached to everything she did. In fact, she could
not take a step, but it was known; people were informed of what her
father's cook had bought for dinner, and various intrigues were
resorted to in order to discover what she ate for breakfast. It was
known whether she heard mass attentively or not, and this at least
proved that the observers had been inattentive; in a word, she could
not pass down the street without every one rushing to the window to
see her.
One may judge of the excitement at Madame Lacour's, when one morning,
Leontine, accompanied by her governess, Mademoiselle Champré, called
there to pay a visit. Madame Lacour's husband, who for many years
had been a notary in another province, had rendered M. d'Armilly
important services in his affairs. This gentleman, having discovered
that his widow resided in the town, desired his daughter to call
upon her, as he was too much occupied at the moment to go himself;
and Leontine, who began to get very dull, was not sorry to have a
pretext for laying aside her dignity. Madame Lacour, who had shared
but little in the extreme interest taken in all her actions, was but
moderately excited by her visit, but Aglaïa blushed a dozen times
before Leontine had spoken to her, and a dozen times more while
answering her.
It is not so easy as may be imagined to assume airs with persons who
are not accustomed to them, and whose simplicity interferes with
them at every moment; when not sustained by a suitable concurrence
of circumstances, and by the example of others, a person relapses
into his natural manners in spite of himself, and the studied tones
of impertinence only return at intervals, and as it were by an effort
of the memory. Leontine was much less ridiculous than could have been
supposed. Madame Lacour, with her customary indulgence, was pleased
with her, and Aglaïa thought her charming.
It was Thursday: in the evening at Madame Lacour's _soirée_, nothing
was talked of but the morning's visit. "She has then, at last, made
up her mind," said some of the ladies; "I suppose she will do us also
the honour of paying us a visit;" and they were not a little shocked
that Leontine had commenced with Madame Lacour. Others took refuge
in their dignity, and professed to care nothing at all about her.
Others, again, less reserved, asked what she had said, calculated
the day she would call upon Madame Dufour or Madame André, and
whispered among themselves that she would probably not visit Madame
Simon, whom they considered as somewhat inferior to themselves, and
they agreed that it was quite natural that she should not call on
her. The young ladies in their circle repeated very much the same
things as their mothers, and with still greater volubility. As for
Aglaïa, she narrated, explained, and repeated her story, in the
most imposing and animated tones; but while in the midst of her
excitement, she perceived that Gustave was watching her from his part
of the room, and shrugging his shoulders with an ironical smile. This
disconcerted her exceedingly; but seeing Hortense listening to her
with more attention than her brother, she resumed the conversation,
and would willingly have continued it throughout the entire evening.
It was with pain that she heard any other subject introduced, and
she contrived to revert to her favourite topic every moment. "That
is precisely," she would say, "what Mademoiselle Leontine d'Armilly
was telling me this morning." If any particular place in the
neighbourhood was alluded to, "Mademoiselle Leontine d'Armilly has
not yet seen it," said Aglaïa. Some one spoke of the excessive heat
of the day, "Mademoiselle Leontine d'Armilly was surprised to find
grandmamma's room so cool," observed Aglaïa.
At this moment she was balancing herself on her chair, the two front
legs slipped backwards, and both Aglaïa and the chair fell. Every one
hastened to help her up, and Gustave amongst the rest; but seeing
that she was unhurt, he said, "I suppose Mademoiselle Leontine
d'Armilly did that too." Every one laughed: Aglaïa, very much
ashamed, and very angry, did not again pronounce Leontine's name,
neither did she speak to Gustave the whole evening. Though she was
afraid of vexing him too much, still it is certain that she began to
withdraw her confidence from him, for she could not speak to him on
the subject that chiefly occupied her thoughts. She was also a little
afraid of Hortense, and thus she was ill at ease with those whom she
most loved, because they did not share in the ridiculous pleasures of
her vanity.
The others, while ridiculing the importance she attached to
Leontine's visit, were not the less anxiously looking forward to a
similar visit for themselves. For two or three days, at the hour
at which Leontine had called on Madame Lacour, all the young ladies
kept themselves fully prepared, and constantly on the look-out; she
did not, however, make her appearance; but they learned that she
had invited Aglaïa to breakfast with her; and in the evening, at
the assembly, Aglaïa hardly dared to speak of the breakfast in the
presence of Gustave, and she merely said that Leontine was to fetch
her on the following day for a walk. Her companions drew themselves
up with an expression of mortification. All the annoyance produced
by this preference was quite evident: one of them, named Laurette,
less proud and more thoughtless than the rest, said to Aglaïa, "Very
well, I shall ask mamma to let me call on you at that hour, and I
shall be included in the party." Aglaïa, very much embarrassed,
stammered out some excuses; she said that Leontine was not acquainted
with Laurette, and that she did not know whether such a thing would
be agreeable to her. Laurette said that it was all the same to her,
that she should find others to walk with her, and immediately made
a proposal to that effect to two or three other girls, who accepted
it, saying, "Oh! as for us, it does not become us to be so proud."
One of the mothers overheard this conversation; fortunately it was
not Laurette's, for she would have made a scene. However, the lady
in question did make some observations on the imprudence of exposing
oneself to insults, together with other remarks full of bitterness,
which were repeated by the young people. The evening passed in
the most disagreeable manner. Madame Lacour being indisposed, had
remained at home, and at night M. Guimont, having called for his
own children, also accompanied Aglaïa home. She kept close to him,
in order to avoid speaking to Hortense or Gustave, whose displeasure
she had noticed, though they had said nothing; and though Hortense,
with her accustomed kindness, had several times tried to interrupt
the conversation, when she thought it likely to be disagreeable
to Aglaïa. Had the latter reflected, she would have felt that the
pleasure of being preferred to bear Leontine company was but a poor
equivalent for the embarrassment she suffered in the society of those
she loved; but vanity blinded her, and she did not see how much she
lowered herself, in looking upon such distinction as an honour.