"Ah me! how much I fear lest pride it be;
But if that pride it be which thus inspires,
Beware, ye dames! with nice discernment see
Ye quench not too the sparks of nobler fires."
SHENSTONE.
By repeated observation, and by attending to the minute reports of Sister
Frances, Madame de Fleury soon became acquainted with the habits and
temper of each individual in this little society. The most intelligent
and the most amiable of these children was Victoire. Whence her
superiority arose, whether her abilities were naturally more vivacious
than those of her companions, or whether they had been more early
developed by accidental excitation, we cannot pretend to determine, lest
we should involve ourselves in the intricate question respecting natural
genius--a metaphysical point, which we shall not in this place stop to
discuss. Till the world has an accurate philosophical dictionary (a work
not to be expected in less than half a dozen centuries), this question
will never be decided to general satisfaction. In the meantime we may
proceed with our story.
Deep was the impression made on Victoire's heart by the kindness that
Madame de Fleury showed her at the time her arm was broken; and her
gratitude was expressed with all the enthusiastic fondness of childhood.
Whenever she spoke or heard of Madame de Fleury her countenance became
interested and animated in a degree that would have astonished a cool
English spectator. Every morning her first question to Sister Frances
was: "Will _she_ come to-day?" If Madame de Fleury was expected, the
hours and the minutes were counted, and the sand in the hour-glass that
stood on the schoolroom table was frequently shaken. The moment she
appeared Victoire ran to her, and was silent; satisfied with standing
close beside her, holding her gown when unperceived, and watching, as she
spoke and moved, every turn of her countenance. Delighted by these marks
of sensibility, Sister Frances would have praised the child, but was
warned by Madame de Fleury to refrain from injudicious eulogiums, lest
she should teach her affectation.
"If I must not praise, you will permit me at least to love her," said
Sister Frances.
Her affection for Victoire was increased by compassion: during two months
the poor child's arm hung in a sling, so that she could not venture to
play with her companions. At their hours of recreation she used to sit
on the schoolroom steps, looking down into the garden at the scene of
merriment in which she could not partake.
For those who know how to find it, there is good in everything. Sister
Frances used to take her seat on the steps, sometimes with her work and
sometimes with a book; and Victoire, tired of being quite idle, listened
with eagerness to the stories which Sister Frances read, or watched with
interest the progress of her work; soon she longed to imitate what she
saw done with so much pleasure, and begged to be taught to work and read.
By degrees she learned her alphabet, and could soon, to the amazement of
her schoolfellows, read the names of all the animals in Sister Frances'
picture-book. No matter how trifling the thing done, or the knowledge
acquired, a great point is gained by giving the desire for employment.
Children frequently become industrious from impatience of the pains and
penalties of idleness. Count Rumford showed that he understood childish
nature perfectly well when, in his House of Industry at Munich, he
compelled the young children to sit for some time idle in a gallery round
the hall, where others a little older than themselves were busied at
work. During Victoire's state of idle convalescence she acquired the
desire to be employed, and she consequently soon became more industrious
than her neighbours. Succeeding in her first efforts, she was
praised--was pleased, and persevered till she became an example of
activity to her companions. But Victoire, though now nearly seven years
old, was not quite perfect. Naturally, or accidentally, she was very
passionate, and not a little self-willed.
One day being mounted, horsemanlike, with whip in hand, upon the banister
of the flight of stairs leading from the schoolroom to the garden, she
called in a tone of triumph to her playfellows, desiring them to stand
out of the way, and see her slide from top to bottom. At this moment
Sister Frances came to the schoolroom door and forbade the feat; but
Victoire, regardless of all prohibition, slid down instantly, and
moreover was going to repeat the glorious operation, when Sister Frances,
catching hold of her arm, pointed to a heap of sharp stones that lay on
the ground upon the other side of the banisters.
"I am not afraid," said Victoire.
"But if you fall there, you may break your arm again."
"And if I do, I can bear it," said Victoire. "Let me go, pray let me go:
I must do it."
"No; I forbid you, Victoire, to slide down again. Babet and all the
little ones would follow your example, and perhaps break their necks."
The nun, as she spoke, attempted to compel Victoire to dismount; but she
was so much of a heroine, that she would do nothing upon compulsion.
Clinging fast to the banisters, she resisted with all her might; she
kicked and screamed, and screamed and kicked, but at last her feet were
taken prisoners; then grasping the railway with one hand, with the other
she brandished high the little whip.
"What!" said the mild nun, "would you strike me with that _arm_?"
The arm dropped instantly--Victoire recollected Madame de Fleury's
kindness the day when the arm was broken; dismounting immediately, she
threw herself upon her knees in the midst of the crowd of young
spectators, and begged pardon of Sister Frances. For the rest of the day
she was as gentle as a lamb; nay, some assert that the effects of her
contrition were visible during the remainder of the week.
Having thus found the secret of reducing the little rebel to obedience by
touching her on the tender point of gratitude, the nun had recourse to
this expedient in all perilous cases; but one day, when she was boasting
of the infallible operation of her charm, Madame de Fleury advised her to
forbear recurring to it frequently, lest she should wear out the
sensibility she so much loved. In consequence of this counsel,
Victoire's violence of temper was sometimes reduced by force and
sometimes corrected by reason; but the principle and the feeling of
gratitude were not exhausted or weakened in the struggle. The hope of
reward operated upon her generous mind more powerfully than the fear of
punishment; and Madame de Fleury devised rewards with as much ability as
some legislators invent punishments.
Victoire's brother Maurice, who was now of an age to earn his own bread,
had a strong desire to be bound apprentice to the smith who worked in the
house where his mother lodged. This most ardent wish of his soul he had
imparted to his sister; and she consulted her benefactress, whom she
considered as all-powerful in this, as in every other affair.
"Your brother's wish shall be gratified," replied Madame de Fleury, "if
you can keep your temper one month. If you are never in a passion for a
whole month, I will undertake that your brother shall be bound apprentice
to his friend the smith. To your companions, to Sister Frances, and
above all to yourself, I trust, to make me a just report this day month."