The Curé of Chavignat. (continued 2)

"Do you think so? that would be very unfortunate, certainly."

"But papa said he would be back by ten o'clock."

"Certainly, five minutes longer are too much to be endured."

"Mamma! I am hungry."

"Well, my dear, you are not obliged to wait for our breakfast; the bread is upon the table, you can take as much as you please; it is surely better to breakfast upon dry bread than bear any longer what is insupportable."

Adela made no reply; for she must have confessed that although she was hungry enough to complain, she was not hungry enough to breakfast on dry bread, which would have been a proof that she was complaining about a mere trifle. This was Adela's chief defect. The least disappointment appeared to her, to use her habitual expression, insupportable. For the slightest indisposition or hurt, she would lament, disturb everybody, and require to be pitied,—not that she so much feared pain, but that whatever incommoded or put her the least out of her way, seemed to her the most grievous and extraordinary thing possible. She must be attended to at the very moment appointed, even things that did not depend on any one must fall out precisely as she desired, or all was wrong. Her nurse used to laugh at her, and say that it was very wrong of the rain to come on the day she wished to go out; for it seemed, in fact, as if every thing must happen so as to suit her convenience and fancy; nor did she seem able to bear the consequences even of what she had most desired, as soon as they occasioned her the slightest inconvenience. Thus, for example, she would take a long walk, and as soon as she began to feel fatigued, she would complain as if others were in fault. She would repeat fifty times over, "This tiresome château will never come," for she seemed almost to believe that the château ought to come to her. She considered herself much aggrieved when her mother would not permit her to hang on her arm, or lean on her sister's shoulder; for her only concern was for herself. Thus she could not conceive why they should do without the carriage when the horses were engaged in helping to bring home the hay; or why her nurse was not ready to dress her, when she had been sent out on a message to the village. Her little sister Amelia would sometimes say, "Adela is always sure of having some one to love her, for she loves herself so well."

This remark Amelia had probably heard from some of the servants, for those even who were attached to Adela, in consequence of the kindness of her parents, were so provoked by her ill-humour and exacting disposition, that they lost no opportunity of laughing at her expense. Her mother endeavoured to make her feel the absurdity of her conduct, and when she heard her complain of some trifling inconvenience, as for example, of being obliged to fetch her bonnet, which Amelia had taken up stairs to their room, by mistake, she said to her:

"Adela, does it hurt your feet to walk up stairs to your room?"

"No, mamma; but——"

"Or perhaps you are afraid of meeting by the way a wolf that will eat you up?"

Adela would have shrugged her shoulders if she had dared.

"Surely, my dear, it must cause you some great pain, otherwise you would not be so displeased about the matter."

"But, mamma! it puts me out of the way."

"And does it hurt you to be put out of the way?"

"I don't like it."

"Why not, if it does you no harm?"

Adela could find nothing more to say, excepting that "Amelia might have spared herself the trouble of taking it up stairs." Then Madame de Vaucourt would no longer listen to her; she merely took care that no one should suffer from her ill-humour, or pay any attention to it. However, it often happened that the servants, in order to get rid of her, did immediately what she required, and little Amelia who loved above all things to laugh and be merry, and who hated to hear complaints, was extremely afraid of doing any thing that might displease her sister.

Monsieur and Madame de Vaucourt saw very little society in the country. It happened, however, that a Polish Princess, with whom they had been formerly acquainted, having arrived in Paris, sent them word that she would come and spend a week with them. At this news the children were in the greatest commotion. Adela, like most little girls, imagined that a princess must be a very extraordinary personage, and Amelia could not picture her otherwise than in dresses embroidered with gold. Adela had no doubt that her mother would order a new bonnet for her on the occasion, and inquired how she was to dress during the princess' visit. She was astonished when her mother, laughing at her, told her she was to dress just as usual. "What, mamma! even in my common cambric frock for the morning?" Her mother assured her that she saw nothing in her dress that required change. This time Adela was indeed out of humour; she was seriously grieved even, but she dared not show her feelings, because she saw that she should be laughed at. However, during the whole week which preceded the arrival of the princess, she was more than ever inclined to indulge in her habitual complaints, crying out, whenever any one came near her, that they would soil her dress, and screaming aloud if a drop of rain touched her bonnet. Little Amelia said it was because she was afraid it would not be nice enough for the arrival of the princess, and also remarked that her sister, who could never be persuaded to put on a pair of shoes in the least worn down at heel, pretending that she could not walk in them, during this whole week wore none but old shoes, in order to keep the new ones for the arrival of the princess.

At last the princess came. The little girls, who were upon the terrace, were greatly astonished to find her dressed much in the same style as their mamma, but then she had a coat of arms on her carriage, and the liveries of her servants were richly laced; this greatly impressed Adela, who had besides been so long prepared to consider her as a person of great importance, that she could not give up the idea she had formed. When therefore little Stanislas, the son of the princess, trod on her foot, in coming up the steps, Adela, for the first time in her life, bore the accident without a murmur. Nay, more, for when her sister happened accidentally to strike her elbow in passing quickly into the drawing-room after the princess, in order to obtain a better view of her, Adela opened her lips to complain, but immediately checked herself, on finding that the princess looked round at the moment.

Scarcely had they entered the room when the princess' little dog put its paws into Adela's work-basket, threw down her thimble, her scissors, and needle-case, and scampered about the room, carrying her work in his mouth, and shaking it about his ears. Amelia screamed. On ordinary occasions such a misfortune would have been a subject of distress and lamentation for an hour, but Adela did not give way to anger. She picked up all her things, ran after the dog, but not too hastily, for fear of appearing out of temper, and although when she at last caught him, she was quite crimson with impatience, she did not say a single word to Stanislas, who was laughing heartily at the trouble she had to get back her work. Stanislas asked to go into the garden, and upon Madame de Vaucourt's desiring her daughters to accompany him, Adela did not begin by replying that he could go very well by himself. When in the garden, Stanislas, who was a spoiled child, threw sand into her shoes, without her uttering a complaint, and on her return to the drawing-room the first thing he did was to seat himself in the chair which she had appropriated to herself, and which was a continual source of disputes between her and her sister, whom she would never allow to sit in it, except by Madame de Vaucourt's express command. Amelia, who began to be on familiar terms with Stanislas, pulled him by the arm, saying, "Come away, that is my sister's chair," and Adela, quite ashamed, touched her sister's arm, and whispered to her to mind her own business.

"But he is upon your chair," said Amelia.

"What is that to you?"

"Oh! very well, then I shall sit there after him;" and as soon as Stanislas quitted the chair, she took possession of it, while Adela, in the presence of the princess, did not even think of preventing her. Amelia soon left the chair, to run and take from Stanislas her sister's draught-board, which he was preparing to open. "I want to play with the draughts," cried the little fellow, while Amelia exclaimed in return, "But my sister will not let any one touch them." Adela, quite alarmed at the idea the princess might form of her, hastened to take the draught-board from the hands of Amelia and gave it to Stanislas.

"Very well, then, I shall play with them too," said Amelia. Stanislas began to roll the draughts about on the floor. Amelia at first tried to check him, and then began rolling them still faster herself. When he was tired of playing with them, she wished to persuade him to put them away in order, but he dragged her to the garden, and called out from the door, that they must leave the draughts where they were, as he meant to come back and play with them again. The next day two of them were missing. Amelia came to tell the news, looking terribly frightened, and as no one seemed to listen with much attention, she said, "But they belong to my sister's draught-board?"

"What does that signify?" said Adela quickly.

"Ah! if I had lost them!" said Amelia: but a sign from her sister imposed silence on her.

"Adela seems very gentle and sensible," observed the princess. Adela cast down her eyes, not daring to look at her mother or sister.

All this lasted several days. At table, Madame de Vaucourt's old servant, who was not very alert, and had more to do than usual, could not wait on Adela as attentively as on other occasions, and was surprised not to hear her say sharply, "Chambéri, do you not mean to give me a plate?" He remarked to her, "Gracious! Miss Adela, how gentle and well-behaved you have become lately!" "That is because she is afraid of the princess," said the mischievous little Amelia, laughing. Adela, who began to lose patience, was sometimes on the point of forgetting herself, but Amelia would then take flight and run into the drawing-room, laughing, as she knew that Adela would not venture to scold her there, while Stanislas, of whom she had made an intimate friend, joined in her laughter without understanding its cause. Adela, though burning with impatience, endeavoured to smile lest some indiscretion on Amelia's part might betray to others the cause of her ill-humour. Her temper, however, would have obtained the mastery at last; and she was beginning sometimes to treat Stanislas and the little dog rather harshly, when, fortunately, the princess took her departure. For the first few days afterwards the effect of the habit which Adela had acquired of restraining her temper was still visible; but as Amelia had also got the habit of fearing her less, and laughing at her, it was not long before the old disputes were renewed. They first began about the chair, which Amelia took without ceremony, even removing her sister's work, which had been left there, as if to keep the place in her absence.

Adela became angry. "I thought that fancy was over?" said Madame de Vaucourt.

"Oh, mamma," replied Amelia, "that was only on account of the princess."

Madame de Vaucourt observed that Adela must have felt there was something very absurd in such childishness, since she was ashamed to show it before the princess; and she hoped, therefore, that they should hear no more of it. The argument was unanswerable, and besides Madame de Vaucourt's tone forbade reply. Adela therefore contented herself with leaving the room, slamming the door with all her might. Her mother called her back.

"My dear," she said, "when the princess was here you used to shut the doors gently, and as that proves to me that you can do so without great inconvenience, I beg you will do it in future."

Thus obliged to close the door quietly, Adela went into the garden to exhale her ill-temper, since she saw that it was now determined to allow no excuse for it. During their evening walk, it happened that the path they had to take was very dirty. Adela said it was insupportable.

"Surely," replied her mother, "you do not mean to let that disturb you? The other day when we were walking with the princess, the mud was ten times as bad, yet you never made the least complaint."

"I found it very disagreeable though."

"Why then did you not complain?"

"It was not necessary."

"And is it necessary to-day?"

"Must one never say a word then about what is unpleasant?" replied Adela in a very impatient tone.

"I would ask you that question, my dear; you best know the reasons which induced you to refrain from murmuring whilst the princess was present."

After some reflection, Adela could find nothing better to say than that her mother had enjoined her to behave well before strangers. Madame de Vaucourt observed that she had enjoined her to behave well at all times. "But," she added, "since you think you ought to refrain from complaints in order to maintain a proper appearance before strangers, why did you, when you cut yourself the other day, whilst the princess was present, say that you were hurt, and hold your finger in water, and then keep it wrapped up in a handkerchief for an hour?"

"But, mamma, it pained me very much."

"You believe then that one may complain before strangers of things which give real pain? Suppose now that you had received a letter from the school, saying that your brother was ill, would you not have thought it allowable to show your grief on such an occasion before the princess?"

"Yes, indeed, mamma," replied Adela quickly.

"You see then that when we suffer real evils we may complain of them before strangers, it is only when things are too trifling to deserve notice, that it is ridiculous to make complaints in their presence, and since they do not deserve notice, it is just as ridiculous to complain of them when strangers are not present."

Adela might not perhaps have been convinced by this reasoning, but thenceforth whenever she said that anything was insupportable, her mother replied, "You did not find it so when the princess was here." Nor would Amelia suffer herself to be harshly treated without talking of the princess: even Chambéri, if Adela scolded him, would say, "Ah! Miss Adela, I see we want the princess here again." Adela began to be terribly annoyed with this raillery; then she got frightened, lest from its being so often repeated it might at last reach the ears of the princess; so that to avoid these constant allusions to her name, she endeavoured to be less impatient. When she had once become convinced that it was possible to repress her angry feelings, she found it was easy to do so; she perceived that three fourths of the things which vexed her, were in reality of no consequence to her, and that the only real harm she experienced from them, was that which she inflicted on herself by losing her temper. Some years afterwards, she saw the princess again, and could not help blushing a little when she thought of all the taunts which her first visit had brought upon her; but these things were now forgotten by her friends, for Adela had ceased to be a grumbler.

"Well!" said the Curé to Juliana, when he had finished his story. "What do you think of it?"

"I think," replied Juliana, a little discontented, "that she was a very ridiculous girl with her princess."

"What! ridiculous for correcting herself?"

"No, but for doing so on account of the princess."

"When we correct our faults it must be for some motive."

"There are many more important motives," said Juliana a little proudly, "which ought to have induced her to correct herself."

"Since you are so well acquainted with these things, Miss Juliana, let me know them," said the Curé, "and we will make a story about them."

"A story?" asked Juliana, uncertain whether to laugh or be offended.

"Certainly: I shall begin it from the point where Miss Juliana made the discovery that there were many good reasons for inducing her to correct her faults, and I shall terminate it by saying—Miss Juliana, whose only serious fault was that of losing her temper when anything was disagreeable to her, corrected herself completely, and became a most amiable young lady."

At this moment, the two little boys, quite disappointed that the Curé would not admit them to his conversation with Juliana, came to teaze him to tell them at least the story. "You shall hear it," he said, "when you have quite left off tormenting your sister," for in correcting Juliana he would not encourage bad habits in her brothers; then turning towards her, "you know now, Miss Juliana, what you have to do in order to silence them."

"That will not be giving them much trouble, at all events," said Juliana.

"But who will have the advantage?" said the Curé; and Juliana appeared pleased at the idea of being some day free from a defect which made her pass many unhappy moments; besides she felt touched and flattered by the pains which the Curé took to be useful to her.

It began to rain; Juliana, whose bonnet was almost new, was anxious to return to the house; but before they could reach it they had to cross a large flower garden, and in an instant the shower became so violent that it was impossible to escape it. Juliana, in running, caught in some trellis work, which tore her dress and threw her down. The Curé, though not running, came up however in time to assist her in rising, and thinking her much disposed to be angry, said to her, "Providence has soon given you an opportunity, Miss Juliana, of introducing a fine passage into our story."

Juliana had sufficient command over herself to make no reply, and that was a great deal for her, as besides spoiling her bonnet, and tearing her frock, she was covered with dirt from head to foot, and had also hurt her knee in her fall. The Curé gave her his arm to assist her to the house, and she might have remarked that although by touching her he had soiled the sleeve and skirt of his coat, and that on their way she had accidentally splashed some water into his shoe and almost filled it, he did not show the slightest mark of displeasure. When, however, they entered the drawing-room, and Zemira came jumping upon her to testify his joy at seeing her again, she was very near giving him a kick, but she checked herself, and the Curé who observed this, said to her, "I shall write on my tablets that Zemira did not receive a kick." If Juliana smiled, it was perhaps against her will, and her brothers, who now entered and began laughing when they saw the plight she was in, would no doubt have felt the weight of her long repressed vexation, if the Curé had not said, "I perceive, Miss Juliana, that these little rogues will not deserve to hear the story of the princess, till you have succeeded in curing them of their faults." Juliana made her escape to her own room, where she changed her dress, not, it is suspected, without more than once showing her impatience to her nurse, who was eagerly busied in assisting her. At all events it is certain that when she came down stairs, and her mother had complimented her on the patience with which she had endured her accident, Juliana could not help blushing.

From that day forward, whenever the Curé came to the château, he asked Juliana if there was anything to be added to the story; sometimes Juliana shook her head, having nothing good to relate; at others, she would smile, because she felt satisfied with herself. On such occasions, she liked to converse with the Curé about the temptations to which she had been exposed; but in recounting them she found them far less serious than they had appeared at the time, and felt more completely how foolish it would have been to have yielded to them. This confirmed her in her good resolutions; and she was further confirmed in them by the satisfaction which her friends testified in her improvement. She afterwards went with her parents to Paris, and remained there three years; during which time she kept up a regular correspondence with the Curé of Chavignat. On her return she was seventeen, and felt happy in the thought that he would find her cured of her childish fault. Amadeus, instead of teazing, now treated her with respect, for she no longer scolded him unjustly; he was consequently accustomed to listen to her when she warned him gently of any fault. Neither did she make any difficulty in relating to him the story of the princess; and Amadeus, when talking of it to the Curé on the day of his return, said, "At all events Juliana was never so disagreeable as that;" and the good Curé rejoiced to find that Juliana's defects were so well concealed that they had even been forgotten. During this time Juliana was looking for her bag, which she had mislaid, and although it was half-an-hour before she could find it, and Paul was all the while tormenting her with a thousand childish tricks, she was not in the least put out of temper.

"Since my story is so well ended, Miss Juliana," said the Curé, when she had found her bag, "pray inform me how you have managed to bring things to so satisfactory a conclusion."

Juliana blushed and smiled as she replied, "By being always, thanks to you, Monsieur le Curé, so full of the desire of being reasonable, that it drove out of my head whatever might have prevented me from keeping my resolution."