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 J
 
 FATHER'S ADVICE 
 
 TO 
 
 HIS DAUGHTER; 
 
 OR. 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES 
 
 mOM REAL LITE. 
 
 BT THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 A FATHER'S TALES TO HIS DAUGHTER. 
 
 LONDON! 
 
 PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN, 
 
 ENGLISH AND FOREIGN PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT STREET, 
 HANOVER SQUARE, 
 
 1813.
 
 Printed by Richard Taylvr end (7o Sko*>J,ane, Lemtoh
 
 737 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is with good reason, my Flavia, that we ai* 
 said not to relinquish without difficulty habits 
 which are pleasing to us. A few months only 
 are elapsed since the publication of those Tales, 
 which you wrote as I dictated, and already you> 
 importune me to resume our delightful occupa- 
 tion ; to renew those hours, in which, pouring 
 :OUt our hearts to each other, you assure me 
 that under the mask of trifling I formed at once 
 your mind and your heart. I see thee as I 
 awake in the morning seated at my desk, thy 
 eyes fixed upon mine, ready to trace upon the 
 paper whatever may occur to my thoughts. 
 Ah ! how resist wishes so interesting ! is it 
 possible thus circumstanced not to be happily 
 inspired ? 
 
 Yes! I feel with an ardour equal to thy 
 own the laudable desire of filling thy soul with 
 impressions which may make thee one day che- 
 rished and esteemed to the utmost of my 
 wishes. But I have already told thee, my 
 a2 
 
 769075
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 daughter, that it is not with Tales I must now 
 seek to fix thy attention, to enlarge thy ideas, 
 and to charm the moments that we pass to- 
 gether. I warn thee that it is Advice which 
 is to succeed to those Tales with which thou 
 wert so much delighted, and which thej public 
 has honoured with such distinguished appro- 
 bation; to those Tales which effected so 
 great a change in thy disposition, and which 
 have recompensed my toils beyond even my 
 most sanguine hopes. 
 
 Do not be alarmed, my Flavia, at the title 
 of A Father's Advice to his Daughter, 
 or imagine that thou wilt have to listen to an. 
 austere censor, or a dry moraliser ; that I am 
 going to weary thee by dwelling on abstruse 
 systems, and dull maxims ; in a word, that I 
 am erecting one of those fabrics of science 
 and morality too often resorted to by those who 
 would instruct adolescence, but which only fa- 
 tigue the youthful mind, and perhaps close it 
 for ever against principles so much in opposi- 
 tion to its inclinations. This is not my method *> 
 I wish to instruct without the hand of instruc- 
 tion being perceptible j I wish to charm by va-< 
 riety, to persuade by examples, and to inspire
 
 INTRODUCTION. Y 
 
 confidence by sensibility. Such is in my opi- 
 nion the most effectual course to pursue, and 
 such alone shall be the course pursued by me. 
 I feel, however, that the undertaking is no 
 less delicate than important. If in my Tales I 
 endeavoured to paint the follies, the defects, 
 the amiable qualities of a girl from twelve to fif- 
 teen years of age ; if I had the haupiness to de- 
 stroy in thee the germ of the former, and to in- 
 crease the latter, it is incumbent upon me now 
 to point out to thee the dangers to which your 
 sex is exposed at their first entrance into the 
 world ; to guide you in the connections you 
 may form, to make you feel all the importance 
 of them ; to show you how, under the exterior 
 of friendship, envy and falsehood are often con- 
 cealed. I must endeavour to make you distin- 
 guish, amid the numerous circles in which you 
 are about to appear, between extravagant adula- 
 tion and well-deserved praise. I must endeavour 
 to prepare thee to be one day the mistress of a 
 family, to make thee sought out, not for a glit- 
 tering show of empty talents, but for the real 
 frankness and goodness of thy heart ; to sur- 
 round thee, not with vain coquets whose only 
 enjoyment is in endeavouring to turn into ridi- 
 A 3
 
 ** INTRODUCTION. 
 
 cule those with whom they associate, but with 
 real friends, who will be happy in 6eeing you 
 happy, who will be the tutelary guardians of 
 your reputation, and who will be proud of liv- 
 ing in friendship with you. It is for me, in 
 short, my Flavia, to direct you in the choice of 
 a husband, to instruct you that he is not to be 
 sought among the idle sons of opulence, among 
 titled fools or shallow coxcombs, but among 
 men who are frank, plain and sincere in their 
 manners, who are in some profession useful to 
 society, who are habituated to industry, the 
 friends of good morals without being the ene- 
 mies of pleasure, neither in the highest or 
 lowest rank of society, who feel all the true 
 dignity of their nature, and who consider mar- 
 riage not as a tie of interest alone, but as a 
 sacred compact to render her who has con- 
 fided her destinies to him happy. 
 
 To find such a one, I must not dissemble to 
 you, is no easy matter. I dare not promise 
 that this end of all my endeavours, of all my 
 cares, of all my tenderness, will ever be attained; 
 but I will at least flatter myself that, instructed 
 by the d:ff rent examples which will be placed 
 before your eyes, you will clearly see the vast
 
 INTRODUCTION. VU 
 
 importance of a tie which is to bind us for Hfe ; 
 and that, finding yourself happy in the arms of 
 a father who loves you so tenderly, you will 
 not rashly throw yourself into those of a hus- 
 band, without having first made yourself tho- 
 roughly acquainted with his principles, without 
 assuring yourself that his character renders him 
 worthy of you, that his sentiments and tastes 
 are responsive to your own. 
 
 In order that the examples I set before you 
 may have greater weight, that they may be the 
 more deeply impressed upon your mind, I have 
 sought them in real life, either from historical 
 facts, or from incidents which- I myself wit- 
 nessed among the different classes of society 
 with whom 1 have long been connected. It is, 
 above all, among those who have left an illus- 
 trious name behind them that 1 have chosen 
 my models ; .and desirous that these anecdotes, 
 of the authenticity of which I can assure thee, 
 should amuse at the same time that they in- 
 struct, I have sought those that were not known 
 to thee, or which could nor fail of producing 
 a strong effect upon thy youth and inexpe- 
 rience.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 This choice, you will easily perceive, must 
 iiave cost me much trouble, and a great deal 
 of anxious rest arch ; it required no small de- 
 gree of patience and of reflection. All is ar- 
 ranged in my head and in my heart ; nothing 
 remains but to dictate to thee in such a manner 
 as may give my lessons the highest degree of 
 utility of which they are susceptible, as may 
 make thee love and revere the moral they con- 
 tain, and if possible may charm thee in the 
 recital. In a word, my Flavia, I hasten to pre- 
 sent to thy observation all that can render thy 
 sex most respectable and respected. I cite 
 facts in support of my Advice; so that, if thou 
 shouldst ever find thyself in such or such a 
 situation, similar to what is here traced, thou 
 xnayst refer immediately to my lessons, and 
 learn how to avoid the evil, or promote the 
 good, of which my Advice has given the ex- 
 amples.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Jagc> 
 
 JL he Aviary of Madame Helvetius l 
 
 Madame Cottin's Filemot Gown 15 
 
 The pathetic Airs of Dalayrac 29 
 
 The Family Dinner; or The Boarding School 
 
 Friends 52 
 
 The Charm of a sweet Voice 77 
 
 The first Step in the World 100 
 
 The Tablets of Florian 121 
 
 The Union of the three Arts j Painting, Music, 
 
 and Dancing 135 
 
 The Collection at the Ball 157 
 
 Filial Heroism 174 
 
 Arrogance corrected 1 89 
 
 The Nuns of the Order of Charity 215 
 
 The Dangers of a Turn for Satire 236 
 
 The Choice of a Husband 252 
 
 Marshal Catinat's Tree 273 
 
 Conclusion , 293
 
 A 
 
 FATHERS 
 
 ADVICE TO HIS DAUGHTER; 
 
 OR, 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 
 
 JVIadame Helvetius, the amiable wife or 
 the celebrated writer of that name, who has 
 described with so much eloquence the advan- 
 tages to be derived from the mind, and the 
 errors to which it is liable ; a lady whose 
 graces and rare qualities inspired her husb.-ind 
 with the sentiments of his charming poem 
 entitled " Happiness," had a remarkable fond- 
 ness for birds. 
 
 She knew every genus and every species 
 of them, and collected them at her beautiful 
 house at Auteuil in a large elegant aviary, 
 which was only shut during, the night in order 
 to preserve her numerous family from noxious 
 animals. In the morning, as soon as she had 
 given to each of them the food that was best 
 suited to it, she opened the doors or their 
 prison, and left them to the enjoyment of di- 
 
 vol. i. B
 
 2 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 spersing themselves about the country. Very 
 often a small part of them only returned in 
 the evening. In fine weather particularly the 
 joyful flock finding sufficient nourishment out 
 of doors, forgot the asylum where the most 
 solicitous attention supplied an abundance equal 
 to or beyond what they found elsewhere. 
 But an insect just ready to fly, the muddy 
 water of a pool, and the slightest shelter under 
 the foliage of a tree or shrub, were preferred 
 to the long millet straw, to the fountains of 
 clear water, and to the nests of moss and 
 down, with which the aviary was furnished. 
 So true it is that nothingcan compensate the 
 charms of liberty and independence ! 
 
 But from the time the frosts began, almost 
 all the fugitives returned to enjoy the comforts 
 of hospitality. It even often happened that 
 these little emigrants brought with them a 
 great number of the birds of the neighbour- 
 hood, who sought like them to avoid the hor- 
 rors of cold and hunger ; for every thing yields 
 to the imperious law of necessity. 
 
 Madame Helvetius never parted from her 
 numerous and dear guests but with regret ; 
 but the celebrity of her name, her natural 
 graces, and the charms of her society, often 
 recalled her to the capital, whither she usually 
 went towards the month of January. 
 
 It was the memorable winter of 1788 which 
 made such ravages and occasioned so many 
 misfortunes to France. The oldest forests 
 were in part destroyed : the rivers rolling down
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 3 
 
 from mountains of ice which were heaped one 
 upon another, broke their banks and destroyed 
 alike the castles and the cottages. The wild 
 beasts besieged the hamlets, darted into the 
 sheepfolds, aud even upon the cradles of 
 children ; their cruel hunger drove them to 
 devour every thing that came in their way. 
 Travellers were met on the great mads who 
 were in a manner petrified with the cold ; in 
 the fields and in the woods, the game of all 
 kinds was found dead upon the snow ; and the 
 birds fell by thousands into the snares, into 
 which they were attracted by the least bait 
 that they presented to them. It might have 
 been said that the stars had deviated from their 
 course; and that France, the mildness of whose 
 climate is not one of the least advantages that 
 it has received from na'ure, had changed its 
 place upon the globe, and was all at once trans- 
 ported into Greenland, or Nova Zembla. 
 
 Madame Helvetius, after having taken care 
 that her aviary at Auteuil did not suffer in any 
 way from so disastrous a winter, employed 
 herself at Paris in relieving the distressed in the 
 part of the town that she inhabited. Her com- 
 passion extended to every suffering being around 
 her. From the windows or her apartment 
 which looked upon a long terrace, she often saw 
 a great number of sparrows, u ho at night took 
 refuge in the stables of her hotel, and during 
 the day sought every where in vain for some 
 food. Exposing herself without regard to the 
 rigours of the cold, she swept tile snow from 
 B 2
 
 4 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 a part of the terrace, and never failed in the 
 morning to scatter there seeds of all kinds, on 
 which an immense number of birds immediately 
 threw themselvss, approaching her. without 
 fear, and even coming into her room. 
 
 One day as she was thus indulging herself in 
 the pleasure of feeding all the sparrows in her 
 neighbourhood, one amongst them came and 
 perched upon her head, then descended to her 
 shoulder, and at last came and nestled in her 
 bosom. Madame Helvetius thought at first 
 that this boldness was occasioned by the cold 
 with which the bird seemed to be overcome. Her 
 first care was to warm it in her hands, and then 
 to revive it by the fire ; but perceiving that it 
 perched familiarly upon her finger, reclined 
 upon her neck, and made caressing gestures by 
 beating its wings; Madame Helvetius no longer 
 doubted that it was a tame sparrow that had 
 flown from some neighbouring house, and 
 which was attracted, like so many others, by the 
 seeds scattered upon the terrace. 
 
 After having shown this refugee every atten- 
 tion that its gentleness and familiarity inspired, 
 Madame Helvetius would not make it repay 
 them with its liberty: she therefore opened her 
 window, and said to the bird : " If you belong 
 to any body in this part of the town, they must 
 be uneasy as to your fate. Fly instantly to sa- 
 tisfy those who regret you. If you cannot find 
 your asylum again, return to me, poor little 
 wanderer, oh ! return again to warm yourself 
 in my bosom !" At these words she gave the
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 5 
 
 sparrow a kiss, and it then flew away and es- 
 caped from her sight. 
 
 The next day, when Madame Helvetius la- 
 vished to her proteges the food of which they 
 were so much in need, the same deserter came 
 again hovering over her head ; and, lighting 
 upon her hand, seemed to express all the plea- 
 sure that it felt at revisiting its* benefactress. As 
 she was caressing it anew, and warming it with 
 her breath, she perceived that the bird had a 
 little collar of blue silk twist upon its neck, to 
 which hung a small bag made of the finger of 
 a glove: Madame Helvetius took hold of this 
 bag to examine what it might be, and thought 
 she felt a paper in it. She searched it imme- 
 diately with a lively curiosity, and actually 
 found a very small piece of paper folded into 
 the least possible form. On opening it she 
 perceived several lines of close writing, the ink 
 of which being still fresh, made it obvious that 
 they had been written in haste. The first 
 thing presented to her eyes was the follow- 
 ing couplet from a celebrated poet : 
 
 " By thee the younglings of the nest are fed, 
 And o'er all nature are thy bounties shed." 
 
 Madame Helvetius, as much affected as sur- 
 prised, finished reading the note, which was in 
 these words : 
 
 " Some worthy persons in your neighbour- 
 hood languish in distress, will you do less for 
 them than for the numerous family which you 
 are seen to succour every morning ?" 
 
 ii Undoubtedly not !" exclaimed Madame
 
 6 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Helvetius, giving herself up to her emotion : 
 " how can one resist so affecting an appeal, or 
 refuse so charming a messenger ?" She flew 
 immediately to her secretary, took from it a 
 note for fifty pounds, and put it into the little 
 bag, instead of that which it had contained ; 
 then kissing the sparrow several times for its 
 commission, went out upon the terrace, and let 
 it take its flight. She wished to follow it with 
 her eyes, and, by observing the direction in 
 which it flew, to discover on which side the un- 
 fortunate persons lived whom she had assisted: 
 but the bird passing rapidly over the trees of 
 the garden, concealed itself from the observa- 
 tion of its benefactress, and left her full of the 
 most gratifying reflections. 
 
 What above all things engaged the ima- 
 gination of Madame Helvetius, was to learn 
 how the faithful sparrow had been taught to 
 fulfil such a commission. " By what means,"' 
 she said to herself, " can it have been accom- 
 plished, to make him direct his flight towards 
 my apartment, to hit upon the moment at 
 which I gave food to its companions in mis- 
 fortune, to come and rest upon my head; in a 
 word, to distinguish and choose me for the con- 
 soler of suffering beings, for whom it is the 
 captivating mediator?. ...The more I think upon 
 it, the more I am at a loss." 
 
 Several days passed in which Madame Hel- 
 vetius thought incessantly on this singular ad- 
 venture; but she forbore from any mention of 
 it, as that would have been to reveal her good
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 7 
 
 works, and she knew by experience that se- 
 crecy doubles the value of a benefit. Some- 
 times also in the liveliness of her brilliant ima- 
 gination, and from her extensive knowledge of 
 the world, she feared that she might have been 
 made the dupe of intrigue or avarice; as 
 amongst the interesting beings who have a 
 claim upon our compassion, so many impos- 
 tors obtrude themselves who abuse our con- 
 fidence! 
 
 One morning as Madame Helvetius was 
 employed in sweeping the snow from the ter- 
 race, in order to assemble the birds, the faith- 
 ful messenger returned, with the same little 
 bag hanging from its neck into which this be- 
 nevolent lady had put the*note for fifty pounds. 
 She supposed that it was come again with a 
 request for further assistance, and prepared to 
 deposit in the bag a fresh pledge of her gene- 
 rosity; but what was her surprise to find a 
 second note in it, expressed in the following 
 terms : 
 
 " You have saved an estimable artist and 
 his numerous family; the fifty pounds will be 
 remitted to you, as soon as the return of spring 
 and the labour of our hands will allow us to 
 acquit ourselves of the obligation." 
 
 Madame HMvetius read over this anony- 
 mous note several tiuus; and perceiving that 
 many of the words were partly effaced by tears 
 of gratitude, she could not restrain her tears, 
 and was still more satisfied at having yielded 
 to the first impulse of her heart. She detained
 
 8 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the engaging messenger some time, unable to 
 cease caressing it; but reflecting to what a de- 
 gree this^bird must be dear to the family who 
 thus confided its destiny to it, she restored it 
 to liberty as soon as she had put the following 
 answer to the note into the little bag : 
 
 " I supposed I had made a gift : if it is but 
 a loan, the happiness of having been useful to 
 you will make me your debtor." 
 
 From that moment the tame sparrow re- 
 appeared no more. , Madame Helvetius vainly 
 supposed she recognised it in each one of its 
 species whom her kindness drew together ; but 
 as soon as she would have put her hand on one 
 of them, the whole flock flew away with a 
 rapid wing, and savedthemselves as from before 
 a bird of prey. 
 
 The frosts at length ceased ; and the snow 
 yielding to the rays of the sun, which acquired 
 more power every day, announced that the 
 appearance of the spring would not be long de- 
 layed. Madame Helvetius now scattered her 
 abundance of seeds in vain, as she no longer 
 attracted more than a small number of her 
 dear guests: the others finding a sufficient 
 supply for their wants, and already engaged in 
 preparing the nests which were to contain their 
 first broods, came but seldom upon the ter- 
 race. They even seemed to become more 
 wild in proportion as the fine weather returned. 
 Madame Helvetius felt a secret mortification at 
 this forgetfulness, at this ingratitude : " But 
 can one," she remarked to herself, " impute
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 9 
 
 to birds as a fault, what one meets with every 
 moment amongst mankind?" 
 
 On the first of May this lady returned to 
 her house at Auteuil, in order to repair the 
 disasters of the cruel winter which was just 
 over. She was eager above every thing to 
 make good the injuries that the frosts had oc- 
 casioned in her aviary. There, every time that 
 she cast a look on the several sparrows which 
 made a part of her various collection, they re- 
 called to her mind the engaging mediator be- 
 tween her and the unknown family ; and al- 
 though this species of bird may not be remark- 
 able either for the variety of its song, or the 
 splendour of its plumage, Madame Helvetius 
 felt a predilection, she could not resist, for 
 every sparrow that she saw, for which the 
 generosity of her heart fully accounted. . 
 
 Towards the middle of the summer she was 
 obliged to leave her rural occupations, as some 
 business made it necessary for her to go to 
 Paris. 
 
 A few days after her arrival, as she was en- 
 joying the morning air upon the terrace, she 
 perceived the faithful sparrow, with the same 
 little bag hanging from its neck, flying about 
 here and there, seeming no longer to know 
 her. It was in vain that she called to it, 
 threw it some seeds, and made a thousand 
 caressing motions to it: the sparrow pasted and 
 repassed over her head, expressing at once a fear 
 and a desire of resting there. Madame Hel- 
 vetius then supposed that it must be the 
 b5
 
 10 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 change in her dress which occasioned this dis- 
 trust. 
 
 Returning immediately into the house, she 
 changed her dress for the winter clothes in 
 which she had received the bird many months 
 before, putting on a blue satin pelisse lined 
 with ermine, and a large green velvet mantle, 
 although it was one of the hottest days of the 
 year, and re-appeared upon the terrace. The 
 sparrow as she had foreseen came to her in- 
 stantly, and perching upon her shoulder ex- 
 pressed by every possible means his confidence 
 and joy. Madame Helvetius impatiently 
 opened the little bag, and found a note for 
 fifty pounds, enclosed in a paper containing 
 these few lines : 
 
 "We lose no time in acquitting ourselves 
 of the sum of money that you have conde- 
 scended to lend us ; but not of our gratitude, 
 which will remain for ever engraven on our 
 hearts." 
 
 Madame Helvetius was at first tempted to 
 send back the fifty pounds j but she reflected 
 that this might only deprive these amiable un- 
 known persons of the sweet enjoyment of 
 having acquitted themselves of a sacred debt. 
 Being desirous to accustom the intelligent 
 messenger to know her in her summer dress, 
 she put off" her mantle and pelisse, and ap- 
 peared in a white morning dress, without a 
 cap. The sparrow was soon reconciled to this 
 new appearance ; and as his intelligence, and 
 the services that he had been instrumental in,
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 11 
 
 often procured him his liberty, he came regu- 
 larly every morning to Madame Helvetius's 
 terrace. If she did not appear in a short time, 
 he struck with his bill against her window, in 
 order, if it may be so expressed, not to return 
 without having paid his homage to his amiable 
 benefactress. 
 
 Not many days after, on a Sunday, Madame 
 Helvetius, having resorted to her favourite 
 walk the botanic garden, after walking about 
 some time sat down, in company with many 
 persons of distinction who formed her usual 
 society. She was earnestly engaged in a de- 
 lightful conversation, when all at once the faith- 
 ful sparrow, which had been so often a mes- 
 senger to her, came out from under the silk 
 handkerchief of a young woman sitting oppo- 
 site to her upon a bank of turf, and, lighting 
 upon Madame Helvetius, testified by his ca- 
 resses that he knew her again. tc It is my 
 pretty messenger !" she exclaimed, kissing it 
 repeatedly : " but how could it come into this 
 public garden, in the midst of so much com- 
 pany ?" " Let me beg you will excuse it, 
 madam," said a young girl of ten or twelve 
 years old as she approached Madame Helvetius j 
 " it is mv sister's favourite." 
 
 " And who is your sister, my little friend ?" 
 
 " That young woman drest in white, that 
 you see there by my father and mother: this 
 bird I assure you belongs to her ; she would 
 not part with it for all the money in the world." 
 
 When she had done speaking, she pointed
 
 12 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 to a young woman of sixteen or seventeen 1 
 years old of an interesting figure, who colour- 
 ing with joy and surprise said to her parents, 
 " It is she! Yes, it is she herself." 
 
 Madame Helvetius was immediately sur- 
 rounded by the father, mother, and six children, 
 who, alternately prompted by gratitude and 
 restrained by respect, addressed her in a thou- 
 sand graceful acknowledgements of gratitude, 
 confuse-d with as many excuses for their ob- 
 trusion upon her. The eldest daughter in 
 particular was so overpowered with her emo- 
 tions, that her voice faltered to such a degree 
 she was unable to articulate a word. She 
 pressed the hands of Madame Helvetius to her 
 heart, and bathed them with her tears. Du- 
 ring this time the faithful sparrow flew from 
 one to the other, and completed this charming 
 scene. 
 
 At last the young Elizabeth, for such was 
 the name of this unknown person, recovering 
 her voice, informed Madame Helvetius that 
 she was the eldest daughter of a carver of the 
 name of Valmont ; that her father, having been 
 attacked with a lingering illness, had been un- 
 able to work, which had reduced them to 
 great distress ; and as the labour of his children 
 could not effectually relieve them., they being 
 as yet in general quite young ; the name of 
 Madame Helvetius had inspired her with the 
 happy idea of procuring that assistance for her 
 father by the means she had adopted, that his 
 spirit would not suffer them to beg. That in
 
 THE AVIARY OF MADAME HELVETIUS. 15 
 
 a word it was she, . who unknown to her pa- 
 rents had made the experiment of -sending her 
 dear sparrow, whose intelligence had seconded 
 her views beyond what she could have hoped. 
 
 " But by what means, let me understand," 
 said Madame Helvetius, " did you accomplish 
 the directing our mutual interpreter to me ?" 
 " Oh ! madam, it has cost me great pains and 
 great distress !" replied the young Elizabeth, ca- 
 ressing the sparrow which was upon her breast. 
 " I have often been obliged to expose it to the 
 severity of the cold, I have even been obliged 
 to have the cruelty to keep it without food for 
 whole days, in order that it might be attracted, 
 like all the other birds, by the food that you 
 threw out to them, that it might be accustomed 
 to see you, and to approach you. I observed 
 all that was going forward from the window 
 of my room, which looks upon your garden. 
 Sometimes the poor little creature flew about 
 the neighbourhood quite frightened, and only 
 returned after a long time allured by the sound 
 of my voice. Sometimes it was pursued by 
 the wild sparrows, and returned wounded from 
 their pecking it, and with its wings torn. At 
 last 1 saw it one day flying about you, and 
 lighting upon your head. The next day, 
 having again had the resolution to deprive it 
 of food, I seized the moment at which you 
 threw out your benefaction of seeds upon the 
 terrace, and risked the little bag which con- 
 tained my first note. You know what fol- 
 lowed."
 
 14 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Madame Helvetius could not, any more 
 than those who surrounded her, suppress the 
 most lively emotion. This interesting detail 
 made her feelingly alive to the tender ingenuity 
 of filial piety. She pressed the young Eliza- 
 beth several times in her arms, thanking her 
 for having selected her to assist in saving her 
 estimable family, and entreating her not to let 
 the dear sparrow lose the habit of coming 
 often to see her. And in relating this anec- 
 dote she never failed to repeat, what I here 
 repeat to you, my daughter, as my first advice, 
 That it is better to pardon one guilty per- 
 son than to condemn an innocent one. That 
 even the fear of encouraging vice, or of favour- 
 ing imposture, ought never to make us lose 
 an opportunity of assisting honest and respecta- 
 ble poverty.
 
 15 
 
 MADAME COTTIN'S FILEMOT GOWN. 
 
 JL hose who endeavour in their writings to 
 describe nature with fidelity, to retrace the 
 virtues and the vices, the charms and the ab- 
 surdities of society, are in general silent ; they 
 only appear in its numerous circles to choose 
 their models and take notes; they dread 
 attracting observation, and wish, if it may be so 
 expressed, to render' themselves invisible to 
 every body. 
 
 Such was Madame Cottin, whom it is suf- 
 ficient to name, to point out at once a mind of 
 the most amiable sensibility, the most indis- 
 putable talents, and the most interesting mo- 
 desty. Indulgent towards others, she was se- 
 vere only towards herself. Her greatest plea- 
 sure was to hear a discussion of her own works, 
 without being known to the persons who were 
 criticising them. Even the bitterest censure 
 interested her, as she always hoped to derive 
 some advantage from it ; but applause seemed 
 an insupportable punishment to her, and there 
 was no precaution that this modest woman did 
 not employ to avoid it. 
 
 Thus she seldom appeared in the world, 
 where her invariable sweetness and known ce- 
 lebrity made her much sought after. Not 
 having the happiness of being a mother, she 
 made up this privation to herself in some
 
 16 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 measure by adopting the three daughters of a 
 friend, who had lost her fortune and her hus- 
 band in the civil commotions of the country. 
 Every moment that Madame Cottin could 
 spare from her individual occupations was de- 
 voted to the education of these charming or- 
 phans. To instruct them by amusing them ; 
 to guide them through the early paths of life, 
 of which she better than any one knew all the 
 intricacies ; to preserve them from the dangers 
 that surround youth; in a word, to infuse into 
 their minds all the treasures of her own, was 
 the favourite employment of this attractive and 
 generous woman, and her highest gratification. 
 
 In order to release herself for ever from the 
 trouble of her toilette, and more especially to 
 ceconomize the time that it required, Madame 
 Cottin had for several years made it a rule al- 
 ways to wear the same kind of dress. This con- 
 sisted of a filemot * taffety gown, and a large 
 black hat in the English fashion, under which 
 her beautiful light hair was negligently done up. 
 This hat also hid her large blue eyes, which 
 sometimes sparkling with animation, varied 
 the general expression of sweetness which con- 
 stituted their principal charm. 
 
 This uniform dress was so much the more 
 grateful to Madame Cottin, as it procured her 
 the happiness of presenting to her three adopted 
 daughters the dresses and trinkets with which 
 she had a pleasure in ornamenting them. It is 
 
 * Feuilk-morte, French, the colour of a dead leaf.
 
 MADAME COTTIN'S FILEMOT GOWN. 17 
 
 even certain that she carried the friendship 
 which had united her to the mother of these 
 orphans, so far, that out of an income of about 
 six hundred pounds a-year she would spend 
 only what was merely necessary to sup- 
 port her moderate establishment. The remain- 
 der was destined for the fortunes of her adopted 
 family. 
 
 With all these excellent qualities which cha- 
 racterize Madame Cottin, she had so much 
 unaffected simplicity, that she was often taken 
 only for an obscure woman, and her silence and 
 general deportment were sometimes attributed 
 lO a want of habit, sometimes to a deficiency of 
 expression and feeling, and sometimes to the 
 fear of being remarked for improper phraseo- 
 logy. 
 
 These frequent marks of contempt very 
 much amused this celebrated woman, and 
 would for the time disengage her from the pro- 
 found reveries occasioned by her literary occu- 
 pations. How much it is to be lamented that 
 her too great application to these, though they 
 will transmit her name to posterity, should 
 have brought her to the grave in the full vi- 
 gour of her talents ! 
 
 The three sisters whom she loved with so 
 much affection, were one day invited to a splen- 
 did ball, where there was to be a numerous but 
 chosen assemblage of young persons. Madame 
 Cottin herself would preside at the toilettes of 
 her beloved eleves, and had drest them in the 
 moil valuable things that she possessed ; but
 
 18 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 just as they were about to get into the coach, 
 the mother of the young ladies was obliged to 
 attend to some unforeseen business, and could 
 not accompany them. 
 
 " It must be owned that it is a pity," said the 
 youngest of them, " after so much attention 
 to our dress !" . . . . "And which,*' added ano- 
 ther of them, " has been so much trouble to 
 our governess " This being the modest ap- 
 pellation by which their amiable benefactress 
 wished them to call her. 
 
 '* Oh, if our governess did not shun large 
 companies," said the eldest of the three sisters, 
 " we would entreat her to complete her kind- 
 ness, by accompanying us to this fine assembly ; 
 there is to be a concert and a ball, which I love 
 to distraction." 
 
 " It would be cruel, my dear children," said 
 their governess so appropriately called," to make 
 you give up so much pleasure. I will go with 
 you, but it is on condition that you do not name 
 me ; let me enjoy this moving picture in my 
 own way, where I shall no doubt furnish my- 
 self with many sketches that will be of use to 
 me hereafter. And above all things, leave every 
 body to their mistakes about me, and to amuse 
 themselves at my expense as much as they 
 please." 
 
 " We will engage for this," exclaimed the 
 three sisters at once, impatient to partake of the 
 so much desired entertainment. 
 
 Madame Cottin dressed herself immediately 
 in her filemot gown, with her large black hat
 
 MADAME COTTIN'S FILEMOT GOWN. 19 
 
 drawn very much over her eyes ; and con- 
 ducted her young friends to the assembly, 
 where they found a very numerous and re- 
 spectable company. 
 
 The three orphans, in the name of their mo- 
 ther, expressed her regrets to the lady of the 
 house, that it was not in her power to accom- 
 pany them ; and Madame Cottin, with her eyes 
 cast down and a timid voice, announced that 
 she was charged with the care of these young 
 .ladies, that they mighc not be deprived of the 
 pleasure of so brilliant an assembly. 
 
 The expressive manner of the unknown lady, 
 contrasted with the simplicity of her dress, did 
 not escape the lady who received her ; she per- 
 ceived at the first glance, that she must be some 
 distinguished woman. This was not the case 
 with her only daughter and the young giddy 
 friends who surrounded her. They took Ma- 
 dame Cottin for some relation newly arrived 
 from the country, or for some trusty dependent 
 delighted to find herself for once in the great 
 world. Seated in a retired corner of a large 
 and magnificent room, she received only such 
 indispensable marks of politeness as are sup- 
 posed to be a great honour to those who receive 
 them ; while the three sisters, graceful, bloom- 
 ing, and elegantly drest, were overwhelmed 
 with attentions, and soon joined the dance. 
 
 What principally excited the satirical criti- 
 cism of the thoughtless young people, who 
 passed and repassed Madame Cottin, was the
 
 20 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 colour of her dress. Though she had but an 
 imperfect view of the company, she easily per- 
 ceived that her filemot gown was the sub- 
 ject of pretty general conversation. " Oh ! 
 what a fine colour !" said an elegant young girl 
 with an impertinent smile : " it is surprising 
 that it is not the fashion." " If the lady were 
 to be presented," stammered out another silly 
 girl, viewing her, " take my word for it, 
 all the ladies of the court would be in file- 
 mot dresses." " Every thing looks faded by 
 a filemot gown/' added a third. " There 
 is nothing so becoming as a filemot gown," 
 interrupted another. " Oh ! the admirable 
 choice!"' exclaimed her neighbour. 
 
 Madame Cottin smiled inwardly at these 
 passing attacks, and took silent sketches in her 
 own mind of all these originals. But what 
 put the finishing stroke to her contempt, was 
 the expression they assumed towards her three 
 young friends when they named her. One of 
 them, unable even in the midst of the most in- 
 toxicating pleasures to forget the very great 
 kindness of their benefactress, seeing her quite 
 alone in a corner, said to her sisters : " We are 
 very much amused, but I am afraid our go- 
 verness must be quite wearied." 
 
 These words were overheard by a great 
 many young people, and particularly by the 
 daughter of the lady of the house. She imme- 
 diately supposed that the unknown person was 
 nothing more than the governess of these
 
 MADAME COTTIN S FILEMOT GOWN. 21 
 
 young ladies. Shocked that any body should 
 dare to introduce such ^ person into so select a 
 society, and fearing that the report of it might 
 get about the room, and offend the genteel 
 company which was now assembled at her mo- 
 ther's house, she went and sat down by the 
 filemot gown, at which she still laughed in 
 spite of herself, and thus began her conver- 
 sation : " You must be extremely fatigued, 
 my dear madam, in the midst of so much com- 
 pany ?" " I madam ? I am never fatigued." 
 " If you would like to go down stairs, you will 
 find people there, particularly my mother's 
 waiting-woman, quite a good kind of person ; 
 she is about your age, of your kind of dispo- 
 sition, and it would give her real pleasure." 
 " I would willingly go," 'replied Madame Cot- 
 tin smiling, who guessed her drift, " but that 
 I find myself so well here." " Yet the sitting 
 so still and silent as I have seen you do for a 
 long time, and the being so little accustomed 
 as you must be," " does not prevent, 1 assure 
 you, my remarking all that passes in this 
 assembly." " Indeed 1 Ah, you are very 
 observing ! If this is so, you must have per- 
 ceived that your gown" "is the only one 
 
 that suits me. It is time for me to lay aside 
 the little arts of dress. I am no longer young, 
 nor handsome." " What i have you ever been 
 so?" "Not so handsome as you are, that 
 would be difficult ; but perhaps sufficiently no- 
 ticed to retain a tender remembrance of it."
 
 22 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 " How ! am I then mistaken ?" said the young 
 lady, struck with the answers of this unknown 
 person, and changing her tone. " Oh madam, 
 I perceive now that you are the friend, 
 the Mentor of these young ladies." <c Their 
 Mentor ! they have no occasion for any ; they 
 are so good, so unpresuming and well be- 
 haved ! and these qualities in a woman double 
 the attractions with which she is endowed by 
 nature." 
 
 The surprise and curiosity of this giddy 
 creature were now at their height ; and the 
 conversation was leading to a more serious ex- 
 planation, when a handsome young man taking 
 her hand led her to join in an English dance, 
 in which she exhibited her talents and graces. 
 Nevertheless, even while dancing she perpe- 
 tually turned her eyes towards the filemot 
 gown, recollecting at the same time with what 
 dignity, and still more with what acuteness, 
 the unknown had found the means of giving 
 her a lesson that she so much deserved ; and 
 growing uneasy at her mistake, she was al- 
 ready studying the means of repairing it. 
 
 As soon as the English dance was finished, 
 the company went into a second room orna- 
 mented with flowers and wreaths, to a most 
 magnificent supper. The ladies only sat down 
 to the table. Madame Cottin, after having placed 
 her three adopted daughters at it, and recom- 
 mended them to the ladies around them, re- 
 turned to her favourite seat in the corner.
 
 MADAME COTTIN's FILEMOT GOWN. 23 
 
 There, in banishment as it might be called, 
 and forgotten by every body, she was roused 
 from her reveries by the lady of the house, who 
 came to offer her some refreshment, and by 
 her three young friends, who by turns paid 
 her such devoted attention, and testified such 
 a tender respect for her, that those who saw it 
 did not dare to ridicule her filemot gown 
 any longer, and began to fear that they had 
 been mistaken respecting her. 
 
 Yet a great many of the fashionable people 
 of the day, who hovered about her, continued 
 their raillery, and did not cease to laugh at the 
 expense of the abstracied lady. While at the 
 same time a small groupe of well informed 
 men were conversing on the modern works in 
 French literature which were then the most 
 celebrated, the conversation fell naturally on 
 the work of Madame Cottin, entitled " Ma- 
 tilda," which was just published. Some 
 criticised it, and others praised it extravagantly ; 
 but the persons of sense and acknowledged in- 
 formation unanimously avowed that it was the 
 chef-d'eeuvre ol its author. 
 
 " How much 1 admire that pure and timid 
 virgin in, the midst of the camp and of the 
 convulsion ol the passions !" said a celebrated 
 literary character, turning his back to Madame 
 Cottin. 
 
 " liow noble and affecting !" exclaimed a 
 second, stepping upon her filemot gown ; 
 " and how venerable is the Archbishop of Tyre,
 
 24 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 who does not fear exposing his own life to save 
 that of the chief of the infidels ! . . . . This is 
 as true piety should be painted ; this is to 
 make religion cherished and respected." 
 Another admired the character of the brave 
 Montmorency ; and another still the judicious 
 conduct and variety of the work, and particu- 
 larly the morality of the conclusion. 
 
 In the middle of this discourse the supper was 
 over; and the lady of the house, who returned 
 into the ball-room with her company, took an 
 active part in the conversation, and displayed 
 not only taste but genius and information. The 
 different works of Madame Cottin were passed 
 in review. Each one delivered his opinion, 
 maintained his criticism, and gave reasons for 
 his preference ; but all agreed to rank her 
 amongst the privileged beings, who are an 
 honour to the age and country in which they 
 were born. The ladies especially were not 
 silent in her praise. They repeated with ardour 
 several passages from " Matilda," and cited that 
 work as the production of* a deep study of the 
 human heart, and as the effusion of a mind of 
 the greatest sensibility. Every body was of 
 this opinion, and there was not even the most 
 superficial young person who did not render 
 homage to the acknowledged talents of Ma- 
 dame Cottin. 
 
 " I do not admire literary women," said 
 very affectedly one of the young ladies, who 
 had ridiculed the poor filemot gown with
 
 MADAME COTTIN'S FILEMOT GOWN. 25 
 
 the greatest seventy ; " but Madame Cottin is 
 irresistible. Upon my honour she has made 
 me cry a hundred times." 
 
 " I would give all the world to see her and 
 be acquainted with her," said another with a 
 whirl ; " but she is not to be met with any 
 where ; she is like those beneficent stars that 
 hide themselves under a cloud." 
 
 " How can any body shun the society of 
 which they would be the delight ?" added the 
 mistress of the house. " What an advantage 
 the society of such a woman would be, and how 
 valuable her friendship must be to thoee who 
 possess it ! " " Oh ! yes, madam," an- 
 swered involuntarily the youngest of the three 
 sisters, who at that moment were standing 
 round their modest benefactress. " What do 
 you say, madam ? have you then the singular 
 advantage of knowing her ?" 
 
 The young girl was going to speak again ; 
 but a yiance from her elder sister, and above 
 all a hasty signal from Madame Cottin, closed, 
 her mouth. 
 
 " What a suspicion !" continued the lady, 
 addressing herself to the unknown. " Can it 
 be that under this simple dress Ah ! I am 
 no longer surprised at that irresistible tone that 
 struck me when you presented these young 
 ladies to me. Is it then really Madame Cottin 
 whom I have the honour of receiving at mv 
 house? I avow that 1 shall be happy and proud 
 of it." 
 
 " O my governess !" resumed the young or- 
 c
 
 2b INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 phan, throwing herself into her arms, " for- 
 give me if I have betrayed your secret, if I 
 have failed of my promise ; but the sudden 
 transition from bitter raillery to praises so 
 deserved, bewildered my senses so much that 
 I have neither known what I said nor what I 
 did." " Yes/" said in her turn the eldest 
 sister with as much animation as dignity, " yes, 
 it is the celebrated Madame Cottin,she is our go- 
 verness, O our incomparable governess ! You all 
 make an elogium on her talents, but it belongs 
 to us to make that on her heart." -In spite 
 of all the efforts of their generous friend 
 to prevent their speaking, in spite of the 
 sufferings that she expressed by signs and in- 
 terrupted words, the three sisters could not 
 resist the pleasure of revenging her for the 
 contempt with which she had been overwhelm- 
 ed, by divulging all that she had done for their 
 family. 
 
 When the real and honourable motive was 
 known for the simplicity of her dress, the 
 whole assembly, transported with surprise and 
 admiration, pressed in crowds about Madame 
 Cottin. The women taking her hands covered 
 them with kisses and with tears ; the men 
 kissed the hem of that filemot gown which 
 had appeared so ridiculous to them, and which 
 the young people had so outrageously abused, 
 It was now a contest who should first express 
 their regret, and make their apologies ; 
 every one made interest for the favour of a 
 look, for the honour of a word j and that wo-
 
 MADAME COTTIN's FILEMOT GOWN. 27 
 
 man who a few moments before was regarded 
 only as an obscure being, upon whom it was 
 their amusement to cast sarcasm and contempt, 
 seemed all at once transformed into a tutelar 
 divinity, whom they surrounded with homage 
 and whose clemency they invoked. 
 
 But of all this idolatrous crowd, the one who 
 appeared the most eager, the most penitent, 
 was the daughter of the mistress of the house. 
 At the knees of Madame Cottin she said to 
 her with an affecting expression, and a faltering 
 voice, " It is I yes, it is I who am the most 
 guilty. I have been so mistaken as to think 
 you unworthy to remain in this room 1....I have 
 even forgotten myself so far as to propose to 
 
 you Oh! madam! if your indulgence does. 
 
 not equal your celebrity, I shall forever lose, 
 what I am the most ambitious to obtain, your 
 friendship and esteem." 
 
 Madame Cottin eagerly assisted this discon- 
 solate penitent to rise, and, pressing her to her 
 heart, proved by the kindest expressions that 
 she was far from harbouring the least resent- 
 ment. To convince her of it, she proposed to 
 her to become the friend of her three adopted 
 daughters, whose indiscretion she excused ; for, 
 much as they had occasioned her modesty to 
 suffer, they had also procured her an enjoy- 
 ment which could not be bought too dear. 
 
 The mother of the young lady, taking ad- 
 vantage like a sensible woman of this oppor- 
 tunity of completely putting an end to a giddi- 
 ness in her daughter, that might injure her r$- 
 c 2
 
 23 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 putation and pervert the goodness of her hear 
 gave her the advice, Never to judge by appeal 
 ances ; to recollect that true merit migr 
 often be concealed under outward simplicity 
 or even singularity. And pointing to M 
 dame Cottin's gown, she added in the mos 
 amiable manner : " You see, my daughter, i 
 is possible to find a resplendent flower and de 
 licious fruit under a dead leaf."
 
 29 
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 
 
 .Monsieur de Saint Mark, one of the 
 ancient life-guards at the Court of France, had 
 lived a bachelor many years. He was united 
 in the warmest friendship with Dalayrac, who, 
 though then young, displayed talents which 
 predicted the brilliant career he has since run 
 in the composition of dramatic music. 
 
 Saint Mark was. endowed by nature with a 
 profound sensibility, but it was only to be per- 
 ceived by those with whom he lived upon 
 terms of extreme intimacy. The masculine 
 sound of his voice, the roughness of his fea- 
 tures, and the bluntness of his manners, threw 
 a veil over the affectionate dispositions of his 
 heart ; and even when he was desirous of 
 evincing tenderness, or wished to say some- 
 thing soothing, any one would rather have 
 been disposed to fly terrified from him, than 
 to abandon themselves to an emotion for which 
 it was scarcely possible to give him credit. 
 Pie presented one of those striking contrasts 
 which alternately attracts and repels ; his man- 
 ners were an odd assemblage of roughness and 
 mildness, of carelessness and misanthropy, of 
 patience and hastiness. Apparently not to be 
 moved, never was his countenance illumined 
 by a smile ; never did his eyes, which were 
 shaded with thick dark brows, shed a tear; but 
 never did he fail to dry tliOje which he saw- 
 shed by others.
 
 30 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Honour and the arts were the divinities to 
 whom he bowed. Music above all had an 
 irresistible empire over his soul. It was 
 even curious to see him at the first per- 
 formance of the compositions of Dalayrac. 
 Whether his bosom was affected by his eager 
 friendship for the author, or that the sim- 
 plicity and pathos of the airs themselves, by 
 which the rest of the audience were always so 
 deeply affected, produced similar emotions in 
 him, he could never conceal the effect they 
 had upon his whole frame. It was then that, 
 spite of himself, he could no longer maintain 
 an appearance of insensibility ; that, yielding 
 to an involuntary impulse, his austerity, which 
 was at all times but a mask that disguised the 
 purest taste and the most ardent feelings, was 
 wholly subdued. 
 
 I was near him at the first representation of 
 Camilla, which must undoubtedly be ranked 
 among the chef d'oeuvres of our composer. 
 At the moment when the actress who per- 
 formed this part, so difficult and so pathetic, in 
 singing the beautiful air in the third act, came 
 to the words, " There is no woe which may 
 not be effaced by a tender kiss given to our 
 child,'" every one, carried away by the charm 
 of the music and the force of the situation, ex- 
 pressed their emotions by the most eager ap- 
 plauses mingled with showers of tears. Saint 
 Mark, silent and motionless, observing me with 
 my eyes bathed with tears, seized my hand, 
 pressed it warmly, and said to me in a rough
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 3T 
 
 tone, " How happy are you to be able to weep! 
 For my part, I am suffocated, and must retire." 
 He immediately quitted the theatre, remaining 
 in the vestibule till the conclusion of the per- 
 formance, waiting for Dalayrac's going away. 
 At sight of him he threw himself upon his 
 neck, felicitating him eagerly upon the agony 
 which he had occasioned him. 
 
 Another day, when The two little Savoyards 
 was performed for the first time, a piece 
 in which the gaiety, the naivete of the rural 
 songs in the vales of Savoy are so enchantingly 
 displayed by Dalayrac, the whole company was 
 inspired with a delight that seemed to trill 
 through the soul. The house resounded on 
 all sides with the clapping of hands, and with 
 peals of laughter. Saint Mark alone did not 
 join in the general chorus ; his seriousness 
 and immoveability formed a singular contrast 
 with the raptures of all around him j he only 
 observed, with a dryness and sang-froid alto- 
 gether singular, " Here are indeed two little 
 Savoyards, who will black the shoes of the 
 comic opera for a long time*." 
 
 This apparent inflexibility is not uncommon 
 among men who, endowed with extraordinary 
 
 * In order that the point of this observation may 
 be understood, it should be observed, that of the nu- 
 merous little shoe-blacks which abound in the streets 
 of Paris, the greater part are Savoyards. The beauti- 
 ful little Opera of The two Savoyards, composed by 
 Dalayrac, is well known even in this country.
 
 32 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 physical powers, and being of an exceedingly 
 reflective turn, blush at the idea of betraying sen- 
 sibility. But under this rough and repulsive 
 exterior they sometimes conceal all the excel- 
 lent qualities which form the man of true 
 worth j often even those which constitute the 
 truly amiable man. 
 
 Such was Monsieur de Saint Mark, though 
 long misapprehended among the most brilliant 
 circles at Paris. A young woman however, a 
 widow without children, whose high birth, 
 whose beauty and whose talents acquired her 
 the admiration of the gallants of the day, and 
 who was one of the ornaments of all the most 
 distinguished parties in the capital, had judge- 
 ment enough to discern and appreciate me- 
 rits so generally overlooked. By her, Saint 
 Mark was preferred to all the flutterers around 
 her, because she felt assured that in him she 
 should find a frank and upright heart, a sin- 
 cere attachment, a character which would stand 
 every trial. Even his bluntness had to her its 
 charms, and seemed to offer her a presage of 
 particular happiness in an union with him. 
 
 She was not deceived in her expectations. 
 Never did man make a more kind and affec- 
 tionate husband, never did any one pay more 
 assiduous attention to a wife, or evince more 
 tenderness and attachment than were shown 
 by Saint Maik to the woman who had in- 
 trusted her happiness in his hands. The pre- 
 ference with which he had been honoured by 
 her, rendered her so dear to him, that he
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. S3 
 
 thought it scarcely sufficient to devote his whole 
 life to her to prove his gratitude. 
 
 A daughter, to whom was given the name 
 of Isaura, was the only fruit of this happy 
 marriage. The living image of her mother, 
 she partook of all her graces, her beauty, her 
 mildness, and these rare gifts of nature were 
 embellished by every accomplishment which 
 a polished education can bestow. But the 
 most remarkable feature in the character of 
 Isaura was her unbounded attachment to her 
 father. What anxiety did she not evince to 
 please him ! how assiduously did she study all 
 his tastes, and endeavour by the most delicate, 
 and to him imperceptible means, to soften the 
 austerity by wfach he was characterized! She 
 did not require from him any caresses or ef- 
 fusions of tenderness ; a look, a pressure of 
 the hand was sufficient. 
 
 Saint Mark lived retired at a country-house 
 he had in Touraine, where the simplicity of his 
 tastes, the frankness of his character, and the 
 urbanity of the good inhabitants of this garden 
 of France, afforded him a shelter from the 
 ravages of that anarchy which then unhappily 
 prevailed. There he delivered himself up to 
 the charms of a rural life, and to the cares re- 
 quired of him in the education of his dear Isaura. 
 Deprived of many of his former friends, and 
 of the greater part of his early companions in 
 arms, his affections were concentrated in his 
 family j and he sought to divert her attention 
 c 5
 
 34 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVE*. 
 
 from a mournful reflection on the^past, to the 
 consoling picture of the future. 
 
 Isaura at the age of fifteen was a model of 
 every thing worthy to be loved. Her moral 
 qualities, directed by her father, had even at 
 that early age acquired a firmness which gave 
 added dignity to her charms. The tenderness 
 of her soul, and the blessings which she shed 
 upon all by whom she was surrounded, esta- 
 blished her so high a character in the neigh- 
 bourhood, that she could not stir out of her 
 father's mansion without receiving the most 
 honourable tributes, without hearing endless 
 blessings invoked upon her by all the indigent 
 whom she had assisted, by numbers whom she 
 had rendered happy. a <, 
 
 Saint Mark was not less sensible than any 
 other person would have been to these trans- 
 porting testimonies borne to his daughter, but 
 he never suffered his transports to appear out- 
 wardly. Never did he bestow a word of com- 
 mendation upon her ; he confined himself to 
 casting upon her a look which seemed to say, 
 " Thou hast done thy duty." 
 
 During the time that the civil troubles con- 
 tinued, Saint Mark had withdrawn entirely 
 from the service ; but the moment that a foreign 
 war broke out, he felt all the fire of his youth 
 revive in his bosom, and his resolution was in- 
 stantly taken to resume his military career. 
 
 Isaura had just then entered her sixteenth 
 year. On the departure of her father for the
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 35 
 
 army, she returned with her mother to Paris. 
 The latter, though she had urged her husband 
 to reappear in his former profession, suffered 
 in secret from the absence of one whom she 
 adored, and from her apprehensions on his 
 account. But, anxious equally with him to 
 uphold the glory of her country, she sought 
 only to disguise her feelings, and to procure 
 her daughter all the amusements suited to her 
 age ; above all, to introduce her to the ac- 
 quaintance of those who were deserving of 
 esteem, and whose society might not only be 
 safe but instructive to her. 
 
 Saint Mark soon distinguished himself by 
 bis talents, his experience, and zeal for the 
 cause in which he was engaged, and it was not 
 long before he attained the rank of a general 
 of artillery. Every moment of leisure that he 
 could obtain from his military duties was passed 
 with his wife and daughter, either at Paris or 
 at their country seat in Touraine. Living in 
 camps, and accustomed to fighting, his voice 
 had acquired a still more masculine and im- 
 posing tone, but his heart was entirely un- 
 changed. The happiness of seeing again a 
 wife whom he adored, the indescribable charm 
 he experienced in the arms of his daughter, 
 who could never be satisfied with seeing him, 
 every thing filled the soul of this excellent 
 man with the most transporting sensations, the 
 worthy recompense of a warrior returned to 
 his fire-side. 
 
 The many amiable qualities which were united
 
 36 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 in Isaura, added to her transcendent beauty, 
 had drawn a crowd of admirers around her ; 
 and Madame de Saint Mark, whether from a 
 secret presentiment that her mortal career was 
 drawing to a close, or from the anxiety so na- 
 tural in a mother to see her daughter happily 
 settled, often solicited her husband to make a 
 choice among them. But he, who preferred 
 the military career to every other, refused as his 
 son-in-law those young men who were recom- 
 mended only by their wealth or rank, resolving 
 never to give his beloved Isaura but to one of 
 his brethren in arms who had distinguished 
 himself in the field of honour. 
 
 However, after a stay of some months with 
 his family, Monsieur de Saint Mark received 
 an onder to rejoin the army, and prepare for a 
 very important campaign ; one on which the 
 future fate of France entirely depended. Never 
 did he experience so much pain at parting from 
 his wife ; while she on her side, who had long 
 entertained the sad idea that her end was ap- 
 proaching, bade him farewell with a tone of 
 voice and manner so exquisitely affecting, that 
 he involuntarily trembled, nor could without 
 difficulty restrain his emotions within reasonable 
 bounds. " How much do I lament," said 
 Madame de^ Saint Mark, while tears were 
 flowing fast down her faded cheeks, " that you 
 have not had sufficient time allowed to choose a 
 husband for Isaura ! What will become of her, 
 if you are cut off in battle ? or if I myself 
 during your absence if this should be the last
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF BALAYRAC. 37 
 
 time that I embrace you ?" She could say no 
 more, but sunk almost senseless into her hus- 
 band's arms. The general, supposing this to 
 proceed only from her regrets at the idea of 
 their separation, endeavoured to console berj 
 and clasping to his bosom his dear Isaura, who 
 had been exceedingly affected with this scene, 
 tore himself away, that they might not perceive 
 emotions which he feared he should be no 
 longer able to restrain. 
 
 Madame Saint Mark's presentiments were 
 but too well founded. A short time after her 
 husband's departure she was seized with an 
 illness, from which her life appeared every day 
 in increasing danger. The care and tender- 
 ness of Isaura, seconded by the aid of medici- 
 nal skill, retarded awhile the progress of the 
 disease, but could not prevent its ultimate 
 effect. At the end of some months this amia- 
 ble woman expired in the arms of her daughter, 
 invoking the blessings of heaven upon her. Thus 
 was Isaura left alone, remote from her father, 
 her only remaining protector, exposed to all the 
 seductions which encompass beauty, to all the 
 dangers that threaten youth and inexperience. 
 
 Though Monsieur de Saint Mark received 
 news of his wife by almost every post ; yet, as 
 her state had been carefully concealed from 
 him, he was far from expecting so fatal a 
 stroke. Madame de Saint Mark had even taken 
 the precaution of always adding a few lines to 
 her daughter's letters, the better to remove from 
 her husband all suspicion of his situation j
 
 38 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 while he, surrounded by the bustle of war, and 
 incessantly occupied by a service which scarcely 
 left him a moment's leisure, only answered the 
 letters with a few hasty lines. 
 
 How is it possible to paint the anguish with 
 which this soul so full of sensibility was impress- 
 ed, when on opening a letter, the hand-writing 
 of which he could with difficulty recognise, he 
 read these words : "You have no longer a wife, 
 and I have no longer a mother!" Motionless, 
 scarcely breathing, stupefied as it were by 
 surprise and grief, three times did he read over 
 the fatal sentence, remaining still motionless as 
 before ; when one of his brethren in arms en- 
 tered his tent, and spoke to him, but received 
 no answer. Again his friend addressed him, 
 but the same silence was still maintained. At 
 length he takes his hand, questioning him ear- 
 nestly as to the cause of this emotion, and re- 
 ceives for answer the fatal letter which the 
 mourner put into his hand, making a sign that 
 he had lost the power of speech. This friend, 
 who had so many times heard Saint Mark talk 
 of his wife as his dearest treasure on earth, as 
 the model of all the virtues united, now com- 
 prehended fully the cause of what had before 
 so much astonished him, and endeavoured to 
 offer him the consolation of which he stood so 
 much in need. " Do not hope to alleviate my 
 sufferings," at length said the general with a 
 deep sigh : " nothing, no nothing can com- 
 pensate such a loss ! And my daughter ! " he 
 added with the utmost agitation, " my dear
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 39 
 
 Isaura ! alone, abandoned amid the tempta- 
 tions, the seductions of Paris ! Horses ! horses! 
 this instant must I depart." 
 
 " Depart ! " said his friend ; " impossible ! 
 I come to announce to you that the enemy 
 advances, and that he is to be attacked to- 
 morrow at break of day." " You are in the 
 right," answered Saint Mark : " the thunder of 
 the cannon, the enemy by whom we are 
 menaced, these are more powerful even than 
 the voice of nature ! One hour only, a short 
 hour, and you shall find me at my post." 
 " Yet, Saint Mark, consent that I remain 
 with youl'V " And why? I am armed with 
 resolution, I am calm and resigned." As he 
 pronounced these words a cold sweat ran down 
 his cheeks. " Would to heaven," he ex- 
 claimed, *' that they were tears ! but it is im- 
 possible 'tis the heart, the heart alone!" 
 " Saint Mark, you rend my soul ! permit me 
 to remain with you !" " Well then, be it so. 
 I must answer my daughter's letter, I must 
 endeavour to console my poor Isaura, I must 
 assure her that I am not killed with this stroke 
 of thunder : she will with difficulty believe it." 
 
 He sat down immediately and wrote her a 
 long letter, in which he was often interrupted 
 by profound sighs, and that stupefaction which 
 arises from immoderate grief. He imprinted a 
 kiss on the seal, and remitted it to one of his 
 servants whom he knew to be the most devoted 
 to him, charging him to carry it himself 
 with all possible dispatch, and to place it in
 
 40 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the hands of his daughter. Then taking his 
 sword, and leaning upon the arm of his friend, 
 he placed the fatal letter next his heart, and 
 went forth to the post whither he was called 
 by duty and honour. 
 
 Isaura, meanwhile, living under the care of 
 a respectable female friend to whom her dying 
 mother had recommended her, occupied her- 
 self with executing her last requests. Her re- 
 spected remains were removed to the country 
 seat in Touraine, which she had chosen as their 
 place of repose. Isaura had herself the pious 
 fortitude to decorate with her own hands, as 
 her father had desired, this last asylum of the 
 best of mothers. The letter which she received 
 from Saint Mark, giving her directions to this 
 purpose, was her chief consolation. At the 
 entrance of the chapel were placed - two 
 figures, one representing Hymen in tears, 
 dropping his extinguished torch j below were 
 ens^raventhese words : 
 
 o 
 MY HAPPINESS IS EXTINGUISHED FOR EVER. 
 
 The other figure represented Mars, with a 
 countenance of deep sorrow, holding in one 
 hand the crown of Victory, in the other a 
 wreath of cypress, with this inscription : 
 
 THE MOST BRILLIANT LAURELS CANNOT 
 ASSUAGE DEEP-ROOTED SORROW. 
 
 The tomb which contained the body was of 
 black marble ; above, it was ornamented with 
 a suit of Egyptian armour, which her husband 
 had taken from an Arab chief 5 the lower part,
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 41 
 
 which was raised on several steps, was covered 
 with natural flowers such as the seasons offered, 
 and these were renewed every day. The walls 
 of the chapel were hung with black, ornamented 
 with pictures representing historical facts illus- 
 trative of conjugal love. The rays of the sun 
 never penetrated into this asylum of grief; it was 
 illuminated only by a small sepulchral lamp 
 suspended in the middle, which cast around a 
 pale and mournful light. In a word, Isaura 
 had executed scrupulously in every point all 
 that her father had conceived for the purpose 
 of doing honour to the manes of his wife. 
 
 The numerous successes and the brilliant 
 victories gained by the French army to which 
 Saint Mark was attached, and in which he sig- 
 nalized himself by performing prodigies of va- 
 lour, at length brought a peace ardently 
 desired by all, and it was once more in the 
 power of this brave man to return to his own 
 home. He was not less eager in his haste to 
 arrive there than formerly, when after a cam- 
 paign of glory he was impatient to lay his 
 laurels at the feet of her by whom his courage 
 was always animated. He continued his journey 
 without ever stopping, and arrived at his house 
 about seven in the evening, the hour at which 
 he knew the beloved partner of his heart had 
 breathed her last. He sprung from the carriage 
 with the rapidity of lightning ; and without 
 speaking a word to any of the numerous per- 
 sons who surrounded him blessing his return, 
 he flew into the vestibule, ran over the different 
 apartments, and, arriving at the chapel, shut
 
 42 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 himself up there for several hours. Perhaps he 
 might never have quitted it more, had not the 
 voice and entreaties of Isaura recalled his mind 
 for a while from the affliction in which it was 
 plunged. 
 
 Not having expected her father till the fol- 
 lowing day, she was at the moment of his arri- 
 val in a distant part of the garden, occupied in 
 reflecting upon the means that might be em- 
 ployed to console him, and repair the terrible 
 loss he had sustained. Informed by a servant 
 of his sudden appearance, she ran hastily to the 
 house, seeking the cherished author of her 
 days in every apartment, mortified at not hav- 
 ing been on the spot to receive him. She 
 seeks him, however, in vain, till, crossing 
 a long gallery into which the chapel opened, 
 and finding the door shut, she no longer doubts 
 that her father is paying the tribute demanded 
 of him by his heart. She dares not interrupt 
 him ; she listens awhile in respectful silence, re- 
 pressing, not without a painful effort, her ardent 
 desire to see and embrace the only object of 
 her affections. Half an hour, or half an age 
 as it seemed to her, elapsed, she still listens at- 
 tentively, she thinks she distinguishes deep and 
 long protracted sighs ; and trembling for her 
 father, well knowing the profound sensibility 
 of his heart, she speaks, she calls him by the 
 affectionate title of father; but no answer is 
 received ; she hears not the least noise. 
 Terrified, she knocks with all her strength 
 at the door, and cries with accents of heart- 
 rending agony, " My father 1 O my father i
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 43 
 
 < You are returned, and I am not in your 
 arms ! 'Tis your Isaura ! Yield, O yield to 
 her just impatience ! Do not longer deprive 
 her of the only blessing remaining to her on 
 earth!" 
 
 As she finished these words, Saint Mark 
 opens the door, which he closes again after 
 him, and takes the key. His daughter utters a 
 cry of transport, rushes into his arms, and gives 
 him a thousand tender kisses: but he, with fixed 
 eyes and a mortal paleness over his whole 
 countenance, appears insensible to her caresses, 
 while his dry and distracted eyes seem to seek 
 his daughter whom he holds in his arms. At 
 length, somewhat roused from this lethargy of 
 grief, he utters a piercing cry, and clasps her to 
 his heart ; then quitting her, and starting back 
 some steps, he exclaims with a soul-rending 
 accent of despair, "Yes, it is she herself! 
 those features ! that voice ! dear and fatal 
 resemblance !" 
 
 "Alas!'' replies Isaura with angelic sweet- 
 ness, " are these features of the best of mothers 
 given me only to augment your sorrows, to add 
 to the just grief occassioned by such a loss ?" 
 " Forgive me, my daughter," he answered, 
 " forgive an emotion which I could not repress, 
 the irresistible effect of a resemblance so striking 
 and so dear ! Come, O come ! reanimate a 
 heart overwhelmed with anguish, restore my 
 distracted senses, but in compassion do not, do 
 not look upon me ! Let me rarely hear that 
 voice, the sweetness of which rends my soul, 
 the expression of which overpowers, kills me !
 
 44 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 O my Isaura ! you can never conceive what is 
 suffered by your unhappy father !" 
 
 From this moment, at once so sweet and so 
 cruel, Isaura never dared to raise her eyes to 
 her father, never dared address to him a sin- 
 gle word. Every time that her filial piety led 
 her into his presence, she saw him quiver with 
 agony, a dreadful paleness spread itself over his 
 whole countenance, and in spite of the ef- 
 forts he made not to wound her sensibility, he 
 could neither subdue nor conceal his sufferings. 
 
 These shocks, these struggles, soon preyed 
 upon his health to such a degree as to make the 
 tender Isaura tremble for his life. He could 
 scarcely take any food, sleep seemed wholly to 
 forsake his burning eyelids. A constant de- 
 pression, a frightful debility, a fever without 
 intermission, were the too certain indications of 
 a complete disorganisation, probably of an ap- 
 proaching end. Isaura's cares and attentions 
 were redoubled, but, alas! in vain : nothing could 
 assuage the anguish of his mind ; and to any 
 words she ever addressed to him, she could 
 obtain no other answer than " Dear and fatal 
 resemblance 1" 
 
 Every day but increasing this affectionate 
 daughter's apprehensions on his account, she 
 ventured to propose his quitting Touraine, and 
 going to Paris to take the best advice that was 
 to be procured upon his situation. " Remove 
 hence 1" he answered with a tone of agony. 
 " Ah ! who then shall come and commune 
 with her every day ? who shall strew her tomb 
 with flowers ? who shall render to these adored
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 45 
 
 remains the respectful homage which is their 
 due ? No, no ! never can I quit this asylum 
 where she reposes, but to rejoin her: there we 
 shall no more dread the stroke of fate in 
 eternity we shall never be separated." 
 
 Isaura, almost in despair at hearing this fatal 
 resolution, yet thought it her duty to abstain 
 from any remonstrance, even from any remark. 
 Confining in her own bosom the sufferings 
 which her father occasioned her, she now, as a 
 last resource, thought of endeavouring to draw 
 his mind from its present state of distraction 
 by the charms of music. Among the many 
 accomplishments which she possessed, she ac- 
 companied herself upon the harp with an ex- 
 pression altogether remarkable. She had often 
 observed her father, in former times, stop to 
 listen to her, above all when she sung the airs 
 of Dalayrac, for which she had herself a de- 
 cided preference. The physicians she con- 
 sulted upon her father's state, assured her that 
 the only means of saving his life was to rouse 
 him from this state of lethargic depression, into 
 pouring forth his griefs by some outward ex- 
 pression j that by tears alone his mind could 
 be relieved. Occupied entirely with this idea, 
 Isaura essayed upon the harp such of the airs 
 of Dalayrac as she thought would be the most 
 favourable to her project, and at length fixed 
 upon the music to the song of Renaud d'Ast t 
 as best suited to the simplicity and melancholy 
 which she wished her song to express. Then 
 addressing herself to a man eminent among
 
 46 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the literati of the day, and a friend of her fa- 
 ther, she imparted to him her ideas, entreating 
 him to write words to this charming air, suited 
 to producing upon her father the effect she de- 
 sired. 
 
 This friend, equally charmed with the project 
 of saving a life so dear, and inspired with an 
 anxious wish to aid these pious efforts of filial 
 affection, gladly undertook the task, yet did 
 not find it easy to be executed. The words 
 required to have more of soul in them than of 
 fire, to be affecting from pure simplicity di- 
 vested of all foreign ornament. Sometimes 
 he thought that he had not well pourtrayed 
 what was passing in Isaura's heart, sometimes 
 he thought he had employed expressions too 
 much studied, and proscribed by sentiment 
 and nature. Nothing was more difficult than 
 to produce emotion without suffering, nothing 
 more arduous than to strike the heart without 
 fatiguing the ear. 
 
 Saint Mark meanwhile sunk every day more 
 and more into a state of stupefaction. His 
 mind, once so powerful, began sometimes even 
 to wander ; a natural effect of the want of 
 sleep and food. Isaura, who watched with the 
 utmost anxiety the progress of his malady, 
 thought that there was no more time for delay ; 
 and without permitting her friend again to re- 
 touch the stanzas which were to decide her 
 fate, she resolved to make her experiment 
 that very day. She stationed herself towards 
 evening in the gallery into which the chapel
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 47 
 
 opened, it being her father's constant practice 
 to repair thither as the clock struck seven, and, 
 shutting himself in, to pass the greatest part 
 of the night there. It was about the middle 
 of September, when at that hour the gallery 
 was lighted only by a feeble twilight which 
 gave a great sublimity to the high and vaulted 
 roof. As soon as Saint Mark had shut him- 
 self up with the remains of his wife, Isaura 
 clad entirely in black, with her fine long hair 
 hanging negligently over her shoulders, placed 
 herself opposite tae door of the chapel in a 
 most affecting attitude, and so that she could 
 only be seen in profile. Then accompanying 
 herself on the harp, in a manner rendered 
 doubly affecting by the inspiration of profound 
 grief and filial love, she sung the first stanza. 
 
 On this fond breast I saw expire 
 
 That form whence 1 deriv'd my breath ; 
 
 Sure, to a child who truly loves, 
 Such woe is twice enduring death. 
 
 Yet while a tender mother weeping, 
 ' My soul one cherish'd comfort shar'd ; 
 
 That not in ev'ry way forsaken, 
 To me a father yet was spar'd. 
 
 She paused a moment, and, turning her eyes 
 towards the chapel, thought she heard a gentle 
 movement. It was indeed Saint Mark ; who 
 surprised, attracted by this air so affecting, by 
 that voice so melodious, so pathetic, had half 
 opened the door of his sanctuary, and was 
 listening with the most eager attention. En- 
 couraged by this first success, she resumed her 
 attitude and continued her lay.
 
 48 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 He comes ; with anxious hopes t' assuage 
 
 The torments by his bosom prov'd, 
 The image I in haste present 
 
 Of her he'd long so fondly lov'd. 
 Yet, though so valued once these features, 
 
 They now increase my bosom's smart, 
 With woe and not with pride I bear them, 
 
 For, ah ! they rend a father's heart. 
 
 Saint Mark, impressed in spite of himself 
 with lamentations so affecting, lent a yet more 
 attentive ear, drawing nearer and placing him- 
 self directly behind his daughter. She, feign- 
 ing not to perceive him, abandoned herself to 
 all the emotions of her heart, in hopes of con- 
 veying similar emotions to that of her father, 
 and making an impression which might restore 
 him at length to her anxious vows and prayers. 
 With a voice and manner still more and more 
 
 affecting, she sung the last stanza : 
 
 i 
 
 Weep then with me, ye tender breasts, 
 
 Each ray of hope, of comfort's flown ; 
 My only trust, support, and joy, 
 
 Shuns me, and seeks for death alone. 
 Deserted, ev'ry way forsaken, 
 
 Amid a tortur'd husband's pains, 
 No more his harass'd soul remembers 
 
 That still a father he remains. 
 
 " Not remember that I am a father!" ex- 
 claimed Saint Mark, pressing her eagerly to his 
 bosom "Shall I forget it! Oh, could I do so, 
 I were the most culpable of fathers! Yes, 
 my child, thou hast conquered ; there is no 
 resisting these accents of nature aided by the 
 voice of friendship 1 Behold the tears which 
 now stream down my cheeks they are the
 
 THE PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC 49 
 
 first I ever shed in my life ; and far from 
 blushing at them, they at once soothe and 
 transport me, O let them be mingled with 
 thine, and henceforth thou shalt not be the 
 only one who moistens with tears the tomb of 
 thy mother." As he spoke, he fell at the feet 
 of Isaura, while she supported with transport that 
 venerable head, rejoiced at the dawn of reviving 
 sentiment which began to appear. She would 
 have raised him from a posture which seemed 
 humiliating, and have fallen in her turn at his 
 feet : but she was afraid of interrupting emo- 
 tions so precious ; she trembled lest she should 
 stop the tears which flowed in torrents from, 
 eyes so long inflexible, and which fixed 
 upon her seemed to say, " Thy father owes 
 thee his life ! now are our obligations reci- 
 procal. " 
 
 This scene produced in the completest man- 
 ner the effect which Isaura hoped and desired. 
 Saint Mark, reflecting upon all that such a mo- 
 del of piety had suffered upon his account, did 
 not cease to repeat, " Yes, I will live to che- 
 rish thee ! Yes, I will take care of my life ! - 
 to thee I owe it ; to thee it shall be devoted : 
 my days are no longer my own ; they are all 
 thine, my daughter, my beloved Isaura!" 
 
 " O happiness inexpressible !" she exclaimed 
 when her transports permitted her the power 
 of speech. " You will then preserve your life 
 for my sake. Heaven has blessed my efforts, 
 and I have found once more a father! Let us 
 go, I entreat, let us return him our thanks 
 
 D
 
 50 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 together, upon the tomb of her who from her 
 abode of happiness inspired me with this only 
 means of saving you." At these words the 
 veteran, still supported by her, accompanied 
 her into the chapel : here the sight of the 
 tomb, and the affecting piety of his child, drew 
 from him another deluge of tears, though less 
 ardent than the former, and in which he found 
 a charm that he thought could never be too 
 highly enjoyed. 
 
 The tender and thoughtful Isaura first ex- 
 acts from him a promise, that he will never 
 again visit the tomb alone. Afterwards she 
 engages him only to accompany her thither in 
 the evening, to renew the flowers and utter a 
 short prayer. Insensibly she prevails upon him 
 to walk with her about the gardens, then to 
 extend his walks to the neighbouring country, 
 and at length to visit his neighbours ; till he 
 finallv returned to all his former habits, to his 
 devotion to the arts, and love of society. Soon 
 after he resumed his station in the army, and 
 was promoted to a very superior rank. 
 
 Isaura, whose beauty was her least charm, 
 in a short time united her fate with that of one 
 of the general's young brethren in arms. She 
 found in this union a just recompense of her 
 virtue ; and was, as her mother had been, one 
 of the happiest of women. 
 
 Saint Mark lived to a great age. It seemed 
 as if Heaven, by preserving to him his health 
 and strength, justly rewarded the pious cares 
 of his daughter. Isaura became the mother of
 
 rilli PATHETIC AIRS OF DALAYRAC. 51 
 
 several children, which formed his highest de- 
 light. When he held them upon his knees, 
 and found his own youth revive amid their ca- 
 resses, he would often relate this anecdote ; in- 
 structing them from it, that the more profound 
 a person's grief is, the more does it merit the 
 attention and forbearance of all around him, 
 and that there is no grief so poignant, but that 
 it may be subdued at last by patience and gen- 
 tleness. In conclusion, this venerable old man, 
 pressing his grandchildren in his arms, would 
 say, " Oh, if ever your mother should expe- 
 rience any of those afflictions which rend the 
 heart while they preclude tears, try to find a 
 voice as affecting as hers, and let it sing to her 
 some of the pathetic airs of Dalay- 
 
 RAC 
 
 l 
 
 D
 
 52 
 
 THE. FAMILY DINNER, 
 
 OR 
 
 THE BOARDING-SCHOOL FRIENDS. 
 
 JL he ties of friendship which are formed in 
 youth with an ardent attachment, often relax 
 and become weak at a more advanced age. 
 Wealth, rank, misfortune, soon create a di- 
 stance between those who for a long time 
 thought themselves the equals of each other. 
 It is a tax upon our pride, when we meet with 
 a friend whose outward appearance indicates 
 poverty. The familiarity with which he ad- 
 dresses us from former habit, wounds our ear, 
 makes us blush in spite of ourselves, and is very 
 often returned by an embarrassed coldness that 
 seems to say, " Treat me with more respect." 
 It is only in superior and generous minds that 
 friendship seems to be immutable, and to in- 
 spire him who has attained to an eminent rank, 
 with the desire of conducting himself still more 
 familiarly towards his old friends. It is then 
 that he experiences the delightful enjoyment re- 
 served for true grandeur; of hearing it remarked 
 that " prosperity has not altered him, and that 
 he deserves all the good fortune he enjoys, all 
 the splendour that surrounds him." 
 
 Olympia and Celina were educated from 
 their early infancy at the same school. The 
 conformity of their tastes and dispositions, the 
 similarity of their age and characters, united
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 53 
 
 them in that pure and lively friendship, which, 
 as it is the sweet exchange of our first secrets, 
 of our first pleasures, is not easily eradicated. 
 Oiympia was the daughter of a celebrated civi- 
 lian, whose talents and labours had more than 
 once contributed to the welfare of the state. 
 The father of Celina was a Monsieur Dorval, 
 a distinguished literary character, but simple 
 and modest in his manners, not ambitious 
 of rank, satisfied with a moderate fortune, 
 dedicating his whole time to labour, contented 
 with the success of it, and placing his happi- 
 ness in independence, study, and love of the 
 arts. The two young friends, equal at this 
 period both in rank and fortune, felt their at- 
 tachment cemented every day, by the mutual 
 advantage of being able to mention with ho- 
 nour the dear authors of their existence. 
 
 From this constantly increash:? intimacy, 
 Oiympia and Celina were always seen together. 
 They pursued the same studies, cultivated the 
 same accomplishments. The success of one, 
 in any of the various competitions established 
 to excite emulation, gave the same pleasure to 
 the other as if the reward had been decreed to" 
 herself. They also obtained permission from 
 their parents to be always drest alike. Oiympia 
 had not a frock, nor a trinket, that Celina had 
 not also. Nor had the latter a hat, or even a 
 ribbon, without her friend having one like it.' 
 Nature too seemed to contribute to their union 
 by a resemblance in their features, in their air,
 
 54 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVKS. 
 
 and in the tone of their voices. Every body 
 on seeing them supposed them sisters. 
 
 This enthusiastic attachment, which increased 
 every day, was soon strengthened by gratitude. 
 Olympia was attacked by a disease from which 
 her life was in danger. Of all the attentions 
 that were paid to her, there was none equal to 
 the constant and active watchfulness of Celina, 
 who sat up several nights with her friend, and 
 contributed more than any thing to her re- 
 covery. This event filled these inseparable 
 friends with such delight, that it was difficult to 
 decide, whether she who could $j| to the 
 other, " I have saved your life," or she who 
 repeated continually, " I owe my life to you,'* 
 was the most happy. 
 
 Nothing interrupted this intimacy while they 
 continued at school, which they both hoped to 
 leave on the same day. This time arrived 
 sooner than they had expected. The father 
 of Olympia, in consequence of his signal ser- 
 vices and high reputation, was called to an 
 eminent situation, and raised to all the dignities 
 that do honow to merit and virtue. Obliged 
 to leave his private habitation and inhabit a 
 magnificent note! attached to his important 
 post, he took his only daughter with him, that 
 she might be accustomed to greatness without 
 ^eing dazzled by it. Olympia was then six- 
 teen ; and the emulation of friendship having 
 developed the talents with which she was en- 
 dowed, her education was nearly completed,
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 55 
 
 when summoned by her parents she left the 
 happy asylum where her childhood had been 
 past. Celina, who, after the agreement made 
 between them, would have remained with re- 
 gret in the place that was no longer inha- 
 bited by her friend, easily obtained permission 
 of her father and mother to leave her school, 
 and on the day appointed the two inseparables 
 quitted it together. They parted with many 
 tears, and with mutual protestations of a friend- 
 ship which was to cease but with their 
 lives. 
 
 Olympia went to her father's hotel, where 
 she found an apartment prepared for her. It 
 consisted of a sleeping-room, a dressing-room, 
 and a study. The furniture of each was ot 
 the newest fashion, and very splendid; added to 
 which there was a variety of articles merely 
 ornamental. The collection of books were of 
 the best authors, richly bound, and there was 
 a superb piano forte. It was the mother of 
 Olympia who had taken a pleasure in thus de- 
 corating her apartment, where her blind fond- 
 ness had united in every thing the height of 
 taste and opulence. 
 
 Celina was far from finding the same things in 
 the apartment that she occupied with her parents. 
 It consisted but of one room, the neatness of 
 which was its principal ornament. The furni- 
 ture was plain and useful. On one side of the 
 chimney there was a portrait of Olympia, on 
 the other that of Monsieur Dorval, and in dif- 
 ferent places some drawings representing the
 
 56 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES 
 
 principal scenes from the dramatic works or 
 the latter. 
 
 A few days after the two friends were esta- 
 blished with their respective parents, Olympic, 
 impatient to show her splendid apartment to 
 Celina, came to see her, and with all the 
 warmth of her usual affection carried her back 
 to dinner at her father's hotel, where this 
 amiable girl met with the most flattering recep- 
 tion. She was scarcely arrived, before her 
 friend led her into her sleeping-room, and made 
 her observe every thing with which it was de- 
 corated ; then into her dressing-room ; and 
 lastly, into her study. Celina, dazzled with all 
 that she saw, congratulated her happy com- 
 panion on the richness and elegance of the 
 whole ; but without enthusiasm, and without 
 appearing to desire any thing of the kind. Of 
 all that she saw,, nothing attracted her so much 
 as the excellent piano forte, and a collection of 
 fine music. She sat down immediately to play, 
 and ran over the works of the most celebrated 
 composers ; when, in the midst of the enjoy- 
 ment in which she was thus absorbed, a livery- 
 servant came to announce that the dinner was 
 upon table. Olympia could scarcely get her 
 friend away from the piano, and was extremely 
 surprised that she was so taken up with that, 
 and not more in ecstasies with every thing else 
 in her apartment. She conducted her to the 
 dinner-table, and began secretly to observe for 
 the fir&t time, the distance at which their pre- 
 sent situations now placed them*
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 51 
 
 After dinner she proposed to Celina to go 
 to the wood of Boulogne in a chariot with her 
 mother. <; Oh ! vvkh pleasure," said Celina 
 with the greatest naivete : " I have never been 
 at that charming place, and it will be quite 
 a treat to me. But," added she, " I am dressed 
 very plain, and according to our agreement 
 you must be dressed like me, and therefore 
 you will be obliged to appear at this assem- 
 blage of all the fine company in Paris, in a 
 dress like mine.'' " What -does that signify?" 
 replied Olympia hesitating and colouring : " I 
 
 intend I must keep to our agreement : I will 
 
 go and dress myself like you." So saying, 
 she put on a simple muslin gown, a straw hat 
 tied with a white ribbon, and a silk, handker- 
 chief. They got into the carriage, and were 
 soon in the beautiful walks of the wood oi Bou- 
 logne, where every body took them for two 
 boarders from a convent. Olympia was very 
 much mortified at not being yet known, though 
 she endeavoured as much as possible to conceal 
 her chagrin. In the evening, when Celina re- 
 turned home, she spoke warmly in praise of 
 her friend, and assured her parents that nothing 
 could ever lessen the affectionate attachment 
 between them. 
 
 Some time after Olympia, having been mak- 
 ing visits with her mother, called on Celina 
 in her way home, who now in her turn wished 
 to detain her friend. " I cannot offer you," 
 she said, " a ride in a chariot to the wood of 
 Boulogne, but I can on my part take you this 
 D 5
 
 58 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 evening to the first representation of a comic 
 opera, the music of which is by our most cele- 
 brated composers." Olytnpia accepted the 
 invitation, professing that this evening would 
 be much more agreeable to her than that they 
 had spent in the wood of Boulogne, where she 
 had not been at all amused. But the twa 
 friends had now a difficulty to adjust. Olym- 
 pia, who had been making ceremonious visits, 
 was in a very elegant dress. Celina had nothing 
 like it in her whole wardrobe. It was neces- 
 sary, therefore, that Ol-ympia should renounce 
 her handsome dress, and put on another like 
 that of her friend j who not supposing that any 
 thing could break a sacred compact of friend- 
 ship, actually went, in the simplicity of her 
 heart, to bring down a dress similar to her 
 own, which she unfolded and showed to 
 Olympia for her approbation. 
 
 Monsieur Dorval, accustomed to see through 
 the disguises of nature into its real character, 
 perceived the mortification of Olympia, which 
 indeed she couid but ill conceal, and observed 
 promptly to his daughter, that the conformity, 
 of dress they had contracted the habit of at 
 school, was become impossible now they lived 
 separately in the world- Then addressing her 
 friend, he said to her in the most conciliating 
 manner, " I can imagine, madam, what pain 
 it will cost you to break the engagement that 
 you have made with my daughter ; but the 
 high rank to which your father has been scr 
 justly raised,, will no longer permit you to coa-
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. &9 
 
 tinue the uniform dress that your tender friend- 
 ship had made it a custom between you to 
 adopt. This would require that you should 
 descend to imitate Celina in her dress, as she 
 could never pretend to imitate yours ; and 
 where there is no longer an equality of sacri- 
 fices, there is no longer an equality of enjoy- 
 ments. Take my advice, disengage each other 
 from the agreement, and henceforth let your 
 attachment consist rather in a conformity of 
 sentiments than of dress/' 
 
 Olympia, delighted with Monsieur Dorval's 
 observations, coloured, but did not dare to be 
 the first to acquiesce in them. Celina, conscious 
 of their justness, yielded to them immedi- 
 ately ; and taking the hand of her friend, which 
 she pressed to her heart, said to her with a mild 
 dignity, " It is for me to break a treaty 
 which I cannot maintain upon equal terms with 
 you. 1 give you back your promise, fully as- 
 sured that under the richest, as under the 
 simplest dress, I shall always find the friend of 
 my childhood, my dear and amiable Olympia." 
 Olympia replied only by pressing ('elina to her 
 breast, and kissing her with a cordial affection. 
 They then set out for the comic opera, not in 
 an elegant chariot, but in a shabby hackney 
 coach ; and the two inseparables appeared for 
 the first time in public differently drest. 
 
 From this time Olympia, who was no longer 
 subject to a restriction that thwarted her co- 
 quetry and wounded her pride, came more fre- 
 quently to visit her friend j and whether it
 
 60 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 might be that friendship had still some claims.. 
 upon her hearr, or that she no where found 
 more real pleasure than in her conversations 
 with the amiable Celina, she frequently passed 
 whole days with her. Monsieur Dorval took 
 great pleasure in varying their amusements,, 
 sometimes by reading or reciting to them, both 
 for the purpose of instruction and entertain- 
 ment ; and Olympia listened to him- with the 
 more lively interest, as she took advantage of 
 what she thus acquired to make a figure in 
 company. Celina, taking this interest for 
 that of friendship, never ceased to repeat that 
 nothing could lessen the affectionate attachment 
 that united them. .... She was still further, 
 confirmed in this opinion one day when Olym- 
 pia came to see her, by her turning the conver- 
 sation on the mutual happiness they enjoyed - r 
 when looking at the drawings from Monsieur 
 Dorval's works, which hung in Celina's room, 
 she said to her, " Do you know, my dear, that 
 notwithstanding all the splendour in which I 
 live, your lot is almost as brilliant as mine ? I 
 would willingly change the decorations of my 
 apartment for that honourable collection.'* 
 
 " It is very certain," replied Celina, " that de- 
 corations of this kind are not common. I would 
 not however exchange them for all the showy 
 ornaments in the world. Nothing can be more 
 gratifying than to run over at a glance whatever 
 recalls to one's mind the cherished author of 
 one's existence 1 These are real treasures, and 
 the opinion of the public confirms to me every
 
 THE F AMI LT DINNER. 6! 
 
 day that I am justified in being proud of them." 
 " Really," observed Olympia, " your sleep- 
 ing-room, though simple and without any pre- 
 tensions, is very delightful." " Your portrait, 
 my dear friend, is not one of its least ornaments* 
 It is a strong likeness. I frequently surprise 
 myself with my eyes fixed upon thai dear 
 image, it seems to smile and speak to me." 
 " If this be the case," exclaimed Olympia 
 starting up, " I must write upon it what I was 
 to be understood as saying to you in this por- 
 trait. You know it was done soon after that 
 terrible illness of which 1 should have died but- 
 
 for your affectionate attentions " Then 
 
 taking a pen and ink and going up to the pic- 
 ture, she hastily wrote these words upon the 
 frame " I owe my life to you." Celina, af- 
 fected by this tribute to her friendship, could 
 not resist the emotion which she felt, and 
 'pressing her friend to her heart she again re* 
 peated with rapture, " Never, no never,, can 
 any thing lessen the affectionate attachment 
 that unites us !" 
 
 Monsieur Dorval, who had witnessed this 
 kind and cordial effusion, believed for the mo- 
 ment that he had mistaken the character of 
 Olympia, and flattered himself that his daugh- 
 ter would retain her friend. He was however 
 soon undeceived ; but unwilling to impart his 
 fears to Celina, who was more than ever 
 blinded by her partiality, he left her to ex- 
 perience for herself the conviction he expect- 
 ed* It was not long before she actually began to
 
 62 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 experience it. She soon found that she saw 
 her friend much less frequently than usual. 
 Olympia then agreed to give her notice what 
 days they could meet. Their meetings were next 
 fixed to twice a week, then to every Sunday. 
 
 " As we receive company or go out almost 
 every evening," said Olympia soon after this, 
 " if you wish that we should spend some time 
 together, come to me in the morning. The great 
 world occasions so many embarrassments, and 
 so much employment, in the morning you 
 understand, my dear, as soon as breakfast is 
 over." Celina, always amiable and confiding, 
 took a pleasure in conforming herself to the 
 wishes of her friend, nor was offended that the 
 frequent visits she made Olympia were by no 
 means punctually returned. After a while, 
 however, she was sometimes told when she 
 went that Olympia was not at home, and she 
 soon remarked that when they did meet there 
 was an air of restraint in her manner which- 
 she endeavoured in vain to disguise. Celina 
 had too much sensibility not to feel this, but 
 too much spirit to complain of it. She con- 
 cealed her chagrin, therefore, and resolved to 
 hazard a final proof that might satisfy her as to 
 the real state of the case. 
 
 For more than a month Olympia had dex- 
 terously avoided every occasion of asking Celina 
 to dinner. The latter at first saw only in this 
 neglect the involuntary effect of the constant 
 dissipation in which her friend lived : but de- 
 termined to know the real motive of it 3 she said
 
 THE FAMILY D1NNLR. 63 
 
 one day to her parents that she would go to 
 her friend on the following Wednesday, a day 
 on which she knew that Olympia's father al- 
 ways received a great deal of company. She 
 dressed herself with studied simplicity, and at- 
 tended by Monsieur Dorval r s old servant went 
 to her friend,, to whom she s-aid on her- arrival : 
 * 4 My father and mother being obliged to be 
 absent or some business, I am come r my dear, 
 to take a family dinner with you." t4 I am 
 happy to see you," answered Olympic colour- 
 ing, who bad just finished dressing herself in a 
 most superb manner ; " but I must inform you 
 that we have a great deal of company, and 
 some people of very high, rank." " That does 
 not signify, I shall still be with you." " Ce&r 
 tainly, but etiquette we shall not be able to 
 converse at all: stop a moment, however, I will 
 go and inform my mother of your arrival, and 
 arrange every thing as well as I can." She now 
 quitted the room abruptly, leaving Celina con- 
 fused, and more than half convinced that the 
 pride of grandeur had alienated Olympia, and 
 that she had no longer a friend. 
 
 Olympia did really go to her mother, and 
 made her believe, that her dear Celina not being 
 sufficiently drest positively refused to appear 
 amongst the company, and desired therefore 
 that they might have some dinner in her apart- 
 ment, at which she would preside, and give up 
 appearing at the grand dinner rather than lose 
 the company of her friend. Returning then to 
 the latter, she told her that her mother wa&
 
 4 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 afraid she would find a ceremonious dinner 
 where she knew nobody, very dull, and would 
 not besides probably, like to appear at it with- 
 out being more dressed, For these reasons she 
 proposed their having a family dinner in her 
 apartment, which should be served at an early 
 hour, and every attention should be paid to ren- 
 dering it comfortable and agreeable to her. 
 
 Celina read at once in the countenance of 
 Olympia, that this step had no other object than 
 to avoid introducing to her company the un- 
 known daughter of a private literary man, mo- 
 destly dressed. In her first emotion she would 
 have withdrawn, but this might have occasioned 
 some disturbance ; and moreover, all the ser- 
 vants of the family were too much engaged 
 for any one of them to have attended her 
 home. Reflecting also that she must urge her 
 proof to the utmost, she pretended to believe 
 all that Olympia had said to her, and accepted 
 her proposal. The latter, who thought only of 
 getting rid of her unwelcome guest, in order 
 to appear amongst the company as soon as she 
 was gone, gave her orders immediately ; and 
 about half past four some rice soup was brought 
 and set upon a very small table. Olympia 
 took a napkin with a plate and spoon upon her 
 knee, and, seating herself by it, invited Celina 
 to do the same. As the grand dinner was not to 
 be till six o'clock, and the preparations for it of 
 course were not yet ready, this family dinner con- 
 sisted only of what had been left the day before. 
 After the soup r there were served in succession
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 65 
 
 the remains of a cold fowl, two roasted pigeons 
 both cold and dry. an artichoke, and two eups 
 of roar custard. The dessert was no better 
 than the dinner. 
 
 The sensibility of Celina struggling at this 
 moment with her indignation made it difficult 
 to conceal what she felt. She ate little : 
 she did not venture to look up, for fear of be- 
 traying her feelings to Olympia, who sought 
 every possible means of abridging this mise- 
 rable dinner. Celina, inferring from these 
 appearances that there was an end of all real 
 friendship between them, feigned a slight in- 
 disposition, and soon returned home attended by 
 one of the women servants of the family. What 
 she had really suffered, united with her efforts 
 to conceal it, had such an effect upon her, that 
 when she got home she could not repress her 
 feelings any longer, but gave way to the relief 
 of a flood of tears. On retiring to her room 
 she looked up at the portrait of Olympia, and 
 resting her eye on the inscription under it, " I 
 owe my life to you," she started involuntarily, 
 and catching up a pen added these words : 
 " And I have wounded your feelings." 
 
 Her father came into the room just as her 
 trembling hand had finished this new inscrip- 
 tion. '1 he sight of these words, and the de- 
 jected countenance of Celina, whose eyes were 
 still moist with tears, fully assured him that her 
 inseparable friend had at last completely be- 
 trayed the egotism and pride of which he had 
 suspected her ; and pressing his daughter to>.
 
 66 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 explain the cause of her uneasiness, she gave 
 him a minute detail of what had passed. ** I 
 am not surprised at it,'* said this faithful painter 
 of vice and absurdity, " it is so difficult to re- 
 sist the intoxications of wealth and grandeur I** 
 " Who could have imagined/' observed Ce- 
 lina with her eyes fixed on the portrait of her 
 friend, " that with those features, and that in- 
 teresting expression of affectionate gratitude, 
 any body could have outraged in such a man- 
 ner the friend of their childhood !" " They 
 ought at least,'* retorted Monsieur Dorval to 
 amuse her chagrin, " to have given you a good 
 dinner ! But two roasted pigeons of the day be- 
 fore, and two cups of sour custard, were rather 
 too little ; rather a poor family dinner. ... 
 Be assured that I sincerely sympathize with you, 
 my dear Celina ; but what has happened to you 
 to-day, has happened to me more than once in, 
 my life. Friends, at least what are often sup- 
 posed so, are easy to make, but difficult to 
 retain." 
 
 Olympia, who could not resist the conscious- 
 ness of Celina's being hurt by her behaviour,, 
 and who was not imposed upon by her pre- 
 tended sudden indisposition, sent her waiting- 
 woman the next morning to inquire after heiv 
 Celina coldly returned for answer, that she was 
 much better, that her indisposition was occasion- 
 ed only by the dinner having disagreed with her. 
 These words were repeated literally to Olympia ; 
 who being then fully convinced that her friend 
 was hurt at her behaviour, called some days after
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 67 
 
 with her mother, to do away what she consi- 
 dered only as a passing cloud. 
 
 Celina was sitting with her father w'len the 
 ladies were announced. After entreating him 
 not to say any thing that might lead to an ex 
 planation, she ran to her room, took down the 
 portrait of Olympia on which she had added 
 her inscription, and put it into a wardrobe. Ac- 
 customed to fulfil the duties of friendship, her 
 generous and indulgent mind, forgetting at th's 
 moment the outrage she had received, did 
 not wish yet to punish her less generous friend. 
 Olympia never was more humble and insinuat- 
 ing. She was so animated, and so adroit in 
 managing the conversation, that it was impos- 
 sible to advert to the subject of the family din- 
 ner. Taking advantage of a moment when 
 her mother, a woman of real value, was en- 
 gaged in discourse with Monsieur Dorval, she 
 took Celina to her room for the purpose of 
 coming to an explanation with her. 
 
 '* You went away very abruptly, my dear, tha. 
 other day," she began. 
 
 " I did not wish to prevent your appearing 
 at your grand dinner, particularly as you might 
 assist your mother in doing the honours of 
 it." 
 
 " Were you offended at her proposing your 
 dining in my apartment V* 
 
 " Believe me, I know better how to do jus- 
 tice to your excellent mother, and that I feel no 
 resentment on her account." 
 
 " You cannot imagine from what a weight.
 
 6S INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 you relieve me But I do not sec my 
 
 portrait here!" 
 
 V An unexpected event had altered the fea- 
 tures and the likeness ; and I have sent it to 
 have them restored again/' 
 
 " I am very glad of it. You know that it is 
 very gratifying to me to be placed in my friend's 
 room, especially on account of the inscription 
 which was inspired by the sincerest gratitude. 
 Oh ! that inscription is ever present to my 
 mind. But what is the matter, Celina ? You 
 are quite lost in thought." 
 
 " You know the twenty-fourth of the month 
 is my father's birth -day, when we have a large 
 party of literati, of artists, and of very delight- 
 ful women ; which occasions me a good deal 
 of employment. But we forget that your mo- 
 ther is left tete-a-tete with my father; and 
 though I trust she will not find it fatiguing, I 
 should be sorry to keep her waiting." 
 
 They now returned into the other room, 
 where Olympia again endeavoured to enliven 
 the conversation ; but she did not succeed in it 
 so well as to convince Monsieur Dorval, but 
 that it was she alone who was guilty of the out- 
 rage towards his daughter. He was perfectly 
 satisfied that her parents were too sensible and 
 amiable, and had too much good manners, to 
 refuse admitting the daughter of a literary man 
 to their table. 
 
 On her return home Olympia reflected on 
 the cold reception Celina had given her, and 
 could not but infer from it that she felt some
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 69 
 
 resentment for the manner in which she had 
 treated her. Wishing to efface every remem- 
 brance of it, she determined to take the op- 
 portunity of the fete for the birth-day of her 
 friend's father, to give her to understand, that 
 she did not think there was any distinction of 
 rank and situation between them. She there- 
 fore made her parents believe that Monsieur 
 and Madame Uorval had invited her to the 
 party that they were to have on the twenty- 
 fourth ; and on that day, simply but elegantly 
 drest, she went about threeo'clock to Celina ; to 
 whom she said on her arrival, in the most insi- 
 nuating manner, "The birth-day of my friend's 
 father cannot be indifferent to me ; I come 
 to propose sharing with you the cares and the 
 enjoyments of this happy day, and to ask you to 
 give me a dinner." 
 
 Celina, although surprised at this step, em- 
 braced Olympia, and could not resist caressing 
 her with kindness, after which she went to ap- 
 prize her parents of her being there. " How !" 
 said Monsieur Dorval, " she come to ask a 
 dinner of you!" l Yes," replied Celina, 
 " and she has done it in so graceful and kind 
 a manner, that it has quite disarmed me." 
 
 " I know, my daughter, that there must be 
 indulgence in friendship; but 1 think at the 
 same time that you are too sensible of what is 
 due to yourself, to fear giving the proud Olym- 
 pia the rough lesson she deserves. Return to 
 her, 1 will take this matter upon myself." He 
 rang immediately for his old faithful servant,
 
 J'O INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 and said to him, " My good Joseph, could not 
 }ou procure immediately a couple of pigeons 
 that were roasted yesterday, but the smallest 
 and the driest that are to be had ?" " What 
 can you want, sir, with this dainty dish ?'' 
 *' Do what 1 desire, and at the proper time you 
 shall have your instructions. Stop a moment, 
 tell Margaret that at five o'clock precisely I 
 shall want two cups of sour custard." " Sour 
 custard !" " Yes, sour. It may be very easily 
 made so by means of a little cream of tartar, or 
 lemon juice." " I will go and tell my wife, 
 but I will not answer for it that she will consent 
 to make the custard sour. And then she has so 
 much to do this morning.'* " I will myself 
 explain this to her. Do you attend to getting 
 me what I want." 
 
 During this conversation Celina was with 
 Olympia in her own room, talking of the 
 amusements that her father's friends always 
 prepared for his birth-day. il And cannot I 
 join you," said Olympia,, " and testify to your 
 worthy father the real esteem that 1 feel for 
 him ?" 
 
 " A word from your mouth, or a flower 
 from your hand, will be sufficient," replied 
 Celina. 
 
 " Where," asked Olympia looking up, " is 
 my portrait ? is it not repaired yet ? was it so 
 very much altered ?" " Oh yes, very much 
 but I hope we shall succeed in getting it quite 
 right again." 
 
 As they were talking in this manner, a mes-
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 71 
 
 sage was brought to Cclina that Monsieur Dor- 
 val wanted her. Olympia was left alone, and 
 began congratulating herself on the project she 
 had thought of to take her friend by surprise, 
 and already proposed to herself to attract the 
 attention of. all the company. But what was 
 ,her astonishment when Celina returning said to 
 her with an embarrassed air, and changing 
 colour in a manner that expressed all the pain 
 she suffered, " I come, my dear, to acquaint you 
 with a scruple of my father's that I myself can- 
 not blame: he thinks that the high rank of 
 your father does not permit you, his only 
 daughter, to mix with authors and artists; and 
 he has commissioned me to propose to you, 
 to dine tete-a-tete with me here in my room." 
 
 At these words Olympia turned pale. She 
 began to doubt whether the insult, all traces of 
 which she had flattered herself were now ef- 
 faced, was not still present to the mind of Mon- 
 sieur Dorval, and that he meant on this occa- 
 sion to revenge himself for it. This doubt was 
 immediately changed into certainty when she 
 saw the faithful Joseph, whose significant smile 
 betrayed that he knew the whole affair, come 
 in about half past four with a little table on 
 which there was a rice soup. He then pre- 
 sented a seat and a plate and spoon to the 
 fair Olympia, who found herself obliged in 
 her turn to imitate Celina and eat upon her 
 knee. In a word, the old servant brought one 
 after the other the same dishes that Olympia
 
 72 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 had given to Celina. When he set the pigeons 
 and the sour custard upon the table, old Joseph 
 looked quite delighted ; and wishing to add to 
 the revenge of his young mistress, he would have 
 hurst into a laugh, if he had not been restrained 
 by the sufferings that were visible in the coun- 
 tenance of Celina. The dessert that succeeded 
 this dinner, was in every respect an exact 
 counterpart of that which had been served by 
 Olyrnpia. 
 
 The latter, who read in the eyes of her 
 friend how much it cost her to obey her father, 
 would not increase her sufferings by an ex- 
 planation. She feigned therefore not to per- 
 ceive any thing, and, arming herself with 
 courage and resolution, preserved during dinner 
 the best countenance possible. Celina on her 
 side, desirous to atone to Olyrnpia for the cruel 
 mortification she endured, sought to divert her 
 attention, by recalling to her mind the time they 
 had passed together at school, and the many lit- 
 tle adventures in which they had been engaged 
 there. Seven o'clock at length struck ; when 
 Monsieur Dorval, who had already collected 
 in the drawing-room several of the persons in- 
 vited for the evening, hastened to seek the two 
 friends, and addressing himself to the lovely 
 Olyrnpia, who cast clown her eyes on seeing 
 him, said : " Now, Mademoiselle, since I have 
 assembled together .several persons of distinc- 
 tion who do not despise the society of literati, 
 I entreat you to do me the honour of accepting
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 73 
 
 my hand, and that you will make one of the 
 party at the entertainment, which will be much 
 embellished by your presence." 
 
 He then conducted her to the drawing-room, 
 where she soon found herself surrounded by 
 a crowd of the most eminent persons in litera- 
 ture and the arts, all endeavouring to show 
 her the utmost attention, to render her their 
 homage, to pay her their tribute of applause. 
 After a concert composed of all that Paris af- 
 forded the most perfect in its kind, several little 
 proverbs* were played, and at length a musi- 
 cal piece, in which the principal character, 
 who had received a hint from Monsieur Dorval, 
 gave the most flattering portrait of Olympia's 
 father, describing him as deserving alike of the 
 confidence of his sovereign and of general 
 esteem. This happy idea received universal 
 applause. The inseparable could not resist 
 the stroke, but even suffered tears to steal 
 down her cheeks : these were imputed by the 
 company to filial love ; but the real cause of 
 them was piercing remorse for having insulted 
 two hearts, which she was now constrained 
 to acknowledge were more noble and gene- 
 rous than her own. 
 
 An elegant supper succeeded, from which 
 were banished all ceremony and ostentation, 
 where every one seated themselves promiscu- 
 ously without any attention to rank or distinc- 
 tion. Boris mots, lively sallies, witticisms flew 
 
 * A particular sort of little French dramatic pieces.
 
 74- INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 about on all sides, without the least violation 
 of good manners, or offence to modesty. 
 They were soon interrupted by some ingenious 
 verses celebrating the union of the arts ; and 
 Celina, at a hint given by her father, sung a 
 new song, written by him, upon the duties of 
 friendship, to which was this striking burden, 
 
 The happiness of our lives is often lost, 
 By one moment of forgetfulness. 
 
 Olympia, placed opposite to Monsieur Dorval, 
 proved by her blushes that she felt all the force 
 of the application, while he cast a look upon 
 her which seemed to say, " 'Tis thus that we 
 revenge ourselves.*' 
 
 At length the company rose from table, and 
 danced till day began to break, when a servant ap- 
 peared and announced that he came to conduct 
 Olympia home. Celina and her father accom- 
 panied her to the carriage ; when the insepara- 
 ble, stopping as she descended the staircase, said, 
 M O how guilty you have rendered me in my 
 own eyes [*' Then pressing the hands of Dor- 
 val, she added in a tone of supplication, " If 
 I have any claims on your indulgence, promise 
 me, sir, O promise me not to communicate 
 to my father and mother the wrongs of which 
 I have been guilty towards Celina ! Never 
 never would they pardon me." At these 
 words she embraced her friend, who pressed 
 her in her arms in a manner which showed 
 that every thing was already forgotten. 
 Olympia redoubled her acknowledgements 
 and protestations j and having received from
 
 THE FAMILY DINNER. 15 
 
 Dorval the assurance that her parents should 
 never know what had passed, she gives and 
 receives a kiss, gets into her carriage and 
 disappears. 
 
 " I was in the right," said Celina with 
 transport, " when I said that my friend would 
 be restored to me, and I may now erase the 
 painful inscription which 1 had added to her 
 picture." " Do not be in too much haste," 
 said Dorva! ? who had earnestly watched every 
 movement of Olympia. " Fear and confu- 
 sion are the only sentiments by which she is 
 inspired, and her pride has suffered so much 
 the more, from finding herself humiliated by 
 those who are, in her eyes, so much her in- 
 feriors." " Yet, my father, her confusion 
 while I sung the burden of your song, that 
 blush which overspread her whole coun- 
 tenance" " Were but the effect of spite 
 
 and shame. I saw nothing of that true re- 
 pentance, that throwing off her former self 
 which I expected : her eyes were dry, while 
 yours were filled with tears." 
 
 The event proved this opinion to be but too 
 well founded. Olympia never saw Celina 
 again without a restraint which she sought 
 in vain to dissemble ; while the latter could 
 not avoid feeling that, if friendship can pardon 
 an injury, it is not always in its power to forget 
 it. By degrees the two inseparables saw less 
 and less of each other, and concluded by 
 avoiding as much as possible all occasions oi; 
 meeting. Celina was the first who made it i 
 
 E 2
 
 76 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 point of duty to herself, to break off the connec- 
 tion entirely ; and when her father redoubled 
 his tenderness in hopes of consoling her for 
 the loss of the friend of her infancy, he never 
 ceased to say, " Friendship, my child, is a 
 faithful mirror, which cannot suffer the least 
 impure breath to come upon it. Remember 
 that nothing is more rare than a perfect and 
 mutual friendship, and that it is never to be 
 found at all but among equals."
 
 77 
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 
 
 1 he young Arthur of Wey mar was one of the 
 most distinguished pupils at the military school 
 of St. Cyr. He was early in his career of arms 
 named sub-lieutenant in a regiment of cavalry, 
 having first attracted the particular notice of his 
 superior officers by his bravery and exact atten- 
 tion to all the regulations required by military 
 discipline. But the officer whose favour he 
 had engaged above all others was the Count de 
 Saint Geran, a general, and a man of high 
 rank, by whom he was appointed his aide-de- 
 camp. Arthur, enraptured with this honour 
 no less than with the proofs of warm attach- 
 ment which he daily received from the Count, 
 signalized himself still more, and proved him- 
 self on numerous occasions the worthy pupil 
 of the celebrated institution where he had re- 
 ceived his education. 
 
 In one of those memorable engagements 
 which are decisive at once of the fate of a coun- 
 try and of the glory of its sovereign, Arthur, 
 then scarcely eighteen years old, fought near 
 the side of his benefactor, the Count de Saint 
 Geran. At a moment when a party of the 
 enemy had surrounded the general, and he was 
 on the point of becoming their prisoner, the 
 young aide-de-camp rushed into the midst of
 
 78 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 them, and, killing several, succeeded in rescu- 
 ing the Count from their hands. But the horse 
 of the latter having been killed under him, and 
 he himself being grievously wounded, he was 
 unable to complete his own deliverance by 
 hastening from the pursuit of the enemy, and 
 saw himself on the verge of falling again into 
 their power. Arthur, who had for some time 
 supported his tottering steps, seeing the danger, 
 led him to the trunk of a tree which lay just 
 by. and, mounting him upon it, took him upon 
 his shoulders and bore him away in safety ; thus 
 renewing the scene of the gallant Turenne, who 
 in like manner once bore off a. common soldier 
 from the field of battle. 
 
 Arthur obtained no small degree of credit 
 among the whole army for this gallant action, 
 and in the evening of the same day received a 
 summons to attend in the general's tent. 
 " Come hither, my excellent friend," said the 
 Count, " for henceforward I can give you no 
 other appellation. Have you not told me that 
 you were an orphan, without any hope of for- 
 tune ?" " It is true indeed, general ; but he 
 who has the honour of serving under your 
 orders has found a father, and is in no want of 
 any thing." 
 
 " I too am without a family ; never was I 
 united in the sweet bonds ot marriage, nor 
 knew the charm of being a father. While you 
 fought by my side, your blood mingling with 
 mine assured me that in you I had found a 
 true, a real son. Accept then that title as a
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 7& 
 
 pledge of my eternal gratitude: accept this 
 paper, 'tis a legal act by which I adopt you, by 
 which you are made the heir of him who 
 henceforward wishes to be called by no other 
 title than that of your father." At these words 
 the young Arthur threw himself into the 
 Count's arms, evincing by his caresses, and 
 numberless expressions of gratitude, that he 
 was deeply impressed with the honours he re^ 
 ceived, and not unworthy of them. 
 
 From this moment the Count never ceased 
 to receive from his adopted son all the respect 
 and affection which he could have received 
 from a real one ; all those kind attentions with 
 which filial love inspires a man of honour, 
 with which it animates a generous and sensible 
 heart. Not long after, he had the gratification 
 ol seeing that a sense of the young Weymar's 
 merits was nor confined to his breast alone, as he 
 was promoted to the rank of a captain in the 
 army. 
 
 It seemed as if the higher this young man 
 advanced in his profession, the more anxious 
 he became to justify those who promoted him, 
 by giving new proofs of his genius and cou- 
 rage. How many times was he of the gr atest 
 assistance to the general in the most distin- 
 guished actions he performed ! how often 
 was the fate of the battle decided by the 
 troops which he commanded! Bui this happiness 
 was not of long duration. In an engagement by 
 night, when the dangers are redoubled in pro- 
 portion to the courage of the combatants, the
 
 80 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Count de Saint Geran was killed by the burst- 
 ing of a bomb, having only time to exclaim as 
 he expired in the arms of his adopted child, 
 " I die content, since I leave a son worthy of 
 me." 
 
 Young Weymar was under the deepest af- 
 fliction at this loss. In vain did these last 
 words so honourable to him, in vain did the 
 inheritance of a large fortune and an illustrious 
 name, offer themselves as sources of consola- 
 tion ; he could think only of the loss he had 
 sustained, he could only repeat continually, 
 " I have no longer a benefactor, no longer a 
 father." He was mistaken however as to the 
 former j for a very short time after the Count's 
 death, the marshal who commanded in chief 
 announced to him, that the sovereign ap- 
 proving the Count de Saint Geran's adoption 
 of him, and desirous that so great a name 
 should not be lost to the French army, had ap- 
 pointed him colonel of the regiment in which 
 he had long served, and granted him the 
 same arms, dignities, and privileges as the late 
 Count had enjoyed. Arthur thus became Count 
 de Saint Geran, and found himself at the age of 
 twenty-seven a colonel, and the owner of a very 
 large property. 
 
 But the honours conferred upon him had 
 not the least ill effect on his general character ; 
 he was not unreasonably elevated by them, or 
 rendered haughty and arrogant. Always 
 simple in his tastes, and modest in his manners, 
 he concealed under the utmost mildness of ex-
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 81 
 
 terior, the courage and impetuosity by which 
 he was distinguished on the field of battle. 
 At his return to Paris he hastened to visit the 
 military school at Saint Cyr, which he always 
 regarded as the cradle of his good fortune ; 
 and above all to pay his respects to the vene- 
 rable chief of the institution, whom he desig- 
 nated as his first guide in the career of honour. 
 Received at the house of Madame de Sur- 
 ville, his relation, a woman of the most distin- 
 guished merit in all Paris, he there met a great 
 number of young ladies, among whom he 
 thought of choosing a wife. But fearing lest 
 he might fall into some error in making his 
 choice, he entreated Madame de Surville to 
 assist him with her judgement, which from her 
 great knowledge of the world could not fail 
 of being very valuable. " I would not," says 
 he, " take as my companion for life, one of 
 those women who place all their happiness in 
 show, and in dazzling the persons around them 
 with a display of opulence; nor would I have 
 one of those imperious coquettes who regard 
 the sacred bonds ot Hymen but as a tie of con- 
 venience, and imagine that they are only to 
 offer upon his altar such a kind of worship as 
 suits their fancies and caprices. I would have 
 for my wife a young woman, who, without be- 
 ing handsome, shall have an expressive coun- 
 tenance, with a modest demeanour, and a gen- 
 teel education, yet free from arrogant preten- 
 sions to talents or accomplishments; whose 
 acquirements shall charm rather than dazzle. 
 .5
 
 82 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Above all, let the sweetness of her voice be the 
 faithful interpreter of her soul. I would have 
 her without fortune and of a numerous family; 
 that they may be participators in the bless- 
 ings which Heaven has lavished upon me. 
 Deign, my cherished friend, then,*' added the 
 young Count, pressing the hands of Madame 
 de Surville, " to introduce me, if possible, to 
 such an object ; it is one which I must flatter 
 myself is not entirely an ideal creation of my 
 own, but may be found among your sex, and 
 you will have contributed in no slight degree 
 to the happiness of my life." 
 
 Madame de Surville, impressed with the wish 
 of rendering two people happy, invited into 
 her circle of visitors all the young women who 
 appeared to possess the qualities, or at least a 
 part of those required by the Count. At first 
 some were presented to him, who imagining 
 themselves already on the road to being united 
 to a noble and a colonel, whose name, rank, 
 and fortune flattered their vanity, suffered the 
 ambition they felt to shine in the world, to 
 become persons of distinction, and to frequent 
 the court, to appear too manifestly. Saint 
 Geran immediately pronounced their doom, 
 and set them aside from the class among 
 whom his choice was to be made. Madame de 
 Surville afterwards contrived to enlist among 
 her habitual society three young ladies who 
 appeared parricularly to attract the Count's at- 
 tention. Adriana, only daughter to the widow 
 of a celebrated physician, united to the most
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 83 
 
 interesting countenance a modesty, and a sweet- 
 ness of voice which announced the utmost 
 goodness of heart. But Saint Geran soon re- 
 marked, that this sweetness, which charmed so 
 much at first, was carried to such a degree of 
 insipidity and indifference, as announced even 
 coldness of disposition and a total absence of 
 character. Euphemia was an orphan, and niece 
 to oqe of the first lawyers in Paris. To daz- 
 zling beauty she added the highest degree of 
 natural grace and sweetness of expression. At 
 first sight, immediate credit might be given her 
 for a heart full of frankness, candour, affec- 
 tion, and sensibility ; but the moment she spoke, 
 the eye was disenchanted by the ear. A rough, 
 hoarse voice, and a vulgarity of expression, 
 dissipated in an instant the favourable impres- 
 sion made by her beauty, and formed alto- 
 gether a discordance of character to which it 
 was impossible ever to be reconciled. 
 
 Eliza, who was the daughter of a painter of 
 distinguished eminence in the French school, 
 seemed at first to bear away the palm from the 
 others by that tout-ensemble which attracts, 
 which flatters, which interests. Her counte- 
 nance without being strictly handsome had 
 yet in it something indescribably charming \ in 
 stature she was tali, her figure was majestic, and 
 her carriage graceful, while the tone of her 
 voice, without being positively seductive, found 
 its way insensibly to the heart. Yet an un- 
 conquerable petulance, and a perfect mania to 
 be always talking, which leads inevitably to
 
 84- INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 uttering a great deal of nonsense, clouded over 
 the attractions by which she was distinguished. 
 Her heart was excellent, her intentions pure ; 
 yet any one might be led to consider her as of 
 that class of gossips whose society is always 
 dangerous, or as an enthusiast incapable ot 
 cherishing .lasting sentiments. Unfortunately, 
 too, it happened that when she most desired to 
 please, she became the most insupportable; 
 her physiognomy then assumed the most dis- 
 advantageous expression ; the grace and majesty 
 of her figure were exchanged for awkward and 
 constrained attitudes ; and her voice became so 
 shrill and^ disagreeable, that she even fatigued 
 those who had before listened to her with plea- 
 sure. 
 
 These defects could not escape the Count's 
 penetration; but whether he thought that they 
 might be easily corrected, or whether they 
 were compensated in his eyes by many amiable 
 qualities, it was remarked that he sought to 
 combat the one by pronouncing the eulogium 
 of the other, and his partiality to her seemed 
 daily to increase. Madame de Surville, to 
 whom he could not forbear communicating his 
 sentiments, though as yet she was the only 
 person intrusted with them, thought it her 
 duty, before the affair was carried any further, 
 to consult the young lady's parents. They 
 evinced the utmost transport at the idea, and 
 were impatient to see their daughter the wife 
 of a man so distinguished. Without therefore 
 telling her positively that the Count de Saint
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICF-. 85 
 
 Geran had asked her in marriage, they gave 
 her to understand that he was suspected to be 
 attached to her, and was thought to be look- 
 ing about for a wife. 
 
 Eiiza, on whose heart the Count had really 
 made a strong impression, not merely by his 
 rank and fortune, but by that high reputation 
 for bravery which has in it something peculiarly 
 attractive to every bosom inspired by generous 
 feelings, emboldened by the hints she received 
 from her parents, began now to play off all 
 her artillery, in hopes of completing her con- 
 quest, and bringing the Count to a formal 
 declaration. Abandoning herself wholly to the 
 vivacity of her imagination, and to the natural 
 disposition of her heart, she was incessantly 
 talking of those heroes who exposed their lives 
 in the service of their country, and saying how 
 charming and how respectable they appeared in 
 her eyes. She pronounced long and elaborate 
 eulogiums on the numerous list of warriors 
 who are considered as the pride and boast of 
 France ; she enumerated with equal eloquence 
 and fidelity, the many brilliant actions which 
 acquired their names a place in the temple of 
 Memory ; she dilated on the happiness which 
 must be experienced in being connected with 
 them, in being associated with their dangers, 
 their successes ; in following them in idea to 
 the field of honour, in invoking Heaven for 
 their preservation, in hearing their names 
 blessed by a whole people, their victories pro- 
 claimed by the sovereign himself; in finding
 
 86 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the esteem of contemporaries and the venera- 
 tion of posterity attached to their names. 
 
 Saint Geran could not conceal the surprise 
 and delight with which he listened to her. 
 Carried away by the force of the pictures 
 which she was daily pourtraying and admiring, 
 by the enthusiasm with which she seemed in- 
 spired ; he thought in his ecstasies that he had 
 never seen any one who could be compared with 
 the charming Eliza. et How can one resist," said 
 he, " that brilliant imagination ! how avoid 
 being deeply penetrated by that soul so full of 
 fire, which astonishes, enchants, electrifies its 
 hearers ! Oh, she deserves indeed to be the 
 wife of a warrior." But no sooner did re- 
 flection succeed to these first emotions, than he 
 could not refrain from remarking, that this he- 
 roic ardour was carried beyond all reason ; that 
 those contortions of the body, those eyes flash- 
 ing with eagerness, destroyed all grace, even 
 wounded modesty ; and finally that the shrill 
 voice, and excess of volubility which scarcely 
 left its hearers time for breathing, were not to 
 be compared with that charm possessed by 
 mildness and gentleness of accent, with the ir- 
 resistible power attached to timidity and mo- 
 desty. If he felt that the coldness and insen- 
 sibility of Adriana could not penetrate to his 
 heart, he felt that Eliza made too much noise 
 and clamour to be permitted to remain there 
 long. That fleeting love which is created by 
 the fancy, and destroyed by caprice,, kindles a 
 sudden and ardent flame which burns for a.
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 87 
 
 moment, and then is extinguished for ever ; 
 while the pure passion inspired by delicacy and 
 upheld by prudence, though it penetrates only 
 gradually into the soul, yet kindles there a 
 steady and sober flame to be extinguished but 
 with the stroke that extinguishes life itself. 
 
 The Count now found that he had a terrible 
 combat to sustain within himself. In order to 
 have leisure for reflecting more deliberately 
 upon what was to be done, without being 
 dazzled by the presence of Eliza, who every 
 day was more and more full of her grand senti- 
 ments and heroic citations, he resolved to ab- 
 sent himself for some days, and accompany 
 Madame de Surville to a country house she 
 had not far from Ecouen. This lady's errand 
 was to take from a boarding-school in that 
 town, a young lady who had been for several 
 years a pupil there, and who was now to return 
 to her mother's house near Angers. Madame 
 de Surville, having been long the friend of Ma- 
 dame de Saint Ange, had undertaken to re- 
 ceive the young Annette from the hands of her 
 governess, and, after detaining her a short time 
 as her own guest, to place her herself in the 
 arms of her mother. 
 
 Annette, the eldest daughter of an officer 
 of engineers who had lost his life in the field of 
 honour, was one of those beings who does not 
 at the first glance excite the least attention, but 
 whom no one could abstain from contemplating 
 continually, after having once taken the pains 
 to examine her character. She was just
 
 88 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 eighteen years of age, of a middling stature, 
 but well proportioned ; her air and carriage 
 were so perfectly unassuming, that no par- 
 ticular grace was to be discerned in them, but 
 they were equally free from every thing that 
 approached to awkwardness. Every move- 
 ment was easy and natural, announcing rather 
 retiredness and timidity than an anxiety to 
 please. She had a low forehead, a large mouth 
 but ornamented with beautiful teeth, and her 
 eyes were small and always cast down. Her 
 complexion, never fine, appeared somewhat 
 injured by study, and her cheeks wanted co- 
 lour very much : in a word, her face was com- 
 posed of elements, which taken separately 
 were all defective, but a single look from her 
 was sufficient to annihilate the power of saying 
 that she was ugly. 
 
 When Madame de Surviile, accompanied by 
 the Count de Saint Geran, came to take her 
 from the school, her governess, a woman of 
 such a character as that commendation from 
 her was indeed a high eulogium, pressed the 
 orphan in her arms, and said with a manner 
 that showed her deeply affected, " I consign to 
 you, madam, the most beloved among my 
 pupils ; I am deceived indeed, if she will not 
 prove one of the choicest of blessings to her 
 poor widowed mother." Annette would fain 
 have made some reply, but her voice was stifled 
 by the tears which flowed fast from her eyes : 
 kissing the hands therefore, and receiving the 
 blessing of her who had long been in the place
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 89 
 
 of a mother, she accompanied Madame de 
 Surville in . silence. This lady returned the 
 same evening to Paris. 
 
 Saint Geran, who at the first glance had 
 considered Annette only as a being of the 
 ordinary class, little formed to excite interest, 
 could not resist being struck with the adieus of 
 the governess, and felt a spark of esteem for the 
 pupil kindled in his bosom. The journey to 
 Paris was performed without a word being 
 spoken by her. She quitted a very celebrated 
 institution, a guide by whom she was tenderly 
 loved, and many amiable young associates; and 
 however desirous she might be to rejoin a mo- 
 ther she adored, and a family for whom she 
 had the tenderest affection, she could not re- 
 fuse a tribute of regret to interrupted friend- 
 ship, an emotion of gratitude for kindnesses 
 received. In alighting from the carriage she 
 was supported by the arm of Saint Geran, when 
 a delicate blujsh which overspread her counte- 
 nance, a gentle tremor in her frame, and her 
 downcast eyes, f ooke the amiable modesty that 
 reigned in her heart. 
 
 After being a short time arrived at Madame 
 de Surville's, her melancholy wore away by 
 degrees, when the most enchanting smile ani- 
 mated her irregular features, and illumined her 
 eyes still swollen with tears. " 'Tis in vain 
 that we have brought you to Paris," said the 
 Count, " your heart is still at "Ecouen." 
 " Alas 1" replied Annette, " is it possible in- 
 stantly to forget the place where the soul has
 
 90 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 been first expanded to the charms of friend- 
 ship !" " O heavens, what a voice !" said the 
 Count within himself: " surely it is an angel 
 that speaks !" He now began to engage her in 
 conversation ; at every word which passed her 
 lips he was filled with astonishment, with re- 
 spect, and admiration. It was a purity of 
 language combined with instruction, concealed 
 beneath such unaffected modesty, it was so 
 perfect a knowledge of every thing good, such 
 a complete ignorance of ill, and all uttered in 
 that angelic tone of voice ! Oh! if Annette had 
 dared to raise her eyes to him as she spoke, her 
 conquest had been complete. 
 
 The three young rivals meanwhile, informed 
 of Madame de Surviiie's return, were anxious, 
 to see her new protegee. They came then the 
 very next day to pay her a visit. Eliza united 
 with this anxiety a still greater to see Saint 
 Geran, not doubting that she had altogether 
 dazzled him by the riches of her imagination. 
 But she saw him not, he on that day happened 
 to omit visiting his relation : the evening there- 
 fore passed only in a minute examination of 
 Mademoiselle de Saint Ange. The first sight 
 excited no impressions in her favour. Her 
 diminutive stature, her unstudied air, her small 
 eyes yet red from the tears shed on the preced- 
 ing day, the simplicity of her dress and manners, 
 produced nothing but indifference in Adriana 
 and Euphemia, but Eliza found them absolute- 
 ly detestable. 
 
 Some days after, a second interview took
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 91 
 
 place. Saint Geran was then of the party, 
 Eliza, anxious to display her superiority over 
 Annette, treared her with that supercilious air 
 which seemed to say, " Thou art a mighty in* 
 significant being in comparison with me." 
 The humble Annette, who scarcely dared raise 
 her eyes to her, seemed to acquiesce, and an- 
 swer, " I know it, nor could dare to enter the 
 lists with you." Music was proposed ; Adri- 
 ana and Euphemia sung a modern duo, in, 
 which were combined all the difficulties of 
 execution, all the ornaments and embroidery 
 which are now by general consent considered as 
 so deserving of admiration; while Eliza accom- 
 panied them with no less taste than confidence, 
 and the performance when concluded was pro- 
 nounced exquisite, delicious, divine. Eliza 
 next performed a sonata, wherein were displayed 
 at once all the riches of harmony, and all the 
 powers of the instrument, which obeyed, as if 
 with pleasure, the lightness of her fingers. An- 
 nette, astonished with execution so brilliant, 
 would fain have excused herself from playing; 
 but fearing lest her refusal might be ascribed 
 to mortified self-love, overpowered besides by 
 the solicitations of Madame de Surville, she 
 accompanied herself in that charming air in the 
 opera of CEdipus at Colonna, which begins 
 " / cannot quit you without shedding tears.*'' 
 
 The analogy was so striking, that in singing 
 these words she could not restrain an emotion 
 which added inconceivably to the inexpressible 
 sweetness of her voice. She avoided making
 
 92 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 any flourishes, she did not change a single note 
 in this enchanting piece ; but every modulation 
 seemed so deeply felt by her, was expressed 
 with so much truth, that all the spectators in 
 this interesting moment could fancy they saw 
 her taking leave of her young companions, nor 
 could avoid joining their tears with those which 
 stole down her own cheeks. " How superior is 
 this faithful picture of nature,'* exclaimed Saint 
 Geran in an ecstasy, " to all those flourishes and 
 ornaments with which our modern music is in- 
 fested ! The pieces performed by those three 
 young ladies were indeed splendid, and charm- 
 ed the ear, but this alone touches the heart." 
 Adriana and Euphemia, by a gentle inclina- 
 tion of the head, signified a sort of constrained 
 admiration ; but Eliza, reddening, maintained a 
 profound silence. 
 
 Madame de Surville, who knew that the 
 Count was himself an excellent musician, en- 
 treated him in his turn to contribute towards 
 the entertainment of the company. He readily 
 complied, and proposed singing the grand air 
 of Achilles in Gluck's celebrated opera of 
 Iphigeriia in Aulis, asking Eliza to do him the 
 favour of accompanying him. " O dear," she 
 replied rather pertly, " I really know nothing 
 of that music." "Yet I should have thought," 
 said Saint Geran, " from the admirable manner 
 in which you seconded the talents of the other 
 young ladies, 3 " " Oh ! that was a very different 
 thing, I have so often played that air. But I 
 cannot answer for being able to accompany at
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 93 
 
 sight, particularly Gluck's music. If you de- 
 sire it, however, I will try." 
 
 The Count began. Eliza, very desirous of 
 assisting his voice by her scientific play, made 
 a thousand efforts to follow him, but all in 
 vain ; and after making numberless mistakes, 
 was obliged at last to stop short, acknowledg- 
 ing that she could not proceed. " If Made- 
 moiselle de Saint Ange would be so obliging,'* 
 said Madame de Surviile, " I am informed that 
 she had this year the first prize for accompani- 
 ment." " O indeed, madam," answered An- 
 nette, " I am very much afraid : yet rather 
 than that the ladies should be deprived of the 
 pleasure of hearing Monsieur de Saint Geran, 
 I will endeavour to surmount my fears." She 
 sat down then to the piano : at first, as she 
 had said, her hands trembled; but soon re- 
 covering herself, she went through the ac- 
 companiment with so much correctness and 
 such a perfect knowledge of the art, that she 
 at once surprised and enchanted all who heard 
 her. Eliza herself could not withhold her ap- 
 plauses ; while the Count, who was conscious 
 that she had concealed with consummate skill 
 some faults he had committed, was convinced 
 that the modest Annette was in reality a very 
 skilful musician, who in her studies had had 
 the good sense to prefer real science to false 
 brilliance. 
 
 In the different parties which succeeded to 
 this first day of triumph, Annette never failed 
 to bear away the palm for science and ex-
 
 94 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 pression. It was in vain that the other ladies 
 sought to eclipse her by the splendour of their 
 execution : as soon as her voice was heard, rap- 
 ture filled every heart ; when she accompanied, 
 every tongue was eloquent in yielding her due 
 applause. 
 
 A short time after, she equally evinced that 
 music was not the only talent in which she ex- 
 celled. She had often heard the young Count, 
 relate the particulars of his benefactor's death, 
 the former Count de Saint Geran, and she had 
 observed that he always wore suspended at his 
 breast, by a chain of venerable white hair, a 
 miniature of his adopted father. This induced 
 her to form the project of representing on can- 
 vass the ever- memorable instant when this cele- 
 brated warrior expired on the field of honour, 
 intending to present the picture as a tribute 
 which she hoped would be acceptable to his 
 relation Madame de Surville. She made the 
 latter then the confidante of her project, re- 
 questing her to solicit the Count to intrust the 
 miniature with her for some days, as she ear- 
 nestly wished for permission to copy it. Ma- 
 dame de Surville readily acquiesced, and it 
 was no sooner mentioned to the Count than he 
 in the most obliging manner consigned the pic- 
 ture to her. Annette immediately commenced 
 her labours, and in a short time presented her 
 hostess with a faithful delineation of the scene. 
 The victim of honour lay expiring on the breast 
 of his son, on whom his dying eyes were fixed 
 as he pronounced the last affecting words, " I
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 95 
 
 die content, since I leave a son worthy of me." 
 The two figures were such striking likenesses, 
 and the scene was such an exact representation 
 of what she had often heard described by the 
 Count, while so much taste and feeling was 
 displayed in the execution, that it was im- 
 possible not to be deeply affected, and to bear 
 testimony by a tear to the superior talents of 
 the artist. 
 
 The picture being framed in a manner suit- 
 able to its merits, Madame de Surville was 
 anxious to witness the effect it would produce 
 upon the young Count. One day when he 
 came to see her, Annette being occupied in 
 her own room preparing for her departure, 
 Madame de Surville told him that she wished 
 very much to ask his opinion of a painting, the 
 subject of which had interested her very much; 
 and she immediately produced the work of her 
 young friend, without however naming her. 
 The Count, equally surprised, transported and 
 affected, changing colour, exclaimed with tears 
 in his eyes, " Heavens! it is he! it is myself! 
 it is my father, my benefactor, that 1 behold ! 
 I even seem to hear his voice ! all the money 
 I am worth would scarcely pay the value of this 
 charming picture !" 
 
 " The artist, however," said Madame de 
 Surville, " would never accept more from you 
 than simple thanks." " How ! Who then 
 can this artist be that paints nature so accu- 
 rately, that seizes with such delicacy all its 
 minutest shadings ?" " You see her," said
 
 96 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Madame de Surville, pointing to Annette, who 
 then entered the room. " How !" said the 
 Count, overpowered with astonishment, "such 
 rare talents accompanied by so much modesty ! 
 Can it be that this very superior performance" 
 " Spare me, I entreat, sir," said the timid An- 
 nette, " nor qualify with such an epithet this 
 humble attempt, intended only as an acknow- 
 ledgement of the kindness shown me by this 
 fri< nd of our family." " It would be very- 
 dear to me undoubtedly," said Madame de 
 Surville ; *' but, my sweet Annette, let me be 
 permitted to offer it to the Count de Saint Ge- 
 ran, as the most precious gift that can be made 
 by friendship-" " Never, no never," ex- 
 claimed the Count in rapture, " shall this 
 charming work be any where but in my own 
 apartment. It shaji be my guide, my consola- 
 tion, my dearest treasure ; and every time that 
 I cast my eyes upon the affecting scene, i shall 
 say that nothing less than a rare union of all 
 the most amiable, qualities of the heart and 
 mind could have represented thus faithfully, 
 benevolence and gratitude." 
 
 Annette's only answer was a deep blush ; and 
 taking the picture from the hands of Madame de 
 Surville, she placed it trembling in those of 
 the Count, who said with indescribable emo- 
 tion, " Yet permit me, madam, to entreat that 
 you will add to this double present of friend- 
 ship, what will constitute its brightest orna- 
 ment." " What do you mean, sir?" " It 
 is customary for an artist to embellish the pro-
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 97 
 
 ductions which he acknowledges with his name. 
 How dear to me would be yours, traced by 
 your own hand below this work !" 
 
 " Arthur, you surprise me," said Madame 
 de Surville. " You are neither the relation Of 
 Mademoiselle de Saint Ange, nor the friend of 
 her family ; would it not then be in some sort 
 transgressing against decorum, that her name 
 should appear?" " Nor is it that of Annette 
 de Saint Ange that I dare presume to wish in- 
 scribed here." " What name then?" said 
 Annette with a smile. " Annette de Saint 
 Geran," said he, throwing himself at her feet. 
 " Yes," he exclaimed with transport, " she is 
 found! that ideal object on which my ima- 
 gination has long dwelt, Heaven has now 
 realised to complete my happiness. Lovely, 
 modest Annette, but one word from your lips 
 and I embrace with rapture the Countess de 
 Saint Geran." " Me,Count ! Rise, I entreat. 
 Surely you cannot . . . ." " Yes, adorable 
 Annette, I ask you of Madame de Surville, who 
 now represents your mother, and promise her 
 faithfully, if my request be granted, to make 
 you as happy as your extraordinary merits de 
 serve." " Excuse me, sir, I feel much ho- 
 noured, no doubt but this language is so new 
 to me I scarcely have power to speak."--" Yet, 
 lovely Annette...." " Lovely! Think, sir, that 
 I am even plain...." " With such a charming 
 expression of countenance it is impossible to be 
 
 so."" That I am l.ttle " " Your mind is 
 
 great." " That I am poor...." " But rich in 
 v
 
 98 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 every virtue.*' ** That I am the eldest of seven 
 children, five of whom are sons under age." 
 " I will be to them what Saint Geran was to 
 me." "My mother is infirm." "The strong- 
 er" reason for affording her every comfort that 
 wealth can procure ! I am impatient till I am 
 authorised to offer her my tribute of filial cares 
 and attentions." <; You overwhelm me, sir! 
 so much goodness, I really know not how to 
 answer." ** Every word I hear but confirms 
 my resolution, but makes me more and more 
 bless my choice. It is not alone your talents 
 which have won my heart, it is the rare quali- 
 ties of your mind, and above all, that voice 
 which is their faithful organ, and which seems 
 descended from heaven to promise me consum- 
 mate happiness on earth." 
 
 These words were pronounced with so much 
 ardour, so much frankness, so much expression, 
 that Annette was dissolved in tears, and throw- 
 ing herself upon the bosom of Madame de 
 Surville, who was scarcely less moved, she 
 said, " () my guide! my friend ! to you I aban- 
 don myself, speak, what shall I do ?" " Ac- 
 cept the hand of the most amiable man I 
 know," she replied. " I have had more than 
 usual opportunities of studying the heart of the 
 Count, and will answer for his worth." 
 
 On the morrow then this excellent woman 
 wrote to Madame de Saint Ange, and received 
 aiew days after her full consent to this happy 
 marriage. It was celebrated at Annette's par- 
 ticular request without pomp or ostentation,
 
 THE CHARM OF A SWEET VOICE. 99 
 
 nor did this extraordinary elevation change in 
 any degree the former modesty and simplicity 
 of her character. Her happiness was perfect, 
 and the greater since it was extended to all her 
 family. 
 
 The union met with universal ipprobation. 
 Eliza herself, though she saw ail her grand 
 projects overthrown, could not help in secret 
 applauding Saint Geran's choice; and when she 
 learnt from Madame de Surville, that, without 
 that fatiguing volubility which changed the na- 
 tural sweetness of her voice, she might proba- 
 bly have been Countess of Saint Geran, she 
 reflected seriously upon her errors, and mode- 
 rated by degrees the warmth which had led her 
 so much astray, convinced that the greatest 
 charm in a woman, her most powerful attrac- 
 tion, superior to talents, to grace, and even to 
 beauty, is the charm of a sweet voice. 
 
 f2
 
 100 
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 
 
 .lMoNSiEUR de Merinval had long exer- 
 cised the. profession of an advocate at Nismes, 
 and acquired a high and general esteem. De- 
 voted to this honourable career, he did not 
 marry till late in life, and had attained his fif- 
 tieth year when he became a father. He 
 had an only daughter named Agatha, who, 
 being educated by a vain and imperious mo- 
 ther, early began to display a haughtiness of 
 disposition which no time or reflection was 
 ever able to subdue. Madame de Merinval 
 thought that there never existed a person of 
 equal merit and consideration with her husband; 
 and the wealth which he acquired as the just 
 price of his labours, only augmented every day 
 the pride and superciliousness of her character. 
 :She constantly instilled into the mind of her 
 .dear Agatha the persuasion that she was a being 
 of a superior kind to the other young ladies of 
 the place, and was for ever instructing her that 
 the daughter of a celebrated advocate, of one 
 above all who was so rich as her father, was 
 entitled to the homage of all around her, nor 
 ought to render homage to any one. 
 
 The young Agatha, although naturally en- 
 dowed with a sensibility of heart which often 
 pierced through her ridiculous vanity, yet fol- 
 lowed but too well the instructions of her im-
 
 THE FIRST STEF- IN*THE WORLD. 101 
 
 perious mother, and was soon remarkable 
 throughout the town of Nismes for a haughtf- 
 ness of demeanour which was carried some- 
 times even to impertinence. When she went 
 into a room full of company, she always seized 
 upon one of the principal places, and looked 
 around her with an air of confidence and dis- 
 dain, which seemed to say that they ought to 
 think themselves much honoured by her pre- 
 sence. If she appeared at the theatre, or in 
 the public walks, her stately carriage, her af- 
 fected attitudes, and loud voice, all announced 
 that she thought herself at least equal to those 
 who were the most distinguished by their rank 
 or talents. In one word, Madame de Merino 
 val found in Agatha the exact imitator of her 
 own follies. 
 
 In a country town, where people are all ri- 
 gidly classed according to their rank or fortune, 
 no one can encroach with impunity upon the 
 rights of those who are by general- consent 
 placed above them. Any endeavour to violate 
 this custom is an imposition which the person 
 who practises it will always be compelled sooner 
 or later to repay with interest. Vain is the hope 
 to make the scale in which each individual's 
 pretensions are weighed incline in our favour at 
 our. own pleasure ; public opinion is always at 
 its side to maintain a just balance. 
 
 Agatha had, then, numberless humiliations 
 to encounter. She more than once received 
 lessons which would have been sufficient to 
 correct her, if she had not been continually
 
 102 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 led astray by her mother. But she was instruct- 
 ed by the latter to regard the line of demarca- 
 tion which the inhabitants of Nismes, though 
 entertaining the highest esteem for her respect- 
 able father, always maintained between the 
 daughter of an advocate and those of the 
 principal magistrates, as the highest injustice. 
 
 Monsieur Merinval, constantly occupied with 
 his own avocations, and trusting the education 
 of Agatha too implicitly to his wife, was a long 
 time before he perceived the ridiculous airs she 
 was continually playing off, indeed, was far 
 from suspecting any thing of the kind in the 
 usually artless age of fifteen. Instructed how- 
 ever by a friend, of a circumstance which 
 he alone did not perceive, and judging as 
 a man of sense that her defects would never 
 be corrected by her mother, he resolved to try 
 what was to be done by sending her awhile 
 to one of the first schools at Paris, where the 
 most perfect equality was maintained among all 
 the pupils. Madame de Merinval could not 
 without a severe pang separate herself from 
 her adored daughter ; but the idea that she 
 would derive a vast accession of consequence 
 from the polish received by having her educa- 
 tion finished at Paris, and would thus acquire 
 a positive right to be considered as superior to 
 all the young women of Nismes, induced her 
 to consent to the plan. She gave as a reason 
 for this measure, to all who expressed astonish- 
 ment at it, that a country education was insuf- 
 ficient for Mademoiselle de Merinval, that the
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 103 
 
 capital alone offered every thing requisite to 
 render her worthy of the distinctions which the 
 fortune and renown acquired by her father gave 
 her a right to expect. 
 
 Monsieur de Merinval's views were very dif- 
 ferent from those of his wife. His only object 
 was to correct that ridiculous pride, which is 
 scarcely supportable even in those whose rank 
 seems to oifer some excuse for it. Arrived at 
 her school, the new pupil had at first to expe- 
 rience some pretty severe rebuffs. Ker lofty 
 airs, her supercilious tone, drew the most mor- 
 tifying remarks from the bther young ladies ; 
 no distinction was here shown but to superior 
 diligence and attainments ; here were no obse- 
 quious assiduities, kindness was expected to be 
 repaid with kindness ; no rank, no privileges 
 were here enjoyed ; the daughter of the most 
 humbie artisan was upon a footing of perfect 
 familiarity with the daughter of the first mini- 
 ster ; the opulent heiress was no more consi- 
 dered than the reduced orphan. In this state 
 of entire equality the young people learned only 
 lessons of humility ; they saw nothing but sub- 
 jects of emulation ; they experienced nothing 
 but the pure emotions of frank and disin- 
 terested friendship, and acquired that inappre- 
 ciable habit of desiring to be distinguished only 
 by what they were intrinsically worth, not by 
 the stations they were to occupy in the world. 
 
 Some time elapsed before Agatha could in 
 any way reconcile herself to a state of exist- 
 ence so new to her. It is not easy to pas*
 
 104 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES"* 
 
 tranquilly at once from a high opinion of one's 
 own importance, to the conviction that one is- 
 a very insignificant being ; from the pleasure 
 of being always flattered, to the chagrin of being 
 frequently reproved ; from a habit of always 
 commanding, to the necessity of constantly sub- 
 mitting. However, as she had sense enough 
 soon to see that resistance, was useless, and 
 would only occasion her new mortifications, 
 she pretended to accustom herself by degrees 
 to the established rules of the house, and even 
 to distinguish herself in a short time by the 
 scrupulous exactness with which she performed 
 whatever was required of her, and by the 
 anxious solicitude she showed to engage the 
 affections of her numerous associates. 
 
 But since, at the age of fifteen,, any defects- of 
 character are become deep rooted evils, which 
 it is scarcely possible wholly, to pluck up ; so 
 Agatha, under the exterior of the most engag- 
 ing familiarity, always preserved in secret the 
 same character which had been implanted in 
 her infancy, nor could refrain from showing it 
 in a certain degree, even in seeking to make 
 the reverse the most apparent. As talents alone 
 could here obtain distinction, she courted the 
 friendship only of those who were of decidedly 
 superior talents ; and, determined never to be 
 upon a level with the common herd, sought 
 to merit their friendship by emulating their at- 
 tainments. This rivalship was the means of 
 developing the happy dispositions she had re- 
 ceived from nature,, and conducted her soon,
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 105 
 
 to so high a degree of perfection, that she me- 
 rited the warmest eulogiums from the very re- 
 spectable woman to whose care she was in- 
 trusted. Every thing that related to the usual 
 course of instruction was soon familiar to her, 
 and the numerous accomplishments she besides 
 acquired, seemed but the simple clothing of the 
 more profound knowledge with which her 
 mind was stored. Agatha was the universal 
 topic of conversation among all the houses at 
 Paris which had any connection with the 
 school where she was ; she obtained numerous 
 prizes at the annual distributions, and her na- 
 tural pride, over which she had only thrown a 
 veil, found nourishment on which she could 
 aot be condemned for feasting with delight. 
 
 Madame deMerinval, who received atNismes 
 repeated congratulations upon the brilliant 
 figure made by her daughter, experienced a 
 degree of delight not to be exceeded even by 
 her vanity. She soon entreated her husband' 
 to consent to Agatha's returning home, that she 
 might adorn with her merits and her charms 
 the place of her birth, and form an advan- 
 tageous establishment there. Monsieur de 
 Merinval, who to the most amiable urbanity of 
 character united the warmest paternal affection, 
 hastened therefore to Paris, to assure himself 
 from his own observations, whether the flatter- 
 ing reports he had heard were well founded or 
 not, and whether that insupportable pride in 
 his daughter from which he had suffered so 
 much was really subdued. 
 f 5
 
 106 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Agatha, impatient to return to her mother, 
 from whom she had constantly received such 
 letters of adulation as compensated all the sa- 
 crifices she had been obliged to make, now re- 
 doubled her kindness and sociability towards 
 her companions, and deference to her gover- 
 ness. In both she dissembled so well her real 
 feelings, that every one was eager to greet 
 Monsieur Merinval with the most flattering 
 eulogiums of his daughter. The happy father 
 then yielding to the very natural wishes of the 
 latter, as well as to his own inclinations, con- 
 sented to her leaving the school, trusting that 
 the reasons which occasioned her being placed 
 there no longer existed. Agatha took leave of 
 her companions with every appearance of the 
 most lively emotions, nay, even affected not to 
 be able to separate herself from her excellent 
 instructress without deep regret ; while the lat- 
 ter, in placing her in the hands of her father, 
 warmly expressed how much she thought her 
 school would lose in being deprived of her. 
 Monsieur de Merinval remained a few days in 
 Paris, in-order to show her the numerous objects 
 of curiosity which that capital presents to a 
 lover of the arts, and then set off post for 
 Nismes, where he soon placed in her mother's 
 arms the treasure she so ardently desired. 
 
 A few days after, a grand entertainment 
 was to be given at the town-hall, at which 
 were to be present all the most distinguished 
 persons at Nismes, whether of the magistracy, 
 of the army, or private gentlemen, with all
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 10? 
 
 the beauty and fashion among the females of 
 the place. Monsieur de Merinval, as a mem- 
 ber of the municipal body, was appointed one 
 of the stewards upon this occasion. 
 
 As fame had spoken so highly of Agatha 
 during her absence, every one was now upon her 
 return impatient to see her, and assure them- 
 selves with their own eyes, whether she de- 
 served the eulogiums bestowed upon her. 
 Madame de Merinval, whose head was fairly 
 turned by her maternal vanity, would fain have 
 dressed her with all the splendour to which she 
 thought her beauty and her wealth equally en- 
 titled her. But this idea met with a decided 
 opposition from Monsieur Merinval. He insist- 
 ed that Agatha should appear in a style of 
 dress suited to her age, which was only now 
 seventeen, more remarkable for its elegant sim- 
 plicity than for any thing rich and showy ; 
 that her principal ornaments should be found 
 in the affability, the courtesy, and the modesty 
 of her behaviour. Addressing himself after- 
 wards in private to her, calling her the charm 
 and comfort of his old age, he said with the 
 most affecting tone and manner : " Two years 
 are now passed, my child, since you quitted 
 this town where you first saw the light. At 
 that time an insufferable pride, a presumptuous 
 vanity, which made you believe yourself some- 
 thing very much above what you really are, 
 above what I am, drew upon you the ridicule 
 and aversion of all those with whom you asso- 
 ciated. Long blinded by my love for you, I
 
 108 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 thought not of combating at its first appearance 
 this dangerous quality, which would for ever 
 have destroyed both your own happiness and 
 mine. Thus suffered to take too deep a root, 
 it became necessary at length, in order to ac- 
 complish my purpose, to separate myself awhile 
 from what was most dear to me,, and confide 
 the finishing of your education to the hands of. 
 strangers. Heaven has repaid me for this. 
 great sacrifice, and I see you return to your, 
 native town under auspices the most flattering,.. 
 To-morrow you will appear before the eyes of 
 the public, by whom your appearance is ex- 
 pected with eagerness, prepared as they, are to. 
 behold you with admiration. Yes* my dear. 
 Agatha, to morrow is the important moment, 
 when you make your first step in the world. 
 Ah ! if my cares, my tenderness,- merit some. 
 return on your part, if you are as emulous as 
 I am of obtaining general esteem and regard, 
 be careful above all things of your behaviour 
 on the occasion. Appear at this approaching. 
 festivity with that amiable urbanity which is the 
 inseparable companion of true merit y expiate, 
 if it be possible,, towards the world the errors 
 of your infancy; and let my ears be delighted 
 with hearing, as a general remark, that in pro- 
 portion as your behaviour was formerly vain 
 and ridiculous, it is now modest and en- 
 gaging." 
 
 Agatha appeared greatly affected with what. 
 she heard, and, pretending to be fully sensible, 
 of the importance both of the remarks and of the
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. TOW* 
 
 advice, faithfully promised her father to regulate 
 her behaviour entirely according to his wishes, 
 to show herself worthy of being his daughter. 
 She threw aside, though not without much se- 
 cret regret, the rich dress her mother had pro- 
 vided, and resigned herself to appearing in one 
 which under the mask of an affected simplicity 
 really displayed the most studied elegance. 
 
 The hour of meeting at the festivity being 
 arrived, Agatha followed her father and mother 
 into the town-hall, where a numerous com- 
 pany was already assembled. As soon as she 
 entered, she was surrounded by a crowd of 
 gazers eager to examine and pass their judge- 
 ment upon her. Faithful to her engagement,, 
 she appeared with downcast eyes, spoke with 
 diffidence, blushed at any compliment address- 
 ed to her, and, to the astonishment of every- 
 one, proceeded with her father to a part of the 
 room occupied only by the young ladies who 
 might be considered as without rank or place. 
 Such a contrast to her former manners excited 
 general astonishment, and this increased at. 
 every moment as she affected more and more 
 to humble herself, till at length a general mur- 
 mur of admiration ran through the whole com- 
 pany. Monsieur de Merinval's delight knew no 
 bounds ; the compliments paid him upon his 
 daughter's account filled his eyes with tears ; 
 he came up to her, took one of her hands 
 which he pressed to his heart, and seemed by 
 his looks to repeat to her again that she was the 
 charm and comfort of his old age.
 
 110 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 After a brilliant concert, a magnificent ball 
 commenced, which was opened by the four 
 principal ladies of the place. Madame de Me- 
 rinval by a contemptuous smile evinced her in- 
 dignation that her daughter was not of the 
 number ; but Agatha was soon invited to suc- 
 ceed them. The grace and elegance of her 
 dancing were the universal subject of admira- 
 tion, and it was observed that they received added 
 charms from the candour and modesty of her 
 demeanour. All the young men, among whom 
 were several officers of distinction, were emu- 
 lous of the honour of dancing with her. She 
 engaged herself first to those among the com- 
 petitors whose appearance announced a superior 
 rank or education, rejecting with no small ad- 
 dress those who she presumed did not enjoy- 
 like advantages. Among the latter was a 
 young cavalier, whose modest unassuming ex- 
 terior concealed from Agatha the rank which 
 he really held in the town. Not wholly dis- 
 mayed by a first refusal, he watched his oppor. 
 tunity to make a second attempt, in which he 
 was not more successful. Agatha, whose head 
 began again to be turned by the homage she 
 received, could no longer support her assumed 
 character, but gave herself up wholly to her 
 natural disposition, and began to play off her 
 former airs and graces. The young cavalier 
 however, still not entirely daunted, ventures 
 upon a third attempt, and proposes to her to 
 give him her hand in a waltz which was about 
 to begin j but again his invitation was answered
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. Ill 
 
 by a refusal, accompanied with a look and 
 movement of pettish anger. The young man 
 repeated his request. " No, sir, you must ex- 
 cuse me." f< Mademoiselle ought not to be 
 surprised at the solicitude of any one to be ho- 
 noured with her hand." " I have really so 
 many engagements, that I hardly know whose 
 turn it is." " Yet it should appear, madam, 
 as if you had no engagement for this waltz." 
 " Very true ; but I really am glad to rest 
 awhile." " Then I can say no more." At 
 these words he made a respectful bow, which 
 she scarcely deigned to return, and retired sur- 
 prised and confounded at the abrupt answers 
 and disdainful looks of her whose praises he 
 had heard resounded from almost every 
 tongue. 
 
 At length the waltz began. The young man 
 abandoned to his reflections, and exceedingly 
 piqued, not so much at the refusal he had ex- 
 perienced as at the contemptuous manner in 
 which it was given, determined within himself 
 that nothing should ever induce him again to 
 offer himself as the partner of Mademoi- 
 selle de Merinval, however attractive she might 
 be. But how was his astonishment increased, 
 when a few moments after he saw her led up 
 by a lieutenant of the navy to join the waltz 1 
 He presses forward immediately, and, address- 
 ing Agatha, says with a tone which was no 
 longer that of compliment and diffidence, 
 "Mademoiselle, you cannot dance." " How?" 
 answered the lieutenant hastily. " I have the
 
 ire INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 honour of observing to Mademoiselle that she 
 acknowledged to me she had no engagement 
 for this waltz. - Her refusal in that case be- 
 comes an insult, and she shall not dance." 
 " You assume a very haughty tone, sir," said 
 the lieutenant. " ' Tis that of a man of ho- 
 nour, who will not endure an insult."- " You 
 are certainly welcome to say what you please, 
 but Mademoiselle shall dance if she pleases.'* 
 " Only if she pleases to dance- with me." 
 " She shall dance with me, I say, or I will make 
 you dance yourself." " I never refuse such 
 an invitation, and engage you to fulfil it after 
 the waltz." " What an impertinent puppy !" 
 said the navy officer in a low tone of voice, and 
 stepping up to Agatha, who pale, trembling, 
 and sensible too late of the whole extent of her 
 fault, entreated him instantly to hand her back 
 to her seat. In vain he solicited her to conti- 
 nue the waltz, desirous of braving his adver- 
 sary : terrified she quits him hastily, and runs 
 every where to seek her father, and communi- 
 cate to him what had passed, that he might if 
 possible prevent the consequences. 
 
 She had scarcely quitted the lieutenant, 
 when the latter on a sign made him by the 
 young man accompanied him out of the room. 
 Agatha, with tottering steps and a heart over- 
 whelmed with anguish, was some time before 
 she could find Monsieur de Merinval ; he was- 
 indeed at that moment absent from the room, 
 giving some orders as one of the stewards. 
 Meeting him at length, she seized him by the:
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE' WOi^LD. 1 1*5" 
 
 arm. " O come, my father !!* she exclaimed 
 with accents of distraction, " come and pre- 
 vent a dreadful calamity I" So saying, she led 
 him out of the room by the door at which she 
 had seen the two antagonists retire, relating to 
 him by the way the cruel apprehensions with 
 which her mind was impressed. 
 
 Monsieur de Merinval, sharing deeply in 
 her fears and anguish, asks of the different 
 guards about the hall, whether they had not 
 seen two young men go out appearing to be 
 engaged in a dispute j but no tidings of them 
 were to be obtained. After running for some 
 time hither and thither, he at length hears the 
 clashing of swords ; he calls to some of the 
 guards, who advance with torches, when they 
 find the young man stretched upon the ground 
 bathed in his blood. He had at first wounded 
 his adversary, but not materially, and after- 
 wards fell himself, the victim of Agatha's pride 
 and his own insulted honour. But what was the 
 anguish of Monsieur de Merinval, when, on 
 approaching the wounded cavalier, he disco- 
 vered him to be the son of Monsieur d'Audi? 
 court, one of the principal magistrates of the 
 town his only son, the hope, and delight of a 
 most ancient and respectable family ! " O my 
 daughter {" he exclaimed, " how grievous is 
 thy fault, and what anguish will thy first step , 
 in the world cost thy wretched father !" 
 
 Agatha, overpowered by reproaches which 
 she felt to be so fatally just, and tortured to he.v
 
 114 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 soul by the sad spectacle before her eyes, utters 
 in her turn a dreadful cry, and falls senseless 
 into the arms of her father. He employed his 
 little remaining strength to support her to the 
 first carriage he could find, and carried her 
 home, scarcely knowing what he was doing 
 or whither he was going. The sad tidings 
 soon spread through the ball, that the son 
 of Monsieur d'Audicourt had been mortally 
 wounded in a duel occasioned by the pride and 
 folly of Mademoiselle de Merinval. The dan- 
 cing was instantly suspended ; nothing but mur- 
 murs and lamentations succeeded in a moment 
 to the sounds of joy and hilarity. The vene- 
 rable Monsieur d'Audicourt and his family, sup- 
 ported by their friends, quit the room, over- 
 whelmed with anguish, and hasten to seek their 
 wounded son, who was pronounced to be in the 
 most imminent danger. 
 
 Madame de Merinval's situation was now 
 truly painful and humiliating, surrounded on 
 all sides by the just reproaches of a numerous 
 and respectable company. It was now that 
 her insolent and overweening pride received 
 the punishment it so justly merited. To her 
 every one pointed as the first cause of this 
 dreadful calamity. " It is she," said one, 
 " who by her ridiculous vanity has corrupted 
 the naturally good dispositions of her child." 
 " It is she," said another, '* who seeking to 
 set her up unreasonably, has only drawn upon 
 her excess of humiliation, has destroyed her
 
 THE FTRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 115 
 
 happiness for ever, and deprived her of any 
 share in the esteem which we all feel for her 
 respectable father." " She must answer with 
 her head," said a third, still more incensed, 
 " for the life of the young Audicourt. Woe 
 to her, if this young man, to whom we looked 
 as the pride and honour of his country, is lost 
 to us for ever !" " Is it possible that she can 
 still remain here !" cried a thousand voices at 
 once: "shame ought surely instantly to have 
 driven her hence !" 
 
 Even the proud and imperious spirit of Ma- 
 dame de Merinval could not stand reproaches 
 like these, the justice of which it was impossi- 
 ble not to feel, and she retired hastily, amid the 
 groans and indignation of the whole room. 
 
 The wounded young man passed a terrible 
 night, nor did he appear more tranquil the fol- 
 lowing day ; in a word, he was dying for three 
 days. Monsieur d'Audicourt's hotel was con- 
 stantly surrounded by the people of Nismes ; 
 men, women, old men, children, all invoking 
 Heaven to spare the beloved son of this respect- 
 able magistrate ; all swearing to avenge his 
 death, if he should sink at last under the dan- 
 gers with which he was menaced. 
 
 Monsieur de Merinval was not satisfied with 
 sending every hour to inquire after the unfor- 
 tunate victim : he assumed courage during the 
 night to repair himself to Monsieur d'Audi- 
 court's; and addressing him with all the frank- 
 ness and ardour of genuine and profound grief, 
 he sought not to excuse Agatha, but merely
 
 1 f 6* INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 to convince the worthy magistrate of the seve- 
 rity of his own sufferings. " They are suffi- 
 ciently painted on your countenance," said 
 Monsieur d'Audicourt; "but endeavour to 
 conceal them from me, they only add to my 
 distress, and my own feelings are as much as 
 I can support at this moment." Monsieur de 
 Merinval, pierced to the soul by so affecting a 
 reply, asked as a particular favour that he 
 might see the young man, " that I may," said 
 he, " wash away, with my tears, the blood 
 which my unhappy daughter has caused to 
 flow." He could not survive the stroke, he 
 added, if he should be refused this only con- 
 solation.. 
 
 Monsieur d'Audicourt then conducted hira 
 himself to the bed where lay his son in a burn- 
 ing fever and delirium. At this moment he 
 never ceased repeating, sometimes with a feeble 
 and languid voice, at others with a violent and 
 exasperated tone, " Fatal beauty ! I die then 
 thy victim ! *-0 my father ! O my family I 
 and you my. good fellow citizens, yet, yet par- 
 don her !" Then in a few moments he pro- 
 ceeded in the most pathetic tone : " She is so 
 lovely ! the impression she made on me, even 
 at the first glance, was so profound fatal, 
 fatal beauty! O if her soul ! how I could 
 have loved her as a wife ! but I die for her ! 
 fatal pride ! lovely, unhappy Agatha ! par- 
 don her, pardon her, my father!" 
 
 Every word he uttered sunk to the very soul 
 q the. unfortunate Merinval, more unfortunate.
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 117 
 
 even than the parents who were thus cruelly- 
 deprived of their only hope and treasure. 
 Kissing a hundred times the icy hands of the 
 expiring youth, and bathing them with his 
 tears, he repeated in a voice broken with sobs, 
 " Fatal pride! wretched Agatha ! O ye, his 
 father, his family, pardon, pardon her I" Over- 
 come by this scene, Monsieur Merinval was 
 unable to reach his home without assistance, but 
 returned supported by the servants of Monsieur 
 d'Audicourt, and instantly repeated to his 
 daughter every word that had fallen from the 
 lips of her expiring victim. 
 
 How is it possible to describe the effect they 
 produced upon this unfortunate young crea- 
 ture! " How," said she in a tone scarcely 
 less distracted than that of the wounded youth, 
 " was 1 thus distinguished by the most amiable, 
 the most generous of mankind ? might I have 
 fixed his choice, perhaps have become his wife, 
 and have I been his murderer ? O wretched 
 pride ! O miserable Agatha ! I ought to 
 have been transported with the noble mind he 
 evinced, and I was insensible to it. Ah ! I 
 have destroyed my own happiness for ever." 
 
 The situation of young Audicourt, mean- 
 time, became" every hour more and more 
 alarming ; and in spite of the best assistance 
 that medical skill could offer, or the tenderest 
 cares that affection could bestow, after three 
 days of severe suffering his family were deprived 
 by the remorseless hand of death of their dear- 
 est, their only treasure. The grief of his pa-
 
 118 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 rents is not to be described ; the whole town 
 indeed was in such a state of consternation, 
 that it seemed as if some great public calamity- 
 had just occurred. But what were the feelings 
 of Agatha when she learnt that young Audi- 
 court had breathed his last ? In vain would 
 her father, if such had been his wishes, have 
 endeavoured to conceal it from her; the mur- 
 murs and imprecations uttered by the inhabi- 
 tants of the town, as they passed the door of 
 the house, would have sufficiently informed 
 her of the fatal event. " It is over then !" 
 said she wildly, " he is no more, and 'tis I 
 who am his murderer ! O with what horror 
 must my name inspire his parents, his family, 
 nay, every soul by whom it is heard ! Al- 
 ready I hear the cries of vengeance uttered by 
 his indignant townsmen, they pierce my ears, 
 they rend my soul ! Ah, my father, let us 
 fly ! let us banish ourselves for ever from 
 this place which gave birth to such a wretch ! 
 1 can never encounter the indignation I 
 must meet every time I appear ! O that 
 I could fly equally from my own thoughts!" 
 
 Monsieur Merinval was not insensible to the 
 justice of his daughter's apprehensions ; the 
 popular indignation was such that it was 
 scarcely safe for her to remain subjected to it ; 
 it was even carried to such a height, as to be 
 levelled not only against his wife and daughter 
 but against himself. Taking advantage, there- 
 fore, of a door in the garden belonging to his 
 house which opened upon the ramparts of the
 
 THE FIRST STEP IN THE WORLD. 119 
 
 town, he departed at night with his wife and 
 the unfortunate Agatha ; and getting into a car- 
 riage which was appointed to meet them just 
 without the gates, they fled to a country 
 house which he had at the distance of some 
 leagues. Agatha proceeded towards the car- 
 riage with tottering steps, supported by her fa- 
 ther ; when in the midst of the walk, with what 
 added horror was her soul impressed by hear- 
 ing the funeral bells over the whole town pro- 
 claim her guilt and the general loss! This 
 mournful and heart-rending sound nearly de- 
 stroyed the little strength she had remaining, 
 and it was not without the most painful efforts 
 that she could proceed to the appointed spot. 
 
 Madame de Merinval, hitherto insensible to 
 her own misguided conduct, was now obliged 
 to acknowledge, when too late, into what a pre- 
 cipice her pride and folly had plunged her un- 
 happy daughter. She saw herself constrained 
 to abandon for ever the ambitious projects she 
 had formed for her establishment in life, to re- 
 nounce all her lofty expectations. Monsieur 
 de Merinval, unable to bear the idea of ever 
 appearing again before the president D' Audi- 
 court at the bar at Nismes, lost that distinction 
 with which he had been honoured in the town, 
 and with it the source whence his fortune was de- 
 rived ; while Agatha, buried in her retreat, re- 
 mained without any other prospect than of 
 passing there the remainder of her sorrowful 
 days. Resting her whole hopes of consolation, 
 in a situation so forlorn, upon soothing and
 
 MO INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 tranquillizing the declining years of her pa- 
 rents, she never omitted relating her story to 
 any young women whom chance from that 
 time threw in her way, urging them to take 
 warning by her example, and bear constantly 
 in their minds this important truth, that the 
 "future happiness or -misery of our lives often 
 depends entirely upon the .first step v:e 
 
 JMAKE IN THE WORLD.
 
 121 
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORIAN. 
 
 .Monsieur Naze, one of the most celebrated 
 booksellers in Paris, whose opulence was 
 equalled by his integrity, was the father of a 
 numerous family. In proportion as they grew 
 up, his attention to his business red mbied } 
 and, as it always happens in a house wh.re in- 
 dustry and activity preclude the entranc '." 
 vice, all the children of this worthy man tu; fl- 
 ed out well, and surrounded him with happi- 
 ness superior to any other which can be expe- 
 rienced upon earth. 
 
 But it was not by his children alone that he 
 was tenderly beloved ; he was equally regarded 
 by all literary persons with particular affection 
 and esteem. He did not seek, like most of his 
 brethren, to enrich himself by the labour dud 
 talents of those who brought their works to him ; 
 his greatest pleasure was to see them obtain a 
 fair recompense for their toils j and when the 
 success of their productions was beyond his 
 expectations, lie never failed to maka them a 
 proper acknowledgement. He, in short, con- 
 sidered himself as the agent of literary men, 
 not as their plunderer and tyrant. 
 
 Monsieur Naze had had the happiness of 
 establishing eight of his children in the world, 
 who formed around him the interesting spec a- 
 cle, of eight worthy families. One only now
 
 122 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 remained with him, his youngest daughter, by 
 name Camilla. She was seventeen years old, 
 of an amiable character, and endowed with all 
 the good qualities that a careful education can 
 bestow. But, accustomed from her infancy 
 to hear scarcely any conversation at her father's 
 house, except on subjects of science and lite- 
 rature, she became enchanted by the eulogiums 
 that were every day made in her presence on 
 Sappho, on Mesdames Deshoulihes, Dacier, 
 ana 1 ' Duboccage. Thus by degrees she was 
 inspired with an ardent wish to imitate the mo- 
 dern females who were following the track of 
 these illustrious favourites of Apollo, .and de- 
 voted herself to poetry : every moment that 
 she could spare from the labours of the shop, 
 and the cares of the family, was dedicated to 
 it. Besides the literary meetings which were fre- 
 quently held at her father's house, the opportu- 
 nities afforded her by his business of procuring 
 the best models in this way increased her poe- 
 tical mania. For some time she kept her pas- 
 sion a secret ; but at last, from the blindness of 
 self-love, she could no longer keep it con- 
 cealed. She began by consulting, as if on the 
 part of a modest anonymous author, some very 
 intelligent men, on a few light pieces of poetry, 
 which she said had been confided to her with 
 a request that they might be submitted to their 
 judgement. These first essays presenting no- 
 thing remarkable, and being even deficient in 
 the rules of versification, only excited the 
 laughter of those to whom they were shown j
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORIANi 12fr 
 
 but although mortified to the quick, she was 
 not discouraged by such a check. She now 
 made it her business to study the rules of ver- 
 sification, and soon acquired a competent 
 knowledge of the construction of the different 
 kinds of verse most commonly used in mo- 
 dern poetry. Nothing is impossible to an ima- 
 gination led away by any prevailing taste, and 
 goaded on by offended self-love. Our young 
 Sappho armed with her rules applied again to 
 her profession, and presented some fresh pro- 
 ductions to the formidable committee ; but al- 
 ways in the name of the timid anonymous au- 
 thor. She had this time the satisfaction of 
 hearing it remarked, that there was no defect 
 in the versification, but as a balance it was ob- 
 served, that this was all which could be said ; 
 for though not incorrect, the poetry was weak, 
 inharmonious, and devoid of imagination. It 
 was indeed, decided that the anonymous wri- 
 ter was not intended by nature for a votary of 
 the Muses, and that a celebrated observation, 
 from a great poet, whose sentence was incon- 
 trovertible, might in this case be fairly applied, 
 " That to him Phoebus ivas deaf, and Pega- 
 sus restive." 
 
 Camilla was not yet intimidated ; and wish- 
 ing at whatever price it might cost her to pass 
 for a wit, she resolved to adopt the means 
 made use of by some would-be poets, who do 
 not scruple to appropriate the talents of others 
 to their own purposes. Our young muse was 
 now occupied night and day in turning over 
 g 2
 
 124 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 every collection of antient poetry she could 
 meet with ; she studied all the old chronicles 
 that were to be found in the well stored shop 
 of her father ; and when she discovered an un- 
 common or brilliant idea, she fashioned it after 
 her own manner, or rather disfigured it by 
 dressing it in a modern style ; after which her 
 composition was laid before her' inflexible 
 judges, but still in the name of the unknown 
 author. 
 
 Struck with the originality of ideas, and the 
 forcible expressions in the works now sub- 
 mitted to their decision, the judges immedi- 
 ately recalled their former sentence, and una- 
 nimously owned that the unknown author's 
 last productions announced true poetical ta- 
 lents, an inspiration emanating from Phoebus 
 himself. The good Monsieur Naze observed 
 in vain, that these ideas did not appear new to 
 him, that he was almost certain he' had seen 
 them before ; the literary court of judicature 
 attached no importance to any thing except 
 what had struck them ; and, presuming that it 
 was not easy to put old poetry into modern 
 language, determined the modest author to be 
 a legitimate son of Apollo, and charged Ca- 
 milla to transmit to him their warmest congra- 
 tulations. This gave her such excessive de- 
 light that she could retain her secret no longer, 
 but finished by betraying herself. All the 
 members of the committee immediately sur- 
 rounded her, praising her modesty, her perse- 
 verance, and spoke of her afterwards with ad-
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORIAN. 125 
 
 miration at their different societies. In a short 
 time, nothing was talked of but the poetical 
 > talents of Camilla Naze ; and notwithstanding 
 that her reputation was usurped, she saw herself 
 extolled to the skies in the public journals, and 
 cited as a tenth muse. 
 
 But, though dazzled by so flattering a 
 triumph, she could not reflect upon it without 
 owning to herself that it was one of which she 
 was unworthy. It is possible to fascinate a cre- 
 dulous and indulgent tribunal, but it is not pos- 
 . sible to escape from one's own conscience. 
 " Yet," she would say to herself, " the great- 
 est geniuses have borrowed original ideas from 
 their predecessors. Cornell le took the Cid 
 from William de Castro \ Molierc his Amphi- 
 tryon from Plautus ; and it is positively as- 
 serted that Madame Deshonlitres is not alto- 
 gether the author of the charming Idyll ad- 
 dressed to her Sheep. With such examples 
 before me, I may safely banish these scruples." 
 
 Monsieur Naze had a delightful house in 
 the village of Sccaux, where he assembled all 
 his children and many of his friends every 
 Sunday. It was close to the extensive park 
 belonging to the then Duke of Penthievre, a 
 man well known for his benevolence and the 
 simplicity of his manner of living. The Che- 
 valier de Florian, secretary lo this prince, was 
 very much attached to the estimable Monsieur 
 Naze ; and had made him the editor of a part 
 of those works which have classed him 
 amongst the most fertile and the most amiable
 
 126 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 of the French literati. He would often go in 
 a morning to talk with his bookseller, whose 
 merits he knew how to appreciate better than 
 any body, and from whom he had more than 
 once received advice which he found of great 
 utility. 
 
 Camilla, perceiving in Florian the same 
 talents which she was herself so desirous of 
 cultivating, experienced an inexpressible plea- 
 sure in consulting him upon her productions. 
 He, who united to the engaging suavity dif- 
 fused throughout his woiks, a playful satire in 
 his conversation, endeavoured to divert her 
 from the mania by which she was possessed to 
 pass for a wit. He pointed out to her all the 
 torments of a female author ; the sarcasms, 
 the calumnies, the contempt, the isolated life, 
 to which she is almost always condemned ; and 
 then made her remark her elder sisters, so 
 happy themselves in forming the happiness of 
 their husbands and families 5 recommending to 
 her to imitate them, to prefer the God Hymen 
 to the Muses, and choose for her Apollo a 
 good helpmate. 
 
 Camilla was far from yielding to this pru- 
 dent advice. Her enthusiasm and self-love led 
 her even to believe that her monitor was jea- 
 lous of the fame she was daily acquiring, and 
 feared one day to see her in a higher station 
 than himself upon Parnassus. She pursued 
 her favourite studies, therefore, with more zeal 
 than before, and took every opportunity of at- 
 tracting the public notice as a celebrated woman.
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORIAN. 12^ 
 
 A favourable circumstance for her soon oc- 
 curred. The birthday of her respectable fa- 
 ther was approaching ; and it was a custom 
 amongst his circle, that on that day some little 
 dramatic piece, suited to the occasion, should 
 be performed as a tribute of friendship from 
 the literary characters who most frequented 
 his society. On this occasion Camilla an- 
 nounced that she would furnish the entertain- 
 ment ; and she immediately set about compo- 
 sing a pastoral, the characters of which were 
 to be performed by the grandchildren of Mon- 
 sieur Naze ; among these there was one of 
 eight, and another of ten years old, who ap- 
 peared to be particularly intelligent. 
 
 But since this kind of poetry is not in gene- 
 ral appreciated as highly as it deserves, ge- 
 nuine talents and an enlarged mind are re- 
 quired to succeed in it, and above all a naivete 
 which young poets commonly disdain, as they 
 are emulous of raising themselves to the hea- 
 vens on their first flight. Camilla therefore 
 found it very difficult to compose her pastoral, 
 and would never have finished it but for the 
 resources she possessed in the library which 
 she had collected. Furnished with such ample 
 materials, she had only to make her choice 
 among them, to connect them together, and 
 to adapt them to the occasion ; and she often 
 retired to meditate on her arduous undertaking 
 in the beautiful country which surrounds the 
 village of Sccaux. About a week before the 
 important day, she was walking with some of
 
 128 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the family in a fine wood a mile and a half 
 from their house, when, loitering behind the 
 rest, her thoughts were wholly occupied by 
 her pastoral. Her companions seeing ner thus 
 absorbed did not dare to interrupt her, and, 
 walking on, left her at full liberty to indulge 
 in her poetical reveries. In the compilation 
 she had made she had endeavoured to write a 
 song full of naivete for the eldest of her little 
 nieces, who was as beautiful as an angel, and 
 was to play the principal character. This was 
 the only part wanting to complete the work ; 
 and so much delicacy of sentiment and expres- 
 sion was required in it, that she revolved if 
 over and over again in her mind, and tor- 
 mented herself in vain : she was unable to ac- 
 complish the task, and was almost in despair. 
 Nothing she found was more difficult than to 
 expres simple nature with fidelity. 
 
 In crossing a walk remote from that where 
 her family waited for her, she perceived some 
 tablets partly open, lying at the foot of a plane- 
 tree. 8he took them up, and casting her eyes 
 upon the first leaf, to see whose they might be, 
 she did not find any name, or any thing that 
 could indicate the owner. She ran over seve- 
 ral pages, and found first a variety of detached 
 passages, such as the following : 
 
 " Happy the soul of sensibility, to whom 
 the aspect of smiling fields, and the murmur 
 of the pebbly stream, afford a pleasure no less 
 affecting than that which arises from the per- 
 formance of a good action."
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORIAN. 129 
 
 <c To have nothing but for one's self, is to 
 have nothing at all." 
 
 " What can he do who is poor, yet has a 
 heart of sensibility ? Resolve not to love. - 
 Ah ! that is a greater ill than poverty itself!" 
 
 " Sweet- melancholy ! the tears occasioned 
 by thee, are to tender hearts like the gentle dew 
 to the blooming rose." 
 
 At length, among a great number of similar 
 thoughts, she came to three stanzas of poetry 
 in the same style. She read them several times 
 over, the ideas on which they were founded, 
 seemed to her so simple and full of naivete, 
 that she thought they could never be sufficient- 
 ly admired. They seemed to be written in the 
 character of a young shepherdess, and thus did 
 she pour out the artless effusions of her inno- 
 cent mind. 
 
 To tend my flocks is all my care, my pride, 
 On my dear lambs alone my bliss I vest ; 
 
 1 lead them to the limpid fountain's side, 
 And in their joy myself feel truly blest. 
 
 I see the dawn appear, the evening close, 
 Yet still no anxious fears or wishes prove ; 
 
 O how I prize this sweet, this calm repese ! 
 Nor wish to know that hapless infant, Love. 
 
 Be Love and wolves still fur from my retreat, 
 From wolves my dog protects my lambkins mild; 
 
 Nought but my crook have I, if Love I meet, 
 For my defence, Well, Love is but a child. 
 
 " How charming ! what exquisite simplicity!" 
 exclaimed Camilla, repeating the two last lines 
 of the third stanza, " Yes ! it is thus that 
 
 G 5
 
 130 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 nature expresses herself, and that innocence 
 speaks. Oh ! if I dared but to make use of 
 these stanzas in my pastoral, what honour they 
 would do me ! ... . Yet why not ? The tablets 
 do not indicate to whom they belong ; the 
 hand v/hich has written the verses is wholly 
 unknown to me ; perhaps they may have been 
 taken from one of those old collections that 
 are become public property ; I have found a 
 diamond, and I will adorn myself with it." 
 Then concealing the tablets, she rejoined her 
 family who were waiting for her, and an- 
 nounced that she had finished her pastoral ; 
 that nothing now was wanting but an air for 
 the new song she had been writing. 
 
 The next morning, the performers began to 
 rehearse this chef d"ceuvre of the muse of 
 Sceaux. A beautiful theatre was constructed 
 in the grove, which was to be illuminated 
 with coloured lamps. The birth- day arrived, 
 and a very numerous company assembled at 
 the appointed hour, amongst whom were many 
 of the literati of the time. An overture com- 
 posed by Dezede, inimitable in the light airy 
 simplicity of his style, was executed by the 
 most celebrated performers from Paris. The 
 grand-children of the happy Naze had re- 
 hearsed their characters so often with Camilla, 
 that they did ample justice to the pastoral, and 
 Droduced an astonishing effect. Every body 
 was surprised, and, after applauding with 
 ecstasy the amiable little actors, looked with 
 admiration at Camilla, who had never expe-
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORIAN. 131 
 
 rienced so happy a moment in her life. " What 
 a pure and flowing style!" exclaimed one of 
 the literati in the midst of the audience. " What 
 easy well-turned lines!" added another. "And 
 what appropriate and impressive ideas !" said 
 a third, "Bravo! bravissimo !" At length 
 came the song found in the tablets. The little 
 girl, on whom her aunt had inculcated that this 
 was the climax of the whole, sung the first 
 stanza with wonderful expression ; but in the 
 second the excess of her zeal put her entirely 
 out. She began the first line 
 
 I see the dawn appear, . . . 
 
 when she hesitated, and after repeating the same 
 words several times, " I see the dawn appear," 
 she was just about making a full stop. Florian, 
 however, impatient, no doubt, that the down did 
 not appear, and being near the stage, repressing 
 his inclination to laugh, very good-humouredly 
 whispered to the pretty shepherdess the remain- 
 der of the line " the evening close," after which 
 she went on very successfully. 
 
 Every body supposed that the whisperer had 
 been consulted by Camilla, and recollected this 
 stanza ; but she, having now no doubt that the 
 song was Florian's, and that he was the owner 
 of the tablets, felt a confusion that she had 
 scarcely power to conceal. The more she was 
 applauded and congratulated, the more severe 
 was her punishment, the more deeply she felt 
 the truth of what Florian had so often told her ; 
 while he, no less generous than delicate, would
 
 1.^2 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 not add to what she suffered by revealing the 
 plagiarism which had been committed. He 
 even endeavoured to calm her agitation, by say- 
 ing before all the company when the representa- 
 tion was over, that though he had indeed some 
 little hand in the song which had been sung, it 
 was the only part of the performance that he 
 had any knowledge of; the honour of it was 
 due entirely to its charming author. 
 
 The applauses bestowed on Camilla were 
 now more warm than ever; and she, still more 
 confused by the address and kindness of Flo- 
 rian, blushed and betrayed an emotion which 
 every body mistook for modesty, and honoured 
 it by still further applause. 
 
 Florian, nevertheless, desirous of ascertaining 
 whether the lesson he had given would produce 
 all the effect he expected, mixing in the general 
 conversation, casually mentioned that some 
 little time ago, as he was upon a walk, he lost 
 his tablets, which he very much regretted, since 
 they contained several fragments for his pas- 
 toral of Galatea, on which he had been occu- 
 pied for some months. " These, fragments,'* 
 he added, " can be of no use whatever to 
 the person who may have found them, and I 
 will engage to give a handsome reward to any 
 one who will bring them tome:" in saying 
 this he gave a significant glance at Camilla. 
 She understanding it perfectly, resolved to re- 
 store him his tablets ; and with this view retiring 
 to her apartment, she could not resist readmg 
 again, and with a new interest mixed with the
 
 THE TABLETS OF FLORTAN. 1S3 
 
 most lively gratitude, the fragments that it con- 
 tained, so full of amiable morality, and which 
 actually make a part of the charming pastoral of 
 Galatea. When she came to that line of the 
 song where her little songstress had stopped, 
 and which Florian had so naturally whispered 
 to her, she could not restrain an emotion of vex- 
 ation ; but recollecting how kindly he had 
 spared her self-love, and averted from her the 
 disgrace she deserved, she resumed her resolu- 
 tion, and the next morning sent him his tablets 
 with the following note written on the first 
 leaf: 
 
 " I return your treasure which I had the fool- 
 ish vanity to think of appropriating to myself. 
 The success 1 have obtained is owing to you, it 
 is the last usurpation of which I will ever be 
 guilty. The lesson you have given me will 
 always be present to my mind, and warmly ac- 
 knowledged in my heart. I renounce for ever 
 my poetical mania. Must I be also for ever 
 estranged from your friendship and esteem ? 
 
 " CaxMIlla Naze." 
 
 Florian could not read this apology from a 
 young romantic head, which he had brought 
 back to reason, without a lively emotion ; and 
 his success convinced him that it is not by 
 wounding self-love, but by managing it with 
 address that it must be brought to a sense of 
 its errors. As he wished to congratulate Ca- 
 milla on her resolution, and to do a a ay the fears 
 she testified with respect to him, he sent back 
 her messenger with the following answer :
 
 134 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 " I am much indebted to you, madam, for 
 the very great pleasure I experience in saving 
 from further ridicule, one who can boast the 
 possession of every virtue embellished by beauty. 
 Judge after such an acknowledgement whether 
 you have any reason to fear losing my friend- 
 ship and esteem ! Never forget that the Muses 
 are old coquets, who always prefer the men, 
 and are jealous of women, nor ever appear to 
 show them any favour but to torment them . For 
 this reason they are often at variance with the 
 Graces, who prefer the truth, naked as she may 
 be, and often repeat to them the following adage, 
 which I send to you as the recompense I pro- 
 mised to whoever might restore me my tablets. 
 
 " A woman who is good and amiable ivithout 
 extraordinary talents is a muck more valuable 
 character than a female wit. 
 
 " The Chevalier de Florjan."
 
 P. 136.
 
 135 
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS, 
 PAINTNG, MUSIC, AND DANCING. 
 
 JL o acquire a superficial knowledge of many 
 things, without attaining perfection in any, is 
 the mania of the day, the system of modern 
 education. Socijty is thus overrun with shal- 
 low minds, who talk on all subjects without 
 having reflected on any : parrots, as they may 
 be called, of the drawing-room, who go to retail 
 in one place what they have heard in another. 
 In this manner will the majority of those who 
 might be the ornaments of society, sacrifice the 
 lasting enjoyments of well cultivated minds, 
 and the most rational and durable happiness of 
 life, to the vain pleasure of shining for a few 
 hours in circles composed only of the trifling 
 and the flippant. 
 
 The three daughters of, Count Harcourt dis- 
 covered from their infancy very different tastes 
 and characters. The eldest, whose name was 
 Amanda, applied herself to painting ; the se- 
 cond, named Cecilia, cultivated music ; but 
 Charlotte, the youngest, wishing to possess a 
 variety of accomplishments, did not perfect her- 
 self in any one. " What nonsense," she 
 would say to her sisters, " with our rank, and 
 our fortune, not to familiarise ourselves with all 
 the arts 1 Amanda is ignorant of every thing 
 but her pictures $ Cecilia is only happy at her
 
 136 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 piano j I, who mean to enlarge the circle of 
 my ideas, and take advantage of the happy dis- 
 positions that I have received from nature, cul- 
 tivate at once dancing, music, painting and lan- 
 guages." 
 
 " It is very well," replied Amanda, " but as 
 each of the fine arts requires all one's time and 
 faculties, it necessarily follows that you can 
 make no progress in them ; and, with the ex- 
 ception of dancing, which you are certainly 
 mistress of in a very high degree, you must 
 own, my good Charlotte, that your knowledge 
 is not very great." 
 
 " I should die upon the spot," replied the 
 latter with vivacity, *' if I were obliged, like 
 you two, to pass whole days upon my seat, 
 with my mind fixed on the same object. I 
 must have motion, agitation, variety ; for which 
 reason I maintain that nothing is to be compared 
 to dancing. How delightful to skim over the 
 floor of an immense ball-room, like a zephyr 
 upon the surface of .the water ! What rapture, 
 to hear it said, as one passes die different groupes 
 of company, " How graceful, how airy ! what 
 elegance in her morion ! she might be taken 
 for Flora traversing the globe to announce the 
 return of spring." 
 
 " Such a triumph is, undoubtedly, very 
 gratifying," said Cecilia in her. turn, who had 
 just finished playing a very long and difficult 
 sonata, " but every thing has its enjoyments. 
 Can there be any thing more flattering, than 
 when one sits down to the piano, in a large circle,
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 137 
 
 to hear it whispered from one to the other, It is 
 Cecilia Harcourt, she plays divinely. I seat my- 
 self, looking round with a timid air, to make peo- 
 ple believe I am afraid, and claim their indul- 
 gence. I begin, and immediately there is a dead 
 silence, no creature moves even a finger, the 
 auditors scarcely draw their breath. After a 
 striking prelude that one gives oneself the air 
 of playing by heart, follows a sonata by Dussck, 
 the Storm by Steibelt, or some of the admirable 
 compositions of Mozart. Nobody can tell 
 which to prefer. What expression ! what a 
 brilliant finger ! is repeated on all sides. The 
 composers of these divine things could not have 
 executed them better themselves : I get up, a 
 thousand Bravos are heard immediately, the 
 gentlemen are all eager to conduct me to my 
 place ; every eye is fixed upon me, every body 
 crowds about me, congratulates me, and pro- 
 claims me a professor a professor ! is it pos- 
 sible that this should not a little turn one's 
 head ?" 
 
 " I can suppose," said Amanda, "how much 
 you must both enjoy such flattering success ; 
 but I prefer lasting happiness to transient ad- 
 miration, and therefore have devoted myself 
 to painting, because it conduces to more solid 
 enjoyment. You are both anxious to shine in 
 the great world, I am not inspired with a like 
 ambition. I am never more contented and 
 happy than when alone. The power of per- 
 petuating in my remembrance interesting sce- 
 nery which I may visit no more, a rural situa- 
 tion associated with some pleasing recollection,
 
 138 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the likeness of a friend, the flower that I have 
 cherished, is so gratifying and independent a 
 pleasure, that I would not exchange it for any 
 that other accomplishments can offer. I have no 
 satisfaction in those applauses that come from 
 the lips and are disowned by the heart. When 
 I am before my humble easel, I forget the uni- 
 verse of which I am retracing a minute part, 
 and find my employment wholly sufficient for 
 my happiness." 
 
 " Oh!" replied Charlotte, " you can never 
 make me believe that the whole days you pass 
 before your canvass, without dressing, and 
 smeared over with paint, are to be compared 
 to an evening at a b0i." " Nor to the sim- 
 plest concert," interposed Cecilia. " You de- 
 ceive yourselves, my dear sisters. The more I 
 consider my employment and yours, the more 
 I find reason to rejoice at having preferred an 
 art which keeps me on good terms with my- 
 self, and which will prove a valuable resource, 
 whatever may be my future situation." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh ! " said Charlotte, twirling 
 round on her feet, clapping her hands, and 
 humming the air of a waltz, " with our fortune 
 and family, we can only be destined to spend, 
 never to want." 
 
 " My dear Charlotte, we have seen people 
 whose opulence has been equal to ours, fall at 
 length under misfortunes." 
 
 " Well," observed Cecilia, " it appears to 
 me, that, in this case, music would present a 
 resource as well as painting." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, my dear Cecilia, if in cul-
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 139 
 
 tivating it you did not prefer execution to a 
 real knowledge of the science. To speak, freely, 
 your playing, though excellent, is only the ef- 
 fect of practice. You are ignorant even of the 
 first rules of harmony. If I were in your place, 
 I would, before six months were past, make 
 myself mistress of the theory of music. When 
 you have once attained this, you will have se- 
 cured a valuable acquisition for your whole life; 
 it will be a consolation to you under misfortune, 
 and a resource in indigence." 
 
 The three sisters would often dispute in this 
 manner when they were together ; and Cecilia, 
 who could not deny the justice of what Amanda 
 said, attempted several times to study harmony, 
 and not to confine herself merely to execution; 
 but the facility of shining by a talent that one 
 possesses renders the study required for a talent 
 that one has not, very irksome. Thus the young 
 professor, led away by her superficial taste, and 
 seduced by the praises that she never failed to 
 receive, contented herself with executing in a 
 very superior manner the pieces in which she 
 had perfected herself by dint of practice, 
 though she could not read a line of the easiest 
 music at sight. But while Cecilia and Char- 
 lotte were engrossing the applauses of crowds 
 as unthinking as themselves, the more retired 
 Amanda did not fail to obtain the just and ho- 
 nourable reward of her zeal and labour. With- 
 out making herself known as an artist, several 
 charming pictures of her painting were hung up 
 in the house, and gained the approbation of
 
 140 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 the best judges in the art. This impartial tes- 
 timony was a thousand times more grateful to 
 her than the reiterated acclamations that her 
 two sisters excited in the brilliant circles of 
 Paris. 
 
 At the memorable period of the Revolution, 
 which effected a total change in the destinies of 
 France, when so many fortunes were destroyed, 
 so much innocent blood was shed, and to which 
 numbers of those who were most distinguished 
 by birth or merit fell victims; neither Count 
 Harcourt nor his daughters escaped the general 
 proscription. They were first carried to the castle 
 of Saint Germain, in the neighbourhood of 
 which the Count had a considerable estate ; 
 he was afterwards transferred alone to Paris, to 
 one or those prisons whence no one ever ex- 
 pected to go out but to death. Escaping from 
 it, however, almost by a miracle, he was con- 
 cealed in the house of an old servant of his 
 father's, called Anthony, who lived in a hum- 
 ble dwelling on the banks of the Marne. Here, 
 for two years, he received every attention 
 which the circumstances of his protector could 
 afford ; but the latter having lost all his little 
 savings, owing to their being unluckily placed 
 in dishonest hands, was himself established in a 
 very humble situation, as a fisherman at Saint- 
 Maur just below the park of Vinccnnes. It was 
 by his assistance that the Count escaped, and 
 under his roof that he remained, disguised in a 
 mean dress, passing for his own relation. 
 
 To the utmost simplicity of taste and a love
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 141 
 
 of rural habits, which he derived from having 
 lived much in the country, Count Harcourt 
 united a most amiable disposition, so that he 
 found no difficulty in accommodating himself to 
 his new situation. 
 
 He was known only at Saint-Maur as the 
 cousin of Master Anthony, and he assisted 
 him in his labours, sometimes by rowing for 
 him upon the Marne, and sometimes by making 
 or repairing his nets. He even obtained a high 
 reputation in his profession, and passed for the 
 most expert fisherman thereabouts. 
 
 Sheltered from all danger by this happy ob- 
 scurity, he became at last attached to it ; gra- 
 tified by enjoying one of the noblest privileges 
 of man, the power of supporting his existence 
 and his liberty by his labour. He would wil- 
 linglv have renounced for ever the wealth and 
 rank to which he was born, and have passed 
 the rest of his life unknown under the simple 
 guise of a fisherman, in the cottage of Master 
 Anthony, if he could but have been joined by 
 his daughters. 
 
 Amanda, Cecilia, and Charlotte, were de- 
 tained in the castle of Saint-Germain, where 
 they had been at first confined with their father. 
 Left in the most cruel uncertainty as to his 
 fate, they had but little hope of hearing any 
 other intelligence of him than of his hav- 
 ing fallen a victim to their merciless persecu- 
 tors, when they one day received a note an- 
 nouncing that he was in safety. This was con- 
 veyed to them by means of the courageous
 
 142 .INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Anthony, who, pretending some family business, 
 obtained a passport to come to Saint-Germain, 
 and there contrived means to get access to 
 their prison. He found them together in a 
 small vaulted chamber, in one of the towers of 
 the castle, which had a grated window that 
 looked towards the country. They were wholly 
 ignorant as to the fate that might await them, 
 nor could form any conjecture why they had 
 been suffered to live so long ; the probability 
 seemed either that their sex and youth had dis- 
 armed the fury of their tyrants, or that they 
 were considered as of so little importance that 
 they were wholly neglected and forgotten. 
 
 Their joy was excessive on hearing all Master 
 Anthony's details respecting their father, and 
 he had scarcely breath to answer the number- 
 less questions they asked him, so much was he 
 affected by their gratitude, and confused by 
 their caresses. At last, after having consoled 
 them with the hope that they might one day 
 see their father again, he quitted them, to re- 
 turn and rejoice the Count with the intelligence 
 that his daughters were yet living ; equally in- 
 spiring him, in his turn, with the sweet hope 
 that he might yet before his death embrace his 
 children once more. 
 
 While Count Harcourt remained in this si- 
 tuation, as happy as he could be, separated 
 from his daughters, his property had all been 
 confiscated and sold. Thus, when the resources 
 which these young ladies had brought with them 
 were exhausted, they had no means of subsist?
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 143 
 
 ence beyond the general allowance made to all 
 prisoners, excepting what compassion for their 
 youth and misfortunes procured them, and they 
 were soon by the rapacity of their barbarous guards 
 reduced to the most bitter distress ; they were 
 even in want of some of the first necessaries of 
 life. Strange as it may appear, that those who 
 almost debarred them of the means of sustain- 
 ing their existence should allow them to retain 
 what they must have considered as absolute 
 superfluities, yet, besides the implements neces- 
 sary to Amanda's painting, they had still with 
 them a few books, a guitar, and a piano forte, 
 which had been sent to their prison by some 
 persons who were disposed to show them kind- 
 ness. 
 
 Cecilia, whose gratification in her music had 
 been founded only on the applauses of the 
 company before whom she played, now exer- 
 cised her fine talent of execution in vain ; the 
 tones of the piano, it is true, resounded through 
 the impenetrable vault under which she and 
 her sisters lived ; but, with the exception of 
 Amanda, who had always a pleasure in hearing 
 her, there was nobody to attend to or applaud 
 her. Charlotte, still constantly changing from 
 one pursuit to another without being steady to 
 any thing, was most commonly seated in an 
 attitude of negligence and mortification, doing 
 nothing ; or, if she took up a book, she soon 
 dropped asleep, and let it fall at her feet before 
 she had read many pages. Amanda, on the 
 contrary, was constantly employed in sketching
 
 144? INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 from the grated window the beautiful view 
 that it commanded ; and it was fortunately 
 one of the finest in the delightful environs of 
 Saint- Germain. 
 
 It had been made a question in the castle 
 whether Cecilia should not be deprived of the 
 instrument which was her only consolation, 
 but this was averted by the prudence and ad- 
 dress of Amanda. It occurred to her that she 
 might, by means of her talent for painting, be 
 able to soften the ferocity of their gaoler, as 
 she had no doubt that he would be susceptible 
 of any species of bribery ; she thought, besides, 
 that she might at the same time procure to her 
 sisters and herself some of the comforts 
 of which they were destitute. She therefore 
 applied to her painting with redoubled dili- 
 gence ; and when she had finished several pic- 
 tures of different kinds, she got them sold at 
 Paris by the assistance of the principal gaoler, 
 to whom she promised Half the profits for his 
 trouble. As the great merit of these produc- 
 tions always ensured him a ready sale for 
 them, he was assiduous in procuring the in- 
 dustrious artist whatever she had occasion for 
 to continue her labours; and though he de- 
 ceived her without any hesitation as to the real 
 prices he obtained for her works, he yet brought 
 her money sufficient to purchase many little 
 articles which softened to herself and her sisters 
 the rigours of their painful captivity. Thus 
 the dirty damp chamber that they inhabited 
 was furnished by degrees with all the appen-
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 145 
 
 dages necessary to their different occupations, 
 and became a kind of repository of the arts 
 which almost obliterated the recollection of 
 its being a prison. 
 
 Cecilia and Charlotte, whose levity and va- 
 nity were insensibly subdued by their confine- 
 ment, never ceased expressing their gratitude 
 to their sister, and acknowledging the advan- 
 tage of cultivating one talent to perfection. 
 " Oh ! if ever we are released from this castle," 
 said the former, " with what steadiness and 
 zeal will I devote myself to the study of har- 
 mony and composition !*' " Since we cannot 
 contribute by our talents/' added the latter, 
 " to relieve our fate, we must, my good Cecilia, 
 devote ourselves day and night to needle- work, 
 in order to assist Amanda in defraying thegeneral 
 expenses of oar existence ; we have hitherto 
 depended entirely upon her, which is taxing 
 her exertions too far." 
 
 " Do not say so," replied Amanda, pressing 
 her sisters to her heart ; " for it has procured 
 me, even in the bosom of captivity, the greatest 
 happiness I ever enjoyed in my life. Let me 
 still supply those means which have placed us 
 out of the reach of indigence, and soothed our 
 calamities." 
 
 To such generous affection Cecilia and Char- 
 lotte could only reply by returning her em- 
 braces, for their hearts were tow full to speak. 
 But, ashamed now of continuing to live in idle 
 dependence, they exerted themselves to be- 
 come proficients in the use at the needle, that 
 
 H
 
 14G INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 by their labours they might contribute towards 
 the general stock. Not that they wholly re- 
 nounced their other pursuits ; on the contrary, 
 they made a daily progress in them ; and thus, 
 by the present tenor of their lives, converted 
 their misfortunes into a blessing. 
 
 But that Providence who always watches 
 over the unfortunate, and sooner or later ex- 
 tends its protecting hand towards them, soon 
 awarded to the good and generous Amanda 
 the still greater recompense of finding in her 
 talent a fresh source of comfort, a recompense 
 worthy of her courage and resignation. 
 
 In looking over a parcel of brushes and can- 
 vass which the gaoler had just brought her from 
 l?aris, her eye was caught by something writ- 
 ten in pencil upon one of the pieces of canvass ; 
 when on examining it she read as follows: " Take 
 notice of the handle to the largest brush/* 
 Surprised, and trembling with emotion, she 
 took up the brush eagerly ; when she perceived 
 that the handle screwed together in the middle, 
 and opening it she drew out a letter from her 
 father, accompanied by the following note: 
 *' Put your answer into the handle of this 
 brush ; say that it does not suit you, and re- 
 turn it by the gaoler." 
 
 Amanda and her sisters, overjoyed at re- 
 ceiving intelligence from this tenderest of fa- 
 thers, which re-assured them anew as to his 
 fate, and desired information irom them re- 
 specting their cruel situation, read and kissed 
 the letter a hundred and a hundred times.
 
 THE UNION* OF THfc TyftEE ARTS. 147 
 
 They lost no time in replying to all their affee- 
 tionate parent's inquiries, and enclosed their 
 united answer in the manner indicated, sub- 
 joining these words : " We trust to you our 
 secret and our lives. We are ignorant who 
 you may be ; but Heaven will no doubt con- 
 descend to our wishes, and in time gratify us 
 with knowing to whom we are so much in- 
 debted." 
 
 Amanda gave the brush to the gaoler, who 
 went the same day to Paris, and carried it back 
 to its original owner. He pretended to make 
 some difficulty about taking it again, but at 
 last exchanged it for another, which the for- 
 midable Argus punctually delivered to his 
 " dear prisoner,** as he called Amanda. She 
 on her part, when he brought it, could not 
 resist asking him the name of the person at 
 whose shop he bought her colours and can- 
 vass. " It is Bernard," replied the gaoler 
 bluntly, " the dealer in pictures, who lives 
 in the Louvre ; yours have all been sold to 
 him. Oh, he is a connoisseur ! and I have 
 promised never to carry your pictures to any 
 body else ; he cheapens terribly, but he pays 
 well." These words were to Amanda like a 
 ray of light after a long storm. She knew 
 that this Bernard was a most respectable man, 
 to whom her father had rendered some impor- 
 tant services j and she did not doubt that he 
 was in this way endeavouring to requite thenu 
 A thought now suddenly struck her, that by 
 his means she might be able to transmit one of 
 H2
 
 148 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 her performances to Saint- Maur ; and she told 
 her gaoler that she was going to begin a new 
 picture, which would be finished as soon as 
 possible, and which, she added in a significant 
 manner, she hoped would fetch a good price. 
 
 As soon as the three sisters were alone, and 
 had repeated their blessings on the ingenious 
 Bernard, they examined the last brush that 
 had been sent, and found the handle similar to 
 that of the former. They took advantage of 
 this happy device to keep up a regular corre- 
 spondence with their father, and it was carried 
 on in the same manner for .near a year, in de- 
 fiance of those by whom they were so narrowly 
 watched. 
 
 Amanda, satisfied that the picture which 
 she .projected would only pass from the hands 
 of the worthy Bernard into those of her father, 
 yielded to the full impulse of her imagination, 
 and exerted all the powers of her genius to 
 present the latter with the most impressive 
 pledge which could be devised of her filial 
 piety. ; She represented herself sitting in the 
 old room they inhabired, holding in her hand 
 a miniature portrait of him, and looking at it 
 with an air expressive of her regret at their 
 long and cruel separation. Cecilia and Char- 
 lotte were standing near her, with their 
 attention fixed on the same object. They 
 were all striking likenesses, and their coun- 
 tenances seemed expressive of one united sen- 
 timent, as if offering up an inward prayer to 
 Heaven to bless the object whose likeness they
 
 THE UNION. OF THE THREE ARTS. 14& 
 
 were contemplating. In order to promote their 
 interests with the gaoler by flattering his self- 
 love, she had the address to introduce him on 
 one side of the picture sweeping out their forlorn 
 habitation, and regarding his unfortunate pri- 
 soners with a degree of interest which he could 
 not resist. In different parts of the picture 
 were her own easel, Cecilia's piano-forte, and 
 a table, on which were some pieces of Char- 
 lotte's needle-work with a few books. Every 
 thing was depicted with equal character, deli- 
 cacy and truth. Even the impenetrable walls 
 which separated them from a world of which 
 they were formed to be the pride and ornament, 
 were so forcibly characterized, that they excited 
 a lively sympathy for the sufferers enclosed 
 within them. The very dampness of the vault 
 seemed to be felt, and the old pillars appeared 
 mouldering away, even as the eye was wander- 
 ing over them. A ray of sunshine from the 
 grated window fell upon the three sisters, 
 seeming to re-animate their bosoms, and an- 
 nounce the end of their misfortunes. 
 
 " Take this," said Amanda, when she 
 placed her production in the gaoler's hand, " I 
 have here done my utmost, and if 1 am not mis- 
 taken, it will produce us a handsome sum of 
 money." " It is you 1" exclaimed the gaoler, 
 " and your sisters. Ha ! and this is me, with 
 my woollen cap upon my head, my pipe in my 
 mouth, the bunch of keys at my girdle, and 
 that watchful eye that nothing can escape. 'Tis 
 very like indeed." *< Tell the dealer," added
 
 150 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Amanda, " that these are the three daughters 
 of Count Harcourt in their prison ; and I am 
 sure that, though hastily done, he will give you 
 twice as much for this as any of my other 
 pictures." W Oh, let me alone, 1 know my 
 business," replied the gaoler ; and the first mo- 
 ment that he could venture to absent himself 
 from the castle for awhile, he hastened to 
 Monsieur Bernard. At sight of the picture 
 the good man could scarcely restrain his emo- 
 tions, or forbear bursting into tears j but as- 
 suming a sharp and abrupt tone, with the 
 affected indifference of a dealer who wants to 
 make a good bargain, he said at first that he 
 never bought family picures. " Only look, 
 however," returned the gaoler, " at these 
 three pretty ladies. And then here is myself, 
 and what is more, though I am a gaoler, you 
 see I look as if I had some pity in me : this is 
 so uncommon, that 1 am sure it ought to make 
 the thing of great value." " I must own," 
 replied Bernard significantly, " that this does 
 not produce an ill effect in trie picture, and to 
 tell you the truth, it is for the sake of that 
 principally I take it : what do you ask for it l" 
 " Twenty-five pounds at the lowest. " 
 " Twenty-five pouiids ! It is as much as I can 
 do to afford half the money, and I would not 
 even give that if it were not for your being 
 there; for I expect that will some day do you 
 great honour, and acquire you the esteem of 
 all good people." " Well then, let it be twelve 
 pounds, but I must have ready money."" i
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 151 
 
 never buy any thing on credit." Bernard im- 
 mediately paid the gaoler twelve pounds, from 
 which the latter first deducted a third for himself, 
 and then divided the remainder with Amanda, 
 protesting that he had sold her production for 
 only the doubleof what he gave her. She, whose 
 principal interest in the sale was to present her 
 father with a tender proof of the duty and af- 
 fection of his children, affected to be perfectly 
 satisfied, and would willingly even have given 
 him the half of what he brought her, if the 
 money had not been necessary to their own 
 subsistence. 
 
 What Amanda wished and hoped immedi- 
 ately took place. The worthy picture-dealer 
 hastened to Saint-Maur without delay, accom- 
 panied by his new purchase. When he arrived 
 there, Count Harcourt was absent fishing with 
 his faithful Anthony. Monsieur Bernard took 
 advantage of his absence to prepare him the 
 most agreeable surprise possible at his return. 
 Intrusting his secret to the good fisherman's 
 wife, and making her promise not to reveal 
 it to the Count, he hung the picture near his 
 bed; and as no time had been afforded for fram- 
 ing it, he wreathed it round with a garland, 
 composed of roses, lilies, and everlastings 5 
 which done, he hastened back to Paris. 
 
 In the evening the Count and his companion 
 returned, after having had a most successful 
 day's work. When their little supper was over 
 and their usual conversation at an end, the
 
 152 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Count took a lamp, and retired to his humble 
 apartment ; where, notwithstanding the con- 
 tent with which he bore his own lot, he often 
 indulged in the most melancholy reflections on 
 the fate of his daughters. Such was the dis- 
 position of his mind, when on entering the 
 room his eyes were instantly caught by the 
 testimony of filial piety newly placed near his 
 bed. It is impossible to describe his surprise 
 and emotion. He exclaimed aloud, he ex- 
 tended his arms towards these faithful resem- 
 blances of the only treasures remaining to him 
 in the world, tears streamed down his venerable 
 cheeks, and he exclaimed in broken accents, 
 " My children ! . . . . my dear, dear children !" 
 On hearing his exclamation the fisherman 
 and his wife ran into the room, and, seeing 
 what had thus affected him, could not suffi- 
 ciently admire the picture, or find words to ex- 
 press their pity for the Count at being separated 
 from such charming creatures. " They seem 
 to speak to me/' resumed the Count, " to 
 call me father !" Then observing the wreaths 
 of flowers, " And these flowers," he added, 
 " are truly emblematic of them ; the lilies and 
 the roses represent their innocence and their 
 bloom, and the everlastings their affection for 
 me. This is Bernard's doing, I am sure. 
 Nobody but he could have been the interpre- 
 ter between me and my children in such a 
 manner. There is no one but this worthy ex- 
 cellent man, who could have conceived so
 
 THE UNION OF THE' THREE ARTS. 153 
 
 happy an idea: Oh! how much that idea adds 
 to the delight received from the picture itself! " 
 
 Anthony's wife could not now retain the' 
 secret any longer, but owned that it was Mon- 
 sieur Bernard's doing. Some days after he re- 
 turned with a magnificent frame, and, putting 
 the picture into it, replaced it in its former 
 situation. Count Harcourt, after testifying the 
 utmost gratitude to the discreet agent of his 
 daughters, charged him with conveying a letter 
 to them, in which he forcibly expressed the 
 supreme pleasure that the dear resemblances 
 of them had given him. " Till now,'* he 
 said, " I have dreaded the moment when, re- 
 tiring alone to my small apartment, silence and 
 solitude left me a prey to the keenest regrets 
 at the fate which separates us. At present I 
 give up my daily occupations with a lighter 
 heart ; and when I have fulfilled my labour, 
 and have been successful in fishing for my 
 faithful host, I return with joy to the cottage, 
 and run to see you, my beloved children. I 
 only leave you to take a moderate supper, and 
 when it is over hasten to converse with you, 
 till a sweet sleep closes my eyelids. On awaken- 
 ing in the morning I greet you with my bless- 
 ing, and go to my day's work in the happy 
 assurance of seeing you again when it is over. 
 O my good Amanda, to you do I owe this in- 
 expressible pleasure ! from your talents is de- 
 rived the consolation that lulls me into a sweet 
 forgetfulness of my sufferings ! May Heaven 
 doubly bless and reward you for it !" 
 ii 5
 
 154 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 Count Harcourt from this time never failed, 
 morning and evening, to contemplate with the 
 tenderest affection the portraits of his daughters, 
 and to talk with them as if they could hear and 
 answer him : when he went out, he threw a 
 veil over the picture to conceal it from indis- 
 creet observation. 
 
 The time at length came when this tender 
 father was re-united to his children. The 
 gloomy horizon which had so long encircled 
 France, and brought upon her such tremendous 
 storms, began to brighten ; Justice regained her 
 sword and balance, of which Anarchy had long 
 deprived her ; and at her aspect the execrable 
 reign of Violence ceased ; Terror fled in her 
 turn affrighted and appalled ; proscriptions 
 were at an end, and the doors of the prisons 
 were thrown open. 
 
 Count Harcourt, through the zeal and ex- 
 ertions of the indefatigable Bernard, was not 
 long in obtaining his liberty. The first use 
 he made of it was to solicit that of his daugh- 
 ters, and when obtained he hastened him- 
 self to bring them back from their prison. 
 Bernard, their generous protector, and the good 
 Anthony were present at a meeting so deeply 
 affecting to all parties. The Count and his 
 daughters seemed scarcely able to believe that 
 they were actually re- united, and in the 
 tenderest embraces gave way to the overflow- 
 ing of their hearts. 
 
 Cecilia and Charlotte, who for more than 
 a year had been entirely devoted to their dif-
 
 THE UNION OF THE THREE ARTS. 155 
 
 ferent pursuits, now defied the power of misfor- 
 tune to reduce them again to misery ; they had 
 acquired resources within themselves, which 
 might equally be applied either to relieving 
 them from a state of poverty, or to soothing 
 them under the afflictions of the mind. 
 
 " It is to your sister," added the Count, 
 " in conjunction with the forcible lesson of 
 your late situation, that you owe this inestima- 
 ble advantage. O my dear Amanda, recapi- 
 tulate with me all the blessings derived from 
 the talent you have so well cultivated. It has 
 amused, and often even made you forget your 
 captivity ; it has saved you and your sisters 
 from some of its worst horrors ; it has deceived 
 the vigilance of your guards, and procured 
 your unhappy father the greatest consolation 
 he could receive in his misfortunes j it has 
 given the good Bernard an opportunity of ac- 
 quitting himself towards me ; it has corrected 
 the foibles of your sisters ; and will now, with 
 their joint assistance, place us above that want 
 into which the loss of our fortune has plunged 
 us." 
 
 The Count's loss of fortune was, however, 
 only temporary ; as he had not quitted France, 
 his property was soon restored to him. The 
 first use he made of it was to secure to the good 
 Anthony and his wife an annuity, that made 
 their old age comfortable and happy. He 
 then remitted to the generous Bernard the seve- 
 ral sums paid by him to the avaricious gaoler 
 for Amanda's pictures, and insisted on his
 
 156 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 keeping the collection, reserving only to him- 
 self that of his daughters in their prison : this 
 he placed in his drawing-room at Paris, engrav- 
 ing underneath it the following inscription : 
 
 " A superficial knowledge of many acquire- 
 ments produces merely levity and conceit. To 
 cultivate only such as we can carry to some per- 
 fection, is to secure the means of amusing our 
 leisure, of supporting the misfortunes of life, 
 and of promoting the happiness of all around 
 us."
 
 /'/
 
 157 
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 
 
 No festival can he complete which is not shared vy the 
 indigent and the unfortunate. 
 
 JL he impression made upon my mind by the 
 relation of a fact of which one of my relatives 
 was the fortunate witness, makes me hope, my 
 Flavia, that it may produce an equal effect upon 
 thine. It will, I trust, interest thee more par- 
 ticularly, by the amiable picture it presents of 
 a venerable old man, whose presence I have 
 sometimes seen thee eagerly seek. This anec- 
 dote, in giving a just idea of the most exem- 
 plary piety, may be a lesson to overstrained mo- 
 ralists, who censure severely some of the most 
 delightful sallies of the virtuous mind. It for- 
 cibly illustrates to those hard-hearted egotists 
 who think only of themselves to those sense- 
 less Sibarites, who, sunk in the bosom of plea- 
 sure and luxury, never bestow a thought on 
 the numerous sons and daughters of misery by 
 whom they are surrounded, of how much hap- 
 piness they fatally deprive themselves. 
 
 Paris will long cherish with the warmest 
 gratitude and affection, the memory of that ve- 
 nerable patriarch, who for nearly a century 
 was the admiration of his country, the model 
 to all people of real worth and goodness, of 
 that excellent pastor, who amid the wildest
 
 158 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 tempests remained the faithful guardian of his 
 flocks ; of that prince of the church, who by 
 his merits may be said to have increased the 
 lustre of the Roman purple ; in a word, of 
 the Cardinal du Belloy. It is sufficient to name 
 him, to point out at once the most indulgent pon- 
 tiff, the most enlightened minister, the father of 
 the poor, the support of the unfortunate, the 
 representative on earth of that God whose 
 goodness he constantly endeavoured to imi- 
 tate. 
 
 The eminent rank to which his virtues raised 
 him, made no change in the mildness and 
 gentlenevss of his habits, nor in the affecting 
 simplicity of his character. His palace was 
 open to every body ; it was sufficient to be un- 
 fortunate, to obtain ready access to it. The 
 time which he could spare from his devotions 
 was consecrated to administering to the tem- 
 poral or spiritual wants of others. Occupied 
 incessantly with endeavouring to make the re- 
 ligion of which he was the apostle, beloved by 
 its votaries, ho never suffered his benevolent 
 hands to wield the poniards of fanaticism. 
 Convince, but do not tyrannize ! such was his 
 motto. To command any one to believe, was, 
 according to his opinion, to destroy faith - r but 
 to engage confidence by true piety, to persuade 
 by example, to soften by charity, to subdue 
 the heart by moderation and tolerance these 
 were the only arms with which this admirable 
 prelate endeavoured to make converts these 
 were the means he employed to attract the love
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 159 
 
 and respect of those by whom he was sur- 
 rounded. 
 
 It was above all when he officiated at the 
 church of Notre Dame that he experienced a 
 delight by which he was so much affected, 
 that it even sometimes made his voice falter, 
 and brought tears of rapture into his eyes. 
 This temple, vast and magnificent in itself, and. 
 rendered still more remarkable by the memo- 
 rable events which have taken place within its 
 bosom, could then scarcely contain the crowds 
 that thronged to it to contemplate their ho- 
 noured pastor, the pride and glory of the coun- 
 try. The most celebrated men of all classes 
 and of ail religions were to be seen there ; 
 citizens and foreigners followed him as he 
 passed along, eager to see and admire that 
 venerable head, where, beneath the snow, of 
 nearly a hundred winters, so much life and 
 animation still appeared, so much mildness, 
 yet so much dignity. All were eager to re- 
 ceive his blessing ; all invoked blessings upon 
 him. 
 
 Those who study nature, and the different 
 characters of men, have often remarked that 
 persons of true piety always bear in their coun- 
 tenance that tranquil delight which is produced 
 by the calm that reigns in the soul from the 
 constant habit of doing good ; and the mild 
 gaiety which reigned in the countenance of the 
 Cardinal du Belloy was a strong illustration 
 of this truth. In the confined circles of friend-
 
 160 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 ship, as in the midst of the most numerous as- 
 semblies, the smile that indicated the love of 
 society constantly illumined his countenance ; 
 he listened with pleasure to the anecdotes of 
 the day, to the sprightly sallies that enliven 
 conversation without offending against religion 
 and good morals ; he loved an innocent joke, 
 nor took offence at the little gallantries which 
 form so distinguishing a feature of the French 
 character. 
 
 He was bishop of Marseilles when the hard - 
 ships of a very severe winter extended them- 
 selves even to the southern provinces of France. 
 Recalling, by his virtues, the idea of the cele- 
 brated Monsieur de Belzunce, who distinguish- 
 ed himself so highly by his piety and devotion 
 to the service of his fellow-citizens at the disas- 
 trous epoch when the plague made such ravages 
 in that city, Monsieur du Belloy was unwea- 
 ried in the distribution of alms, in administer- 
 ing relief and consolation to the abodes of 
 misery. He did not delegate to others this ho- 
 nourable employment ; he reserved it for him- 
 self, and by his revered presence doubled the 
 benefits which he conferred. He had a large 
 fire kindled every day in the court-yard before 
 his palace, round which were constantly assem- 
 bled a number of the poor, particularly maim- 
 ed and disabled mariners. He often joined 
 them, and, entering into conversation with 
 them, exhorted them to brave the rigours of 
 the cold, and set them the example of it him-
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 161 
 
 self. The gates of his palace were always 
 thronged with a grateful multitude, who, the 
 moment they saw their pastor and benefactor, 
 made the air resound with their shouts and 
 blessings : it seemed as if it was an adored 
 father appearing among his numerous family. 
 His mansion had rather the appearance of an 
 hospital, than of the abode of grandeur and 
 opulence. 
 
 The cold, however, diminishing towards the 
 end of January, the greater part of these un- 
 fortunate objects were then enabled to resume 
 their occupations, and the episcopal palace was 
 no longer surrounded except by a few infirm 
 old men who were unable to work. The good 
 bishop, relieved from a great part of the cares 
 which his benevolence had imposed upon him, 
 thought that he might now be permitted to give 
 a grand dinner, according to his usual custom 
 at this season of the year, to those persons of 
 the town who were his most usual visitors. 
 Among others invited to this dinner was the 
 Commandant of the place, with his wife and their 
 only daughter Emily. This young lady, though 
 scarcely yet sixteen years of age, was already 
 celebrated throughout the town for the sweet- 
 ness and benevolence of her disposition, for 
 her attention to the poor, and for the kindness 
 with which her charities were always distri- 
 buted. The pious bishop had often met with 
 her in his own visits to the abodes of indigence, 
 where, accompanied only by an elderly woman, 
 who was more of a friend than a governess, she
 
 162 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 was occupied in administering consolation to 
 those who stood in need of it. To increase 
 the charm of her good works, she always de- 
 sired that they might remain a secret between 
 herself and those who were benefited by 
 them. 
 
 Monsieur du Belloy received the young 
 Emily with a peculiar degree of kindness and 
 interest. While he was occupied in doing the 
 honours of his house to his guests, Emily 
 placed herself by a window which looked upon 
 the court, where being recognised by some of 
 the poor and infirm, who were always attending 
 about the house, they were holding up their 
 hands to her in attitudes of supplication. She 
 was at first on the point of yielding to the emo- 
 tions which such a spectacle could not fail of 
 exciting in a bosom like hers, and opening the 
 window to throw them out what money she 
 had about her j but, on a moment's reflection, 
 she thought that this would have been arrogat- 
 ing to herself the rights of her venerable host ; 
 that it belonged to him alone to relieve the sup- 
 plicants who presented themselves before his 
 palace. What above all excited her com- 
 passion, and her regret that she did not think 
 herself justified in bestowing her alms at the 
 moment, was a young woman with two chil- 
 dren by her side, and a third in her arms which 
 she was suckling ; she had the appearance of 
 a foreigner, and, by her manner, it seemed evi- 
 dent that asking alms was not a thing to which 
 she had been accustomed. Her paleness and
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 163 
 
 the feebleness of her steps indicated, as Emily 
 thought, that it was long since she had taken 
 any food, and the signs she made seemed to 
 say, that her child sought in vain at her breast 
 the nourishment of which it stood in need. 
 
 Emily, with her eyes fixed upon this unfor- 
 tunate creature, experienced emotions which 
 she scarcely knew how to control, and would 
 perhaps have yielded to them, had not dinner 
 been at that moment announced. The worthy 
 prelate giving his hand to her mother, the 
 whole company followed into the dining-room; 
 but the bishop as he quitted the room, casting 
 his eyes on Emily, perceived her emotions, and 
 was anxious to learn the cause of them. His 
 astonishment and curiosity were not a little in- 
 creased, by observing that at dinner she ac- 
 cepted every thing offered to her with an extra- 
 ordinary avidity, and gave a part immediately 
 to one of her father's servants who waited be- 
 hind her chair, with which he instantly went 
 out of the room, returning only to receive 
 something else from the hands of Emily, which 
 again he carried away. The delight that spark- 
 led in her eyes, and the significant signs made 
 to her by the servant, increased the good 
 bishop's curiosity to such a degree, that 
 when dinner was over he could not help apply- 
 ing to his fair guest for an explanation of the 
 mystery. 
 
 She on her part, confident that what she had 
 done could not fail of being approved by such
 
 164 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 a man as her host, frankly acknowledged the 
 constraint she had been obliged to put upon 
 herself in not assisting the poor whom she had 
 seen from the window ; but that the appeals 
 made by the young woman to her compassion 
 were wholly irresistible, nor could she forbear, 
 though she acknowledged it to be an encroach- 
 ment upon him, administering the relief he had 
 witnessed. " Indeed, sir," said she with the 
 sweetest and most affecting tone and manner, 
 '* I thought that a mother suckling her child 
 ought not to suffer hunger at the gates of your 
 palace ; and I felt assured of your concurrence 
 with my sentiments, that No festival can be 
 complete ivhich is not shared by the indigent 
 and the unfortunate." 
 
 " You are in the right, madam," replied 
 the venerable prelate, taking her hands respect- 
 fully, and pressing them between his ; " these 
 are sentiments indeed worthy of you. The 
 pious maxim you have inculcated cannot be 
 too strongly enforced ; I promise you that it 
 shall often be repeated by me ; and when I cite 
 you as the model for young people of your 
 age, when I represent you as one of the fairest 
 and most virtuous of your sex, I shall say, after 
 you, that No festival can be complete which is 
 not shared by the indigent and the unfortu- 
 nate." 
 
 The Commandant and his wife were not less 
 affected than the good bishop with the senti- 
 ments Emily had expressed, and the congratu-
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 165 
 
 lations they received from all the company pre- 
 sent rilled thoir bosoms with the most delightful 
 transports that can be experienced by parents. 
 
 A short time after, the next house to that 
 in which the Commandant resided took fire, 
 from the imprudence of the owner, who was 
 a turner, going with a candle into his work- 
 room. The flames had already begun to catch 
 one of the wings of the Commandant's house, 
 and it would perhaps have been reduced to 
 ashes but for the eagerness of the people in 
 rendering every assistance possible to save it. 
 Such were the zeal and assiduity shown by all 
 for its preservation, that they seemed like chil- 
 dren anxious to save the property of a parent. 
 Those, above all, who had been the objects of 
 Emily's benevolence were eager to evince their 
 gratitude by their exertions in her father's ser- 
 vice. The fire was consequently stopped be- 
 fore it had done any injury of importance to the 
 Commandant's house ; but the poor turner's 
 was reduced to ashes, and himself with a nu- 
 merous family deprived entirely of their means 
 of support. 
 
 This misfortune happened just before the 
 season when it was usual for the Commandant 
 to give a grand ball to the officers of the gar- 
 rison and the principal inhabitants of the town. 
 A very long gallery, which ran from one wing 
 of the house to the other, was on this occasion 
 elegantly decorated with beautiiul chandeliers, 
 interspersed with flowers and treillage. All that 
 taste, opulence and rank could devise was
 
 166 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 combined to render the entertainment one of 
 the most splendid ever given in the place. 
 Emily had planned every thing which she 
 thought could be most pleasing and gratifying 
 to the young people of her own age ; and she 
 herself, who was to preside as queen of the 
 ball, was presented with a crown of white 
 roses, as a symbol of the purity of her soul. 
 The company consisted of more than twelve 
 hundred persons, all of whom were emulous to 
 appear with the utmost splendour that their 
 rank and fortunes would permit. 
 
 The good bishop, without being the enemy 
 of innocent pleasures, yet on occasions such as 
 these seldom passed the evening out of his own 
 palace. As he returned after dinner to his 
 usual sitting-room, he said to his servant, " Si- 
 mon, you must have my robes ready, I shall 
 go out this evening at eleven j order the 
 coachman to prepare my state-carriage with my 
 two best horses, and all my servants to be in 
 their best liveries." The servant looked sur- 
 prised, and observed that he supposed his lord- 
 ship was going to some great christening or 
 marriage. " I am going to fulfil an important 
 duty," said the bishop; " so observe that 
 every thing is ready according to my direc- 
 tions." 
 
 The servant executed the orders punctual ly, 
 and at the hour appointed the carriage was at 
 the door, and the prelate appeared dressed in 
 his episcopal robes. The orders they had re- 
 ceived occasioned abundant speculation among
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 167 
 
 the servants, and each had his conjecture as to 
 their worthy master's motives in this nocturnal 
 sally. As he got into the carriage he said to 
 the footman who held the door, " To the hotel 
 of the Commandant." " My lord !" said the 
 man, almost stupefied with astonishment. fi Did 
 you not hear?" said the bishop ; " To the hotel 
 of the Commandant." " My lord does not 
 know, perhaps, that there is a great ball there 
 to-night V " I know it very well." " That 
 ail the young people, and all the military offi- 
 cers, are there?" " I know it very well," 
 said the bishop, smiling, " and intend to make 
 one of the party." The servant then shut the 
 door of the carriage, and gave his order to the 
 coachman, " To the hotel of the Commandant." 
 " What do you mean, you fool, with your 
 Commandant ?" " I thought, like you, that I 
 did not hear right ; but there you are to go." 
 " Don't tell me, I'm sure his lordship would 
 not go to the ball." " 'Tis a fancy he has 
 taken, and he won't be put off." " Let those 
 drive him that will then, I'm sure I won't." 
 " You'd have him go on foot, I suppose?" 
 The good bishop here, smiling involuntarily 
 at this debate between his faithful servants, let 
 down the front glass, and said mildly, " Yes, 
 Thomas, I would have you drive to the Com- 
 mandant's house." " Well," said the foot- 
 man, " am I right or not ?" " I don't know 
 what to make of it," said the coachman ; " a 
 bishop at a ball will be quite a new thing. If 
 it were any other than his lordship, 1 should
 
 168 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 think he was mad but God's will be done ! 
 So, jehu !" and oft* he set at a full gallop. 
 
 They arrived at the Commandant's among a 
 crowd of other carriages, the company in which 
 were all in the utmost astonishment to see the 
 bishop's carriage making one among the throng. 
 He alighted, and traversed a long vestibule, 
 surrounded by men and women who looked at 
 him earnestly, scarcely able to believe their 
 eyes. At the same time one of the gentlemen 
 ushers appointed for the occasion, hastening 
 up stairs to the gallery where the young people 
 were dancing, announced the Lord Bishop ! 
 " Is it possible 1" exclaimed the Commandant. 
 " Indeed, sir, it is very true ; I was stepping 
 forward to present him with a nosegay, sup- 
 posing I was to receive some lady of distinc- 
 tion, and never was so astonished in my life 
 as when I saw his lordship ; he is now coming 
 up stairs." The Commandant immediately or- 
 dered the music and dancing to stop, and a 
 dead calm succeeded in a moment to the noise 
 and bustle; every one drew back to show the 
 respect with which they were inspired by the 
 presence of the venerable prelate, nor could 
 refrain from speculating inwardly upon the 
 motive which could have attracted him into 
 such an assembly. 
 
 The Commandant received him just as he 
 arrived at the top of the staircase : " This is 
 indeed an honour," he said, " which I was far 
 from expecung." " And why so ?" answered 
 the prelate, with a tone and manner of more
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 169 
 
 than even his usual mildness and affability, 
 " J am not by any means averse to pleasures 
 confined within the bounds of propriety ; they 
 are necessary to youth, and you behold in me 
 one of the most devoted cavaliers of your ami- 
 able daughter. But what do I see !" conti- 
 nued he as he entered the gallery, " no more 
 music, no more dancing ?" " Do not be sur- 
 prised at this sudden change/' returned the 
 Commandant, " it is a homage paid to your 
 lordship, and to the sacred character you 
 bear." "Well, then," said the bishop, 
 " since to compliment me this amiable assem- 
 bly have suspended their amusements, I hasten 
 to take advantage of it, in order to justify, if 
 possible, a step which austerity may perhaps 
 think it has some right to condemn." Then 
 addressing himself to the lovely Emily, who 
 had approached him with respectful eagerness, 
 he said, " It is you, madam, who are the oc- 
 casion of my appearing here at this moment. 
 You are doubtless astonished ; but you will re- 
 collect that not many days ago, when I had 
 the honour of receiving you at my palace, you 
 observed that No festival could be complete un- 
 less shared by ike indigent and the unfortunate, 
 I promised to bear constantly in mind this ex- 
 cellent maxim, and to bring it forward upon 
 every possible occasion. Since, therefore, you 
 have now assembled here all the most distin- 
 guished, the most amiable persons that Mar- 
 seilles can boast, and receive from them the 
 i
 
 170 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 homage which is so justly your due, it must 
 not be forgotten, that near you languishes a 
 family, reduced, by a fire at their humble 
 dwelling, to the most deplorable neces- 
 sity. It is not a very large sum that will be 
 requisite to restore these unfortunate sufferers 
 to ease and happiness ; permit me then to ac- 
 company you round the room as a joint ap- 
 pellant with yourself to the bounty of your 
 amiable guests in their behalf. I only ask of 
 you, when you present to any one this plate 
 consecrated to collecting alms for the poor, to 
 repeat the adage which does you so much ho- 
 nour, and which from your mouth will ap- 
 pear like the voice of an angel speaking his 
 message from heaven, No festival can be com- 
 plete unless shared by the indigent and the 
 unfortunate." 
 
 Every one applauded with transport this 
 proposal of the excellent bishop, while Emily, 
 whose eyes sparkled with a delight that greatly 
 increased her beauty, hastened to take the plate 
 with one hand ; and giving the other to her ve- 
 nerable cavalier, he handed her round, while 
 according to his request she frequently re- 
 peated her interesting adage. The utmost ea- 
 gerness was shown by all the guests to make 
 their offerings, and prove to the excellent pre- 
 late and the charming young creature whom 
 he attended, the effect which so interesting a 
 scene produced upon their hearts, so that in a 
 short time the sum of five hundred pounds
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. lYl 
 
 was collected. On such an occasion benefi- 
 cence is commonly profuse, ostentation imi- 
 tates it, and indigence is relieved. 
 
 When the collection was concluded, the 
 good bishop handed his amiable Emily back to 
 her seat amid a general murmur of applause, 
 which ran through the whole room, and then 
 aid to her, " Now that the young mother of 
 the poor of Marseilles has so admirably per- 
 formed her part under that character, I have 
 only to entreat the queen of this ball to give 
 her orders for the amusements which my ar- 
 rival suspended, to recommence. The defe- 
 rence shown me, which will always remain 
 gratefully impressed upon my heart, would be 
 changed into the most cruel privation, or into 
 a hint to withdraw, if I were longer to feel 
 that I interfere with the pleasures of others ; 
 and I really am so happy among this company, 
 that I should be sorry not to be suffered to re- 
 main here awhile longer." 
 
 Emily, more than ever charmed with her. 
 cavalier, instantly obeyed. Orders were given 
 for the music to strike up, and the dancing to 
 be resumed ; and in a moment the air echoed 
 again with the sounds of joy and hilarity. The 
 good bishop retired into a corner of the room, 
 where he stood, with a countenance expressive 
 of theextremest candour and benevolence, con- 
 templating the happy groupe, among whom 
 the utmost grace combined with the strictest 
 decorum was to be observed in all their move- 
 ments j nor could he forbear often repeating 
 i 2
 
 1*72 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 even with a tear, " How charming is youth ! 
 Oh, how charming is youth !" 
 
 After having enjoyed for a short time this 
 charming spectacle he retired, the Command- 
 ant himself attending him to his carriage ; he 
 was even obliged to lean for support upon the 
 arm of the Commandant, so much was his be- 
 nevolent mind interested and affected by the 
 scene he had witnessed. He had intended to 
 steal away unperceived by the company, but 
 he attempted it in vain, again the dance and 
 the music stopped, while the homage of the 
 whole room attended his departure in like 
 manner as it had been evinced at his entrance. 
 He on his side, still more deeply affected, could 
 not help turning round as he went out at the 
 door, and exclaiming once more " How 
 charming is youth ! Oh, how charming is 
 youth 1" He ascended his carriage surround- 
 ed by a crowd of people, who learning from 
 the servants of the house what was passing 
 had assembled there; and the shouts and bene- 
 dictions which resounded on all sides, were a 
 strong assurance to the admirable prelate that 
 the step he had taken, far from being con- 
 demned, would be ranked among the noblest 
 actions by which his life had been distin- 
 guished. 
 
 The next day nothing was talked of through- 
 out the town but the collection at the 
 ball, and it increased tenfold the general ad- 
 miration in which the good bishop's character 
 was held. Vainly did envy and fanaticism
 
 THE COLLECTION AT THE BALL. 173 
 
 seek to derogate from the merit of a step for 
 which they could find no precedent ; it was le- 
 gitimatized and applauded by gratitude and 
 humanity. Emily, still attended by her vene- 
 rable cavalier, carried the money collected to 
 the unfortunate sufferers, who falling on their 
 knees could scarcely find words in which to 
 express their acknowledgements and their 
 transports. The honest artisan's house and 
 shop were soon rebuilt exactly such as they 
 had been before the fire ; and the whole story 
 had interested the town so much, that all peo- 
 ple were eager to afford him their countenance, 
 and his business increased every day. He had 
 thus the happiness of seeing himself enabled 
 to give his numerous family a good educa* 
 tion, and to establish them all as they grew up 
 in very advantageous situations. From this 
 time neither the venerable prelate nor the ami* 
 able Emily ever appeared in the streets of Mar- 
 seilles without receiving even more marked di- 
 stinctions than before ; and perpetually heard 
 repeated as they passed along, " No festival 
 can be complete which is not shared by the in 
 digcnt and the unfortunate."
 
 174 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 
 
 J. he intrepid and celebrated Duke of Bur r 
 gundy, whose valour and temerity acquired 
 him the name of Charles the Bold, after hav 
 ing augmented his hereditary states by nume* 
 rous conquests, determined at length to erecfr 
 them into a kingdom under the immediate pro- 
 tection of the Emperor Frederic the Fourth. 
 He had already taken possession of Picardy 
 and Normandy, where he exercised the rights 
 of a conqueror with such barbarous cruelty, 
 that in these unhappy countries he was called 
 the Terrible, Every town which resisted his 
 arms was sacked and pillaged, without any re- 
 gard either for sex or age. Every governor or 
 magistrate who refused to open his gates at the 
 first summons from him was put to the sword. 
 It was the principle of this formidable warrior 
 to dismay his enemies by his rigour, and thus 
 conquer them no less by terror than by the 
 force of his arms. 
 
 Louis the Eleventh, jealous of the power of 
 Charles, and too cunning to suffer him to esta- 
 blish a kingdom within his own, exerted all 
 his address to check his career and thwart his 
 projects. The latter in consequence directed 
 his ambitious views to other objects, which 
 seemed to promise him a more easy conquest. 
 He first obtained from Sigismond, duke of
 
 p-m-
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 175 
 
 Austria, who had ruined himself by his foolish 
 extravagance, the country of Ferrara and the 
 landgraviate of Alsace, by which he opened 
 himself a road to the invasion of Lorraine. 
 
 This country was then under the dominion 
 of Rene the second, grandson to the good 
 King Rene, count of Provence and Anjou. 
 The young prince was not terrified either by 
 the extraordinary valour or by the ferocity of 
 Charles the Bold. Strong in the love and fi- 
 delity of his subjects, by whom he had been 
 voluntarily chosen as their sovereign, Rene re- 
 sisted with determined resolution repeated at- 
 tacks from Charles. He proved to him that 
 heroism is not confined to any age, and that 
 youth directed by valour and resignation is ca- 
 pable of braving the greatest dangers, of with- 
 standing even those who are grown hoary in 
 the field of honour, and whose heads are co- 
 vered with renown ; that these qualities sup- 
 ply the place of experience, and practical know- 
 ledge in the art of war. 
 
 After having formed and been obliged to 
 raise the siege of the principal towns in Lor- 
 raine, Charles resolved to attack Nancy. This 
 was in the year 14-76. The young duke had 
 gone secretly to the court of France to solicit 
 assistance from Louis the Eleventh, but met 
 with a refusal from that perfidious monarch. 
 Charles taking advantage of his absence be- 
 gan the blockade of the place ; but unex- 
 pectedly found it defended alike by strong for- 
 tifications, and by the devoted courage of the
 
 176 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 garrison. The defence was conducted by 
 a governor, whose name is not mentioned in 
 history, though it is well known that he was 
 of a noble family, and of great personal bra- 
 very. He opposed a vigorous resistance to the 
 arras of the invader, but unfortunately it was 
 not crowned with the success it merited ; he 
 was obliged at length to abandon his opposi- 
 tion, and surrender ihe town to the conqiu ror. 
 It was only saved from the usual barbarities of 
 Charles, by an illustrious example of filial 
 heroism. 
 
 The governor had an only daughter between 
 seventeen and eighteen years of age, called 
 Theresa. This amiable maiden, for the sake 
 of cherishing and protecting the old age of 
 her father, had already refused the homage 
 of many distinguished nobles who solicited 
 her alliance. Her mother did not survive her 
 birth ; and such was the profound grief of her 
 father on losing the faithful companion of his 
 life, to whom he was tenderly attached, that 
 it almost overcame his reason ; nothing but a 
 strong sense of duty towards his infant had 
 power to calm his mind and reconcile him to 
 existence. Educated in camps, the rival and 
 companion of the bravest cavaliers of his time, 
 his harsh features and rough commanding 
 voice seemed at variance with all the softer 
 feelings of the human heart ; and it was only 
 on a more intimate knowledge of him that the 
 sensibility and sweetness of his character were 
 discovered. Thus in the camp he maintained
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 177 
 
 an inexorable discipline ; his look alone made 
 his soldiers tremble, and his tremendous voice 
 petrified them with fear. But in private life 
 he was a tutelary angel ; his eyes softened, and 
 his mild caressing accents and manner seemed 
 to dispose him rather to obey than command. 
 He was no less beloved, therefore, by the peo- 
 ple whom he governed than reverenced by the 
 soldiers whom he commanded, and dreaded 
 by the enemies of his country. Such was the 
 father of the young and lovely Theresa. 
 
 As his high reputation and great influence 
 with the people had essentially forwarded the 
 election of Rene the second to the dukedom 
 of Lorraine, he was honoured with the full 
 confidence of the young duke, and was im- 
 mediately made by him governor of Nancy. 
 From this appointment so gratifying to the in- 
 habitants of that town, and from the public 
 admiration and flattering attentions paid by 
 Rene to the lovely Theresa, a general expec- 
 tation was entertained that he would select her 
 as the partner of his new dignity, and make 
 her grand duchess of Lorraine ; while the 
 tender and respectful attachment borne by all 
 ranks of people to this model of filial piety 
 made them anticipate such an union with the 
 utmost satisfaction. 
 
 It was at this period that Charles the Bold, 
 after having employed all the resources of his> 
 military genius to subdue the country round 
 Nancy, formed the siege of the town itself. Not- 
 withstanding the difficulty of victualling theplace r 
 i 5
 
 178 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 and the absence of the young duke, his faithful 
 adherents for a long time repulsed their antago- 
 nist, and obtained some important advantages 
 over his troops. Charles only became on this ac- 
 count the more determined in his purpose, 
 -enraged at meeting with a resistance to which 
 he was little accustomed. All the inhabitants 
 of Nancy united to strengthen the garrison, 
 and assist in the general defence. The old 
 men ran through the streets and public places 
 to animate them by their exhortations. The 
 women and children carried stones to the ram- 
 parts, to throw down upon the besiegers ; and 
 while some remained with the greatest intre- 
 pidity to lance them against their enemies, 
 others collected fresh heaps. Immense coppers 
 were filled with oil, which was made boiling 
 hot, and then poured down upon the foe by 
 women of all ranks and ages. The whole 
 town seemed like a single family united to re- 
 press some ruffian by whom it was invaded. 
 Never was an instance known where love for 
 their country and fidelity towards their prince 
 had inspired a people to perform greater pro- 
 digies of heroism. 
 
 Charles seeing his efforts thus -baffled, and 
 that the brave Lorrainese were no more inti- 
 midated by his formidable arms than terrified 
 by his menaces, suspended the labours of the 
 siege, and proposed a capitulation. He required 
 the gates of the town to be opened to him, 
 engaging to respect every private house, and 
 to protect the inhabitants from pillage ; pro-
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 179 
 
 fessing that he entertained the highest esteem 
 for a people who had shown themselves no less 
 valiant, than faithful to their sovereign. He 
 concluded by declaring that he should consider 
 it as the highest honour to form an alliance with 
 them, and that in making these proposals he 
 was actuated only by the desire of establishing 
 a lasting peace. 
 
 These offers from Charles were sincere. 
 Notwithstanding his general barbarity and am- 
 bition, there were times when he discovered 
 some signs of sensibility ; virtue was not en- 
 tirely estranged from his arrogant mind, 
 though he was continually hurried away by 
 his thirst of glory and love of power. But 
 he experienced on this occasion what is sooner 
 or later the just punishment of all warriors who 
 are faithless to their word, and do not respect 
 treaties ; he was suspected of being only ac- 
 tuated bv treachery. 
 
 Pcardy was still smoking with the cruel 
 conflagrations by which he had devastated 
 that fine country, though he had repeatedly 
 sworn to spare and respect it. Normandy was 
 groaning under the ruin with which he had 
 covered its fertile plains ; and the town of 
 Liege had recently been the theatre of the 
 most bloody persecutions. The Lorrainese, 
 therefore, saw only in the proposals made to 
 them a cruel snare, and resolved to avoid it. 
 The valiant governor especially was among 
 the most incredulous, and by his manly elo- 
 quence, no le^s than from the veneration in
 
 180 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 which he was held by the inhabitants, deter- 
 mined them not to accept of any treaty or 
 peace. They accordingly resolved to bury 
 themselves under the ruins of their ramparts, 
 rather than admit within them a warrior with- 
 out faith, who sported with his promises ; well 
 aware that he would make them pay so much 
 the more dearly for their imprudent credulity, 
 in proportion as he was incensed by the deter- 
 mined resistance he had experienced from 
 them. 
 
 Charles informed of their positive refusal, 
 and instructed above all that the governor had 
 animated the town to concur in it by an eloquent 
 harangue,in which he had represented him under 
 the most odious colours, swore to revenge him- 
 self. He immediately sent for the last time a 
 herald at arms to announce to the Lorrainese, 
 that if they did not deliver up the place on 
 that very day, and acknowledge him as their 
 conqueror, he would storm the town, and put 
 all the inhabitants to the sword. This menace 
 only irritated them still more, and redoubled 
 their courage. The governor, certain that if 
 the town should fall at length he would be the 
 first victim, yet preferred death to disloyalty, 
 and traversed the streets haranguing every 
 body, and exhorting them anew not to yield. 
 He assembled his forces, dispersed them on 
 every point of defence, and made all other 
 dispositions best adapted to resisting the efforts 
 of the besiegers. 
 
 Theresa, who in the midst of these dangers
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 181 
 
 made it her duty not to quit her father, shared 
 his heroic enthusiasm ; and, following his ex- 
 ample, harangued the women and young girls 
 by whom she was surrounded. She cited to 
 them the sublime example of the women of 
 Beauvais, who did not shrink from the horrors 
 of battle, and faced every danger to prevent 
 this same Charles from penetrating into their 
 walls, and \n*king them the victims of his 
 cruelty " There," said she in a most per- 
 suasive tone, " were seen mothers with their 
 timid daughters arming themselves with any 
 weapons that could be obtained, carrying 
 heavy burdens, gathering up broken lances, 
 making them into arrows, tying them with their 
 hair, and with their menacing points over- 
 powering the soldiers of Charles and obliging 
 them to raise the siege. They were not 
 more devoted than we are/' added Theresa, 
 " to a glorious death, they were not so nu- 
 merous. Why should not we follow the example 
 of these courageous women ? why should not 
 we, like them, obtain the just reward of our 
 devotion to our counu y ?" 
 
 This speech of Theresa's made a deep impres- 
 sion on every body ; the general sentiment 
 was, who should be die first to second her 
 generous ardour, and imitate the" heroic women 
 of Beauvais. No kind of fatigue or labour, 
 neither the menaces of a formidable and cruel 
 enemy, nor the dreadful expectation of an 
 assault, had power to intimidate these heroines j 
 the danger of combat seemed to vanish at tiie
 
 182 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 approach of the fatal moment which was to 
 decide their victory or their defeat. 
 
 Charles, daily more and more incensed, 
 sought amid the resources of his genius new 
 expedients for the attainment of his object. 
 Taking advantage of a dark night to deceive 
 the besieged, he made several false attacks at 
 different parts of the ramparts, and at the dawn 
 of day re-uniting his choicest trdbps before one 
 of the bastions which seemed the most damag- 
 ed, he conducted the assault with so much 
 address and impetuosity, that in less than two 
 hours he opened a breach, and penetrated to 
 the very centre of the town. In the first emo- 
 tions of his fury he was about to abandon the 
 inhabitants to a general massacre : " Barba- 
 rian!" said Theresa, who had been brought 
 into his presence, " if all are to perish, over 
 whom will you reign?" " Who art thou, 
 audacious woman !" said the conqueror, " who 
 darest to speak to me thus?". " Your pri- 
 soner," answered the determined heroine, "who 
 would prevent your committing this additional 
 deed of cruelty." 
 
 The impressive accent in which she spoke, 
 her beauty, and above all her magnanimous 
 resolution, suspended for a moment the fury 
 of Charles. He only required that the Go- 
 vernor should be immediately delivered up to 
 him. 
 
 At the solicitation of his daughter, and in 
 compliance with the unanimous wishes of the 
 inhabitants of Nancy, the governor under
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 183 
 
 the garb of a simple citizen had mingled with 
 the crowd, who all sought to shelter him from 
 the ferocity of the conqueror. Charles there- 
 fore found it impossible to satiate his vengeance 
 immediately on the head of this honourable 
 victim ; but he offered a considerable reward 
 to whoever would deliver him into his hands. 
 " There is but one person who can discover 
 him to you," said the Governor, without mak- 
 ing himself known ; " swear upon your bloody 
 sword to grant mercy to all the inhabitants of 
 the town " " To grant them mercy !" re- 
 plied Charles with the most furious indigna- 
 tion ; " never ! You have contemned my 
 power ; you have rejected my offers with inso- 
 lence, shall I now yield to your prayers ? Is it 
 for me to listen to the voice or pity ? If fate at 
 this moment spares your Governor, I know 
 well how to discover him, by the terrible ex- 
 ample which in your persons I will give to 
 those who dare to brave me, and attempt to 
 stop the course of my victories." Then address- 
 ing himself to the officers around him, he or- 
 dered that the inhabitants of Nancy should be 
 that instant decimated. 
 
 Men, women, and children, were then ar- 
 ranged in a long row, extending from the place 
 where Charles was stationed to the ramparts 
 of the town. The individuals of each family 
 were all assembled together ; the daughter sup- 
 ported herself on the arm of her mother ; the 
 friend took his place next his friend ; a calm 
 resignation appeared on every countenance, all
 
 184 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 seemed to court rather than to deprecate that 
 fatal power which was about to choose its vic- 
 tims ; each one prayed that fate might point 
 at him, in the hope that some object even 
 dearer than himself might be spared. At last, 
 a herald at arms, upon a signal given by the 
 conqueror, began to number the victims; when 
 an unexpected difficulty arose respecting the 
 very first person upon whom the lot had fallen, 
 which ultimately put an entire stop to this bar- 
 barous execution. 
 
 Theresa, standing on the right hand of her 
 father, who still appeared under his disguise, 
 followed the motions of the herald at arms with 
 eager inquietude. As he counted with a loud 
 voice, she heard him distinctly, and soon 
 perceived that the number ten would fall upon 
 her beloved parent. She immediately glided 
 away to the other side of him, so that nine 
 fell on that lately devoted head ; and she her- 
 self stood marked as the first victim. The 
 Governor was so much overcome by this extra- 
 ordinary act of magnanimity, that he had 
 scarcely power to speak ; yet recovering him- 
 self, he signified that it was he who was to 
 die 5 the lot, he said, had fallen upon him, and 
 he would not suffer another to perish in his 
 place. Theresa, still without making it known 
 that the respectable old man she endeavoured 
 to save was her father, asserted that she had 
 taken her place at hazard, that the lot had 
 come fairly upon her, and that she ought to 
 suffer death. The herald at arms, and the at-
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 185 
 
 tendants who accompanied him, not knowing 
 which of the two to believe, brought them 
 before Charles that he might determine the 
 matter. A scene so extraordinary, and so af- 
 fecting, excited an emotion in this prince which 
 he could not resist. Perplexed and indecisive, 
 he knew not what part to take, but remained 
 thoughtful and silent. " You hesitate, bar- 
 barian !" said Theresa, with a calm dignity 
 which made her ten times more interesting than 
 before ; " let me perish, and prolong the career 
 of this old man, whose existence is honoured by 
 sixty years of virtue."" Heaven avert your 
 yielding to her demand ["exclaimed the(iover- 
 nor in his turn ; " what are the virtues of which 
 she speaks in comparison with her sublime sa- 
 crifice, which fills every heart with admiration, 
 and which you cannot witness without emo- 
 tion ?" " My life is less valuable than that of 
 this old man. Every day that he lives is marked 
 by some act of benevolence. Look at his white 
 hairs, they bespeak the head of a family, and 
 should he be cut off they will be left to mourn 
 the best of fathers/' " Look at the bloom ot 
 her youth and beauty. She will be yet for a 
 long time the ornament of her sex ; and shall 
 she be sacrificed to preserve the few days that 
 can y<rt remain to me r" Theresa, seeing that 
 Charles fixed his eyes upon her with a milder 
 expression of countenance than before, said to 
 him, " Cease to admire in me what is but a 
 duty : it is a daughter who would save the au- 
 thor of her being : tiiis old man is my father."
 
 186 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 " 'Tis I," interposed the Governor, " that 
 must put an end to your indecision, and induce 
 you to spare without reluctance this model of 
 filial piety. I deliver up to you that enemy on 
 whom you so much desire to wreak your ven- 
 geance : you see before you the Governor of 
 Nancy. He would have been delivered up to 
 you at once, if your barbarous fury had not 
 refused to spare, at the price of his head, his 
 faithful fellow-citizens." 
 
 At these words, all the inhabitants of the 
 town, whose imaginations were wrought up to 
 the highest point of enthusiasm by the heroism 
 that Theresa had displayed, surrounded the 
 father and daughter, each individual demand* 
 ing to die in their place. 
 
 Charles had never before witnessed so af- 
 fecting a spectacle. The cries of the suppliant 
 citizens embracing the knees of their Governor, 
 and ready to sacrifice their own lives to save 
 his, the firm and manly resignation ot this 
 venerable old man, offering himself as a vic- 
 tim to procure their safety, the piercing grief 
 of Theresa, who made a solemn vow to Hea- 
 ven not to survive her father if he must fall, 
 produced altogether an effect upon the minds 
 of himself and his soldiers that no words could 
 describe. At last the Governor forcing his way 
 through the crowd, with Theresa hanging on 
 his arm, demanded the decision of their fate : 
 ct Neither the one nor the other shall perish," 
 answered eagerly the now vanquished con- 
 queror, " it would be too difficult to decide the
 
 FILIAL HEROISM. 187 
 
 merits of such a contest. You have penetrated 
 to the bottom of my heart ; and if it be glori- 
 ous to conquer, you make me experience that 
 it is still more delightful to pardon. Enjoy, 
 lovely Theresa, enjoy all the happiness that 
 awaits you ; and receive the reward of that 
 filial heroism, which history will transmit with 
 triumph to the remotest posterity. I grant you 
 not only the life of your excellent father, but 
 the lives of all those citizens who were lately 
 destined to a fate so awful and severe. Do 
 not make me any acknowledgements, for I owe 
 you more than you have received. But for 
 you, my bosom, awake only to the thirst of 
 glory, would never have known the much 
 more delightful sensations which 1 now feel to 
 be the result of performing an act of cle- 
 mency." 
 
 This speech, from the mouth of the awe- 
 inspiring conqueror, was received with trans- 
 ports of delight. All the inhabitants mingled 
 together, embracing each other, and uttering 
 the wildest cries of joy ; they were joined in 
 them by the soldiers of Charles, who partici- 
 pated the emotion of their master. This prince, 
 having experienced the valour and fidelity of 
 the Lorrainese, declared that he would make 
 Nancy the capital of his states, and he instantly 
 replaced the Governor in his rank and dignities. 
 Theresa became more dear than ever to her 
 fellow-citizens. There was no family, no indi- 
 vidual who did not consider himself as indebted 
 to her for the preservation of some dear con-
 
 188 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 nection, or of his own existence. Her name 
 was never mentioned but with the profoundest 
 veneration, and to the latest period of her days 
 she was incessantly hailed with the benedictions 
 of ail around her. Thus she afforded a sink- 
 ing example of the advantages cf elevating the 
 mind so as to meet with dignity any circum- 
 stances, however embarrassing, in which we 
 may be placed ; and illustrated in a striking 
 manner the truth of this axiom, That the surest 
 means of escaping a great danger, is to meet it 
 with courage, with coolness, and with 
 
 RESIGNATION.
 
 189 
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 
 
 .Nothing is more ridiculous than the mania 
 so frequent amongst mankind, of fancying 
 themselves of an importance that by no means 
 belongs to them, of SJppusing themselves en- 
 dowed with qualities which they really do not 
 possess, of ascribing to themselves merits to 
 which they have no claim, of persuading them- 
 selves that they attract general attention, and 
 engage all hearts, while by sensible people 
 they are scarcely noticed at all, and are only 
 noticed by the common run of society for their 
 amusement, as objects of derision, of raillery, 
 or of calumny. Such is the routine* of the 
 world, alternately crucifying others or being 
 crucified themselves. 
 
 This arrogance, which assumes all kinds of 
 forms, is no less predominant in the one sex 
 than in the other. Contemplate that young 
 man walking down the street with a solemn 
 measured step ; his head erect ; affecting to 
 be short-sighted, to avoid saluting those he 
 meets, and elbowing every body. He con- 
 ceives that he unites the fine head of the Anti- 
 nous to the imposing presence of the Apollo of 
 Belvedere. Observe the laughable importance 
 of yonder clerk, who pretends to receive end- 
 less applications on business, and engages for 
 the success of them, though his only occupa-
 
 190 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 tion in his office is to transcribe the papers put 
 into his hands. 
 
 With the same blindness, the mother of a 
 grown-up family thinks herself still as bloom- 
 ing as her daughters. The young girl of 
 fifteen considers herself as an accomplished 
 woman, and is surprised that she is not de- 
 manded in marriage. Observe that young lady 
 dancing a waltz, and attracting about her a 
 circle of youths who have just left school for 
 the vacation. She is persuaded that she unites 
 in her dancing the grace and perfection of a 
 performer at the grand opera. Listen to that 
 girl who is come from school to pass a few 
 days at home, thrumming an air of Haydn's 
 upon her guitar, and throwing her father, mo- 
 ther, grandfather, great uncle, and three aunts 
 into ecstasies ; she is convinced that she equals 
 or even surpasses the greatest masters. 
 
 Monsieur Dumont, a wealthy merchant at 
 Paris, and a man of the strictest honour, had 
 two daughters, who equally shared his affec- 
 tion. There was but little difference in their 
 ages ; they were both grown up, and began to 
 appear in the world, but under characters 
 strikingly dissimilar. Adelaide, the eldest, 
 fancied herself a perfect Venus in figure, a Hebe 
 in bloom and grace, a tenth Muse in talents 
 and science. When she appeared in company, 
 or in any public place, her fine eyes were al- 
 ways cast down to avoid the general attention, 
 which she was convinced that she excited. 
 When she spoke, she imagined that her voice
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 1 9 1 
 
 penetrated every heart with an emotion that it 
 was impossible to resist ; and if, from impru- 
 dence or forgetfulness, she cast a glance upon 
 any one, she was fully assured, if it was a man, 
 that he was struck with admiration, and if a 
 woman, with envy. All her motions were 
 studied ; her walk was stately ; and on seeing her, 
 it might have been supposed that some goddess 
 forgetting her rank had mixed amongst common 
 mortals ; while the various perfumes with which 
 she was always scented indicated her approach, 
 in like manner as the presence of the queen of 
 love in the bowers of Paphos was announced 
 by the ambrosia which she cast, around. 
 
 This was by no means the case with her 
 younger sister, Maria. Far from estimating 
 herself above her real value, such was her mo- 
 desty, and so totally free was her mind from 
 any tendency to vanity, or self-love, that she 
 was rather disposed not sufficiently to appre- 
 ciate the qualities either of her person or 
 mind. By no means so handsome as Ade- 
 laide, she thought it very natural that her 
 sister should be preferred to her, and even that, 
 when they were together, she should herself 
 be wholly overlooked. Yet her eye, though 
 not so fine as Adelaide's, was more expressive - 7 
 though her air was less imposing, it was more 
 easy : in a word, the eldest when she appeared 
 seemed to claim admiration \ the youngest 
 seemed as if she could have said, " Do not pay 
 any attention to me, I am not worth so much 
 trouble."
 
 192 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 A contrast so remarkable could not escape 
 the observation of those who frequented the 
 society of Monsieur Dumont ; but it produced 
 an effect upon them very different from what the 
 two sisters imagined. Nobody loved Adelaide ; 
 every body loved Maria : and notwithstanding 
 that the former had really a good heart, such was 
 her ridiculous arrogance, that it threw a com- 
 plete veil over her merits ; while at the same 
 time it made the amiable simplicity of Maria 
 appear in so advantageous a point of view, that 
 she was universally admired, while Adelaide 
 herself was scarcely noticed. 
 
 Yet the vanity of Adelaide, invariably mis- 
 taking the sentiments she inspired, saw only 
 in this indifference the effects of a respectful 
 awe, and emotions of surprise, at the sight of 
 so much beauty. " Do you observe," she 
 would say to Maria, with the naivete of self- 
 importance, if that expression may be allowed, 
 "when we are together, with what familiarity you 
 are received, and with what dignity I am treat- 
 ed ? There is not a man young or old, con- 
 ceited or modest, who is not thrown into ec- 
 stasies, who does not appear altogether con- 
 founded with astonishment and admiration, only 
 by a look from me." " That is very true," 
 Maria would reply with genuine naivete. 
 '* If the sight of me alone produces such an 
 effect, how much more powerful is the im- 
 pression when I speak ! They look at me, they 
 endeavour to answer, but in vain ; their falter- 
 ing voices expire upon their lips, they are un
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED." 195 
 
 able to utter a word." " Yes, indeed, I have 
 often seen people cast a look upon you, and 
 retire without speaking ; but, my dear Ade- 
 laide, will you not concur with me in thinking, 
 that even the great advantages derived from 
 beauty are at such a price bought rather to3 
 dear?" "How can that be?" " It must 
 surely be very disagreeable to produce such an 
 effect upon people that they cannot come near 
 one." " I half agree with you ; and for this 
 reason the universal empire that I involuntarily 
 exercise, sometimes gives me a degree of con- 
 cern. But, is there any gratification which 
 can be compared with being able to say, I ap- 
 pear, and every body is struck mute with ad- 
 miration and astonishment ?' ' " Indeed, I 
 must confess that I had much rather they 
 should speak, and expect an answer from me ; 
 that they should have their senses enough 
 about them to support an agreeable conversa- 
 tion. I have often observed, while you were 
 grave and silent in the midst of your admirers, 
 and I was talking and laughing with them, 
 that your fine eyes were expressive only of 
 listlessness and weariness, that you seemed ab- 
 solutely overwhelmed with lassitude." "That 
 is to say, my poor Maria, that I keep up my 
 dignity, and that you let yourself down." > 
 " Oh, pray keep up your dignity as much as 
 you please. I amuse myself without finding 
 any want of proper respect ; and if this be la- 
 ting myself down, I resign myself to it." 
 These discussions, though often renewed be- 
 lt
 
 194 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 tween the sisters, never lessened the attach- 
 ment that subsisted between them, nor altered 
 the opinion that each entertained of the other. 
 Adelaide considered Maria only as- an ordinary 
 being, who might indeed sometimes attract a 
 momentary notice in company, from her in- 
 genuous frankness and agreeable vivacity. Ma- 
 ria beheld in Adelaide a perfect beauty ; a 
 person of most extraordinary accomplishments, 
 whose empire it was impossible to resist. 
 
 Several little circumstances contributed to 
 strengthen these mutual opinions in the two 
 sisters. Monsieur Dumont, always extremely 
 occupied with his business, had little leisure to 
 attend to the education of his daughters; he 
 therefore placed them in a very good school 
 for two years. Now, however, it was neces- 
 sary that they should sometimes partake in the 
 amusements which are so attractive to young 
 people, and he carried them one evening to 
 the Grand Opera. The entertainments of the 
 evening happening to be particularly popular, 
 the house was exceedingly full, and they were 
 scarcely seated when the eyes of almost the 
 whole company were fixed upon Adelaide. 
 Maria perceiving this, could not forbear saying 
 to her in a whisper, " Do you not perceive 
 how much you are noticed ? All the glasses are 
 directed to you ; and it is certainly no wonder, 
 for I never saw you look more beautiful." 
 " Indeed, I think I do excite some sensation," 
 replied Adelaide with a smile of self-approba- 
 tion. While they were speaking, a young
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 195 
 
 man named Melcour, a relation of Monsieur 
 Dumont's, of an agreeable person, and of 
 such merit as to presage that he would one day 
 rise to great distinction, came into the same 
 box. He had for some time been observed to 
 frequent the merchant's house with an assi- 
 duity which seemed to announce that it must 
 have some particular meaning, and Adelaide 
 did not entertain the least doubt but that she 
 was the magnet which attracted him thither ; 
 while Maria, in the simplicity of her heart, de- 
 lighted in the prospect of one day calling him 
 her brother- in-law. 
 
 The Opera began. Two very pretty ele- 
 gant young women came into the same box 
 with Monsieur Dumont and his daughters. 
 Adelaide had that day perfumed herself more 
 than usual ; she was so strongly scented with 
 musk, that the smeli of it, rendered more 
 overpowering by the heat or the house, was 
 wholly insupportable, especially to persons of 
 delicate nerves. One of the ladies near her, 
 after having with difficulty endured the musk 
 for some time, was at last so much overcome 
 by it, that she was obliged to leave the box. 
 As she got up she said, ct It is a torment that 
 cannot be endured." '- What torment can 
 she mean ?" said Maria to her sister. " It is 
 not difficult to guess," replied Adelaide: "she 
 came hither with the intention of attracting no- 
 tice, and, seeing every eye fixed on me, while 
 she was overlooked, could no longer endure 
 such a torment.'" " Yet, she is very pretty," 
 K 2
 
 196 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 observed Maria : ff but whoever would wish to 
 shine, must not be seated near you." Mon- 
 sieur Dumont, being himself accustomed to 
 Adelaide's perfumes, concluded that the lady's 
 going out was on account of sudden indispo- 
 sition ; while Melcour, overhearing the conver- 
 sation between the two sisters, whose charac- 
 ters he had thoroughly studied, could scarcely 
 repress his laughter. 
 
 The place of the fugitives was soon filled 
 by two gentlemen, one of whom was evidently 
 a general officer, from the number of Orders 
 with which he was decorated. He was no less 
 annoyed by the musk than the lady whose 
 place he occupied had been. He coughed, 
 yawned, took snufF ; but in spite of his efforts 
 to repress the effect it produced upon him, he 
 was soon seized with a violent tremor, and 
 went out abruptly, saying to the friend who 
 was with him, " Let us get away, I feel that it 
 would be dangerous to me to remain here." 
 " Do you hear ?" said Adelaide to Maria : " This 
 accounts for the agitation the officer was in." 
 " Nothing resists vour charms," answered Ma- 
 ria ; " you subdue even the favourites of Vic- 
 tory." Monsieur Dumont really believed that 
 the officer meant to allude to the impression 
 Adelaide's beauty had made upon him, and 
 Melcour, again, could hardly restrain his 
 laughter. 
 
 But, to complete the joy and triumph of the 
 arrogant fair one, a charming young man, ap- 
 parently an invalid, who sat in the pit directly
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 197 
 
 under her, towards the middle of the per- 
 formance was so overcome by the musk, that 
 he fainted away upon the shoulder of the per- 
 son who sat next to him. This created no 
 small confusion ; the young man was carried 
 out of the house, but was so extremely ill 
 that it was thought necessary to get advice for 
 him, and an inquiry was made whether there 
 might not be some medical person among the 
 company who could come to his assistance. 
 " Oh dear !" whispered Adelaide to her sister, 
 " how sorry I am to have done this mischief I 
 But why would he look at me so much * n 
 This time Melcour endeavoured in vain to re- 
 strain his inclination to laugh 5 he was forced 
 to give way to it, and laughed very heartily. 
 
 Some time after, Monsieur Dumont took his 
 daughters to the Comic Opera * A favourite 
 actor was to perform in two of the pieces ; for 
 which reason the house was so much crowded, 
 that they could get no places but in the balcony 
 box upon the stage. As this box is very con- 
 spicuous, Adelaide, seated in the front of it, 
 was delighted at so excellent an opportunity 
 of showing herself; and, in the excess of her 
 arrogance, she immediately felt assured that 
 she should make no lesi> havoc here than at 
 the Grand Opera. But as she was now per- 
 fumed only with scents that were mild and not 
 overpowering, neither the women who were 
 near her, nor the- young men who surrounded 
 her, evinced the strong sensations that she ex- 
 pected. She only perceived that they looked
 
 198 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 at her with some eagerness ; but there was no 
 suffocation, no attack upon the nerves, no ap- 
 pearance of envy and jealousy : she could not 
 therefore forbear saying to Maria, with evident 
 pique, " Surely I do not look so well as usual 
 today !" Oh, indeed,'* said Maria, I 
 think, quite as well." #' Yet people are more 
 attentive to the performance than to me. Is 
 there any thing amiss in my dress V " No- 
 thing, I can assure you.'' " That is some sa- 
 tisfaction, however." 
 
 When our arrogant fair one could not find 
 in one way the aliment necessary to her vanity, 
 she seldom failed to seek it in another. Ex- 
 cessively mortified at producing so little effect 
 upon the spectators, she sought and found her 
 relief among the performers, in an event not 
 uncommon to those whose memories are load- 
 ed with a great variety of characters. The 
 actor, who was justly celebrated as one of the 
 first ornaments of the Comic Opera, was play- 
 ing a favourite character in which he was con- 
 sidered as inimitable j when, by some unaccount- 
 able chance, he was so much out in his part, 
 that the audience were at a loss to imagine 
 what could be the matter. " I much fear that 
 I am the cause of this," said Adelaide to her 
 sister : " have you observed how constantly his 
 eyes have been turned towards me ?" " Yes," 
 answered Maria, " and just at the moment 
 that he began to hesitate." " It is on my ac- 
 count, I have no doubt : give me your veil, I 
 have not my own, I did not indeed expect to
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 199 
 
 want it ; give it me directly ; if he sees me 
 again he is lost." Adelaide now put on her 
 veil, to the great surprise of the people around 
 her, who could not conceive the reason of 
 this sudden precaution ; while the attention she 
 thus excited was ascribed by her entirely to 
 admiration, and gave her a satisfaction which 
 she could not conceal. Monsieur Dumont, 
 not less surprised than every body else, in- 
 quired of his daughter why she put on her veil, 
 when people in general were overcome with the 
 heat. " You shall know another time,'* said 
 Adelaide ; " I can only assure you that it is 
 from prudence and necessity." " Oh yes," 
 added Maria, " if my sister did not take this 
 precaution, you would not see the conclusion 
 of the performance." u I understand nothing 
 of this mystery," replied Monsieur Dumont, 
 " you will explain it to me afterwards." 
 
 Adelaide remained veiled to the end of the 
 piece ; and when the actor (who had perceived 
 nothing of what had passed in the balcony) was 
 withdrawn, she unveiled, saying to her sister, 
 with the utmost commiseration, " In; vhat a 
 sad perplexity did I throw the poor man ! L 
 am really afraid that he will not be able to play 
 in the second piece." " I shall be terribly 
 disappointed then," said Maria, " for I am 
 told that it is his most capital performance." 
 The curtain soon rose, and the deeply smitten 
 actor appeared. Adelaide immediately resumed 
 her veil, to the increased astonishment of the 
 spectators ; nor could they forbear expressing,
 
 2C0 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 by significant looks and nods, the impression 
 made upon them. Melcour, who was in the 
 opposite balcony, was much amused with the 
 scene, the true clue to which he alone was 
 possessed of. 
 
 Adelaide continuing the use of perfumes 
 more than ever, rendered herself so extremely 
 remarkable, that she was pointed at wherever 
 she came, and people shunned her as if she 
 had been some noxious animal. But her ar- 
 rogance, always ready to find motives flattering 
 to herself in every occurrence, saw only in 
 this manifest desire to avoid her the irresistible 
 effect of her charms. 
 
 Melcour's visits to Monsieur Dumont's con- 
 tinuing with increased assiduity, a suspicion 
 was naturally excited in the two sisters, that 
 he must have particular views in them. " For 
 some months past," said Maria, " he has fol- 
 lowed us every where ; he must certainly, my 
 dear Adelaide, be among the number of your 
 humble admirers." #. In that case I pity him," 
 said Adelaide, " for I am far from being dis- 
 posed \> receive his homage. And though 
 every time we are together I see him on the 
 point of declaring his sentiments, I should not 
 know how to answer him." " I must say 
 that I think you are very difficult. Melcour's 
 manners are pleasing, uncommonly pleasing ; 
 he is very amiable, has good talents, and is in 
 a situation which my father says must lead in 
 time to some very honourable appointment." 
 " I allow all this ; but if I were to show a pre-
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 201 
 
 ference for one man, what would become of 
 the rest?" "So on this consideration you will 
 remain single ?" " Ah ! my dear Maria, it 
 would be cruel to make so many victims at one 
 stroke." * But, hitherto, not one of your ad- 
 mirers has ventured to declare himself." 
 " Not positively : but it is impossible to mistake 
 their sentiments ; and it really grieves me to 
 think of the numbers who would be driven to 
 despair by my marrying." 
 
 As the two sisters were engaged in this con- 
 versation, Melcour was announced. " O 
 Heavens!" exclaimed Adelaide, " he is coming 
 to make his declaration." " Well, you must 
 receive it with proper consideration for him." 
 " My dear cousin," said he, addressing him* 
 self to Adelaide, "can you pardon the motive of 
 my visit ? I know the subject to be delicate; but 
 since I have the sanction of your excellent fa- 
 ther, I have determined on venturing to speak." 
 " Oh ! there can be no doubt," whispered 
 Adelaide to Maria, who was sitting by her upon 
 the sofa ; " do not leave me, I entreat you !" 
 " I have hesitated for a long, time," added 
 Melcour, " from the fear of displeasing you,, 
 whether to inform you of what I wish to men- 
 tion ; but the regard 1 have for you...." " Ho- 
 mage such as yours can never offend," an- 
 swered Adelaide with great dignity, yet some- 
 what embarrassed. " Perhaps, my fair cousin, 
 you will think me obtrusive and indiscreet ; 
 but. . . ." " I am happy to see, Monsieur Mel- 
 cour, that you teel the importance of what )0u 
 k5
 
 202 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 would say." " To be brief, then, I come to 
 acquaint you candidly, that notwithstanding all 
 your charms and good qualities, which might 
 in some measure at least disarm satire, you are 
 unhappily a constant object of ridicule in all 
 companies." " How !" exclaimed Adelaide, 
 confounded and changing her tone, ** pray ex- 
 plain yourself, sir." " I was indeed appre- 
 hensive that I should displease you ; but I 
 thought that, as a relation who has really a great 
 regard for you, I ought to brave every thing 
 to fulfil the most sacred of duties. What I al- 
 lude to, is your extravagant use of perfumes. 
 Those who would otherwise be happy to enjoy 
 your society dread your approach, and shun 
 you, to avoid the disagreeable effects they pro- 
 duce. Indeed, if I must own the whole truth, 
 you are nick-named, throughout Paris, the 
 beautiful Muscadina; nay, I have sometimes 
 even heard you called the perfumer's shop." 
 " How, sir ? I really cannot suppose that my 
 perfumes have ever seriously incommoded any 
 body." " This is exactly what I have said in 
 your defence. I always observed, that I was 
 sure you had no idea how disagreeable they 
 were. But indeed, not long ago, when you 
 were at the Opera, two ladies and a general 
 officer were all obliged to leave their places 
 near you, on this account. Nay, a young 
 man in the pit, just below you, who was not 
 in good health, fainted away." " Is it pos- 
 sible !" " Forgive me for destroying pleasing 
 illusions; but the musk you had about you
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 203 
 
 was, indeed, the sole occasion of the effects 
 which you may be excused for attributing to 
 another cause. You cannot imagine, indeed, 
 the ridicule you excite whenever you appear. 
 Let me entreat you to attribute this interference 
 to its real motive, the tender regard that I have 
 for you.; and to believe that it has cost me not 
 a little to hazard the offending one with whom 
 I am already nearly connected, and wish to be 
 connected still more nearly.'* " Indeed, my 
 dear cousin, I shall certainly avail myself of 
 the important advice you have given me, and 
 believe me, that far from being offended. . . ." 
 " Offended 1" interrupted Maria ; " you must 
 be very ungrateful indeed, if you were so. If 
 my cousin had the kindness to tell me of my" 
 faults, I would soon correct them ; but he has 
 not so much regard for me as he has for 
 you." Melcour only replied to this amiable 
 ingenuousness, by a look which expressed how 
 much he admired it ; and after receiving sin- 
 cere thanks from the two sisters, he took his 
 leave, making many acknowledgements to the 
 one for the indulgence with which she had 
 listened to him, and promising the other to 
 tell her of her faults when he could discover 
 that she had any. 
 
 Though Adelaide's eyes were opened in one 
 instance with respect to the errors into which 
 her arrogance had led her, she was not disposed 
 to abate it in any degree towards him who had 
 done her this kind office. " He wishes to be 
 more nearly connected with the family," she
 
 204 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 repeated with impatience. " Nothing can be 
 clearer; he wishes to make me his wife, and 
 would first correct my errors: this, to be sure, 
 is perfectly natural. What a pity that I can 
 never feel any thing but indifference towards 
 him ! We may esteem our censors, but it is 
 not easy to love them. This censor, however, 
 shall find how I will lead him, with his notions 
 of improving and rendering me perfect." 
 
 A short time after, as Monsieur Dumont was 
 sitting at breakfast with his two daughters, he 
 informed them that Melcour, having express- 
 ed an eager wish of becoming his son-in-law, 
 was to come that morning to make his propo- 
 sals in due form. " My dear Adelaide," he 
 added, ** you will then not hesitate to make 
 yourself and him happy. I think I hear him 
 coming at this moment." " Oh ! my father, 
 I feel myself so agitated allow me to retire for 
 a moment. Maria will take my place. You 
 know my sentiments, sister," she continued, 
 taking Maria apart as she went out : " speak 
 for me, I entreat, and soothe the despair that 
 my refusal will occasion poor Melcour." 
 
 On rhe latter's appearance, Maria began to 
 make excuses for the absence of Adelaide. 
 " My sister," she said, " is so much agitated ! 
 She has a high esteem for you, and is truly 
 grateful for the friendship you have shown her, 
 so that it costs her more than I can express .... 
 In short, she has charged me to receive your 
 declaration, and to answer for her." " She 
 could not have done better, amiable Maria,"
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 205 
 
 answered Melcour, " since it is to you I am 
 come to address my vows, since it is you I 
 wish to ask of your excellent father." " Me!" 
 she exclaimed with a faltering voice, and 
 blushing with confusion and modesty, " are 
 you indeed aware of what you say?" " How !" 
 said the astonished father, " it is not Adelaide 
 whom you demand as a wife \" " I did not 
 indeed mention," said Melcour, " to which 
 of my cousins my heart was devoted, but I 
 thought that it must long ago have plainly ap- 
 peared." " Well, Maria," said her father, " an- 
 swer for yourself." " I shall not take long to 
 consider," answered Maria, " if it be indeed 
 me whom Mr. Melcour means to ask in mar- 
 riage yet I scarcely know how to believe 
 that he is not joking with me." " I joke with 
 you, dearest Maria! You have given me leave to 
 correct your faults, and I promised to do so 
 when I could perceive any. I am ncAv made 
 sensible of one, which I must indeed desire to 
 mention very seriously." " Oh, tell it me, I en- 
 treat, and it shall be corrected without delay." 
 " It is, that you do net know how to appre- 
 ciate justly your own value. I have studied 
 your character for a long time, I have followed 
 you every where, 1 have listened eagerly to 
 every word that dropped from your lips, and 
 never, no never did I find a more amiable dis- 
 position, or manners more captivating. Yes, 
 charming girl, you will, I am confident, make 
 one of the best of wives, and I swear at your 
 feet to make you, as far as lies in my power,
 
 206 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 one of the happiest." " Indeed,'* said Maria, 
 hesitating and blushing, as she gave her hand 
 to Melcour, " since your choice has been fixed 
 upon me ... .If it had been my sister to whom 
 your proposals were addressed, I was charged 
 to give you her refusal." " To refuse Mel- 
 cour !" interrupted Dumont. " Yes, my fa- 
 ther, I was ordered to refuse him, since she 
 could not support the idea of driving so many 
 victims to despair." " Adelaide! Adelaide! 
 come forth !" cried her father smiling, " you 
 may venture to show yourself; your victims are 
 all safe." " Believe me, Monsieur de Mel- 
 cour/' said Adelaide as she returned into the 
 room, " that the painful refusal, sent through 
 my sister . . ." " What do you say, my fair 
 cousin ? She has, on the contrary, crowned my 
 wishes with success." " O Heavens!" said 
 Adelaide, " I entreated you, Maria, to refuse 
 him . . ." "For you," interrupted Maria, " but 
 not for myself." " Ha ! ha ! ha !" said Dumont, 
 laughing aloud, " this is excellent. My dear 
 child, we have been deceived ; it is your sister 
 whose hand is solicited by her cousin. You 
 must make the best of it, and cheerfully give 
 up your right of eldership . . ." "As I do, with- 
 out any sacrifice,'* said Adelaide, " since it 
 assures Maria's happiness." " I expected no 
 less of you," replied Melcour, " and I experi- 
 ence by anticipation a great pleasure in calling 
 you by the endearing name of sister. As every 
 thing seems to favour my wishes, may I venture 
 to entreat you to perfect them, by accelerating
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 207 
 
 the happiest day of my life ? I am not certain 
 from one day to another, that the duties of the 
 appointment I am just honoured with may 
 not oblige me to be absent for some time; and 
 if I must be separated from my dear Maria, I 
 would at least bear with me the title of her 
 husband." " Separated !" said Maria, " Oh ! 
 no ! will it not then be my duty to follow you?" 
 " Well," said Monsieur Dumont, " her for- 
 tune is ready ; nor do I know of any obstacle 
 to the wedding taking place the very next 
 week, if that will suit Monsieur Melcour." 
 " It is sooner than I dared to hope for. But, 
 my dear Maria, if this delay . . . ." '' I tremble 
 lest the order should be given for your depar- 
 ture. " " Suppose we fix Thursday then, my 
 dear son-in-law ! we shall have time enough to 
 make the necessary preparations. Believe me, 
 it will not be one of the least happy days of 
 my life." 
 
 On the day when the ceremony took place, 
 Monsieur Dumont's house was an entire scene 
 of festivity and rejoicings. The wedding was 
 splendid, and attended by all the relations and 
 numerous friends of both parties. Maria ap- 
 peared more amiable and interesting than ever, 
 and was the object of universal admiration and 
 commendation. Adelaide had too much real 
 goodness to feel envious of her sister's happi- 
 ness ; but she could not retrain from giving 
 way to her habitual arrogance, and persuaded 
 herself that the polite attentions paid to her as the 
 bride's sister were a fresh proof of the empire
 
 208 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 she supposed herself to exercise over all hearts. 
 This illusion increased during the ball with 
 which the day concluded. All the young men 
 of Monsieur Dumont's acquaintance were as- 
 sembled there. Many of them who had been 
 already amused with the ridiculous pretensions 
 of Adelaide, remarked, in a corner where they 
 were talking together, the attitude of the arro- 
 gant fair one, who with her eyes cast down, 
 and scarcely answering any body, in some sort 
 condemned herself to motionless silence, from 
 pure compassion to those around her, and 
 pleased nobody from the fear of pleasing every 
 body. 
 
 When the ball began, and Adelaide joined 
 the dance, she observed that her partner never 
 took her hand. This singularity, which would 
 have offended any body else, surprised her at 
 first ; but the next moment she attributed it to 
 prudence, and the fear of touching a hand 
 which he never could hope to obtain. Her 
 second partner, one of the best dancers in Paris, 
 surprised her still more ; he was agitated, for- 
 got his 6teps, could not keep time, and was 
 himself in such confusion that he confused the 
 whole dance. " What is the matter with you, 
 Charles?" said Melcour. "Nothing,'* he 
 answered, sighing deeply. " Another victim," 
 thought Adelaide : " if this continues, 1 shall 
 be obliged to give up dancing." At last the 
 young man on her right hand was obliged to 
 take her hand in making a chain. He stopped 
 suddenly j his countenance changed j and he
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 209 
 
 got one of his friends to finish the dance. 
 " Are you ill, Mr. Gercour ?" asked Maria im- 
 mediately : " It is nothing, madam, nothing ^ 
 but I felt alJ at once such a swimming in my 
 head : it begins now to go off." Adelaide, 
 convinced that she was the sole cause of his 
 being so much affected, was sincerely unhappy 
 at seeing the power of her charms. The good 
 Maria was of the same opinion as her sister ; 
 but Melcour, from certain signs which he ob- 
 served passing among the dancers, was inclined 
 to believe that they were amusing themselves at 
 the expense of his sister-in-law. 
 
 When the dance was over, Adelaide came 
 and sat down by the bride, and expressed her 
 concern at producing such an effect on all who 
 approached her. " Monsieur Charles," she 
 said, " one of the best dancers, could not make 
 a single step, because he was dancing with me. 
 Dorsan was afraid to take my hand ; and the 
 unhappy Gercour was so agitated that he was 
 unable to finish the dance. I perceive 1 must 
 give up dancing, though I love it to distrac- 
 tion." " Well now," answered Maria, " have 
 not I said truly, that one may pay too dearly for 
 the advantage of being handsome?" " Indeed 
 there are moments," replied her sister, " when 
 I am almost tempted to think so." 
 
 While this conversation was passing between 
 the sisters, the band began to plav a waltz, and 
 a fourth young man came and asked Adelaide 
 to dance with him. She refused from com-
 
 210 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 passion : he insisted. She then accepted his 
 hand, and they began dancing ; but soon, as if 
 struck by a sudden convulsion, he left the 
 dance, and fell upon a sofa, complaining of a 
 palpitation at the heart which almost deprived 
 him of the power of breathing. Every body 
 ran to his assistance, while Adelaide said to 
 her sister, " You see, nobody can resist me. 
 It cannot be said now that this confusion is oc- 
 casioned by my perfumes, as I have not used 
 any since the admonition I received from your 
 husband." 
 
 Several days after, Madame Melcour, tired 
 of the large parties and tedious dinners that en- 
 sued from her marriage, proposed one morn- 
 ing to her husband and father, that they should 
 all make a party together to breakfast at 
 St. Cloud. " I love," she said, " those little 
 bowers at the entrance of the park, and the 
 breakfasts there are excellent." Her proposal 
 met with a ready assent from Monsieur Du- 
 mont, Monsieur Melcour, and Adelaide ; and 
 they all repaired to this celebrated seat of roy- 
 alty, and took their place as they had planned 
 in one of the bowers. Adelaide, who had no 
 apprehensions in this party of making new vic- 
 tims, laid aside her usual arrogance, and was 
 very animated and agreeable. In the midst of 
 the breakfast, they heard the voices of a party 
 of young men in the adjoining bower, whom 
 they soon recognised as some of those that had 
 been present at the ball given on the marriage
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 211 
 
 of Maria with Melcour. " I was confident," 
 said Gercour, " that I should win my wager ; 
 that we could prevent her dancing." <k This 
 lovely Adelaide," said Charles, t4 how much is 
 the public amused at her expense !" " She 
 imagines," said Dorsan in his tarn, laughing 
 aloud, "that she cannot honour any one with a 
 look, but his heart is immediately set on fire." 
 " One cannot speak to her," said another, 
 " but she instantly presumes that she is about 
 to receive a declaration of love." " I think [ 
 played the palpitations very well," said the 
 waltz dancer.'' " And I," said Dorsan, " the 
 not daring to touch even the tip of her finger." 
 Thus, in turn, they all recounted their exploits ; 
 while a new voice said, " Indeed you all played 
 your parts to admiration, and we willingly pay 
 our wager." " 1 he lovely creature," added 
 Dorsan, " supposes us sighing, crying, and 
 dying for love of her, while the wine of Bur- 
 gundy and the excellent fare of St. Cloud 
 
 revenge us for her rigours " " To the 
 
 health of the arrogant fair !" they all exclaimed 
 at once : " may she long be the occasion of 
 merry meetings like the present !" 
 
 " The rascals !" said Dumont, " how they 
 are amubing themselves at your expense, Ade- 
 laide !" " They are a parcel of rattling young 
 men," replied Melcour, " whom we must ex- 
 cuse ; they do not know that we are so near. 
 1 will go and put a stop to their facetiousness." 
 ' By no means, - ' said Adelaide, stopping 
 him : k ' they do me a greater service than they
 
 212 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 have any idea of. I begin to be fully sensible 
 of my own absurdity. When one has given 
 occasion to such severe animadversions, one 
 must have the courage to support them. Do 
 not interrupt the gentlemen, 1 entreat." 
 
 " Yet it must be confessed," said Charles, 
 '* that notwithstanding her absurd arrogance 
 she has many amiable qualities. If she were a 
 coquet, I would not defend her; but you must 
 confess vith me, that it is owing to the good- 
 ness of her heart, yes, the goodness of it, that 
 we have won our wager. It was the fear of 
 increasing our sufferings that deprived her of 
 the pleasure of dancing, and prevented her 
 speaking to us, or looking at us." " She is 
 certainly," added Gercour, " of an amiable dis- 
 position, and how is it possible that she should 
 not be blind on this subject ? She has been ac- 
 customed from her infancy to hear her beauty 
 extolled. She lost her mother early, and has 
 had only her father to direct her, who, estima- 
 ble as he is, could supply the loss but imper- 
 fectly, occupied as he has always been with 
 business, which precluded his paying the requi- 
 site attention to his daughters." " That is very 
 true,'' observed Monsieur Dumont. l< And 
 Madame Melcour," continued Dorsan, " the 
 most amiable little woman in the world, has 
 been so much dazzled by the beauty and me- 
 rits of her sister, that she was always flattering 
 her, and leading her astray." " Do you hear, 
 Maria ?" said Adelaide to her sister, with an 
 impressive tone, and kindly taking her hand.
 
 ARROGANCE CORRECTED. 2IS 
 
 " Oh," rejoined Charles, " if some one could 
 but open her eyes, and make her sensible of 
 the ridicule she incurs, I am sure she would 
 soon become an unassuming excellent woman, 
 and then our sincere homage would supersede 
 the sport we now make of her. I own indeed 
 that even now I am sometimes ready to re- 
 proach myself upon this account." 
 
 " I shall profit by this lesson," said Adelaide 
 to her father, " and feel grateful to the acci- 
 dent which has at length opened my eyes. Let 
 us retire softly, and leave these young men to 
 
 enjoy themselves I shall never forget,'* 
 
 she added emphatically, " that Charles under- 
 took my defence, and I shall thank him for it 
 when we next meet." 
 
 Some days after, Charles came to call on the 
 bride and bridegroom, when he was surprised 
 at observing a remarkable change in the ap- 
 pearance of Adelaide. She was now dressed 
 with great simplicity and modesty, in a style the 
 very reverse of what he had been accustomed 
 to see. " It is your own work," she said, 
 perceiving him examine her attentively, and 
 speaking in a manner which surprised him no 
 less than her appearance. " My work, do you 
 say !" he exclaimed wilh astonishment, " I do 
 not understand you." fc4 Ltarn then," said 
 Melcour, " that we by accident overheard your 
 conversation the other morning in the bowers 
 of St. Cloud " - " Can it be ? Ah, lovely Ade- 
 laide ! how cuipable must I then appear in your 
 eyes !". . . . " On the contrary, you are the
 
 214 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 object of my eternal gratitude." " So much 
 generosity confounds me ! You can then really 
 pardon our thoughtless indiscretion ?" " Cer- 
 tainly," said Monsieur. Dumont, ' you enter- 
 tained yourselves very freely at her expense." 
 " There was nevertheless one," said Adelaide, 
 " who had the kindness and the candour to 
 undertake my defence. He even avowed that 
 he felt regret at having shared in the jokes 
 which flew about : they were severe, I must 
 own, yet to them I am indebted for my present 
 happiness. Oh ! how can I ever acquit myself 
 towards him?" "By indulging him in the 
 hope of one day obtaining the hand of her 
 whom he dared to defend, and who becomes 
 from this moment in his eyes the most perfect 
 of women !" " If you had not corrected my 
 arrogance, I might perhaps believe you ; but 
 let us wait till time and reflection have made 
 me deserving of your good opinion." " De- 
 serving of it !" exclaimed Charles eagerly : " if 
 this be the only objection, there can be no rea- 
 son for my happiness being delayed." ** You 
 are right," said Monsieur Dumont, overcome 
 with joy ; " your father and I have long wished 
 this alliance, and shall be rejoiced to see it con- 
 cluded immediately. Dear Adelaide, you will 
 not long have yielded your right of eldership." 
 " I shall not then enjoy my present happi- 
 ness alone," said Maria ; and pressing Adelaide 
 in her arms, she added, " You see now, my 
 dear sister, that it is possible sometimes even to 
 love one's censors."
 
 215 
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 
 
 If any thing can add to the lustre of high 
 birth, or to the charms of beauty, it is that 
 amiable sensibility which is extended to all who 
 are unfortunate, which comforts and consoles 
 them, and that not intermediately by the means 
 of emissaries, who are too often unfaithful, but 
 in seeking in its own person the abodes of 
 misery, in encouraging the victims by the kind 
 accents with which it addresses them, in glad- 
 dening their hearts by its animating presence. 
 
 Such is a young princess, whom admiration 
 will point out, whom gratitude will bless ; but 
 whom respect forbids me to name in this place. 
 Beautiful, and full of grace and elegance, she 
 would have been remarked for these qualities 
 had her lot been cast in ever so obscure a situa- 
 tion ; in that wherein she is placed she is 
 emulous to show herself worthy of her exalted 
 station ; and, feeling that virtue alone could 
 give any superiority above that of rank, has 
 sought to raise herself still higher by her virtue. 
 Yet it is accompanied by so much modesty, 
 and presents itself under such a variety of amia- 
 ble forms, that even the respect due to the 
 princess is oiten confounded with the tender 
 interest felt for the most excellent of women. 
 If in the evening her palace is the resort of the 
 great, of those who are the most distinguished
 
 216 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 for rank and talents ; in the morning it is the 
 asylum of all who have any favour to ask, whe- 
 ther the question be of a family which is in. 
 want of support, of one who has some equita- 
 ble cause in suspense, without the means of 
 defending it, or who has a benevolent plan of 
 any kind to propose. 
 
 While a crowd of courtiers attend in the 
 vestibule the moment for an audience which 
 they ardently desire, her highness, in the re- 
 motest chambers of her apartment, is occupied 
 in giving audience to those who are employed 
 in administering her benevolence. To one she 
 remits a sum which is to save a tradesman, the 
 father of a numerous family, from a suspension 
 of payment which would hazard the entire loss 
 of his credit ; another is commissioned to admini- 
 ster to an old man, once opulent, but whom the 
 extravagance of his children has reduced to 
 distress ; a third receives orders to hasten to a 
 respectable mother, living in the environs of 
 Paris, who has two sons, officers in the life- 
 guards, to tell her of a battle in which they 
 have been engaged, and from which both have 
 escaped without injury, after giving various 
 distinguished proofs of their resolution and 
 courage ; another receives the brevet of a place 
 which she has obtained for him, she alone hav- 
 ing discerned his real merits through the unas- 
 suming modesty with which they were veiled : 
 another is charged with carrying a pardon to 
 an innocent man whom imposture had accused, 
 and who had been condemned through igno-
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 217 
 
 ance and prejudice ; to all a general order is 
 given to attend diligently that in the court or 
 -at the gate of her palace, in the street, nay if 
 possible in the quarter of the town where she 
 resides, no one may be seen reduced to ask 
 alms. 
 
 Having expedited in this manner all who 
 are employed in such of her acts of benefi- 
 cence as are publicly known, she then listens 
 in private, and with still greater delight, to the 
 agent intrusted with her secret charities. It is 
 notanyof theofficersof her household whom she 
 has chosen to exercise this important function, 
 sooner or later they might be known, and her 
 satisfaction in the good works would then be 
 inconceivably diminished. This confidential 
 agent is one of those sisters whose true piety, 
 whose indefatigable zeal, and affecting humility 
 contribute so essentially to the consolation of 
 suffering humanity, to the preservation of use- 
 ful artisans, to the education of their children, to 
 those good works of every kind which are so 
 imperiously called for in a large and populous 
 city. In one word, it is a Nun of the Order of 
 Charity whom the princess has made the asso- 
 ciate of her private donations ; it is to sister 
 Agnes, whose intelligence and zeal in the per- 
 formance of her task are to be exceeded only 
 by her devotion to the Fountain of all goodness, 
 that she confides what is above all things dear 
 to her heart, the happiness of conferring fa- 
 vours without the source whence they are de- 
 rived being known. She has access to the 
 i.
 
 18 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 princess at all hours, has free ingress and egress 
 to and from the palace without any questions 
 ever being asked, and every body belonging 
 to it is eager to show her the utmost re- 
 spect and regard. She traverses every apart- 
 ment alone, and unattended till she meets with 
 her whom she seeks, when she is received by 
 her as a cherished friend who is conferring im- 
 portant favours upon her, not as one who is 
 only the minister of her own bounties. 
 
 Other persons when receiving their orders 
 from the princess attend her standing ; but 
 sister Agnes is allowed to sit in her presence 
 with the familiarity of an equal, while she 
 gives a minute relation of all that she has done, 
 of her walks to the remotest parts of the town, 
 of the sick whom she has attended, the prayers 
 she has offered up, the advice she has given, 
 the alms she has bestowed. " Oh what pa- 
 tience ! what piety!" exclaims the Princess, 
 pressing her hands : "ye worthy servants of 
 that religion of which you are a principal sup- 
 port, ye modest ornaments of our sex, what 
 claims have you on the gratitude of your fellow- 
 creatures ! Every step you take is marked by 
 some act of beneficence, your presence soothes 
 the bed of affliction, at sight of you the poor 
 seem to lose the sense of their sufferings, the 
 old man is revived, the widow is consoled, the 
 orphan finds his lost parent restored." 
 
 " Ah ! " replies sister Agnes, with tears 
 starting into her eyes, " I am but too happy to 
 be made the minister of your highness's boun-
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 219 
 
 ties. If you condescend to consider us as of 
 some use in the world, and as worthy of esteem, 
 in your august person I seem to behold an 
 angel descended from Heaven, who has been 
 made to take the form of a lovely princess, 
 only to be a more conspicuous model of every 
 virtue." " Tell me, sister Agnes, have you 
 large demands upon me to-day?" " Oh no, 
 madam, I have as yet expended little more 
 than half the sum you last confided to me." 
 " You have not I hope been sparing in your 
 charities ?" " Indeed I have rather been lavish. 
 I have paid the last six months due for the 
 apprenticeship of that lovely young orphan 
 whom I placed under your highness's sempstress; 
 she is most diligent at her business, and Heaven 
 I am sure, blessing your goodness, will make 
 her a pattern to young women in her situation : 
 she never ceases importuning me to know the 
 name of her unseen benefactress. Then I 
 gave ten pounds for a quarter's payment of the 
 board and lodging of that worthy old sculptor 
 whom we have taken under our protection : 
 he asked a thousand questions js usual, and 
 could with difficulty be persuaded to take the 
 money. ' I have told you, sister Agnes, that 
 1 will no longer accept your bounty.' c And 
 how then will you live?' 'By my own in- 
 dustry.' ' At seventy-five years ol age ? Im- 
 possible.' c Tell me only to whom 1 am in- 
 debted ?' s It cannot be.' ' Take back your 
 money then.' ' Not I, indeed,' and throwing 
 down the purse, I hastened away. Oh, these 
 l 2
 
 220 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 artists are so proud! This good man once 
 enjoyed a high reputation in the world, and 
 richly deserved it, but misfortunes and the 
 jealousy of rivals...." "Well, sister Agnes, 
 you must manage his delicacy as well as the cir- 
 cumstances will permit ; it is not enough to be 
 ready to give, some address is often requisite 
 to make our bounties accepted." " Oh, as to 
 that, I have made a friend of his worthy house- 
 keeper, and she promises me that he shall 
 never want.'* " But this was not all, good 
 Agnes ?" " Alas, no ! twenty five pounds 
 went at one stroke to save the most interesting 
 young man !" " How ?" " Passing the other 
 evening near a gaming-house, I heard a plain- 
 tive voice exclaim, murmuring to itself, 
 
 * Wretch that I am ! .... 1 have lost, at once, 
 
 my honour and my father's confidence, 
 
 can I survive ?' He seemed about to fly, but 
 I seized him by the arm, and said, * Whither 
 would you suffer your despair to carry you ? 
 You spoke of a father, 'tis in his name that I 
 question you, then answer me I You have, it 
 should seem lost a sum of money.'. . . . * Which 
 was my father's ! I had received twenty-five 
 pounds for him and a dreadful fatality . . .' 
 4 Take this- purse, it contains that sum.' 
 
 * How ! can one of your order . . .' ' The gift 
 is not mine, it comes from the most generous 
 of mortals, a tutelary angel, of whom I am 
 only the humble emissary.' ' Oh tell this 
 mortal, whether man or woman, that by this 
 act my honour and my life are saved, and that my
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 221 
 
 eternal gratitude , . .' He could say no more, 
 he pressed my hand and departed. I atn much 
 deceived if we have not snatched from the 
 brink of a dreadful precipice, one who till that 
 fatal moment had been a stranger to guilt, and 
 to whom the anguish he endured will prove an 
 awful lesson against such a lapse in future. It 
 has cost us indeed twenty-five pounds at one 
 stroke." " But never, Agnes, could they 
 have been better bestowed. Oh, do not on 
 like occasions think of sparing ! The delight 
 I feel at the thought of having perhaps saved 
 from destruction one who may prove an or- 
 nament to society, is cheaply purchased by- 
 such a sacrifice. My jewels may be less splen- 
 did, my equipages may be more simple, my 
 gardens may be less ornamented with statues..." 
 " But your own statue will one day be erected 
 as the monument of a nation's gratitude." In 
 conversations such as these was the time passed 
 that this charitable sister daily spent with her 
 amiable mistress. 
 
 One day this princess, who is a great patro- 
 ness of the arts, was to honour with her pre- 
 sence a concert g'ven by the Academy of 
 M.w:. ;ml from the excellent selection made, 
 and the splendid talents of the performers, the 
 highest expectations were formed of the enter- 
 tainments ; agret crowd of company was con- 
 sequently expected. The Princess, whose 
 paiace was at a considerable distance from the 
 Academy, set out rather later than she had 
 intended, and alraid of making the company
 
 22 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 wait, the coachman had orders to drive pretty 
 fast. In his zeal to comply with his mistress, 
 he drove with the rapidity of lightning ; when 
 in turning the corner of a street, one of the 
 wheels ran against a porter who was carrying 
 an enormous trunk upon his shoulder, and 
 knocking him down his arm was dreadfully 
 hurt. The cries of the poor man, and of the 
 people by whom he was immediately surround- 
 ed, did not stop the coachman ; he thought 
 that by redoubling his speed he should prevent 
 any knowledge of the accident reaching the 
 Princess : but she, whose ears were ever sensi- 
 bly alive to the calls of humanity, immediately 
 heard the cries, and stopped the carriage to 
 inquire the cause of them. On learning what 
 had happened, she ordered her servants to hire 
 a coach and carry home the unfortunate man, 
 and to call the nearest surgeon immediately to 
 his assistance : at the same time she reprimand- 
 ed her coachman severely for his inattention. 
 
 Though the music was particularly fine, the 
 princess was unable to enjoy it ; she could 
 think of nothing the whole evening but the 
 poor wounded porter. As soon as those 
 among her attendants who had accompanied 
 him home returned, she inquired with the 
 most amiable interest concerning his situation, 
 the place of his abode, the number of his chil- 
 dren, and above ail the character he bore in the 
 neighbourhood. She learnt that his name was 
 JViitcheli, that he had five children, all young, 
 who depended for their subsistence entirely
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 223 
 
 upon his labour, and that he bore a most ex- 
 cellent character. 
 
 As soon as she returned home after the con- 
 cert, she sent one of the officers of her house- 
 hold to assure him of her great concern for 
 the accident, and to remit him a sum of 
 money to maintain himself and his family 
 during the time that he should be disabled. 
 This officer was accompanied by the Princess's 
 own surgeon, who examined the poor man's 
 wounds and dressed them. He afterwards 
 assured the Princess that there was no reason 
 for alarm upon his account ; no bone was 
 fractured, there was only a slight laceration 
 in the arm, which would be well in a week. 
 
 As this amiable woman, however, knew by 
 experience that people are always too ready to 
 flatter the Great, and conceal from them what- 
 ever might give them uneasiness, she was not 
 entirely satisfied, and resolved to take other 
 means of inquiring into the man's real situation. 
 For this purpose she had recourse to sister 
 Agnes. She charged her to go herself and 
 see the sufferer, and bring her a faithful account 
 of him, inculcating strongly upon her not to 
 disguise the truth, how painful soever it might 
 be. " If," said she, " my good Agnes, I 
 place my highest enjoyment in administering 
 to the comfort and happiness of my fellow- 
 creatures who are in indigence, judge how 
 great must be the interest I take in the case of 
 this worthy father oi a family, who owes to me 
 his misfortune and his sufferings." " Depend
 
 224 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 upon my care and zeal, madam ; tomorrow 
 morning I will have the honour of communi- 
 cating to you the result of my visit." 
 
 The next morning she came accordingly at 
 the usual hour ; but tar from giving the Princess 
 the same flattering account that she had re- 
 ceived from the surgeon, she said she was afraid 
 the latter had dried up the wound too hastily, 
 and perhaps, in consequence, fixed a disease upon 
 the patient which would not easily be cured. 
 " I am neither a physician nor a surgeon,'* 
 said she, " from study and regular education ; 
 but the experience of forty-five years, passed 
 in attendance upon the sick, supplies in great 
 measure the place of such knowledge, and I 
 am seldom mistaken in my opinion. Far from 
 thinking the poor man's cure complete, I am 
 very apprehensive that he may yet be confined 
 several weeks : to use a common saying, they 
 appear to me to have? shut up the wolf in the 
 sheep fold." 
 
 Sister Agnes was v^ry right in her judge- 
 ment. Mitchell's wound in a few days broke 
 cut again, and with such alarming symptoms, 
 that a mortification was apprehended ; so that 
 the surgeon said, the only chance of saving 
 him was by taking ofF the arm. " Rather let 
 me die," said the sufferer. " How is my fa- 
 mily to be maintained if I am disabled, and 
 become a burden upon them, instead of contri- 
 buting to their support ? It may be that the 
 good Princess, who has already done so much 
 for us, would not suffer us to starve ; but it is
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 225 
 
 very hard for a man to be obliged to live him- 
 self, and see his family live on charity, when 
 he is of an age and constitution to support them 
 by his own labour." " You are in the right, 
 good Mitchell," said sister Agnes : " Cut off 
 your arm ! These gentlemen think nothing of 
 cuiting off an arm: Amputation, amputation, 
 is the word with them. I will maintain, how- 
 ever, spite of them all, that 'tis very p ssible to 
 cure the wound without it, only by a little pa- 
 tience and courage ; for the case must be a long 
 one, and the longer, because they wanted at 
 first to shorten it too much. But if you dare 
 trust yourself to me entirely, I have a balsam 
 which I have tried thousands of times, and 
 saved by it already many an arm, and a leg 
 too." The poor porter, overjoyed at hearing 
 that his arm might be saved, resigned himself 
 entirely to the care of the benevolent sister, 
 and her balsam was immediately applied to the 
 wound. 4 * I will come ten times a day if it be 
 necessary," said, she, " but you must second 
 me by exerting all your patience and courage, 
 and not fretting yourself." " Oh, tor that," 
 he answered, " do not rear me ; and if it must, 
 be a long time before 1 am well, God's will be 
 done !" 
 
 For a fortnight, during which Agnes- was 
 unwearied in her attendance at Mitchell's house, 
 she never failed to go every morning and give 
 an account ot her patient's situation to ihe 
 Princess ; she However anxiously conceded 
 from her that amputation ot the arm had ever 
 l 5
 
 226 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 been proposed, as she knew that this would 
 have given her inexpressible concern. Her 
 highness's surgeon, too, who had pronounced 
 on the first inspection of the wound that it 
 would soon be cured, and who had conse- 
 quently never thought it necessary to repeat 
 his visit to the sufferer, was equally ignorant 
 of what had passed, consequently was in no 
 danger of betraying what Agnes had kept se- 
 cret with so much caution. Indeed, had he 
 been belter informed, he would scarcely have 
 communicated a circumstance which must so 
 materially have impeached his own skill. 
 
 It was not then till all apprehension for the 
 safety either of the poor man's life or limb was 
 at an end, that Agnes ventured to inform her 
 benevolent patroness of all that had passed. 
 The emotions evinced by the Princess at the 
 relation, convinced the sister that she had 
 judged very rightly in not making her commu- 
 nication earlier. " Oh, indeed," she said, " I 
 cannot say how much I am indebted to your 
 judgement and discretion. If the carelessness 
 of my coachman had cost this poor man a 
 limb, I should never have forgiven myself. I 
 might have indemnified him and his family as 
 far as money can go, but, as he said himself, he 
 must have been for ever deprived of the de- 
 lightful feeling that they owed their subsistence 
 to himself alone. Indeed I admire the pride 
 shown by him in this respect ; it gives me the 
 highest opinion both of his heart and mind." 
 Then pausing, and reflecting for a few mo-
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 227 
 
 ments, she proceeded : " Sister Agnes, do you 
 not sometimes in your rounds carry with you 
 some of your young novices, that they may be 
 instructed in the secrets of your respectable 
 order ?" " Most certainly, madam. The life 
 we lead is so harassing that we soon grow 
 old, and it is necessary that we should always 
 have young people in training to succeed us." 
 " The next time you come here, then, bring 
 one with you, I would study her dress, her 
 manners, her language." " Would your high- 
 ness," said Agnes smiling, " enter yourself as 
 a novice in the Order of Charity . ? " " I have 
 my projects," answered the Princess. " But 
 above all things let her be about my age and 
 stature." " Well then, tomorrow one whom 
 1 have in my eye shall accompany me ; but she 
 is very diffident, and will be much in awe be- 
 fore your highness. I will, however, endea- 
 vour to inspire her with confidence." 
 
 On the morrow, at ten o'clock, sister Agnes 
 returned with the novice. Her tirnid and mo- 
 dest appearance excited the most lively interest 
 in the Princess, while her downcast eyes and 
 hesitating steps showed how much she was in- 
 spired with awe at finding herself in the pre- 
 sence of so exalted a personage. But the 
 Princess no sooner spoke, than the mild accents 
 of her voice and the charm of her manners 
 removed all apprehensions, and inspired her 
 with confidence ; nor did she regard her any 
 longer but as a tutelary angel, whose highest 
 enjoyment was to succour the unfortunate.
 
 228 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 While the Princess was conversing with Agnes, 
 she did not cease to examine the young novice, 
 studying attentively her air, her manner, her 
 demeanour, her mode of speaking ; and at 
 length, taking the sister apart, she said to her 
 in, a whisper : " At what time, Agnes, do you 
 visit your patient tomorrow morning V At 
 eight o'clock," replied Agnes. " Well then, 
 come to my chamber at seven, I will give or- 
 ders for your being admitted, and bring with 
 you the habit of this interesting creature, com- 
 plete in every part." " Aha, I guess," ex- 
 claimed Agnes, and in her ecstasy she had 
 nearly betrayed the whole secret to the novice ; 
 but a sign from the Princess commanded her to 
 be silent, and to confine her transports to her 
 own bosom, though she could not forbid 
 their sparkling in her eyes, and being evinced 
 by her gestures. " At seven," said the Princess, 
 " and let the dress be complete." Agnes 
 would not trust herself to answer j but kissing 
 her mistress's hand eagerly, she retired with her 
 young companion. 
 
 Orders were accordingly given by thePrincess 
 for Agnes to be admitted at the appointed hour 
 in the morning ; and the sister, punctual to the 
 directions she had received, appeared at that 
 hour, bringing the novice's habit. The Princess 
 rose immediately, and desired Agnes to assist 
 her in dressing. " Holy Virgin !" said the 
 sister, as she proceeded in her task, M 1 guessed 
 right, then, when I thought that your highness 
 meant to accompany me in my visit to Mitchell.",
 
 TBE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 229 
 
 " It is very true," said the Princess, imitating 
 the tone and manner of the novice. " My 
 taking the habit will not indeed be performed 
 with the usual pomp and ceremony, but re- 
 ceived from a hand such as yours, it will ap- 
 pear to me more sacred than if assumed with 
 much greater order and solemnity." " And 
 will your highness really condescend so far as to 
 visit the humble abode of a poor porter ?" 
 " Condescend, good Agnes ! To endeavour 
 to repair the ills of which we ourselves are, 
 though undesignedly, the cause, is not a con- 
 descension, but a duty. The dangers which 
 this excellent husband and father has run, and 
 perhaps still runs, have long inspired me with 
 an ardent wish to carry him myself assistance 
 and consolation. I was only apprehensive lest 
 my presence should excite emotions which 
 would be injurious to him ; I therefore 
 thought of assuming this disguise, trusting that 
 I might appear with safety under a form with 
 which no other ideas are associated but those 
 of kindness, of piety, and of benevolence. 
 Alas ! if all who have unfortunately been the 
 means of carrying despair and anguish into the 
 abodes of their fellow-creatures, would equally 
 assume courage to witness the misery they 
 have occasioned, we should see fewer selfish 
 eg&rists among the rich, and more hope and 
 consolation among the poor." " Tis Heaven! 
 yes, 'tis Heaven itself that speaks by your 
 mouth," said Agnes. " But tell me, Princess, 
 how shall we quit the palace without your
 
 230 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 being known ?" " I have taken care of that, 
 my good mother. My attendants all know 
 that you are here, and believe that you are to 
 stay with me for a long time. The balcony of 
 my dressing-room communicates with an .ar- 
 bour in the garden, in which is a door to the 
 street ; I have all the keys necessary, and we 
 may go out that way entirely unperceived." 
 
 The Princess then took the arm of sister 
 Agnes, and they set out together ; but the 
 novice, unused to walking in the streets, was 
 in danger of slipping at every moment, and 
 would hardly have arrived in safety if she had 
 not been supported by so practised a guide. 
 " We have forgotten one thing," said Agnes, 
 as they proceeded : " As you are not to be 
 known by these poor people, we must give 
 you some name." " Oh, give me any that 
 you please." " You shall then be called Saint- 
 Ange, it is a name that well becomes one who 
 is indeed an angel of goodness." " Speak 
 softly, Agnes, or we shall betray ourselves." 
 
 At length they arrived at the poor porter's 
 abode ; it was in a narrow street, and in the 
 fifth story of the house. They ascended a 
 steep and winding staircase, very different from 
 the spacious ones to which the Princess was 
 accustomed ; when the door of the apartment 
 being- opened,^ she beheld the poor porter 
 seated in an easy chair, his wife on a stool by 
 him spinning, and his children all playing 
 about him. "Ah, sister Agnes!" exclaimed 
 the patient, " eight o'clock has just struck;
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 231 
 
 I was sure we should soon see you : but whom 
 have you brought with you ? Many a pretty 
 novice have I seen among you, but never one to 
 equal her." " Aye, aye, that is all very well ; 
 but the question is not now whether our novices 
 are pretty or not, but how your wound is going 
 on ?" Cf Oh, it gets on finely with your 
 balsam, If it hadn't been for that, 1 should 
 never have been able to work again, or have 
 had an arm to press my poor children to my 
 heart." "It is certain, indeed," said the Prin- 
 cess, with a voice which spoke the utmost 
 sympathy and interest, " that sister Agnes has 
 performed many miraculous cures." "Ah!" 
 said the porter, " what a sweet voice ! This 
 young sister, to be sure, may ask any thing 
 she pleases of Heaven ; it could never refuse 
 her." " If so," said the Princess, raising her 
 hands and eyes to heaven, " I would above all 
 things pray for your speedy cure. I would 
 fain, indeed, endeavour by my cares to accele- 
 rate it ; but this is the first time that our good 
 mother has indulged me with accompanying 
 her in her visits to the sick. You must not, 
 therefore, be surprised, my good friends, if I 
 appear a little awkward ; it is not the wish to 
 do all in my power that is wanting." " Oh," 
 said Agnes eagerly, " we have not many no- 
 vices like sister Saint- Ange, and I prognosti- 
 cate that in time her name will be blessed by 
 more than one whom her goodness has re- 
 lieved." " Honest man," said the Princess, 
 " support your hand on mine ; you will per-
 
 232 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 ink it, my good mother.'' " I do not know, 
 my young sister ; as you are unaccustomed to 
 the sight of a wound, I am almost afraid . . . ." 
 " In our situation we must accustom ourselves 
 to every thing ; and I hope, as it has pleased 
 God to call me to it, he will assist me with his 
 grace ... Be not afraid ; support yourself upon 
 me." " Oh, what a fine skin, and what pretty 
 little fingers!" said Mitchell. " Come," said 
 sister Agnes, " let us take off the dressing. This 
 is excellent ; the wound has made such a pro- 
 gress since yesterday, it will now very soon be 
 healed." " Ah !" said the Princess with trans- 
 port, vt Heaven then has heard my prayer 1" 
 " Yes, yes," said Mitchell ; " I said he could 
 not refuse you. So 1 hope I shall soon get to 
 work again. To be sure, we don't want for 
 any thing ; that good Princess, who almost 
 ran over me, has been so bountiful. When I 
 get well, 1 shall go'to her palace, and stand at 
 the gate on purpose to have the pleasure of 
 seeing her as she goes out; and I shall say, 
 though she won't hear me, Please your high- 
 ness, I am Mitchell, come to thank )ou for all 
 the harm and all the good you have done me ; 
 and I hope God will please to reward you and 
 sister Agnes.'; " Reward me!" said Agnes; 
 " I have done nothing but my duty." " But 
 be sure," said sister Saint-Ange, taking her, 
 hand, winch she pressed to her heart, " that 
 the Princess will not be wanting in gratitude 
 to you." " And then,/ said Mitchell, " I shall 
 try and see the coachman, and shake hands
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. 233 
 
 with him, and tell him his mistress has been so 
 good that I can't for the life of me owe him a 
 grudge ; so, if he pleases, we'll take a bottle 
 together ; for sister Agnes has made me live 
 upon water so long, that I want something to 
 comfort me." 
 
 At this moment a knock was heard at the 
 door upon the staircase, and at the same time 
 a rough voice inquired, " Does not a porter, 
 by name Mitchell, live here ? I want to see 
 him, I have something to say to him." 
 " Come in, sir, come in," said one of the 
 children, opening the door. " Heavens!" said 
 the Princess, in a low voice, to sister Agnes, 
 " it is my coachman." " Let us stand aside," 
 said Agnes, " and do you keep behind me." - 
 " Good man," said the coachman, " you see 
 one who is heartily grieved at the misfortune 
 he occasioned you." " Aha! what it was you 
 that had almost run over me?" "And sorry 
 enough I have been about it. I should have 
 come to see you long ago ; but madam's sur- 
 geon, whom she sent to look after you, told 
 me you were quite cured. However, as I was 
 calling at a house close by here just now, they 
 told me it was no such thing, and they did not 
 know whether your arm must not be cut off; 
 so, then, I could not be easy without coming to 
 see whether it was true or not." " That was 
 kind, to be sure ; but you need not grieve your- 
 self about it now ; for since sister Agnes has 
 been so good as to give me her balsam, I am 
 getting quite well." " Sister Agnes !" said the 
 coachman, looking at her earnestly : " Aha !
 
 234 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 what the good lady that comes every day to 
 our Princess ? Well, to be sure, 'tis she herself. 
 Heavens !" then he exclaimed, seeing his mis- 
 tress, who was unable longer to conceal herself, 
 " why surely 'tis the Princess !" and he started 
 backalmost stupefied with astonishment,scarcely 
 knowing what he had said. " The Princess!" 
 exclaimed Mitchell and his wife. 
 
 " Yes,'* said Agnes, coming forward, 6e it 
 is in vain to attempt concealing it any longer ; 
 it is her highness whom you behold, your kind 
 and generous benefactress, who has even con- 
 descended to accompany me herself to your 
 abode, and assist in dressing your wound. Ah!" 
 she continued, falling upon her knees before 
 the Princess, " when I told you, as we were 
 walking hither together through the streets, 
 that you were an angel from heaven, I did not 
 think I should so soon have been able to render 
 you the homage so justly your due." " Rise, 
 my good mother/' said the Princess ; " it does 
 not become either you or me to see you at my 
 feet. Are we not sisters in this good work ? 
 And you too, my good friends, rise," she ad- 
 ded, addressing Mitchell and his wife, who, 
 following the example of Agnes, had also fallen 
 at her feet, and were pouring out their hearts 
 in expressions of gratitude and respect. " Hea- 
 ven preserve your highness," said the good 
 man, " for the sake of the poor and unfortu- 
 nate !" " I am so overcome with joy and gra- 
 titude," said the wife, " that I scarcely know 
 how to speak." " I shall never forget this as 
 long as 1 live," said the coachman, " and shall
 
 THE NUNS OF THE ORDER OF CHARITY. '235 
 
 be more proud than ever of belonging to her 
 highness." " Dermont," said the Princess, 
 " if indeed you feel any satisfaction at being in 
 my service, be cautious, I charge you, to con- 
 ceal from every one what you have now wit- 
 nessed ; at a single word which may betray it, 
 you are discarded instantly." " Her highness 
 may depend upon my discretion. '' " And you, 
 my good friends," she added, addressing Mit- 
 chell and his wife, " to you I recommend equal 
 secrecy." " We promise your highness," said 
 the wife. " For my part,'' said Mitchell, " I 
 do not know that I can promise any such thing; 
 there is something so fine, so noble, that it I 
 should ever chance in merry making with my 
 comrades to get a little wine into my head .... 
 Besides, it can't be spread too much among 
 the people, who fancy that the Great never 
 trouble their heads about any thing but them- 
 selves." " Well," said the Princess, " but 
 one thing remains to be said. When you are 
 recovered, it must be my care to find employ- 
 ment for you and your family : you shall all 
 come and live in my palace ; you, good Mit- 
 chell, shall be my groom, your wile shall be 
 my sempstress, and your children shall be 
 provided lor as they grow up. Agnes, let us 
 return; never shall 1 forget this morning. I 
 will preserve this dress with care as long as I 
 live j 1 am more attached than ever to the 
 Nuns of the Order of Charity, since I 
 have learned that half the charm of beneficence 
 is lust, if nut practised in our own persons."
 
 236 
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 
 
 JL hose malevolent minds who seem to delight 
 only in sarcasm, who are perpetually saying 
 mortifying things to others as it were instinc- 
 tively, who do not scruple for the sake of a 
 witticism to betray confidence, to violate friend- 
 ship, to ridicule persons in power, or to in- 
 sult persons of true merit, are characters but 
 too frequently, alas! to be met with in society. 
 The applause and laughter they excite, render 
 them insensible to the murmurs of that self- 
 love which they have wounded, and blind them. 
 to the vengeance which it meditates ; in the 
 gratification of the moment, they think not how 
 dearly they may in the end be made to atone 
 for their partial triumph, the detestable plea- 
 sure they feel in deteriorating the talents, and, 
 even attacking the honour of those who are not 
 present to defend themselves. But above all^ 
 how contemptible is it to see these mighty 
 satirists change all at once their manner and 
 language, en the appearance of any one whom* 
 they have been satirizing, and, masking their 
 ill-nature by smooth hypocrisy, endeavour to 
 make them understand that it was not them 
 of whom they had been speaking 1 
 
 Eugenio united to some literary talents an 
 animated countenance, and the exterior of a
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 237 
 
 gentleman; but these advantages were counter- 
 acted by a remarkable causticity of manner, by 
 a peremptory tone, and by the most sardonic 
 smile. He had a very retentive memory, which 
 was loaded with those epigrams, puns, and 
 witticisms, by which our language is now so 
 much infested, and which daily deform and 
 corrupt it. Born in an obscure station, but 
 inspired with an insatiable ambition, he fancied 
 that a competent degree of assurance and ad- 
 dress were the only requisites to the attain- 
 ment of fortune ; that by speaking with arro- 
 gance upon all subjects, the multitude would 
 be easily imposed upon, and made to believe 
 him a person of superior merit ; that by criti- 
 cising without mercy the most valuable pro- 
 ductions of others, he should be supposed 
 capable of producing better himself; that by 
 censuring indiscriminately the conduct of every 
 body around him, he should establish his own 
 character as irreproachable ; in a word, that in 
 humiliating others, by the force of ridicule and 
 sarcasm, he should raise himself very far above 
 them. Thus Eugenio became the dread of 
 those literati and artists who submit the fruits 
 or their labours to the public. There was no 
 cbss of society, no new production, no in- 
 dividual distinguished by his merit, his rank, or 
 his fortune, in whom he did not find some 
 field for exercising his censorial talents, some 
 ground on which he might make them the sub- 
 ject of an epigram or a sarcasm. 
 
 The success that he obtained in this way,
 
 238 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 was more than once frustrated by the resent- 
 ment of those on whom his satirical talents 
 were exercised. He had received many les- 
 sons which ought to have made him more 
 cautious; but the desire of passing for a 
 wit, the pleasure of being listened to, and hear- 
 ing his sayings repeated by others, and of 
 taking the lead in conversation, were gratifica- 
 tions for which he willingly sacrificed his tran- 
 quillity, his fortune, and his prospects in life. 
 He lampooned by turns his patrons, his 
 friends, his relations. Nothing was sacred to 
 him ; and when he heard it observed, on his 
 repeating an epigram, " Oh, he is a rogue," 
 he believed himself of the highest order of 
 geniuses, and his triumph was complete. 
 v It will be easily supposed that this disposi- 
 tion prevented his advancement, and the ac- 
 quisition of that fortune he was so ambitious to 
 obtain. He followed by turns the profession 
 of a preceptor, a public singer, and a writer in 
 the public journals. The fancy then seized 
 him to be an author; but several successive 
 failures convinced him that it is generally easier 
 to censure, than to surpass those who are cen- 
 sured. Defeated in these projects, he got em- 
 ployment from a printer, and chance threw in 
 his way the correcting the proofs of a political 
 work of some importance, by which he attract- 
 ed the notice of the author, a minister of state ; 
 a man as much celebrated for his worth, as by 
 the distinguished situation that he held. He 
 perceived that Eugenio had talents, and pleased
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 239 
 
 with the ease of his manner and his readiness 
 in conversation, he offered him employment in 
 his office, a place at his table, and apartments 
 in his house ; engaging at the same time to 
 make some future provision for him. The 
 satirist, thus brought forward in the world, 
 exercised more than ever his fatal talents, and 
 endeavoured to render himself still more and 
 more conspicuous, by the force of his satire. 
 His first essays in this way being made on de- 
 sultory subjects and unknown persons, the 
 minister, who was no enemy to mirth within 
 proper bounds, was only amused by them. 
 But he soon remarked that nothing was sacred 
 to Eugenio, nay, even perceived that he was 
 himself in his turn made the subject of his 
 railleries ; and not much pleased with the dis- 
 covery, intimated to him very seriously, that 
 unless he would forfeit his favour for ever, he 
 must be more circumspect ; that a repetition of 
 such conduct would end in losing him the pro- 
 tection of all those who were disposed to pa- 
 tronise him, and occasion his immediate dis- 
 mission from his present situation. 
 
 This advice, given with freedom and spirit, 
 had the most salutary etfect on the person to 
 whom it was addressed. Eugenio was then 
 about thirty-six years of age, and began to feel 
 the necessity of making himself esteemed, and 
 procuring an establishment that might give 
 some consequence to his existence, and procure 
 him in his old age the resources and consola-
 
 240 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 tions necessary to that period. Making a great 
 effort therefore, and arming himself with the 
 resolution essential to the support of it, he re- 
 nounced, though not without regret, the dan- 
 gerous gratifications which he had derived from 
 his talents for satire ; and thus gradually losing 
 the formidable character he had acquired, he 
 found the number of his enemies diminish in 
 proportion. 
 
 The minister, very much gratified with this 
 change, felt his esteem for Eugenio daily in- 
 crease, and with it the confidence he placed in 
 him, so that he finished at length by making 
 him his confidential secretary. In this honour- 
 able post, which gave him the power to do as 
 much good as he had formerly done mischief, 
 he proved to the world that self-love, and a 
 desire of distinction, however disgusting when 
 under no reasonable control, yet often con 
 ceal very estimable qualities; for he now lost 
 no opportunity of doing all the good offices in 
 his power. Convinced by experience, how 
 much even the most trifling literary works cost 
 to their authors, he gave his opinion on new 
 productions with candour and indulgence, nor 
 ever dwelt upon the subject but when he could 
 applaud with justice : thus, from a venomous 
 critic, he became one of the most candid and 
 impartial of judges, and a faithful friend to 
 real merit. Happier than he had ever yet been, 
 he was now convinced that public esteem pro- 
 duces more lively and durable gratification,
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 2*1 
 
 than the false glitter which triumphs only for 
 a moment, than the applause received from 
 the general reputation of being a wit. 
 
 The friendship with which Eugenio was ho- 
 noured by his patron, and the important ser- 
 vices that he rendered him every day, procured 
 him the means of obliging a worthy man, and 
 saving him from the loss of his fortune and his 
 honour. This person thought he could not 
 better acquit himself of his obligation than by 
 giving him the hand of his daughter, whose 
 beauty and excellent qualities gave a fair pro- 
 spect of a very happy union. Eugenio found 
 his wife a model of virtue, and enjoyed with 
 her the highest degree of domestic happiness : 
 this was still further cemented after a time by 
 the birth of a daughter, to whom was given 
 the name of Julia. 
 
 The cares which the infancy of this darling 
 child required, and afterwards the important 
 duties attendant upon her education, at once 
 occupied and delighted all the leisure moments 
 of Eugenio. His tenderness for Julia was 
 strengthened by seeing in her a living image of 
 himself. She had his expressive features, his 
 animated countenance, and his satirical smile : 
 with these he was anxious to see her unite the 
 sensibility, modesty, and angelic character of 
 her mother ; but here he experienced a cruel 
 disappointment. The little Julia early display- 
 ed the caustic wit, and the cruel spirit of uni- 
 versal censure, by which he had himself been 
 for so many years distinguished. In vain did 
 
 M
 
 242 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 he endeavour to crush in the bud this fatal dis- 
 position, from which he had himself been so 
 much a sufferer, and which he foresaw would 
 be equally a source of suffering to his daughter: 
 he saw with no small mortification, that his at- 
 tention to this point was not crowned with suc- 
 cess. The excellent education which he gave 
 her, produced no effect upon this strong origi- 
 nal feature in her character. It even seemed, 
 as her mind became gradually more developed, 
 that she only became more keenly satirical. 
 Her excellent mother, whose mild and reserved 
 manners formed so striking a contrast to those 
 of her daughter, took every advantage of the 
 attachment that subsisted between them, to try 
 and wean her from so dangerous a disposition. 
 But Julia even in embracing her, and lavishing 
 upon her a thousand caresses, could not for- 
 bear exercising her unhappy talent ; it could 
 not be restrained even by the sacred character 
 of a mother. The latter, too amiable herself to 
 be aware of all the mischiefs of such a quality, 
 would sometimes laugh at her daughter's sar- 
 casms, regarding them as the thoughtless effu- 
 sions of youth, and not doubting that they 
 would be reformed as she grew older. But 
 Eugenio, who knew so well the evils arising 
 from.. a disposition to satire, and feared to see 
 them accumulated one day on his dear Julia, 
 heard her with still increasing concern, and 
 viewed this misfortune as the just punishment 
 of his own offences in the same way. 
 
 The minister to whom he was secretary be-
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 24-3 
 
 ing appointed ambassador to the court of 
 Saxony, he announced to Eugenio that he 
 might prepare to accompany him ; he had 
 found him, he said, so worthy of his confi- 
 dence, and depended so much upon his zeal 
 and discretion in the important concerns in, 
 which he would be employed, that he would 
 not upon any account be deprived of his ser- 
 vices. Eugenio was highly flattered by this 
 mark of confidence from his patron, not only 
 on account of the honourable testimony which 
 it bore to his zeal and fidelity, but as leading 
 the way to a fortune which might secure to his 
 daughter an advantageous establishment. She, 
 who had never been separated from her father, 
 whom she adored, obtained permission to ac- 
 company him with her mother ; and when they 
 arrived at Dresden, apartments were assigned 
 them under the same roof with the ambas- 
 sador. 
 
 Julia in a country entirely new to her, 
 among persons whose manners and language 
 appeared strange, to one so little accustomed 
 to the world, indulged more than ever in her 
 turn for satire. Her father frequently remon- 
 strated with her on the subject ; representing 
 that his situation ought to make her particu- 
 larly circumspect in her conduct : he observed 
 that the ladies among the German nobility, 
 who traced their ancestors to remote periods, 
 maintained a dignity which would never diow 
 of her amusing herself at their expense ; and 
 nothing could be more dangerous than to at- 
 m a
 
 244 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 tempt it. But Julia, insensible to the import- 
 ance of his advice, consulted only her own in- 
 clinations, and was constantly criticising the 
 dress of the great ladies about the court, or 
 ridiculing their stately and reserved deport- 
 ment, their rigid adherence to etiquette, or the 
 manner in which they prided themselves upon 
 their descent from such a long line of noble 
 ancestors. The gentlemen who heard her 
 were at first entertained with the satirical viva- 
 city of the pretty young French woman, and 
 considered her only as an amiable rattle. They 
 soon however altered their tone, and seriously 
 recommended to her not to give way so much 
 to the liveliness of her imagination, as it would 
 perhaps lead to unpleasant consequences : 
 above all things they counselled her to be par- 
 ticularly cautious not to wound the self-love of 
 any one. Eugenio himself received the same 
 advice on her account from his patron, who 
 observed to him, that as he had been known 
 at Paris by several Saxons as a man addicted 
 to satire, the sarcasms of his daughter would 
 not fail to be attributed to him j which might 
 do him the greatest injury. 
 
 What had been foreseen by the ambassador 
 was realised but too soon. Among the most 
 distinguished women of the court was the 
 Duchess de Clinancourt, a relation of the first 
 minister's ; she was about forty-four years of 
 age, of a majestic figure, and still retained 
 some traces of her former beauty. This lady 
 having formerly riresided some time at Paris,
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 245 
 
 the French ambassador had particular letters 
 of introduction to her, and was received by 
 her in the most gracious manner. In her vi- 
 sits at the ambassador's, she never took the 
 slightest notice of Eugenio ; and if in cross- 
 ing the apartments she ever saw Julia and her 
 mother, she only paid them the distant salutal 
 tion of superiority, and always made them fee- 
 the distance by which she conceived herself se- 
 parated from them. Nothing more was want- 
 ing to the young satirist to give her a decided 
 aversion to the duchess, and to make that 
 lady the object of her highest flights of ridi- 
 cule. Learning that the duchess had formerly 
 played a distinguished pait at court, from the 
 splendour of her beauty, as well as from her 
 rank ; but that she began now to find her in- 
 fluence diminish, and was only retained m her 
 appointment at court out of respect to the me- 
 mory of her husband, and her relationship to 
 the first minister ; she treasured up this in- 
 formation in her mind, resolved to make use 
 of it upon the first occasion that was offered. 
 
 After a dinner of etiquette which the French 
 ambassador gave to the lords and ladies of the 
 court, he had a concert in the evening, con- 
 sisting of a selection from some of the b st 
 French operas, Juiia, who united an exqui- 
 site taste and brilliant execution to a very tine 
 voice, sang from Alcestes the beautiful air, 
 " No, it is not a .sacrifice,'* in so masterly a 
 manner, and with so much sensibility and ex- 
 pression, that the audience were in raptures.
 
 2**6 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 The Duchess de Clinancourt, who had often 
 observed the little respect shown her by Julia, 
 was the only person who did not appear de- 
 lighted ; she on the contrary affected a cold 
 indifference, nay even to find fault with the 
 performance. Julia, mortified to the quick, 
 immediately took a resolution of revenging 
 herself, and her ingenuity at witticisms soon 
 furnished her with one which fully gratified 
 her wishes. Surrounded by a great number 
 of people, some of whom observed upon the 
 excessive pride and ill-nature of the duchess, 
 while they paid her the. highest compliments, 
 and expressed in very warm terms the pleasure 
 they had received from hearing her : "I am 
 highly gratified,'* she replied, " by the ho- 
 nour you do me. It makes ample amends for 
 not having been able to obtain the approba- 
 tion of one person present, who even made 
 no scruple of finding fault with me in my own 
 hearing .... I see,'' she added with a bitter 
 smile, punning upon the name of the duchess, 
 " that it is difficult to please Madame Decline- 
 en-coiir"^-Ax. this sally, which was uttered 
 loud enough to be heard by the duchess, none 
 of the fair satirist's auditors could resist laugh- 
 ing heartily ; and the rest of the company in- 
 quiring what had amused them so much, the 
 pun of Madame Die line- en- cou r was whispered 
 from one to another, fill every one was in pos- 
 session of it, and shared the general amuse- 
 ment. The next day it was even propagated 
 in all the circles in Dresden ; and it soon be-
 
 the dangers of a turn for satire. 247 
 
 came so much the general appellation of the 
 duchess, that she was scarcely called any 
 thing else but Madame Decline- en-cour. 
 
 The vain and vindictive duchess, finding 
 what had been said, quitted the ambassador's 
 house in the utmost rage. She felt it so much 
 the more cutting, as it applied at once both ta 
 her loss of power and of beauty ; and she 
 vowed vengeance on Eugenio and his daughter. 
 Making use, therefore, of her influence over 
 the first minister, the only power that she still 
 retained, she acquainted him with the insult 
 she had received, and demanded that he should 
 do her justice. 
 
 A few days after the French ambassador, 
 ignorant of what had passed at his house, ap- 
 peared at court ; where he was treated with 
 great distance by the first minister. The next 
 day he called at his house, and was not ad- 
 mitted. Surprised at this behaviour, he wrote 
 to the minister and required an explanation of 
 it. " You have wounded me in the most sen- 
 sible manner," the minister replied, "and all 
 intercourse between us must be at an end." 
 The ambassador, not knowing to what cause 
 this violent procedure was to be attributed, re- 
 solved to obtain an interview with the minister. 
 In this he at last succeeded, and learnt that it 
 was occasioned by resentment on account of 
 the affront put upon the duchess at his con- 
 cert. " If you would convince me," added 
 the minister, "that you had no part in it, dis-
 
 248 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 card your impertinent secretary, and order him 
 and his family to quit Dresden within two days. 
 At this price all shall be forgotten, as I shall be 
 satisfied that you resent as much as I do the 
 insult which the duchess has received." 
 
 " You shall be satisfied," replied the am- 
 bassador. " Indeed, I think the punishment 
 you have condescended to name not propor- 
 tioned to the insult." On his return home, 
 he immediately signified to Eugenio, that he 
 had no longer any occasion for his services, 
 and enjoined him to set out for Paris in four- 
 and- twenty hours. " Too happy," he added, 
 " to be acquitted at this price." 
 
 Eugenio, thunder-struck, inquired with a 
 tremulous voice, what could have drawn upon 
 him this cruel disgrace. " You may ask your 
 imprudent daughter," replied the ambassador. 
 " The malignity and audacity she has inherited 
 from you, have nearly broken the sacred 
 ties which unite two nations made to es- 
 teem each other. Do not attempt to frame 
 any excuses. If at this time tomorrow you are 
 still in Dresden, I will not answer for your 
 liberty." 
 
 Eugenio quitted the room in a state of stu 
 pefaction, and hurried home to impart the fa 
 tal intelligence to his wife and daughter. The 
 latter, acknowledging her fault, which was 
 now first known to her father, disappeared im- 
 mediately. She ran pale and wild through the 
 different streets of Dresden to the duchess's
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 249 
 
 house, where after the most affecting and reite- 
 rated entreaties, she was at last admitted to her 
 presence. She threw herself upon her knees 
 before the duchess, in hopes of softening her 
 towards her father, whose total ruin was in- 
 volved in his present sentence. " You alone, 
 madam," exclaimed Julia bathed in tears, "you 
 alone can save him from the resentment of the 
 ambassador. My father is innocent ! by all 
 that is sacred, I can assure you that he is in- 
 nocent!" "You would persuade me then," 
 said the duchess," " that the insult I received 
 was not one of the happy sallies for which 
 your father was always celebrated ! I knew his 
 talents in this way long ago, when I was at 
 Paris, and am well convinced that from him 
 alone could have proceeded a sarcasm so full 
 of malignity ; it was one far above your age ; 
 and you only take it upon yourself to save, 
 your guilty parent.'' " Indeed, madam, I 
 most solemnly assure you that the offence is 
 mine alone ; my father did not even know of 
 it till this day." " A:ii> how dare you then 
 appear in my presence ? Oh ! it your heart 
 and tongue- are at )our age capable of so much 
 venom, the mischief you may do in society 
 cannot be too early counteracted ; it is confer- 
 ring a benefit on the world to prevent your 
 ever appearing in it with credit. Away, thou 
 daughter worthy of such a fattier ! Never for- 
 get that it is in vain to humble ourselves at the 
 feet of those whom we have not hesitated to 
 insult ; and that wounded self-love never par- 
 ad 5
 
 250 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 dons the offender." In pronouncing these 
 words the duchess withdrew, leaving Julia 
 prostrate on the floor, and for some mo- 
 ments unable to rise. At length, summoning 
 all her resolution to her aid, she returned 
 home and communicated to her parents what 
 she had done,and that they had nothing to hope. 
 
 Eugenio, with distraction in his countenance 
 and despair in his soul, resolved to set out that 
 very night. His disappointed ambition, the 
 prospect of future misery that was presented to 
 his mind, the grief of his wife, the despair of 
 his daughter, who incessantly uttered the most 
 heart-rending self-reproaches, struck aH at 
 once upon his mind, which was incapable of 
 sustaining so sad a reverse. After travelling 
 for some days, he was obliged to stop at a little 
 village on the frontiers of France, where, at a 
 distance from all medical assistance, he was 
 seized with a fever which put an end to his 
 existence, in the arms of his wife and of his 
 dear Julia. 
 
 Unable to bear the idea of separating herself 
 from the remains of an adored father, whose 
 death she could not but reproach herself with 
 having occasioned, the latter could not think 
 of quitting the spot where they were deposited, 
 and persuaded her mother to establish herself 
 in the village. Here they were soon reduced to 
 live by the labour of their hands ; while, in ad- 
 dition to this distress, Julia had to support the 
 mournful spectacle of beholding a tender mo- 
 ther in misery, owing to hex fault alone. The
 
 THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE. 2l 
 
 only consolation she experienced in this dread- 
 ful state was, to go every morning and scatter 
 flowers upon the obscure grave of her father, 
 where her trembling hand engraved this con- 
 cise and affecting epitaph : 
 
 " THE DANGERS OF A TURN FOR SATIRE."
 
 252 
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 
 
 If the choice of a friend be important, as con- 
 tributing essentially to the charm of our ex- 
 istence ; of how much more importance is the 
 choice of a husband, since on that depends all 
 our future happiness or unhappiness ! The 
 ties of friendship may be broken, and replaced 
 again by others perhaps even more dear ; but 
 those of marriage are indissoluble, death only 
 can break them. No young person ought 
 therefore to form them without making reflec- 
 tions to this effect : "1 unite my destinies for- 
 ever to this man, he is to become the arbiter of 
 my fate, of my fortune, of my reputation : I 
 have no longer any name but his ; I am to 
 share the successes or the reverses of his for- 
 tune ; his glory or dishonour j his joy or his 
 sorrow ; his watchings, his labours, his pains, 
 his pleasures, in a word his whole existence.'* 
 What might be said further upon this subject 
 will be best illustrated by the following little 
 narrative : 
 
 Monsieur Auberton was in his youth at the 
 head of a very extensive cotton manufactory. 
 His extreme assiduity in business, and some 
 greai improvements invented by him, as well 
 for carrying the manufactures to greater per- 
 fection, as for prosecuting them with greater
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 253 
 
 eeconomy, gained him the confidence and es- 
 teem of his principal so entirely, that he early 
 look him in as a partner in the business. In 
 gratitude for this kindness, young Auberton's 
 attentions were redoubled ; and this increasing 
 the regard entertained for him by his friend 
 and partner, the latter at length thought that 
 he could not do better than strengthen their 
 alliance by offering him in marriage his niece 
 and sole heiress. This union completed the 
 happiness of Auberton. His bride was one of 
 those women whose solid good qualities contri- 
 bute essentially to the prosperity of a person in 
 business. She by turns assisted in the corre- 
 spondence of the house, presided at packing up 
 the goods, took care of and encouraged the 
 workmen, and placed her highest pleasure and 
 happiness in deserving the esteem and at- 
 tachment of all about her. She was not 
 desirous of expense or show in her dress, 
 nor did she aim at luxuries in any way ; she 
 never aspired to any thing more than neatness 
 and comfort. To succour the distressed and 
 console the afflicted, were the only luxuries she 
 valued, and she was never so happy as when 
 surrounded by the numerous families of which 
 she was the benefactress. A woman who united 
 so many excellent qualities, was calculated 
 above all others to be a mother, and to exercise 
 in a becoming manner the numberless and im- 
 portant duties of that sacred office towards the 
 helpless beings she had brought into the world. 
 Madame Auberton had four daughters j but
 
 254 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 she was too soon, alas ! cut off from the happi- 
 ness of exercising her maternal duties towards 
 them. She died in the flower of her age, leav- 
 ing her husband inconsolable at his loss, and 
 deeply regretted by all those who knew her and 
 had long been sharers in her kindness. 
 
 Monsieur Auberton's only remaining plea- 
 sure was in the education of his daughters, in 
 whom he endeavoured to cultivate to the best 
 advantage the different tastes and dispositions 
 which they exhibited as they grew up. Not 
 long after this afflicting stroke, he experienced 
 a new loss in the death of bis respectable part- 
 ner ; by him he was left sole proprietor of the 
 extensive manufactory they had carried on to- 
 gether, and a large property in money also de- 
 volved to him. 
 
 As his daughters arrived at an age to enter 
 into society, he adopted a style of life calculated 
 to introducing them into the world in a manner 
 conformable to his fortune, and the education 
 they had received. The respectability of his 
 character, and his amiable manners, soon drew 
 about him a large society of persons of various 
 classes and characters, among whom were se- 
 veral that presented themselves as declared suit- 
 ors to his daughters. Eudocia, the eldest, and 
 Clementina, the second, were addressed, the 
 former by Baron Ostalis, chamberlain to a fo- 
 reign prince resident in France, and the latter 
 by Monsieur d'Ostange, son to one of the rich- 
 est bankers in Paris. To be addressed by per- 
 sons of such distinction, was highly gratifying
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 255 
 
 to the vanity of the two sisters. Under the title 
 of the Baroness Ostalis, Eudocia anticipated 
 appearing with splendour in the great world ; 
 while Clementina hoped to display all the lux- 
 uries that opulence could procure, as the wife 
 of young D'Ostange, and thus to outshine her 
 sisters. Monsieur Auherton represented to 
 them in vain, that the desire of exaltation and 
 splendour ought not alone to decide their 
 choice, and pointed out the evils that might 
 probably ensue from such imprudence. Eu- 
 docia and Clementina were too much flattered 
 by the homage of their respective suitors, and 
 dazzled by their outward qualities, to listen to 
 the well-founded suggestions of their father. 
 
 Baron Ostalis was a complete courtier, whose 
 graceful carriage and imposing manners an- 
 nounced at once that he was a person of good 
 birth, and accustomed to live among the great 
 world. And though in paying his court to the 
 fair Eudocia there was an air of condescension 
 in his manner that might have alarmed the cau- 
 tion of a more prudent woman, she was too 
 much delighted to perceive this, and was im- 
 patient for the moment that was to introduce 
 her to the public as the Baroness Ostalis. Cle- 
 mentina was on her part no less carried away by 
 self-delusion. She was in ecstasies every time 
 that young D'Ostange talked of his horses, his 
 servants, his carriages, the pictures that he 
 bought, and the jewels with which he should 
 present her j and disposed herself beforehand
 
 256 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 to second her future husband in all his luxury 
 and prodigality. 
 
 The two infatuated sisters, blushing already 
 at their humble origin, were united on the same 
 day, the one to her illustrious, the other to her 
 opulent, lover, without giving themselves any 
 uneasiness whether their husbands might sym- 
 pathise with them in tastes and characters, with- 
 out even having any rational assurance that they 
 were beloved. In this thoughtless manner did 
 they quit their paternal house, where they had 
 experienced uninterrupted happiness from their 
 infancy, to throw themselves into the vortex of 
 grandeur and of opulence. 
 
 Georgiana, the third daughter of Monsieur 
 Auberton, had no desire to be distinguished 
 either by rank or opulence ; she had no ambi- 
 tion but to shine as a person of wit and taste. 
 " I leave to others," she said, " the foolish va- 
 nity of a title, and the pleasure of amassing and 
 counting money. True happiness in my opi- 
 nion consists in a lively imagination, in that turn 
 of ideas which gives a grace to every thing one 
 xloes or says, in that delicate sensibility which 
 elevates one above vulgar souls, and from which 
 one finds a thousand charms perpetually aris- 
 ing. This is indeed to live ; while those beings 
 not more than half organised, who follow me- 
 chanically the common way of life, languish* 
 and scarcely vegetate." 
 
 Georgiana found all these qualities in the 
 elegant Monsieur de Luzi, whose studied dressy
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 2o1 
 
 easy gait, short sight, affectation, and lively 
 impertinence, announced the most accom- 
 plished man of fashion. With very little infor- 
 mation, but happy in an excellent memory, he 
 could repeat again, with an imposing assur- 
 ance, whatever he heard in the company of 
 well-informed persons. With a very small for- 
 tune he had the secret of making an appear- 
 ance as if he had a large one ; that is to say, 
 he possessed in a high degree the happy talent 
 of amusing his creditors, and silencing their 
 clamours, by an insinuating address, and a 
 gracefulness of manner peculiar to himself. 
 
 Attracted by the fortune that Monsieur Au- 
 berton gave his daughters, he tried every means 
 of pleasing Georgiana, by humouring her 
 tastes and studying her inclinations ; and suc- 
 ceeded so well as to be preferred by her to many 
 who were much his superiors in rank and fortune. 
 Blinded by the tinsel with which Monsieur de 
 Luzi shone, she thought she saw in him the 
 phcenix of his sex, and imagined that if she 
 were once married to this graceful Celadon, she 
 should soon become one of the most distin- 
 guished women in Paris. Her father repre- 
 sented to her the fatuity and indifferent circum- 
 stances of her lover, who had neither fortune 
 nor expectations ; but his advice was no more 
 regarded by her than it had before been by her 
 sisters. She declared that no other man had 
 equal merit in her eyes, and that the choice she 
 had made was irrevocable, as she was con- 
 vinced that she could never meet with another
 
 258 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 so worthy of her : she was accordingly soon 
 after married to this bewitching object. He 
 had furnished his apartments splendidly for 
 the occasion ; had bought a superb carriage 
 and a pair of fine spirited horses, with elegant 
 laced liveries for his servants. 
 
 Monsieur Auberton was now left with only 
 Gabrielle, his youngest daughter. Some con- 
 siderable losses which this worthy man soon 
 after met with in his business, but which he 
 carefully concealed from everybody, insensibly 
 affected his health, and the natural cheerfulness 
 of his disposition. The ostentation too of his 
 three married daughters, who emulated each 
 other in expense, and the continual dissipation 
 in which they lived, gave him still more unea- 
 siness than the concealed chagrin which was 
 preying upon him ; he had besides the mortifi- 
 cation of finding himself almost entirely neg- 
 lected by them. The Baroness Ostalis, occu- 
 pied by the duties that grandeur and etiquette 
 imposed upon her, forgot those more sacred 
 ones due to her father. She came to see him 
 but seldom, and then as it were by stealth, as 
 she was ashamed of her humble birth being 
 known amongst the grand circles in which she 
 moved. Madame D'Ostange seemed in visit- 
 ing her father to be performing an irksome task, 
 nor did she appear by her behaviour to recog- 
 nise in him the author of her existence, the 
 protector of her infancy. Madame de Luzi 
 came indeed more frequently ; but it was less 
 from filial tenderness, than because she was in
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 259 
 
 want of money to discharge the large debts 
 which she and her husband were daily con- 
 tracting. 
 
 In the mean time the tender attachment that 
 the sweet and modest Gabrielle bore to her 
 father increased every day. She had, like her 
 sisters, many offers cf marriage, but none suf- 
 ficiently agreeable for her to have any wish of 
 accepting them. She did not consider marriage 
 as a connection to be formed with no other 
 view than as a means of appearing with splendour 
 in the world; but she was sensible that her own 
 happiness and that other husband were wholly 
 dependent upon the choice she might make. 
 Following the example of her mother, whom 
 she in every respect resembled, her wish was 
 to make every body about her happy ; and she 
 thought herself so essential now to the comfort 
 of her father's life, that she could not resolve to 
 leave him. When he pressed her to make a 
 choice, and to contract ties which with her dis- 
 position were likely to insure her happiness, she 
 answered him with tears in her eyes, " Who 
 wiil then take care of you, my dear father, in 
 your declining years ? Deprived of my tender 
 mother, abandoned, as it may almost be said, 
 by my sisters, 1 am your only remaining com- 
 fort, and can I bear the thoughts of being se- 
 parated from you ?" 
 
 Monsieur Auberton replied with emotions 
 which were not to be controlled : " No, my 
 dear Gabrielle, Heaven forbid that I should 
 fcacririce you to myself ! Do not then suffer me
 
 260 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 to go out of the world without the satisfaction 
 of leaving you under the protection of one who, 
 when I am gone, will supply my place as your 
 guide and support. " " Believe me, my dear 
 father, it will not be easy for me to find a man 
 with whom I could wish to unite myself. If 
 ever I do yield to your solicitations, I should 
 like my husband to be of a profession useful to 
 the country ; I would not require of him any 
 other title than that of an honest man, or more 
 fortune than would place us above want j I 
 would rather see him obliged, in order to 
 maintain himself and me in easy circumstances, 
 to cultivate the talents he has received from 
 nature and acquired by education. Above 
 all, I should wish him to be a man of good un- 
 derstanding, and of a decided character. The 
 greatest misfortune that could befall me, would 
 be to find myself united to one who was want- 
 ing in sense and judgement, of a weak and timid 
 disposition. The wife of such a man must 
 every moment experience sufferings, that not 
 all the authority she assumes over him can 
 soften. To see him whom I had chosen to pro- 
 tect and defend me, weak and vacillating, would 
 be to 'me the most insupportable of punish- 
 ments. I would have him possess real sen- 
 sibility ; I would wish to see him emulous of 
 acquiring general esteem and well- merited re- 
 putation ; incapable of giving or putting up 
 with an ulfence ; and far from seeking to make 
 a bargain for the wife of his choice, as he would 
 for a slave, I would have him require no other
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 2G1 
 
 portion than those qualities of the heart and 
 mind requisite to form an amiable woman, and 
 the certainty that he is the object of her affec- 
 tions. Assist me, my dear father, in finding 
 such a husband j and in uniting our fates, we 
 will unite also in administering to your comfort 
 and happiness." 
 
 " That is to say, my good Gabrielle, you 
 would seek perfection, which is a thing not to 
 be found amongst men. Believe me, it were 
 better not to require too much. Be assured 
 that you are loved, and when to that indispen- 
 sable requisite, you find united in the man 
 your heart selects, talents, good morals, and 
 habits of industry, do what your excellent mo- 
 ther did by me, prefer him without hesitation 
 to his numerous rivals." These conversations 
 were frequent between the father and daughter ; 
 and the former was the more earnest with 
 Gabrielle to fix her choice, as he felt his 
 strength decline daily, and continued to suffer 
 heavy losses in his business. 
 
 Circumstances connected with the present 
 state of his affairs, about this time brought him 
 acquainted with a young lawyer, whose first 
 appearance at the bar had been attended with 
 very unusual success. His name was Franval ; he 
 had no tonune except what was derived from 
 his profession ; but his business had been for 
 some time daily increasing. His features, with- 
 out being regular, were expressive ; he had a 
 quick penetrating eye j was tall ; easy in his
 
 262 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 carriage and deportment, pleasing and polite in 
 his manners. But his most irresistible charm 
 was so sweet and persuasive a voice, that what- 
 ever he said found its way irresistibly to the 
 heart. He had already made a great many 
 friends, and was at six-and-twenty classed in 
 the public opinion amongst those lawyers who 
 promise to arrive at very great eminence. 
 
 In the different interviews that Franval had 
 with Monsieur Auberton upon the subject of 
 his business, Gabrielle soon remarked in him 
 the principal qualities that she wished to find in 
 a husband. Concealing within her own mind 
 this first impression, she studied the young 
 lawyer's character with redoubled care, and in a 
 short time was fully convinced that in an union 
 with him she should find all the happiness she 
 promised herself in the marriage state. These 
 sentiments were immediately communicated to 
 her father, and with them an earnest request 
 that, before any further steps were taken, he 
 would above all things assure himself that the 
 object of her choice was inspired with feelings 
 entirely responsive to them. Monsieur Au- 
 berton was delighted at what he heard, and re- 
 solved to lose no time in sounding his new 
 friend : for this he was soon presented with a 
 favourable opportunity. As they were one 
 day engaged in conversation together, not 
 upon matters of business, the name of Ga- 
 brielle being casually mentioned, Franval could 
 not refrain from observing, with no small de
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 263 
 
 gree of eagerness, that whoever obtained her 
 hand would be blessed above the common lot 
 of mortals. " It depends upon yourself alone 
 to be that happy man," said the father quite 
 overjoyed, and pressing the hand of his friend 
 with an involuntary emotion. 
 
 " On me ! I cannot aspire....*' " That must 
 be determined by your genuine sentiments to- 
 wards her. Every body admires and praises 
 Gabrielle; but whoever would obtain her hand 
 must feel for her a profound and sincere attach- 
 ment." " Nobody in this case can assure her 
 happiness better than myself," replied Franval 
 with a tone and manner that testified his since- 
 rity. " No one," he added, " can appreciate 
 her excellent qualities more highly than I do ; 
 and but for the distance of fortune that sepa- 
 rates us...." " There is no longer any,'' ex- 
 claimed Auberton, pressing him in his arms : 
 " Gabrielle, on her side, is not blind to the 
 merit by which you are distinguished ; and as 
 you love her, I may from this moment em- 
 brace you as my son-in-law." Then calling in 
 his daughter, he presented Franval to her as 
 her future husband, with an earnest request 
 that no unnecessary delay might be made in the 
 completion of a marriage which would accom- 
 plish an object he had long so ardently desired. 
 When the three elder sisters were informed 
 of what had passed, they all expressed the ut- 
 most surprise at an alliance which they had the 
 arrogance to term so extremely disproportioned; 
 and each thought that Gabrielle might have
 
 264 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 married better amongst their connections. 
 " My dear sisters," said Gabrielle, " I desire no 
 other title than that of being a happy wife." 
 " Can one be so in an obscure situation ?" re- 
 plied the three sisters at once. " The career 
 of my future husband," she said, " is far from 
 being obscure j a celebrated lawyer has few 
 superiors to look up to." " She is right/' 
 said Auberton ; " I prefer a man of talents in 
 the law, who preserves the honour, the fortune, 
 and the repose of families, to all those egotists 
 who disturb them by the depravity of their 
 morals, or ruin them by their ridiculous osten- 
 tation." 
 
 " But what will Baron Ostalis say when he 
 hears that his sister-in-law is going to marry a 
 lawyer ?" " He will say that she has not, like 
 you, the foolish vanity to aim at raising herself 
 above the situation in which she was born." 
 
 " And Monsieur d'Ostange, who intended 
 her for a rich banker?" 
 
 " I should be afraid of great opulence." 
 " And Monsieur de Luzi, what shall I say 
 to him ?" 
 
 " That he ought to pay his debts," replied 
 Auberton with impatience, " before he ar- 
 raigns the conduct of others. Gabrielle mar- 
 ries for herself, and not for you. The son-in- 
 law that she will give me will not be ashamed 
 of her connections, and of the manufactory 
 from which the fortunes of the family have 
 been derived." 
 
 This reproof silenced the three sisters, and
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 265 
 
 threw them into considerable confusion, as they 
 could not in their hearts disavow its being 
 justly merited. Their embarrassment was soon 
 relieved by the entrance of Franval, which 
 changed the conversation. He immediately 
 perceived that they had been discussing his 
 proposed marriage with Gabrielle, and that the 
 alliance was not conformable to the taste of the 
 three fine ladies. But wishing to avoid every 
 thing which might lead to any altercation 
 among them, he behaved with so much polite- 
 ness, and made himself so agreeable, that they 
 went away less prejudiced against him than 
 they had been at first, and observed to each, 
 other that he really seemed amiable, but it was. 
 a great pity he was only a lawyer. 
 
 The three sisters were present at the mar* 
 riage, loaded with diamonds and all kinds of 
 showy ornaments ; but Monsieur de Luzi was 
 the only one of the husbands who attended. 
 Baron Ostalis excused himself, as he said that 
 the prince had occasion for his services. Mon- 
 sieur d'Ostange, who despised every body less 
 wealthy than himself, alleged that indispensa- 
 ble business obliged him to be absent on that 
 day from Paris. Their absence, however, did 
 not excite any regret, or interrupt the wedding 
 being celebrated with that cheerfulness and 
 propriety which was suited to the good sense 
 of the parties. The young people lived with 
 Monsieur Auberton, who every day rejoiced 
 with his daughter in the choice she had made. 
 The affectionate attention he received from both,
 
 266 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 was indeed now the only consolation remain- 
 ing to him. His affairs became constantly more 
 and more involved, from the bad faith of many 
 persons with whom he was connected in busi- 
 ness, so that at last he was obliged to sell every 
 thing in order to fulfil his engagements. Thus 
 was his once flourishing business entirely over- 
 thrown. 
 
 Franval, who in addition to his wife's for- 
 tune made a very comfortable income by his 
 profession, experienced the greatest pleasure in 
 now offering his father-in-law an asylum with 
 them, where the only contest- between him and 
 his dear Gabrielle was, to exceed each other 
 in the kindness shown him. His other sons- 
 in-law showed him none. While he conti- 
 nued to be in opulence, he received frequent 
 visits from Monsieur de Luzi ; but as they 
 were entirely visits of interest, they ceased 
 with the loss of his fortune. His three elder 
 daughters came sometimes to see him ; but far 
 from bringing him any consolation, they only 
 added to his chagrins by the histories they re- 
 lated of their respective grievances. The Baron- 
 ess complained of the arrogance with which she 
 had been treated by the Baron, ever since 
 the prospect of receiving any additional fortune 
 with her was at an end ; and the complaints of 
 the other sisters were of a similar nature. 
 
 " I am at last then the only happy one of 
 the four," said Gabrielle to Franval with the 
 most ingenuous affection ; " you are but too 
 severely revenged for the contempt with which
 
 THE GH01CK OF A HUSBAND. 267 
 
 you have been treated." But the happiness of 
 the amiable Gabriclle did not remain wholly- 
 uninterrupted. Her father, enfeebled by age 
 and the secret griefs that preyed upon his heart, 
 soon sunk under them, and expired surrounded 
 by his four daughters, and the only son-in-law 
 from whom he had ever received the attentions 
 to which such a connection gave him a claim. 
 His death excited a great alarm among some of 
 his creditors, whose claims had only been sus- 
 pended on the prospect of a future arrange- 
 ment, and it now became impossible that any 
 .should be made. Franval, however, considered 
 it as a duty due to the memory of his respecta- 
 ble father- in-law'and his beloved wife to satisfy 
 these demands, though it cost him nearly all 
 the fortune he had received with the latter. 
 But his own profession was now fully adequate 
 to supporting himself and his family in ease and 
 competence j and none of the other sons-in-law 
 of the deceased were in a situation, if they had 
 been disposed, to contribute any share of the 
 payment. 
 
 Baron Oslalis soon after took advantage of 
 a declaration of war between France and the 
 country of the prince under whom he had his 
 appointment, to leave the unhappy Eudocia 
 to her fate with the charge of a child, the 
 only fruit of their marriage. 
 
 Almost at the same time Monsieur d'Ostange, 
 
 meeting with some unexpected losses, and too 
 
 proud to retrench his mode of living in the 
 
 place which had witnessed his former luxury, 
 
 N 2
 
 268 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 declared himself a bankrupt and quitted Paris ; 
 leaving his wife, still young and handsome, 
 with two infants. Monsieur de Luzi, to com- 
 plete the groupe, having long before spent all 
 the fortune he received with Georgiana, now 
 insolently seized the pretence of her father's 
 insolvency to demand a divorce, and, to add to 
 the cruelty of such conduct, abandoned her 
 at the moment when she was on the point of 
 bringing her first child into the world. 
 
 It was under these circumstances that Fran- 
 val displayed all the excellence of his character. 
 He soothed with the kindest attentions the 
 sorrows of his sisters-in-law, and only requited 
 tJieir former contempt by uniting with his wife 
 in constant endeavours to alleviate the distress 
 in which they found themselves. His reputa- 
 tion in his profession was now so great, that 
 it brought him in a very considerable income, 
 and by judicious ceconomy he soon saved a 
 capital of above ten thousand pounds, with 
 which he purchased an estate at Brie in the 
 environs of Meaux. He did not at the time 
 acquaint his wife with what he had done ; but 
 pretending that some important business ob- 
 liged him to be absent awhile, he made in 
 secret all the preparations necessary for ex- 
 ecuting a project which he had planned. On 
 returning to Paris, he told his wife that he 
 proposed realising his property in the pur- 
 chase of land ; and as he had seen an estate at 
 Brie which he thought would suit them, he 
 was very desirous that they should go and look
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 269 
 
 at it together. It was then the month of Sep- 
 tember, and this affectionate husband had con- 
 trived that they should set out upon their ex- 
 pedition on his dear Gabrielle's birth-day. 
 They went first to a farm belonging to the 
 estate, whence they had an excellent view of 
 the house, which was surrounded by charming 
 pleasure-grounds. " What a delightful place!" 
 said Madame Franval : " how happy one might 
 be there !" " That is also to be sold," said 
 her husband, " and by getting time allowed us 
 for the payment, we might possibly be able 
 to buy it : suppose we go and look at it ?" 
 " With all my heart," said Gabrielle, " but I 
 am afraid the place will be too large for us." 
 They went then to the house, where the ser- 
 vants received them as strangers. They look- 
 ed over every part of it, and Madame Franval ex 
 pressed herself as highly delighted, often 
 repeating how happy she should consider her- 
 self if she was owner of so sweet a place. 
 But what was her surprise, when on going 
 into one of the rooms she perceived a full- 
 length portrait of her father! When she had 
 rcovered the first emotion occasioned by a 
 sight so unexpected, she eagerly inquired of 
 her husband the meaning of a circumstance 
 which appeared to her quite an aenigma. He 
 only answered by taking her into the next 
 room, where the first things she observed 
 were her own port-folio and drawing-box, and 
 the next a picture of herself surrounded by a 
 number of poor persons, who had been re-
 
 270 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 lieved by her during a very severe winter, for 
 which purpose she had sold a number of valu- 
 able trinkets. " Such a picture was not want- 
 ing," she said, " to make me love this place, 
 where I perceive we are at home." On a 
 signal given, the servants, now came in to pay 
 their respects to Madame Franval as their mis- 
 tress. She was next conducted to a range of 
 sleeping- rooms, when over the first door they 
 came to, she read : " The apartment of Eu- 
 docia". ... on another, " The apartment of 
 Clementina". . . . and on a third, " The apart- 
 ment of Georgiana" " You see now," 
 
 said Franval smiling, " that this habitation is 
 not too large for us." " O best of brothers!" 
 exclaimed Madame Franval, " it belongs to 
 you alone to revenge yourself in such a 
 manner." 
 
 " Will not Monsieur and Madame," said 
 the gardener, now entering, " honour my 
 gardens with their presence?" "Undoubtedly, 
 honest man/' replied Franval, " your lady 
 must see every thing." Gabrielle and her 
 husband then walked through the kitchen-gar- 
 den, the groves, the meadows, the orchards, and 
 found there all that could contribute to the 
 comforts and even luxuries of life, united with 
 the beauties of nature and the modest embellish- 
 ments of art. 
 
 But the greatest and most agreeable surprise 
 that Monsieur Franval had prepared for his 
 wife was yet to come. On turning into a 
 little grove of acacias, the interwoven branches
 
 THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND. 271 
 
 of which formed a natural arbour, she saw 
 her three sisters sitting under the delightful 
 shade with their children about them. Eudocia 
 was teaching her little boy, of five years old, 
 to read. Clementina was tying up some 
 flowers for her two infants, who were sitting at 
 her feet ; and Georgiana was suckling her baby. 
 The apparent harmony of this union, and the 
 expression of tranquil happiness upon their 
 countenances, threw Madame Franval into 
 such an ecstasy of joy, that embracing her 
 husband she exclaimed, " I defy you now to 
 add to my happiness!". . . . The sound of her 
 voice attracted the attention of the three sisters, 
 who rose and came towards her with their 
 children, completing this delightful scene by 
 their caresses. Gabrielle pressed them all 
 eagerly to her heart, and they embraced her 
 and Franval, calling the latter their friend, 
 their benefactor, their father. The lour sisters 
 thus assembled again under one roof, after all 
 their disunion and misfortunes, felt the tender 
 sentiments and sweet union of their infancy re- 
 newed with even increased fervour. 
 
 Franval now explained to Gabrielle all the 
 particulars of his purchase and subsequent ar- 
 rangements, which included that of the sisters 
 being to remain their constant guests in this 
 charming retreat. Paris now only presented 
 them with painful recollections; and they were 
 so generally disgusted with the great world, that 
 they had resolved to devote themselves entirely 
 to the education of their children. This could
 
 272 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 never be done under auspices more favourable, 
 than with the excellent Frauval as their assistant 
 and protector. " I have chosen the present 
 day," added Franval, '" for this re-union, as 
 I knew that I could not give my Gabrielle a 
 festival equally acceptable ; and I imparted my 
 secret to her sisters, that they might be ready 
 here to complete her surprise.'* 
 
 kt O most amiable and most affectionate 
 of men," said Gabrielle, " your inestima- 
 ble qualities become more and more apparent 
 every day ; and I feel with sentiments of the 
 most lively gratitude and affection, that of alt 
 the blessings Heaven can bestow upon a wo- 
 man, there is none which can be compared with 
 that, of being happy in, and justly proud of, 
 the husband of her choice."
 
 273 
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT'S TREE. 
 
 At the country-seat of Saint-Gratian, in the 
 beautiful valley of Montmorency, is a tres 
 planted by the hand of Marshal Catinat. It is 
 a Spanish chesnut, and stands in the court be- 
 fore the house, spreading its vast branches round 
 to such an extent that it shades nearly the whole 
 area. To preserve this memorial of a hero, 
 whose name will ever be revered not only by 
 those brave warriors who best understand the 
 value of his talents, but by every individual of 
 that country to . which he rendered such im- 
 portant services, the utmost care and attention 
 is always shown to avert its falling into decay, 
 or being in any way broken or injured. Thus, 
 ahhoughithasalreadybravedthe rigours of more 
 than a hundred winters, it still appears in the 
 highest vigour, rearing its lofty head with the ut- 
 most majesty, as if holdingthe supreme dominion 
 over the shrubs by which it is surrounded, in 
 the same manner as the great man by whom it 
 was planted held supreme sway, by his wisdom 
 and valour, over the hearts of those soldiers 
 whom he had so often conducted to victory. 
 
 Round the foot of this tree is a large wooden 
 
 bench, on which are inscribed a number of 
 
 names dear to every Frenchman. This bench 
 
 is a constant rendezvous of the inhabitants of 
 
 N 5
 
 274 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 that neighbourhood. The old men come in 
 the winter to warm themselves in the bright 
 sun, which then shines through the branches 
 deprived of their leaves, and there talk over 
 the many actions in which the noble planter of 
 the tree so eminently distinguished himself. 
 In fine weather the children assemble under- 
 neath its shade, and by the vivacity of their 
 sports, and the happiness painted in their fea- 
 tures, seem to imbibe, as under the influence 
 of a tutelary genius, the first impressions of 
 fortitude and courage. Hither, too, often re- 
 sort faithful friends to pour out to each other 
 the effusions of their hearts, and commemorate 
 the private virtues which distinguished Catinat, 
 and which have occasioned him to be consi- 
 dered as a perfect model of true friendship. 
 
 This charming abode, no less agreeable by 
 its situation and its fertility than celebrated as 
 having belonged to so illustrious a hero, was a 
 few years ago inhabited by Admiral Bruix, a 
 name which will ever be remembered with 
 honour in the annals of the French marine. 
 He generally passed there all the time that he 
 could spare from his important functions, 
 sleeping in the very chamber which had once 
 been Catinat's, the windows of which looked 
 upon the court where stood the famous chesnut- 
 tree. 
 
 The Gothic bed in which the Marshal had 
 so long reposed was reserved for himself; and 
 he made use, with a sort of religious venera- 
 tion, of the same furniture that had been used
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT'S TREE. 275 
 
 by this great man. But still more effectually 
 to recall the remembrance of him to the inha- 
 bitants of Saint- Gratian, he was anxious to 
 draw around him all persons in the neighbour- 
 hood suffering under indigence or misfortunes, 
 and after the example of the hero to succour 
 and relieve them. 
 
 Admiral Bruix was one day informed by his 
 gardener, that a young woman, plainly dressed 
 and veiled, had been for some time in the ha- 
 bit o{ repairing every morning just before sun- 
 rise, accompanied by an old female servant, to 
 the ^ates of the court ; where leaving the ser- 
 vant she entered it, and coming alone under 
 ( 'arinat's tree she there knelt down, and, raising 
 her hands in an attitude of devotion, seemed to 
 address a fervent prayer to Heaven. The Admiral 
 thought that there was something very romantic 
 in this account, and was seized with an eager 
 curiosity to investigate the cause of an appear- 
 ance so extraordinary. The next morning, 
 therefore, at break of day, he placed himself 
 at his window, and soon perceived the young 
 woman. She first seated herself upon the 
 bench at the foot of the tree, where she re- 
 mained for a few minutes, appearing lost in 
 thought ; then suddenly starting up, with one 
 knee upon the ground, she seemed to offer up 
 her prayer j after which she rejoined the old 
 woman, who waited for her at the gate. The 
 Admiral, judging by her movements, by her 
 walk, and by her air, which were all truly 
 graceful and elegant, that she was not of the
 
 27(5 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 ordinary class, was determined, if possible, to 
 inform himself further upon a subject which 
 seemed now so enveloped in mystery. 
 
 On the morrow, therefore, instead of remain- 
 ing at his window, he at break of day descended 
 into the court, and, concealing himself among 
 the shrubs, there waited the arrival of the lovely 
 pilgrim. She returned at her usual hour, and 
 prostrating herself beneath the tree he heard 
 her distinctly pronounce these words : " O 
 worthy pupil of the great Turenne ! to thee I 
 devote the friend of my childhood, the husband 
 whom my heart has chosen ! Deign, great 
 Catinat, to look down from thy blest abode 
 upon my dear Frederic, to watch over and 
 protect him ! Guide his steps along the path 
 of glory, and may he soon return to entwine 
 with his laurels the chains of Hymen L" 
 Having finished her invocation, she rose, and, 
 gathering a leaf from the tree, first moistened 
 it with her tears, and then placed it in her bo- 
 som. This done, she departed, still frequently 
 turning and casting her eyes towards a spot 
 which she seemed not to quit without deep 
 regret. 
 
 The Admiral, who had advanced softly to- 
 wards the tree, the size of which prevented 
 his being seen by the fair supplicant, had no 
 doubt, from the tenor of her prayer, as well as 
 from the enthusiasm v/ith which it was uttered, 
 that she was the betrothed wife of some young 
 man who was now absent serving his country 
 on the field of honour. The sweet tone of
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT'jJ TREE. 277 
 
 her voice, the elegance of her manner, and 
 above all the purity of her language, seemed 
 besides an assurance that she must be a person 
 of birth and education. He immediately or- 
 dered one of his servants to follow her at a 
 distance, and learn if possible her name, her 
 place of abode, and any particulars that were 
 known of her history. The servants soon re- 
 turning, told him that she had crossed the 
 park of Saint-Gratian, and gone in by -a little 
 gate to a garden which was upon the lake of 
 Montmorency. 
 
 The Admiral's curiosity was but half satis- 
 fied with this imperfect intelligence; but it was 
 sufiicient to serve as a clue to obtaining further 
 particulars. Pursuing his inquiries, therefore, 
 he soon learnt that this garden belonged to the 
 house of Madame de Vandeuil, the widow of 
 an officer of infantry, who had an only daugh- 
 ter by name Matilda ; that this young lady had 
 been educated in the village of Saint-Gratian, 
 on a footing of great intimacy with the son of 
 a brother officer of her father's ; that Frederic 
 Saint-Ehne, which was the name of her lover, 
 had been for two years with the army of Italy, 
 and that he was to be united to Matilda as soon 
 as he obtained the rank of a sub-lieutenant. 
 He afterwards learnt, that since the departure 
 of Frederic a considerable fortune had de- 
 volved to Matilda, in consequence of which 
 she had a great many suitors ; but that nothing 
 could shake her constancy to the first object of 
 her affections, and that it was on his account
 
 278 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 she came every morning to Catinat's tree, 
 there to invoke Heaven and the shade of Ca- 
 tinat in his favour. " Since then/' said the 
 Admiral to himself, as he learnt these particu- 
 lars, " she invokes the assistance and protec- 
 tion of the hero whom I have taken upon 
 myself to represent in this valley, it is I who 
 must watch over her Frederic j and it shall 
 from this moment be one of my first cares, to 
 employ all my interest for hastening his pro- 
 motion to a rank which will entitle him to 
 the hand of his lovely and faithful friend." 
 
 He repaired then in a few days to Paris, in 
 order to inform himself in what regiment Fre- 
 deric was serving ; and having obtained the 
 information, he wrote immediately to the Co- 
 lonel, recommending the young soldier to his 
 especial protection, provided his conduct had 
 rendered him worthy of it. The Admiral 
 soon received an answer to his application, in 
 which Saint-Elme was mentioned in terms of 
 the highest eulogium, and the Colonel pro- 
 mised to attend on the very first opportunity to 
 the Admiral's recommendation : he also as- 
 sured him, that according to his request the 
 young man should not be made acquainted 
 with the obligation he owed him. 
 
 Monsieur de Bruix, thus satisfied with re- 
 gard to the merits of the lover, was next de- 
 sirous of putting the faith and constancy of 
 Matilda to still further proof. He took ad- 
 vantage of the sociability which was always 
 kept up in the summer season among the in-
 
 MARSHAL CATINAt's TREE. 279 
 
 habitants of the valley of Montmorency, to 
 examine her character and conduct very nar- 
 rowly. He soon perceived that she paid very 
 little attention to the homage with which she 
 was surrounded, that her whole manner evinced 
 a heart entirely absorbed by one only object. 
 Yet, in paying her those attentions which a 
 man of polished manners will always show to 
 her sex, he found in her the most amiable 
 urbanity, that sweet candour and modesty, ac- 
 companied with a frankness of disposition, which 
 evinced at once a pure but highly cultivated 
 mind 
 
 Wishing, however, to prove her still further, 
 he went to pay a visit to Madame de Vandeuil, 
 as a neighbour desirous of cultivating her ac- 
 quaintance, when he adroitly turned the con- 
 versation upon the importance and sacred na- 
 ture of the marriage ties; and observed, what 
 an arduous task it was to a young person who 
 had been well educated, and had a great num- 
 ber of admirers, to fix her choice with pru- 
 dence. Then addressing himself to Matilda, 
 " As for example, in your case, madam," said 
 he, " how will you be able, among your nu- 
 merous suitors, to decide with any certainty 
 which is the most deserving of your hand ?" 
 " Oh," answered Matilda with a sigh which 
 she could not repress, " I am not afraid of be- 
 ing deceived. The best way of avoiding it is, 
 to attach ourselves only to those whom we 
 have known from our childhood, and never to 
 abandon one so chosen, how brilliant soever
 
 280 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES* 
 
 may be the prospects presented by any other 
 connection." "Yet/' said the Admiral, still 
 pursuing his project, and addressing himself 
 to Madame de Vandeuil, " I am commissioned 
 to add one to the number of those who aspire 
 to the hand of your amiable daughter ; he is 
 my own relation, a young officer in the navy, 
 of a most amiable disposition, and who pro- 
 mises to rise very high in his profession." 
 'Indeed," said Madame de Vandeuil, "this 
 is a proposal by which I feel myself highly, 
 flattered and honoured, but I must leave it to 
 my daughter entirely to reply to it." "The 
 honour of being allied to Admiral Bruix/' 
 said Matilda, " is one of which I can assure 
 him I am highly sensible ; but I know his can- 
 dour will pardon me in declining it, when I. 
 confess to him that my heart has been very 
 long engaged." "Might 1 presume without 
 being thought impertinent to ask, who is the 
 happy and favoured object? " He is not," 
 replied Matilda, " of equal birth and rank 
 with the relative whom you have done me the 
 honour to propose ; he is, indeed, no more at 
 present than a young soldier without rank or 
 distinction in his profession, and known only 
 by his courage and good conduct." " You 
 astonish me, madam !"' said the Admiral 
 " With so many advantages of person and for- 
 tune," . . . . " The latter have devolved to me 
 since the departure of my Frederic, but they 
 have made no change in my heart ; and if in 
 consequence of my accession of fortune I must
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT'S TREE. 2SJ 
 
 forsake the friend of my childhood, him whom 
 my father has so often called his son, much 
 rather would I return again to my happy ob- 
 scurity." " Yet surely a certain rank in the 
 world is desirable." " For which reason," 
 said Madame de Vandeuil, Ci I have only en- 
 gaged to give my daughter to her lover when 
 he becomes an officer." " Certainly, this is a 
 means of securing his performing prodigies of 
 valour, that he may the sooner obtain so rich 
 a recompense. Yet, opportunities of signali- 
 sing himself will not occur every day, and it 
 may still be a long time." {i Well, if it must 
 be so, I must arm myself with patience." 
 " How ? can nothing change your resolution ? 
 is it so irrevocably fixed ?" " Judge how 
 irrevocably, when I can even reject proposals 
 so flattering as those you have now made me.'* 
 - " I see that but one wish remains for me to 
 offer ; it is to see you speedily united to the 
 man whom so faithful an attachment pro- 
 nounces to be worthy of you.'' 
 
 Monsieur de Bruix, now fully satisfied of the 
 faith and constancy of Matilda, renewed his so- 
 licitations to the Colonel for the advancement 
 of Saint-Elme, and received the strongest as- 
 surances that it should not be delayed, the mo- 
 ment that the young man had distinguished 
 himself in a manner which might give him a 
 sufficient claim to promotio . Madame de 
 Vandeuil and her daughter soon after returned 
 the Admiral's visit, when he proposed a walk, 
 and leading them at length, after showing them
 
 282 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 other parts of the grounds, to the tree, invited 
 them to rest themselves under its shade. They 
 accepted the invitation, though a gentle blush 
 stole over the cheeks of Matilda, which gave ad- 
 ditional lustre to her charms. ie It is here,'* 
 said Madame de Vandeuil, " that Frederic and 
 Matilda, who were then children, imbibed the 
 first impressions of that friendship for each 
 other which is now so deeply rooted in both 
 their hearts. Their innocent sports, the play- 
 ful affection of their infancy, matured by time 
 into so strong and confirmed an attachment, is 
 all my work, nor do I fear that I shall ever have 
 cause to regret the encouragement it has re- 
 ceived from me." ;'.' Yes," said Matilda, " it 
 was on this bench, in the very place which I 
 now occupy, that Frederic said to rae on the 
 day of his departure \ ' All my endeavours shall 
 be exerted to imitate the model set before us 
 by the hero whose shade seems now to hover 
 around our heads as our tutelary genius and 
 protector : thus, alone, can I render myself 
 worthy of you. Ah ! if in my absence your 
 steps are sometimes directed towards this tree, 
 invoke the manes of this great man in behalf 
 of your friend ; and if 1 am so happy as to per- 
 form any action worthy of being recorded, 
 come hither and return thanks for it, and 
 say that less could not be expected from 
 one who received his education under the 
 shade of Catinat's tree !' From these affecting 
 words the Admiral learnt the secret motive of 
 the lovely Matilda's daily pilgrimages to the.
 
 MARSHAL CATINATS TREE. 283 
 
 spot : still, however, he resolved cautiously to 
 conceal his knowledge of them. 
 
 Several months passed, in which' the war was 
 carried on with redoubled vigour ; and Frede- 
 ric, engaged in long marches and perpetually 
 in action, had scarcely time to write to his be- 
 loved friends at Saint-Gratian. Matilda, di- 
 stressed at this cruel silence, and tormented 
 with the idea of the new dangers to which her 
 lover was exposed, sunk into a state of such 
 profound melancholy, that it began to occasion 
 her mother very serious alarms. Her only 
 consolation was in her morning visits to the 
 tree, where the prayers she offered up became 
 every day longer and more fervent. At length 
 one evening as she was reading aloud an eu- 
 logium of Marshal Catinat, and delighting her- 
 self with finding a great analogy between the 
 youth of that great man and of her Frederic, a 
 letter arrived from the latter to her mother. 
 Madame de Vandeuil opened it with a trem- 
 bling hand, and found its contents to be as fol- 
 lows : " 1 write in great haste upon the field 
 of battle ; the victory gained by the French 
 army is complete, and I am just made sub- 
 lieutenant : perhaps I may soon follow this let- 
 ter. O you, whom from my infancy I have al- 
 ways called by the tender name of mother, and 
 you, my beloved sister, my adorable Matilda, 
 at length 1 am worthy of being connected with 
 you ! 
 
 " FR E I ) E R I C D E S A 1 N T -E l M E /*
 
 S84 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 , '? He is an officer then !" exclaimed Matilda, 
 almost breathless with ecstasy ; " he is an offi- 
 cer, and we may soon hope to see him." 
 " Brave and excellent Frederic," said Madame 
 de Vandeuil, scarcely less transported than her 
 daughter, t( I may then indeed call thee son ! 
 Let us," she continued, " hasten to impart this 
 welcome news to the Admiral ; he has shown 
 so kind an interest for us, that in gratitude we 
 ought to carry him the intelligence ourselves : 
 it is too late this evening to make him a visit ; 
 but to-morrow morning at breakfast. . . ." 
 ct Yes, my dearest mother, we will both of us 
 go -and we will stop for an instant under 
 Catinat's tree." 
 
 The next morning then they repaired to the 
 Admiral's house, and made the proposed com- 
 munication. He affected much surprise, al* 
 though he was already informed by the colonel 
 of the young soldier's promotion. " Indeed, 
 sir," said Matilda, " I was sure that I could not 
 be mistaken when I expected Frederic soon to 
 arrive at his present rank." " So early a pro- 
 motion," said the Admiral, " could not be ob- 
 tained but by great personal merit, and by hav- 
 ing distinguished himself on many occasions." 
 #r" Oh how impatient I am to hear him relate 
 them all 1 but how can it be possible that he 
 should soon follow his letter ?"*" " Probably," 
 said the Admiral, " the Colonel may have cho- 
 sen him to carry the account of the victory to< 
 Paris, as well with a view to the advantage 
 he will derive from it, as to afford him an*
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT's TREE. 285 
 
 opportunity of seeing his friends. " " Oh how 
 much should we be indebted to the excellent 
 Colonel !*' " Do not however too much flatter 
 yourself with the idea, my dear young lady, this 
 is only a conjecture." 
 
 As they were conversing thus, the old female 
 servant who accompanied Matilda in her morn- 
 ing pilgrimages, came running to the house 
 almost out of breath, crying, " Madame ! 
 *' Mademoiselle! he is come ! he is come!" 
 i * Is it possible ?" exclaimed Matilda. <( I have 
 seen him, I tell you ; nay, he was so good as 
 to shake hands with me ; and God forgive me- 
 for presuming to say so, but I think he's a 
 handsomer lad than ever." " Oh let us hasten 
 then, my dearest mother !" " Wait for me, 
 however, my daughter." " I very much 
 doubt," said the Admiral smiling, " whether it 
 will be possible for you, Madame, to keep pace 
 with Mademoiselle ; she no longer sees us or 
 hears us. But if you will favour me with ac- 
 cepting my arm beiieve me 1 share sincerely 
 in your joy, and earnestly wish to be intro- 
 duced to your gallant young warrior." 
 
 They hastened then after Matilda, who was 
 wholly carried away at first by her transports ; 
 yet afterwards recollecting herself, she stopped 
 at the garden gate, reflecting that it was more 
 consistent with modesty and decorum, to wait 
 till he; mother was come up, before she met her 
 lover. The latter however, perceiving them, 
 hastened to meet them, and arrived at the gate 
 just at the same time with Madame de Vandeuil - 9
 
 2$6 
 
 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 when eagerly pressing her hands, he asked her 
 permission to embrace her lovely daughter. The 
 emotions of the latter were now so great that 
 she could scarcely support herself ; and resting 
 upon the arm of the Admiral, she presented 
 Frederic to him, saying, M Now, my dear Ad- 
 miral, are you surprised at my constancy?" At 
 the word Admiral, Frederic advanced respect- 
 fully, saying, " Permit me, sir, to congratulate 
 myself on having for a witness of one of the 
 happiest moments of my life, a name which 
 does so much honour to the French navy." 
 " Believe me, sir," said the Admiral, " that 
 next to these two ladies no one can experience 
 more pleasure than myself . . . ." " In so short 
 a time," said Matilda with enthusiasm, " to 
 have arrived at such a rank!" " Ah ! could I 
 press forward too eagerly to gather the laurels 
 which were to secure to me the prize I was so 
 anxious to obtain ? Yet I owe less to my own 
 merits than to the generous favour of my Co- 
 lonel ; he knew the motive I had to wish for a 
 short absence from the army, and kindly pro- 
 posed to the General, sending me to Paris 
 with the dispatches. Never could any one 
 evince more interest for me than the Colonel 
 has done ; a father could not have done more 
 for his own son." The Admiral here secretly 
 rejoiced at finding that his recommendation had 
 been attended with so happy an effect. 
 
 " But," said Madame de Vandeuil, " may 
 we hope, my dear Frederic, to keep you some 
 time among us ?"- " I could only obtain leave
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT'S TREE. 287 
 
 of absence for two months." u That is a very 
 short time," said Matilda involuntarily. 
 " The stronger reason," said Monsieur de 
 Bruix, " for hastening the wedding." " It is 
 my ardent wish," said Madame de Vandeuil, 
 " that it should take place as soon as possible, 
 and I propose to begin the preparations for it 
 without delay ; Admiral Bruix will, I hope, 
 honour it with his presence ?" tc I think my- 
 self indeed highly flattered by the invitation." 
 " Become by the blessings you shed around 
 you," said Matilda with a most affecting tone 
 and manner, " the father of all the inhabitants 
 of this valley, I would fain ask you to crown my 
 happiness on the most brilliant day of my life, 
 by representing the parent whom I have lost." 
 " I accept the office with transport," said the 
 Admiral, kissing her hands respectfully ; " yes, 
 lovely Matilda, I will endeavour to the best 
 of my' power to represent on that day your re- 
 spectable father." It was then agreed that the 
 wedding should be celebrated on the Tuesday 
 following. 
 
 Madame de Vandeuil accordingly began the 
 necessary preparations for this happy day. All 
 her family were invited to the wedding, as well 
 as all the principal inhabitants of the valley. 
 She besides determined to make it a day of 
 festivity to the good peasantry around, and for 
 this purpose a long tent was erected in her gar- 
 den, where they were all to dine, and where the 
 company were to dance in the evening. The 
 day at length arrived j it was one of the finest
 
 288 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 in the delightful month of May. Frederic 
 hastened, accompanied by the nearest relations 
 of his bride, to seek the Admiral at his own 
 house ; the latter immediately appeared dressed 
 in his full uniform, and attended by several 
 officers of the marine who served under him ; 
 when they all proceeded together to the house 
 of Madame Vandeuil. The inhabitants of most 
 of the neighbouring villages had assembled at 
 the church of Saint-Gratian, whither Matilda, 
 rendered still more beautiful by the agitation of 
 the moment, was conducted by the Admiral. 
 After the ceremony was over, the new-married 
 couple returned home, where they received the 
 congratulations of the persons of all ranks who 
 were assembled upon the occasion. A grand 
 dinner was then served, at which the bride 
 was placed between her husband and her adopt- 
 ed father. After dinner they adjourned to the 
 gardens, where the new- married couple were 
 expected to begin the ball : this was carried 
 on till very late in the night. 
 
 The Admiral retired early, not doubting in 
 his own mind but that his amiable daughter and 
 her husband would make a pilgrimage in the 
 morning to the tree. He knew Matilda so 
 well, that he had no doubt of her imparting to 
 Frederic the vows which she had so often of- 
 fered up there during his absence. He rose, 
 then, at the first breaking of the dawn, and 
 soon after saw the* young couple appear. Ma- 
 tilda, supporting herself upon the arm of her 
 warrior, said, " It was here, my dear Frederic,
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT's TREE. 289 
 
 that our first vows were exchanged ; how de- 
 lightful will it be to renew them under the same 
 shade !" " What happy days have we passed 
 here together, my beloved Matilda ! but none 
 was ever equalled by the present moment." 
 " After so long a separation, and after all the 
 dangers that you have run, to find ourselves 
 again united in so cherished a spot V* " Let us 
 hasten, my charming friend, to offer beneath 
 the shelter of this monument, the witness of 
 our first loves, the overflowings of two faithful 
 hearts.'' Then taking off his helmet, and lay- 
 ing it upon the bench, with one arm around his 
 adored Matilda, and the other raised towards 
 heaven, while both bent one knee to the earth, 
 " Shade of the great Catinat !" they said toge- 
 ther, "receive our vows, our homage!" 
 " Grant," said Frederic, " that after thy ex- 
 ample I may increase the glory of my country, 
 may render my name illustrious, and prove 
 myself worthy to be the husband of Matilda !'* 
 " Grant," said Matilda, " that after having 
 run with splendour for many years the career of 
 honour, he may return to pass his declining 
 years in this valley, esteemed by his prince and 
 his country, and beloved and cherished by all 
 around him !" " Every time that I add to my 
 laurels, here will I come to deposit those trea- 
 sures, and say, * 'Tis Catinat who has inspired 
 me, I seemed tofight under hisorders.'" "Then 
 the happiest of wives shall entwine a garland 
 from this favourite tree, with which she will 
 rown the head of her dear Frederic." "And
 
 290 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 often as we return under thy shade," they said, 
 uniting their voices together, " to thee will we 
 offer up our vows,; to thee, the protector of our 
 infancy, will we return our thanks for the 
 tranquil happiness we have here so often en- 
 joyed ; we will do homage to thy memory, we 
 will cherish, we will bless it." 
 
 *' Come, my children, come to my arms !" 
 said a voice'which seemed to proceed from the 
 tree itself. Matilda and Frederic, astonished, 
 looked around, them, when they saw the bene- 
 volent Admiral, who advanced from behind the 
 tree, where he had been concealed, and who 
 extending his arms to them, they both flew with 
 transport into them. " Ah !" said Matilda, 
 " who could expect that you would surprise us 
 so early in the morning ! From whom could 
 you learn that we were here?" " It is not the 
 first time," said the Admiral, casting a look of 
 the utmost kindness and affection upon Ma- 
 tilda, " that I have been witness to the prayers 
 and vows which you have uttered beneath this 
 shade. *Tis from yourself, my lovely daugh- 
 ter, that I first learned your attachment to our 
 vouthful hero." " Ah !" said Frederic, '* it is 
 then surely to your kindness, to your generous 
 protection that 1 owe my advancement, with all 
 its delightful consequences. My Colonel always 
 told me that 1 had a powerful friend, a zealous 
 protectory 1 was ignorant to whom I was so 
 much indebted, but now I can doubt it no 
 longer. Yes, charming Matilda, 'tis he, who, 
 touched by your prayers, has served me in se-
 
 MARSHAL CATINAT's TREE. 291 
 
 cret ; 'tis he who has procured me the means 
 of overstepping so rapidly the barriers which 
 were placed between you and me." " Yes," 
 cried Matilda, " it must be so ! I read it in 
 that excellent man's countenance, I see it in 
 those tears which escape involuntarily from 
 his eyes, in that emotion which he is unable to 
 restrain." " Yes, my children," said the Ad- 
 miral, pressing them to his bosom more eagerly 
 than before, " yes, ye amiable and constant 
 lovers, I was anxious to do for you what Cati- 
 nat would have done with transport if he had 
 been alive. In this I have only fulfilled a sacred 
 duty j and remember, charming Matilda, that 
 you yourself did me the honour of selecting 
 me to represent your worthy father." 
 
 " Yes, our father, our friend till death," 
 said Frederic pressing his hand eagerly. " Oh, 
 how worthy are you to replace in this valley 
 the benevolent hero whose abode you oc- 
 cupy !*' " I am no longer surprised," said 
 Matilda, " at the tender interest you have 
 shown to promote my happiness ; but to what 
 cause am I to attribute your ardent solicitations 
 to recall my first choice, and accept the ho- 
 nour of an alliance wiih your family?" 
 " Solely to the desire of proving your heart, 
 and assuring myself how deeply the tender 
 sentiments you entertained for this young hero 
 were impressed upon it. I found you a model 
 of truth and constancy, and 1 dare predict 
 that your husband,. . . ." "Will be every 
 year," said Matilda, " more and more distin- 
 o 2
 
 92 INSTRUCTIVE NARRATIVES. 
 
 guished in the career to which he has devoted 
 himself, and become an illustrious ornament 
 of his country, perhaps a second Catinat." 
 " Tis then, most amiable of women, that 
 you may say to all young persons who are of 
 an age to love and to be beloved, Imitate the 
 happy Matilda, nor ever permit either the 
 splendour of rank, the advantages of fortune, 
 or separation from the object, to shake the faith 
 which has once been pledged to a worthy man 
 under the sanction of your parents j always 
 bearing in mind, that as there can be no true 
 wedded happiness without love, so there can 
 be no true love without constancy !'*
 
 293 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I have now, my dearest Flavia, carried you 
 along the different paths which conduct to that 
 important epoch of life, when the tastes and 
 dispositions of the heart and mind are irrevo- 
 cably fixed ; when the character is determined, 
 when the degree of reputation we are to ob- 
 tain in the world is decided, when our desti- 
 nies are to be perhaps irrevocably enchained. 
 I wished to conduct you myself along this ar- 
 duous and dangerous route, that I might point 
 out to you the rocks which were in danger of 
 obstructing your steps, and indicate at the 
 same time the means by which they were to 
 be avoided. I thought that I might spare you 
 a part of the fatigues and lassitude which at- 
 tend ihe journey, by conversing with you as 
 we pursued our route, and fixing your atten- 
 tion upon some of the most important points 
 of view that presented themselves, by direct- 
 ing your thoughts and your reflections to 
 some of those pictures, the charm and interest 
 of which ought to leave in the heart impres- 
 sions never to be effaced.. 
 
 The advice of the most eloquent moralist 
 expressed only in short adages and maxims, is 
 o 3
 
 294 CONCLUSION. 
 
 almost always given without effect at the age 
 of adolescence, when the imagination, ever 
 awake, ever ardent, revolts from any thing 
 dry and sententious : but when the advice is 
 supported by anecdotes, and consecrated by 
 the authority of illustrious and revered names, 
 it remains profoundly impressed upon the 
 heart ; attention is excited by curiosity, we put 
 ourselves in the place of the persons presented 
 to us ; and the lesson becomes of so much 
 more value, as in not striking directly at our- 
 selves it spares in some degree our self-love. 
 
 Thus have I seen thee more than once, my 
 child, in writing down my advice as I dictated, 
 smile even when the story pointed out a fault 
 which I wished thee to correct ; or have seen 
 thee melted even to tears, when it presented 
 some affecting stroke, some laudable action 
 which thou wert emulous of imitating. I have 
 found that there never was any occasion to say ? 
 " Thou resemblest such or such a person, 
 this anecdote paints thee to the life p I told 
 my story, immediately thy eyes were cast 
 down, an interesting blush overspread thy 
 countenance, which proved to me that the ap- 
 plication was made ; and the eagerness with 
 which you consecrated in writing, even the 
 most severe reproof, assured me that, far from 
 exciting in thee any thing like anger, it at- 
 tracted thy interest, and secured me a still 
 higher place in thy confidence. 
 
 Yes, my child, you are arrived at that age
 
 CONCLUSION. 295 
 
 when the education is completed, when one 
 enters into society, and shows one's-self such 
 as one is always to remain : in a word, you 
 have nearly completed your eighteenth year. 
 This epoch, at the same time that it is the most 
 brilliant for a young woman, is the most dan- 
 gerous. The homage with which she is sur- 
 rounded, often destroys in her that interesting 
 candour which forms her highest charm. The 
 number of eyes that are fixed upon her, at her 
 first appearance in the world, lead her often 
 to consider that as admiration which is nothing 
 more than curiosity. The first attention she 
 excites, the silence observed when she speaks, 
 and the circle formed around to listen to her, 
 unite to persuade her that she is something far 
 superior to what she is in reality. Thence 
 arises that blind arrogance which makes her at 
 length a subject of ridicule ; thence it is that 
 she assumes a coquettish manner, which de- 
 stroys in an instant the fruit of the tenderest 
 cares and the best-managed education. 
 
 Be cautious, above all things, my dear 
 Flavia, not to presume too iar upon the privi- 
 lege of your sex to interest and to charm. 
 Never forget that the happy age which gives it 
 awakens observation and envy, and that at 
 eighteen indulgence is no longer to be looked 
 for. Bear constantly in mind, that this is the 
 epoch which fixes the public opinion ; at 
 which, if I may be allowed the expression, all 
 the virtues and defects of character, the in-
 
 296 CONCLUSION. 
 
 fluence of which will predominate throughout 
 life, are faithfully registered. May thy modesty 
 and discretion lead thee to enjoy in peace and 
 tranquillity the lot which fate has reserved for 
 thee ! Do not imitate those misguided young 
 women,, who, dazzled by the first notice they 
 attract, and which perhaps is fleeting as a sha- 
 dow, imagine themselves the objects of univer- 
 sal admiration, and are ever eager to be exhi- 
 biting themselves in public. The flowers of 
 spring, exposed continually to the scorching 
 rays of the sun, soon lose alike their brilliant 
 colouring and delightful odour ; while those 
 which flourish under the shelter of a protecting 
 foliage preserve their freshness for a length of 
 time, and even charm though seen only in their 
 wane. 
 
 Pardon me this digression, my daughter, . 
 and consider it only as the effusion of a soul 
 habituated to expand itself to thine, or rather 
 as the last lesson of a parent preceptor. Yet a 
 short time and I shall perhaps be possessed of : 
 thee no longer ; Love and Hymen will speak 
 to thee in a voice more eloquent than mine, 
 will snatch thee from the arms of thy first friend, 
 to impose upon thee in thy turn the duties 
 which 1 have had so much delight in fulfilling 
 towards thee. Oh, if my cares and my ten- 
 derness have given me any rights over thy heart, 
 if my advice is dear to thy remembrance, if 
 thou regardest it as a paternal asgis which, pro- 
 tecting thy youth, preserved it from all dangers,
 
 CONCLUSION. 297 
 
 promise me, my Flavia, sometimes to recur to 
 it, and, as a recompense for my anxieties, to 
 make him to whom thy destiny shall be united 
 consider it also ! Then shall I hope that he 
 may say, " I owe to this work an amiable friend 
 and a faithful companion, who forms the prin- 
 cipal blessing and happiness of my life." 
 
 I'rhiled ly Richard Taylor fif Co., Shot-Lane, London,
 
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