Chapter III: The Desert (1)

Nadir, in his turn, was visited by misfortune. Calumny pursued him: injustice extended high enough to reach him. He was banished from the wife of his bosom, from the son whose eyes were just opened to the light, and his life was dried up like the summer, when, although full of fire and vigour, it has lost its colours.

The people, whom he had taught to be industrious and happy, were given up to avaricious men, who converted their labour into an oppressive burden; and the memories which once refreshed the soul of Nadir now became to him a bitter and empoisoned spring.

He beheld iniquity spreading over his land, and was forced to behold it in silence. Iniquity dreaded even his silence, and Nadir was compelled to fly into barren deserts, where the devouring eyes of iniquity come not to seek their prey. He here met the sage, who said to him: "I wished to end my days in peace. These rocks, which have been piled immoveable one upon the other since the birth of the world, will not renounce their nature to rush down of their own accord and crush me. The rain may benumb my limbs with cold, without my accusing it of any want of obedience to the law which was given to it; therefore, I bear no hatred to these threatening rocks, nor to the rain which chills me; but the sight of iniquity wearies my soul into hatred of it: for there were twins produced at one birth--iniquity, which is the foe of order; and the hatred of iniquity, which is the re-establishment of order."

Shortly after he had uttered these words, the sage expired; and Nadir, beholding him close his eyes, exclaimed, "Now, indeed, I am alone."

The eyes of the sage once more opened, and he said: "My son, the plant knows that it is seen by God, but man bears God within himself; let him then never say I am alone;" and with these words the sage expired. Nadir left the cavern, and reflected on the meaning of his words. Seated upon a rock, he beheld a serpent gliding towards him from between the stones, now and then raising its head, and looking round as if seeking for some object on which to vent its fury. Nadir seized a piece of the rock, and crushed the head of the serpent, while the body writhed and struggled long after the head had remained crushed between the stones. At last it lay motionless, stretched along the rock. Nadir surveyed it: he also surveyed the lifeless remains of the sage extended in the cavern. "Both," said he, "are about to give back to the earth the dust which they took from it; but what advantage was there in taking the serpent from the dust?" And he questioned the work of the Most High.

The sun had just sunk behind the rocks which bounded the horizon. A cold wind arose, driven by dark clouds; it whistled through the rocks and penetrated even to the heart of Nadir, already filled with grief for the death of the sage. He remained motionless, abandoning himself, without defence, to the cold wind and to his grief. But a thought of the past arose to his mind: he remembered what he had been, and said, "Nadir shall not perish overpowered by affliction and the winds of night!" He arose, gathered the leaves and brambles scattered here and there in the clefts of the rock, where also grew the wild roots which served him for food. He obtained fire from a flint; a brilliant flame suddenly burst forth from the midst of a thick smoke; the light played upon the rocks, and seemed to people the desert. The features of the sage reposing in the cavern, were lighted up with a tint resembling that of life. Nadir gazed upon him, and tears flowed from his eyes, to the memory of friendship; but strength had once more returned to his soul. The flame grew dim, sank, and at last died away. A grey coating of ashes covered the still burning embers; but soon, of that great heap of brambles, there remained nothing but a faint trace, scarcely visible upon the spot on which they were consumed. "Behold," said Nadir, "they, too, have returned to the dust; but I, whom they have warmed, what right have I to ask why they were taken from it?"

The wind had died away, bearing with it the dark clouds. The moon slowly unveiled her disk in the blue vault of heaven, where trembled myriads of glittering stars. Each one of these heavenly orbs seemed to shed a ray upon the heart of Nadir. "Glorious works of the Most High!" he exclaimed, gazing on them, "what mortal will dare to lift his voice to ask what purpose ye serve in the Universe?"

And his eye sought that faint white trace, scarcely visible in the azure heavens, formed by masses of stars, innumerable as the sands of the sea-shore, lying in the depths of space, where the eye of man cannot distinguish them, where they do not even serve to gladden his sight; and still beyond these almost invisible stars, float perhaps, in spaces stretching out to infinitude, others of whose existence even sight gives us no intimation. Nadir dwelt upon these things, then withdrew his gaze, and turning his thoughts inward, upon himself, he said, "Even as these stars are lost to me in space, so the good which I have done will be lost in time. Already perhaps, it no longer exists; perhaps already it may have been productive of evil: for if those men are rendered wicked whom I had rendered good, what I have taught them will only have given them increased power of doing evil. And yet I do not ask of my conscience "To what purpose have I done good:" for if, when I have paid my creditor, he should throw the gold he has received of me into the sea, I should not say, "To what purpose have I paid my debts?" Sovereign Ruler of the Universe, every creature bears to thee in tribute, his existence, which is the fulfilment of thy will; and of this tribute, of which thou formest thy treasures, oh! Great Lord of Life! who will dare to ask of thee the use?" By the clear moonlight Nadir beheld the body of the serpent, stretched along the rock, and said, "Thou hast lived for evil, but even evil pays its tribute to the will of Heaven. Man knows not its use, as the insect destroyed by the icy wind of this night knows not that that wind would dispel the clouds. Oh! serpent, thou hast paid thy tribute: for God had willed thy existence, and thou hast accomplished by it the intentions of the Most High."

Nadir also glanced upon the slight stratum of ashes which the flame had left upon the rock, and said, "While the flame devoured these brambles, it warmed my limbs and my heart. When God drew man from the treasures of his power, he said to him, 'Thou hast the choice of being either the flame which devours the trunk of the oak, or the heat which emanates from it, and rejoices the heart of man.' The wicked replied, 'I will be the devouring flame;' and he thinks only of devouring; but God has forced him to produce the heat. It is the will of God which has created good. It is the will of the wicked which creates evil, out of which God extracts good."

With such thoughts Nadir calmly slept, and awoke the next morning as if to a new existence: for he had reposed upon the will of God the uncertainties of his spirit, and he contemplated, with a steady eye, the desert and its extent, its solitude and its aridity. He closed up the cavern where rested the remains of the sage: he returned the serpent to the earth; and the breath of the morning had scattered in the air the ashes of his hearth; but their lessons remained in his heart, and he said, "All nature deposits germs in the heart of man, and man nourishes them and elevates them to the thought of God." Nevertheless, this thought of God sometimes troubled him. Filled with it, his soul longed to rush towards him; and he prostrated himself, saying, "My God, I know thee but as the friend whose eyes languish for the sight of his friend."

Nadir was again uplifted by the returning wave of fortune. Iniquity had passed over his country like a storm, and his people revived in the freshness of repose after trouble. He again beheld the wife whom he cherished, and the child already able to clap his hands and utter cries of joy when he heard pronounced the name of Nadir. He was again invested with great power to do good; and the more he experienced the mercies of God, the more he felt the necessity of his presence; and he sought him in all things.

One day he beheld his son, filled with anger, rush upon an animal which was on the point of biting his nurse, and he said, "God has spoken to this child, for whence could he have learned love and courage?"

He surprised the wicked, endeavouring to delude himself with pretences, in order to colour an injustice, which he could commit without danger; and he said, "God is there before the wicked; for the wicked dare not go straight to the commission of evil;" and he added, "Great God, whom I see everywhere, let me feel thy presence still nearer to my heart."

One day Nadir, deceived by false appearances, condemned to be scourged a good man, who had been unjustly accused before him, and he pronounced sentence with his eyes closed, as one who in a dream, unmindful of what is around him, acts and reasons in accordance with the ideas which during his sleep exist in his imagination. Whilst submitting to his punishment, this good man said to his friends, whose indignation burst forth in bitter invectives, "Let not the commission of one injustice lead us to commit another in accusing the virtuous Nadir."

One of the friends of Nadir hastened to him with these words. Struck with astonishment, he instantly ordered the punishment to be suspended, and the supposed culprit to be brought into his presence. Then his eyes were opened, and he beheld before him an innocent man, whom he had condemned; and the truth burst forth, as a burning light, inflicting poignant grief upon his heart. In his agony, he wept, and, prostrate, implored the forgiveness of the good man, who said to him, "Oh! Nadir, thou hast not injured me, for thou hast not rendered me unjust towards thee; neither hast thou injured thyself, for it was thy error, and not thyself, that was unjust towards me."

Nadir's grief was increased by these words, when he saw what virtue he had condemned; but, at the same time, the sight of so much virtue filled his mind with an ineffable pleasure, and his grief passed away with his tears. In the fulness of his joy, he said to the virtuous man, "Thou art my brother;" and prostrating himself again, he raised his thoughts to heaven, saying, "Oh! God, thou livest in us. The perfection in which thou delightest exists in thyself. It is thy own happiness which thou communicatest to man, when his soul is lifted up in ecstasy at the sight of virtue. Father of all Good, Nadir, repentant, recognizes thee in the delight he experiences in contemplating the virtue which condemns him." Then he arose, saying, "God lives in us, and man feels him in himself, and rejoices in his presence;" and the rapture of the blessed beamed in his countenance.

The books, in which were recorded the remaining acts of Nadir's life, have not been preserved; but the sages, who in their old age still remembered to have listened to his words, relate, that from that moment peace never departed from his heart, nor serenity from his brow; and that, at the moment when full of years, he felt his soul ready to take its flight into the arms of God, even as a child who, in the midst of its games beholding its father approach, extends his arms to him from afar, and running to meet him, already relates to him his joys and pleasures; so did Nadir, with hands and eyes raised to heaven, exclaim, in holy ecstasy, "Thanks be to thee, O merciful Father! who hast granted to Nadir every blessing that man can attain upon this earth:" and his hands dropped, and he sank into repose, for his earthly portion had fulfilled its destiny.

THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.

Marietta was full of grief, because her mother insisted on her writing a second copy, her first having been badly done; and she had already spent nearly half-an-hour, in crying and pouting, a period long enough to have finished her task in, had she been so disposed. In fact, Marietta, though nine years old, and possessed of many good qualities, was often very unreasonable, and the slightest whim or irritability was sufficient to make her forget her best resolutions.

"My dear child," said Madame Leroi, who had been quietly working at the other end of the room, "as there is no help for it, I would advise you to make up your mind to do what I require."

"No help for it!" exclaimed Marietta, pettishly; "and where is the great necessity for my writing this copy?"

"It must be done, because I wish it."

"And why do you wish it, mamma?"

"Because it is necessary."

"It is necessary because you wish it. Can you not do just what you please about it?"

"No, certainly!"

Then Marietta broke out into a new fit of passion, and throwing herself back in her chair, she repeated, as she struck her clenched hands upon the table, "You cannot do as you please, you cannot do as you please! when I am obliged to obey you in everything. And then the other day, you said to Madame Thibourg, in speaking of me: I belong to that child. To say that you belong to me when you are constantly contradicting me!"

"It is precisely because I do belong to you," said Madame Leroi, smiling, "that I am obliged to contradict you."

"Then, mamma," said Marietta, turning to her mother, with her arms folded, and speaking in a tone which her anger had rendered impertinent, "will you have the kindness to explain that to me?"

"I shall explain nothing to you at present," replied her mother, in a severe tone; then ordering her to be silent, she compelled her to resume her work, which, as may be imagined, did not tend to calm Marietta's irritation; she rebelled in silence, wrote badly, incurred fresh punishments, and spent the day in alternate faults and despair. But the next morning she awoke in such good humour, dressed so quickly, said her prayers with so much fervour, and had so soon put all her things in order, and completed her early tasks, doing even more than was required, in order to repair her past misconduct, that at breakfast-time she at last perceived a smile lighten the countenance of her mother, who had not laid aside her severity since the previous day. "At last, mamma," she cried, "you are once more pleased with me."

"And tell me why I am pleased. Is it on your account, or on my own?"

"I know it is because I have done my duty; nevertheless, mamma, it is still true that my duty is your pleasure, and that you are always mistress, and can do whatever you like with me."

"What! even drown you as they did the kittens born in the attic last night."

"Oh! mamma, I do not mean that; but you can make me do whatever you wish."

"So, then, if I should wish you to steal our neighbour's sugar, when she leaves her door open, or her syrup, or her cups, I should have a right to order you to do so?"

"What an idea, mamma! as if you could wish me to do such things!"

"That is to say, then, that there are things which I have no right to wish for, nor, consequently, to order you to do. This certainly is a fine sort of authority. But can I help wishing? If I had not wished to teach you to read and write; if, when you were an infant, I had not wished to attend to your wants, or to get up at night when you cried, should I have had a right to do as I pleased?"

"But, mamma, you know very well that it would have done me harm if you had not."

"Oh! then I must not wish anything that can do you harm, I must only wish what will be for your good, and this you call following my own will?"

"But still, mamma, it is your will that I always obey; since it is you who command me."

"And when do I command you to do anything?"

"When you think it is right."

"And have I, then, the power of believing just as I please that a thing is right or wrong?"

"Certainly, mamma, nobody hinders you."

Madame Leroi made no reply, but a moment after she said to her daughter, "Marietta, I am thinking next week of beginning to teach you to draw with your elbow."

"What, mamma!" exclaimed Marietta, with a burst of laughter, "To draw with my elbow! And how shall I hold my pencil?"

"With the point of your elbow; nothing is easier."

"Why, mamma, what are you talking about?" continued Marietta, laughing still more vehemently.

"Something, my dear, which I beg you to believe for my sake."

"But, mamma, how am I to believe that?"

"Did you not tell me just now that we can believe what we please?"

"But, mamma, that is quite a different matter."

"For you, perhaps, my child, but as for me I can assure you that when your copy is badly written, it is impossible for me to believe it well done, let me examine it as I will. And when you do not choose to do what you ought, it instantly comes into my head that I must force you to do it by punishment. How am I to manage? I cannot believe otherwise, and I am just as much compelled to obey my judgment, as you are to obey my will. It is no more in my power to bring you up badly than it is in yours to disobey me."

Marietta was accustomed to regard duty as an inevitability, though, for all that, she often failed in it; neither did she think that any reasonable person could escape from it, any more than they could escape from superior force. "At all events, mamma," she said, "you must allow that it is not correct to say that you belong to me."

At this moment, Madame Thibourg entered. "Come, make haste," she said to her friend, "I have a ticket for Malmaison; my little girls are waiting for me in the coach, and I have brought a basket of provisions for dinner, so make haste."

"But I have promised to send home this piece of tapestry this week," replied Madame Leroi, looking anxiously first at her frame and then at her daughter, who, after having hailed the proposal of Madame Thibourg with a cry of delight, now stood motionless with anxiety, on beholding her mother's hesitation.

"I would with pleasure take charge of Marietta," said Madame Thibourg, "but my nurse is ill, and as there is water there, I shall have quite enough to do to take care of my own little girls. You must work a little more the following days."

"But if I am ill, as I was last week?... I am afraid it is not right."

"Oh! you won't be ill, and it is quite right. There are some splendid pictures there, which you really ought to let Marietta see. Come!"

"Well then, I suppose I must, since it is right," said Madame Leroi, smiling, as she looked at her daughter, whose countenance had changed colour half-a-dozen, times in the course of a minute.

We may easily imagine what were the raptures of Marietta, how rapidly her toilet was performed, and how perfect were the enjoyments of the day. It is needless to expatiate on the delights of a dinner spread upon the fresh grass, without cloth and without plates; on the deliciousness of a salad gathered by one's own hands; or upon the surpassing pleasure of running after every draught to rinse one's glass in the clear fountain at the entrance of the garden. Marietta, always affectionate when she was happy, kissed her mother fifty times in the course of the day, and at night, notwithstanding her fatigue, the pleasure of talking of these delights kept her so wakeful, that Madame Leroi was almost obliged to scold her to make her go to bed. "You forget," she said, "that for having afforded you this gratification, I shall be obliged to get up at four o'clock for several successive mornings."

"But you know, mamma," said Marietta, "that it was for my good; it was absolutely necessary that I should see the pictures at Malmaison."

"And why, my child," inquired Madame Leroi, smiling, "must I prefer your advantage to my own? Am I made for your use? Tell me, do you think I belong to you?"

"Oh! mamma," said Marietta, embracing her, "do belong to me, I shall be so delighted, since it is to do what will give me pleasure." And Marietta went to sleep upon this idea, which added a new charm to her dreams.

No mother, indeed, could have more completely belonged to her child than Madame Leroi. She was the widow of a clerk, who had left her unprovided for while Marietta was still an infant. It had never occurred to her that she had any other object in life than to educate her daughter, to render her an estimable member of society, and to enable her to earn for herself a respectable livelihood. The education of her child was her first object, and to it she sacrificed all the advantages she might have derived from the exercise of her talents. Madame Leroi was a skilful musician; in her youth, she had been destined to teach singing and the harp, but, when eighteen years old, her chest became so much weakened in consequence of an attack of measles, that she was obliged to abandon this pursuit. She then turned her attention to painting, which was natural enough, as her father was an artist, and had given her lessons in her childhood. But not long afterwards, she lost her father, and having such limited means, she considered herself fortunate in marrying M. Leroi, a man already advanced in years, and of an eccentric character, who would, on no account, have consented that his wife should pass her time away from home in giving lessons. As his income was sufficient for their maintenance, she confined her occupations to the care of her household, and to the cultivation of her mind, the better to prepare herself for the education of any children she might be blessed with. After losing two, she gave birth to Marietta, and from that time all her affections were concentrated on this child. At the death of her husband, she found herself once more without resources, or very nearly so, for M. Leroi having had no idea of marrying until late in life, had sunk all his savings in the purchase of an annuity, and since his marriage had not been able to add anything of consequence to them. She now, therefore, had to consider whether she should not resume the pursuit for which she had been previously destined, but to do so it would be necessary to abandon Marietta to the care of strangers, to give up all thoughts of making her profit by the knowledge, the ideas, and the sentiments which she had in a manner acquired expressly for her sake, and to suffer the excellent tendencies which her maternal eye already detected, to become perverted, or at least weakened. She considered that the point of most consequence to her daughter's welfare, in the difficult path of life, which she was probably destined to tread, was to be fortified, at an early age, by the principles of a virtuous and solid education. She therefore limited the exercise of her talents to the instruction of Marietta, whose taste for music seemed to promise great success in that art. "I shall have lived for her! I shall have made her happy!" she would sometimes repeat to herself.

But meanwhile, it was necessary to live. She therefore endeavoured to discover some sedentary occupation, which would enable her to provide for their simple wants. She applied herself to tapestry, and her knowledge of painting rendered her very successful in tracing and shading every variety of design, whether of flowers, figures, or landscape. Chance favoured her in this respect; she had soon as much work as she could attend to, and was well paid for it, for her work was very superior to that of ordinary hands, and, while affording her the means of subsistence, it had the additional advantage of enabling her to attend almost without interruption to the education of her daughter. Marietta would sometimes say to her, "Mamma, when will you leave off working so much?"

"When you are able to work for me," she replied. And if Marietta happened to be in good humour, this answer made her run to her harp.

Marietta's tendencies varied within very wide limits. Though possessed of an elevated character, and great tenderness of heart, she sometimes yielded to fits of passion, and obstinacy, which rendered her a totally different being from what she ordinarily was, and made her wish to annoy her mother, as much as at other times she was anxious to please her; so that one was alternately charmed by her natural love of excellence, or indignant at her perversity. Nevertheless, by a mixture of kindness and firmness, her mother had succeeded in subduing, to a great degree, all that was harsh in her disposition, and the day preceding the excursion to Malmaison was the last time Madame Leroi had seriously to complain of her.

Still, the morning following this treat, on getting up she began to feel the effects of the previous day's fatigue. She dressed listlessly, threw herself into every chair which happened to be in her way, and when the portress, who came up every day to do their household work, knocked at the door, she rose so languidly to let her in, that one might almost have said she was glued to her chair. Then, as if unable any longer to support herself, she sank into a large arm-chair near the door, and said to her mother:

"Indeed, mamma, if you really belonged to me, as you say you do, I should certainly make you do all my work to-day."

"Oh! my child," replied her mother, in a half-serious, half-playful tone; "I expect something much more fatiguing, which is to make you do it yourself."

"Really, mamma, that will fatigue you very much!"

"You cannot think how tired I am, yet for all that I shall be obliged to say to you, 'Marietta, go and open the door, or go and close the window, or pick up my ball.'"

"Well, mamma, and is it you that will be fatigued by these things?"

"But think, Marietta, how cross you will be! Think how often I shall be obliged to scold you, in order to make you do your duty; for you know I must make you do it in order to fulfil my own: for although we have been to Malmaison, we must nevertheless do our duty. What a day I shall have! for you are not the girl to spare me in these things."

"And what makes you think that?" inquired Marietta, somewhat piqued.

"Oh! it would be all very well," replied Madame Leroi, "if you were older, and had more sense; I should then say to you, 'My child, so long as I was necessary to you, I devoted myself to you; now it is your turn to devote yourself to me, and endeavour to be useful to me; do, therefore, what I ask you, in order to spare me the trouble;' and you would do it, for you would be reasonable."

Marietta immediately got up, put away her things so quickly, and commenced her lessons with such a firm determination to overcome her lassitude, that she soon quite forgot it. She carried out her resolution bravely during the whole morning, and at all points. She never once hesitated to get up the moment her mother required her to do so, and even anticipated her commands and wishes as often as she could. Noticing that Madame Leroi was looking for her footstool she was the first to perceive it, and hastened to place it under her mother's feet. On another occasion, when the ball of worsted had rolled to the farther end of the room, Marietta was there as soon as it, and brought it back to her mother, who said to her, smiling, "Indeed, Marietta, I shall be tempted to believe, that to day it is _you_ who belong to _me_;" and Marietta, full of joy, threw her arms round her mother's neck. However, the moment after, having stumbled through a passage on the harp, she became cross with her mother because she made her repeat it.

"Marietta," said Madame Leroi, "do not force me to remember that it is _I_ who belong to _you_, and that if you persist I shall be obliged, in spite of myself, to scold you."

Marietta immediately resumed her task, and this morning, which had commenced so unfavourably, terminated without a cloud, and in the happiest manner possible.

At their dinner, which was always very simple, they had two mutton cutlets. "Mamma," said Marietta, "will you give me the one with a bone?"

"Certainly not, my child," replied her mother, "for you know that I like it best; and," she added, smiling, "I have your interest too much at heart to permit you to contract the bad habit of thus preferring yourself to others."

"And yet, mamma, you pretend to belong to me."

"Oh! my child, I know my duty too well to allow you to abuse my devotion:" and she helped herself to the cutlet.

"Well," said Marietta, "you profit by it, at all events."

"Certainly," replied Madame Leroi, in the same strain; "there is nothing like doing one's duty." Marietta shook her head; but she was too well satisfied with herself this day to feel any temptation to be out of humour, and when, soon afterwards, while eating their half-pound of cherries, Madame Leroi only took two or three, saying, that she did not care for them, Marietta easily understood that it was only because she wished to leave more for her.

In the afternoon, a friend came to pay them a visit; he was old and uninteresting, and remained the entire evening, much to the annoyance of Marietta, who was so completely rested from the fatigues of the previous day, by her morning's labour, that she was very anxious for a walk: she, therefore, ventured some hints upon the subject, but they were instantly checked by the severe looks of her mother, while the deafness of M. Lebrun prevented him from noticing them. Poor Marietta therefore endeavoured to be patient, and settled herself down as well as she could. "Mamma," she said, as soon as their visitor was gone, "has M. Lebrun amused you very much?"

"No, my child, but he is a man to whom I owe respect; he has come a great distance, and on no account would I have shortened his visit."

"Well, then, mamma," replied Marietta, with a confident air, though with a heavy sigh, "I am, at all events, glad to find that there are some things which you can do contrary to my interests; for most assuredly it was not to do me a service, that you deprived me of my walk, a thing beneficial to my health."

"Ah, my child! you little think how much it was to your interest that I did not take you for a walk to-day."

"Come, mamma, let me see how you will prove that."

"You will not die in consequence; at least I trust not; consider, then, how injurious it would have been to your education had I granted a request which you ought not to have made, for you must allow that you ought not to have asked, or even wished me to be in any manner wanting in respect towards M. Lebrun."

"Very well, mamma, I see that you find duties on all sides, which oblige you to contradict me."

"And make yourself quite easy, my dear child," said her mother, patting her cheek caressingly, "I will not fail in a single one."

Marietta pouted a little, though with a smile; the good conduct of the morning guaranteed that of the evening.

The following day she accompanied her mother, to purchase some dresses which they required. They were first shown two remnants exactly similar, which were very cheap, and contained sufficient to make Marietta a dress, with a jacket for the winter, leaving besides a good deal for mending. Marietta was greatly tempted by another piece, very much prettier, but as it did not seem that Madame Leroi's dress could be got out of the two remnants, it was necessary that she should be contented to take them for her share. While she was vainly exerting her eloquence, to induce the draper to let her have a dress cut from the pretty piece at the same price as the remnants, Madame Leroi, by dint of measuring and calculating had come to the conclusion, that by joining the sleeves, and by making a plain dress instead of a pelisse as she had at first intended, the remnants would answer for her, and she could thus leave the other for her daughter. Marietta at first opposed this arrangement, but at length allowed her scruples to be overcome, and full of joy carried off her pretty dress under her arm, opening the paper every moment on her way back to have a peep at it. When, on reaching home, she spread it out upon her bed to admire it, and allow the portress to do so too, she cast her eyes upon her mother's remnants, and sighed; then seating herself upon Madame Leroi's knees, and throwing her arms around her neck,--"Mamma," she said, in a somewhat saddened tone, "was it also for the sake of duty that you allowed me to have the pretty dress?"

"No, my darling," replied her mother, tenderly embracing her, "it was for my pleasure." And Marietta, her heart beating with delight, yielded without restraint to the happiness she felt in the acquisition of her new dress, for she saw that the more it was admired, the greater was her mother's satisfaction at having made this sacrifice for her.

In proportion as Marietta increased in sense, she perceived more clearly that, if it be the joy of a mother to sacrifice herself for her children, it is her duty to teach them not to abuse her kindness; and being at length persuaded that her mother contradicted her only when she was obliged to do so, she exerted herself to spare her this necessity, and succeeded so well, that their mutual confidence increased daily, and they were almost like two friends.

However, when about fourteen years of age, Marietta having grown very fast, fell into a kind of languor, which made her sad and fretful. Although she had acquired sufficient self-control to overcome some portion of her irritability, there still remained quite enough to exercise the affectionate indulgence of Madame Leroi, who, fearing to excite to a dangerous degree the irritable disposition of her daughter, displayed the utmost patience in bringing her back to reason; and Marietta, when her better feelings returned, was almost ready to adore her mother for her condescension.

One day, Madame Thibourg happened to be present at one of these outbursts of temper. She began by reasoning with Marietta; then becoming provoked by her asperity, and unreasonableness, and the tone which she assumed towards her mother, who was endeavouring to quiet her, she ended by telling her a few severe truths, which threw Marietta into such a state of excitement, that she rushed out of the room with cries and tears, and almost in convulsions. Her mother, who went to seek her after the departure of Madame Thibourg, found her still trembling, but calm, and deeply ashamed of what had taken place; though she endeavoured to excuse herself by urging that Madame Thibourg had taken a pleasure in pushing her to extremities.

"She took pleasure, my child," replied her mother, "in proving to you, that she was right and that you were wrong. You wished to do the same with regard to her; and even supposing that you both considered yourselves right, was it not your place to yield?"

"Oh, mamma! that is not how you act towards me," said Marietta, melting into tears at the conviction of her error, for at that moment she remembered all her mother's kindness.

"My child," said Madame Leroi, "it is because I belong to you that I ought to sacrifice every personal feeling, rather than cause you a single emotion capable of injuring your character, or your health; but tell me, Marietta, do you think there is any one else in the world who belongs to you, except your mother?"

Deeply moved, and still excited by the scene which had just occurred, Marietta threw herself, sobbing, into her mother's arms. "Oh, mamma!" she exclaimed; "it is you who treat me with indulgence and consideration, you to whom I ought always to yield more than to any one else."

"Yes, my child, you ought to do so, and you will do so. What I sacrifice to you now, you will return to me one day with interest. Be calm, my dear child, be calm; your mother has patience enough to wait for you." Marietta vowed in her heart to devote herself to the happiness of her mother, and consoled by her gentle words, she gradually returned to her ordinary state of feeling. From that day, also, she laboured with increased diligence to overcome her faults, and, with her mother's assistance, succeeded in obtaining an almost complete self-control. But she became daily more thin and melancholy, and at last the physician declared, that unless she had country air he could not answer for her life.

This was a terrible sentence for Madame Leroi, whose slender funds were already well nigh exhausted in the purchase of the necessary remedies for her daughter. Madame Thibourg, to whom she related her grief and embarrassment, proposed that they should hire in common a small country house at Saint Mandé, which she knew was to be let for six hundred francs. "We shall easily," she said, "save the hundred crowns it will cost us each, by the advantage of living in common." Madame Leroi, however, knew very well that her expenses would be quite as heavy, to say the least, in living with Madame Thibourg, who was better off, and less economical, than herself; but, too happy to discover any practical means of overcoming her difficulty, she trusted to make up for any additional expense that might be necessary, by working harder, and now only thought of procuring the hundred crowns, which it was necessary to pay in advance, for the hire of the house. For this purpose she sold her coverlet of eider-down, together with four beautiful engravings which ornamented her room, and she made up the remainder of the sum, as well as what was necessary for the expenses of the journey, with the money destined for the purchase of a stove to be placed in the little room where they usually took their meals, for as she would not admit into her sitting-room anything likely to soil her work, and was very sensitive to the cold, she was obliged in the winter to take her meals in the kitchen, where the fumes of the charcoal frequently gave her headaches, and pains in the chest.

These arrangements, which could not be concealed from Marietta, gave her great annoyance. She had become excessively sensitive on all points, and notwithstanding her ardent desire to go into the country, the sale of the coverlet of eider-down, which she knew to be so necessary to her mother's comfort, threw her into such a fit of despair, that Madame Leroi was obliged to remonstrate with her, even with some degree of severity, in order to bring her to herself. "Do you forget, Marietta," she said, "that it is your duty to endeavour to regain your health and strength, in order that you may one day be useful to me."

This idea had a beneficial effect, by diverting her thoughts towards other objects. She busied herself in preparations for their departure, with an alacrity and zeal which revived a ray of joy and hope in her mother's breast; and, indeed, scarcely were they beyond the barriers of the city, than she seemed to regain new life; and at the end of a week, after their arrival in the country, she was hardly to be recognized for the same person, to such an extent had that thin and pallid form, which before seemed ready to sink into the grave, regained the freshness and vigour of health. Madame Leroi, her eyes filled with tears of happiness, was never weary of looking at her; and the eyes of Marietta constantly sought those of her mother, as if to confirm the hope that gave her this happiness. With health returned the cheerfulness and buoyancy natural to her years, accompanied by an energy of purpose which enabled her to accomplish whatever she undertook. As her judgment was remarkably developed, she employed the new powers, which she felt rising within her, in the attainment of those acquirements of which she stood in need, and of those qualities in which she was deficient. The devoted tenderness of her mother had made upon her, especially of late, an impression so profound, that she was tormented with the desire of being able, in her turn, to consecrate to her all her faculties. With this thought ever before her, she applied herself with a kind of passion to regain, in her studies, the time she had lost through her illness; and the pleasure of satisfying her mother was, besides, the daily recompense of her efforts. Nevertheless, when the smiles and words of Madame Leroi expressed this satisfaction, "It is all very well, mamma," she would say, with a kind of impatience; "you are pleased, but it is for my sake, and because you think the progress I make is advantageous to me. When shall I be able to do something solely for you?"

"Patience!" replied her mother; smiling, "I promise you the time will come."

"May it come speedily, then!" continued Marietta, with an eager sigh; and she applied herself to her labours with redoubled energy. She also endeavoured, with great care, to regain the good opinion of Madame Thibourg, which she had forfeited by the late display of temper, of which that lady had been a witness; for young people know not the injury they do themselves when they give way to their faults in the presence of strangers, who can only judge of them by what they casually see, and who, in consequence, often receive an impression very unfavourable to them, and very difficult to be removed. At first Madame Thibourg was prejudiced against her, and attributed to her faults which she did not possess. Marietta was amazed at this, but her mother explained to her the cause of the injustice.

"Well, if she is unjust," said Marietta, with the natural pride of her age, "so much the worse for her."

"No, my child! so much the worse for you, since it is your fault that has made her so. Had you not been the cause of this injustice, by appearing before her in an unfavourable light, you need not have troubled yourself about it, provided you bore it with gentleness; but since you have caused it, you ought to endeavour to remove it."

After a few outbursts of impetuosity, which her naturally hasty disposition led her to indulge in, but which her good sense always overcame in the end, she perceived the truth of her mother's words, and strove so earnestly to watch her temper, that in a short time she gained such a complete mastery over her feelings, that she could barely be reproached with an occasional momentary irritability, which a look or a word from her mother was always sufficient to repress. Sometimes, even, Madame Leroi only cast down her eyes, when Marietta, warned by this movement, instantly recollected herself, and with charming grace and frankness hastened to repair the incipient fault; so that in the opinion of Madame Thibourg, as well as in that of all who knew her, Marietta, after a residence of some eight or nine months at Saint-Mandé, was in every respect so completely changed for the better, that she was scarcely to be recognised for the same person. At this time she was nearly sixteen years of age.

They returned to Paris at the commencement of the winter, Madame Thibourg not wishing to pass it in the country, and the bad weather rendering more inconvenient the journeys which Madame Leroi was obliged to make to town to obtain or return work, especially as they had often to be made on foot. These journeys, too fatiguing for her at all times, had already injured her health; the winter, which was very severe, laid her up completely. Marietta, persuaded that the loss of the coverlet of eider-down contributed to her mother's sufferings, was sometimes seized with a sort of feverish impatience, at seeing so long delayed the time when she should be able to add to her comforts, and her only consolation was to apply to her studies with redoubled energy. The spring was cold and late; their provision of wood had come to an end. Madame Leroi, who had been prevented by the state of her health from working as much as she wished during the winter, and was not willing to get into debt, pretended to be able to do without a fire; but Marietta, who saw her suffering, wept with vexation and anxiety when, on opening her window each morning, she found the weather as cold as on the previous day. She would have been very glad if her mother would have allowed her to assist her; but although she worked very fairly, Madame Leroi, who did not wish her to waste her time in becoming a proficient in this kind of work, was afraid to trust her, and always sent her back to her studies, saying, "Never mind, Marietta, you will have time enough to work for me by-and-by."

One day, when Madame Leroi had been obliged to lie down on account of a violent head-ache, an order came for a piece of tapestry, intended to replace a similar piece of her execution, which the fall of a lamp had covered with oil. The chair corresponding to the one spoiled was also brought, in order that the latter might be covered exactly like it. Marietta received the order, and promised that it should be executed by the next week, as it was much wanted; and, trembling with a thought which had just occurred to her, she carefully put away all the things in a place where her mother could not find them.

Madame Leroi, being asleep at the moment, had heard nothing of all this. Marietta flew to the box where her mother kept her silks, and with a transport of joy discovered, as she had expected, all that was necessary for her undertaking. An old frame, which she had often noticed, was removed from the attic, with the assistance of the portress, who was taken into her confidence, and who lent her for her work an empty room of which she had the key, and before Madame Leroi awoke, the frame was set up, the chair placed in front of it, and her needle threaded. The following morning as soon as it was light, Marietta, awakened by her impatience, slipped away without any noise and commenced her work. The two hours during which she usually walked out with Madame Thibourg and her daughters, were consecrated to the same labour, Marietta, however, merely informing them of her desire to surprise her mother by an unexpected talent, and carefully avoiding all allusion to the privations she was so anxious to save her, and of which Madame Thibourg was to remain ignorant. For the first few days, the harp suffered somewhat from Marietta's preoccupation, for while repeating her difficult passages, she thought only of the assortment of her silks, but at last she triumphed over her difficulties. As it was only necessary to copy, and as Marietta, like all persevering persons, possessed that love of excellence which is not to be repelled by any difficulty, her first attempt was completely successful, and on the seventh day, the portress, Madame Thibourg and her daughters, assembled in consultation, decided that the copy could not be distinguished from the original. The portress was immediately commissioned to take home the work, and to receive its price, which was destined for the purchase of half-a-load of wood.

The following morning, while Madame Leroi was still in bed, Marietta, who that day felt inexpressible joy that the weather was even colder than usual, noiselessly arranged the wood in the fire-place, whilst the portress, almost as pleased as herself, brought a large pan of burning charcoal. Madame Leroi, awakened by the crackling of the flame, inquired what it was, and scolded Marietta for having, as she imagined, bought a faggot. "A faggot indeed!" exclaimed the portress, proudly. "Come into your kitchen, Madame Leroi, and see whether there are any faggots of that kind;" and Marietta, opening her mother's curtains, displayed to her a fire such as she had not seen for two months before; then, without answering her questions, she threw a dress over her mother's shoulders, and made her accompany her into the kitchen, where the kind portress had already arranged the half-load of wood. She then led her back to the fire-side, and, in a voice broken by joyful emotions, related to her what she had done.

"Dear child!" said her mother, placing her hand on her shoulder. She could say no more. Marietta took her hand, and, with an earnest and animated voice, said, "Dear mamma, now, at last, it is I who belong to you."

"Yes, my child," said Madame Leroi, with deep emotion, "I take possession. Your time has come, Marietta; it is now your turn to devote yourself to your mother." And Marietta, kneeling before her, kissed her hands in a delirium of joy impossible to be described.

From that day, she assisted her mother without encroaching on her other studies; her strength and activity were equal to everything, for their source lay in an inexhaustible affection. At the age of eighteen, she was in a condition to give lessons; indeed, for some time previously, she had exercised herself successfully in teaching Madame Thibourg's youngest daughter. Her first regular pupils were in a ladies' school, but by degrees her connexions extended, and she taught in private families of respectability. At the beginning, the portress accompanied her to her pupils, and also went for her; but in time, her great prudence, her modesty, and the reserved and somewhat distant deportment which the consciousness of her position induced, satisfied Madame Leroi that she might go alone without any inconvenience, an arrangement which permitted her to take more pupils. She was soon able to earn sufficient to cover their household expenses, and when on her return home she found her mother a little fatigued, she would take the work out of her hands, saying, "Since it is now my turn to work for you, you must obey my wishes." The health of Madame Leroi grew daily worse. "It is all the same to me," she would sometimes say. "Marietta has to keep well for me;" and at such moments Marietta, with indescribable joy, felt rising within her the consciousness of her youth and vigour.