Madame Guizot

Decoration

"Take care, Helen!" said Madame d'Aubigny, to her daughter, "when you are going one way, you are looking another; in this manner you will never go straight anywhere."

And such was exactly the case. Whether in the street, or on the promenade or even when running in the fields, Helen seldom thought of looking before her, or watching her steps; her attention was constantly directed to one side or the other, to see if any one noticed her; and when she fancied herself observed, she gave herself all sorts of airs and graces. Often when at the Tuileries, she was so completely absorbed in endeavouring to give a graceful turn to her head, or in casting down her eyes, when she considered it suitable to do so, or in looking at the leaves with an air of abstraction, according as one or other of these different movements appeared to her best calculated to attract attention, that she struck against a tree, or against some one coming in an opposite direction. Often when wishing to jump gracefully over a pool of water, she fell into the middle of it, and was covered with mud. In fine, Helen did nothing in a simple manner, like other people, and merely for having the thing done; she neither walked, nor ate, nor drank, for the sake of walking, or eating, or drinking, but in order that people might see the grace she was able to throw into all her movements; and had there been any one to observe her while sleeping, she would certainly have contrived the means of sleeping gracefully.

She little thought how much all these efforts tended to defeat the very object which she had in view, and yet she might easily have perceived, that if, while doing one thing, her thoughts were on another, it was quite impossible that she should do the thing well, and consequently impossible that she should be favourably noticed. If, when she saw some one entering the room, in whose eyes she wished to appear agreeable, she began to talk with greater animation to the person near her; if she threw more vivacity into her gestures, and made her gaiety more conspicuous, still, as she was not really amused, but only supposed that she had the appearance of being so, her laugh was not hearty, her gestures were unnatural, and her gaiety so obviously forced, that no one could possibly fancy that she was really gay, while the pretence of being so occupied her thoughts. In like manner, no one who saw her bestowing alms would have supposed that she was really kind-hearted, and yet Helen gave when she was not observed, and she gave with good will; but if there happened to be any one near to notice her, it was no longer of the poor that she thought, but of the pleasure of being seen bestowing alms. Her pity then assumed an appearance of exaggeration and eagerness, which made it quite apparent that her object was to display it. Her eyes indeed expressed compassion, but instead of being fixed upon the beggar, they were turned towards the persons present, so that it might have been said that it was they, and not the beggar, who had caused her emotion.

Madame d'Aubigny had continually reprimanded her daughter for this tendency, which she had displayed from her childhood, and had succeeded in correcting the most absurd and gross of her affectations; and Helen herself, as she advanced in age, became more skilful in detecting such as were likely to appear too glaring; but as her affectations also increased in number, she merely took a little more pains to conceal them, without being able to persuade herself that, while she had them at all, they could not possibly be concealed. "My child," her mother would sometimes say to her, "there is but one way of obtaining praise, and that is by acting well; and as there is nothing commendable in an action done for the sake of commendation, it is impossible that such actions should secure you praise: rest assured, therefore, that to make praise and reputation your aim, is a certain way of never obtaining it." Helen felt, to some extent, the truth of these remarks, and she promised herself to conceal her vanity with greater care, but it returned at the first opportunity; and besides, where is the girl who fully believes all her mother says to her?

In the same house with Madame d'Aubigny, there lodged one of her relations, Madame de Villemontier, whose daughter Cecilia was Helen's particular friend. Cecilia was so full of kindness and simplicity, that she did not even perceive Helen's affectation, and was continually disputing on this subject with the old AbbÉ RiviÈre, the former preceptor of M. de Villemontier, Cecilia's father, and who, after having educated his son, and resided with him at the college, where he finished his studies, had returned to take up his abode in the house, where he was respected as a father, and where he occupied himself in the education of Cecilia, whom he loved as his own child. They never quarrelled, except on Helen's account, whose affectation appeared so absurd to the AbbÉ RiviÈre, that he was incessantly ridiculing it. Accustomed to speak exactly what he thought, he did not restrain himself in her presence, though there was all the more necessity for doing so, as Helen, who had always heard him spoken of with great consideration at Madame de Villemontier's, and had witnessed the pleasure caused by his return, and the respect with which he was treated, felt extremely anxious to gain his good opinion. This desire was increased by the praises he constantly bestowed on Cecilia. It was not that she was jealous; for, notwithstanding her vanity, she was incapable of any meanness, she only thought that she merited the same praises as her friend, and indeed, she would have done so, had she not sought for them. But her desire of being noticed by the AbbÉ RiviÈre destroyed all the means she would have had of gaining his esteem; therefore, did he torment her with provoking jokes, which had only the effect of rendering her more anxious to gain his approbation, and induced her to make redoubled, though always awkward and misdirected efforts to obtain it. The AbbÉ was a very well-informed man. Helen could not be so foolish as to make a parade, in his presence, of the small amount of knowledge which a girl of her age is capable of possessing; but she never allowed a day to pass without finding some indirect means of alluding to her love of study. Some remark was made about walking: she said that she took very little pleasure in it, without a book: it was also one of her greatest griefs that her mother would not permit her to read before going to bed; and then she related how, during the morning, she had so completely forgotten herself, that three hours had passed without her being conscious of it. The AbbÉ pretended not to hear her; this was one of his mischievous ways; then she emphasized, and varied her expression. "Yes," she said, as if speaking to herself, "I commenced at a quarter to one, and when, for the first time, I looked at the timepiece, it was four o'clock; so that more than three hours had elapsed without my having perceived them."

"There was nothing lost, however," said the AbbÉ, "for you took very good notice of them afterwards."

Helen became silent, but she did not the less begin again on the following day.

What the AbbÉ most praised in Cecilia's conduct, was her attention to her mother, who was in very delicate health. One evening, Madame d'Aubigny happened to faint. Helen, who was in the habit of taking her work, and sitting with Madame de Villemontier almost every evening, did not come down on this occasion, except for a moment, to relate the accident, and to have the pleasure of speaking of the anxiety which it had caused her. She began by expatiating so much upon the alarm she felt, when she beheld her mother pale and almost unconscious, that the AbbÉ could not help saying, "I see clearly all that Mademoiselle Helen has suffered from her mother's accident, but I should like to know what Madame d'Aubigny has suffered."

The following day, Madame d'Aubigny, though still indisposed, insisted that her daughter should go as usual, and pass the evening with Madame de Villemontier. She entered with an air of languor and fatigue, saying that she was very sleepy, in order that they might understand that she had passed a bad night. As the questions to which she was anxious to reply, were not put to her, she endeavoured to lead to them in another way. She observed that the weather was delightful at five o'clock that morning: that her mother had been very restless until two, but that at three o'clock she slept quietly; from which it was evident that Helen must have got up at these various hours, for the purpose of ascertaining how her mother was. Several times she requested to know the hour, saying that although her mamma had given her permission to remain until ten o'clock, she should certainly return to her at nine. She inquired again at half-past eight, and again at a quarter to nine. During this time, Cecilia, without being observed, had two or three times raised her eyes to the clock. A minute before nine she rang the bell; her mother asked her why she did so. "You know, mamma," said Cecilia, "that it is time for you to take your broth." Helen immediately jumped up, with a loud exclamation, and put away her work in a great hurry, for fear of staying beyond the hour.

"These two young ladies," said some one present, "are very punctual, and very attentive."

"Yes," murmured the AbbÉ, between his teeth, and looking at Helen, with a provoking smile, "Cecilia is wonderfully careful of her mother, and Mademoiselle Helen of her reputation."

Helen blushed and hastened to depart, dreading some fresh sarcasm; but Madame de Villemontier, having requested the AbbÉ to accompany her, and to bring word how Madame d'Aubigny was, he took the candle and followed her. She walked so fast, that he could not keep up with her. "Wait for me," said he, quite out of breath, as they drew near, "you will break your neck."

"I am so anxious to know how mamma is!"

"How fortunate you are," said the AbbÉ, taking her arm, "to be able in the midst of your anxiety, to think of so many other things! As for me, if any one of whom I am very fond was ill, I should be so taken up with his illness, that it would be impossible for me to notice what I did for him, still less to think of making others observe it; but women are so strong minded."

"Really, M. l'AbbÉ," said Helen, whom this remark embarrassed, "you can never let a minute pass without tormenting me!"

"That is to say, without admiring you. We admire others for their general conduct; we love and admire them because they have acted with propriety, during a long space of time, and on various occasions; but we must admire Mademoiselle Helen on every occasion. Every action, every thought, every movement of hers, demands an eulogium."

And the mischievous AbbÉ, with his eyes fixed upon Helen, and holding the candle in such a position as fully to display the sarcastic expression of his countenance, stopped at every step, and emphasized every word, prolonging as much as possible both his remarks and his journey. They did, however, at last reach the apartments of Madame d'Aubigny, and Helen was delighted to free herself from his arm, and make her escape. The AbbÉ's raillery greatly pained her, but still she saw beneath it so much kind feeling, that she could not be angry with him. He, on the other hand, touched by the gentleness with which she received his reproofs, and the desire she manifested to gain his esteem, felt anxious to correct her, especially as he perceived that, notwithstanding her affectation, she was really kind-hearted and sensible.

Madame d'Aubigny had an old servant who was rough and ill-tempered, although he was all day long reading moral and religious books. She had allowed him to have with him a little nephew, to whom he pretended to give a good education. This man's sole talent for teaching consisted in beating little FranÇois when he did not know his lesson in history or in the catechism; and FranÇois, to whom this plan did not impart any taste for study, never knew a word of it, and was consequently beaten every day. One morning, Helen saw him coming down stairs sobbing loudly; he had just received his usual correction, and was to receive twice as much if he did not know his lesson when his uncle, who had gone out on an errand, returned. Helen advised him to make haste and learn it; the boy said he could not.

"Come, come," said Helen, "we will learn it together, then," and she led him into the room, where she set to work so diligently to make him repeat it, that the AbbÉ RiviÈre, who came to see Madame d'Aubigny, entered without her hearing him.

"Make haste," said she to FranÇois, "so that no one may know that it was I who taught it to you."

"Ha!" said the AbbÉ, "I have at last caught you doing good for its own sake."

Helen blushed with pleasure; this was the first time she had ever heard him seriously praise her. But at the same moment, vanity usurped the place of the good feelings which had animated her: her manners ceased to be natural, and though she continued precisely the same occupation, it was evident that she was no longer actuated by the same motive.

"Well! well!" said the AbbÉ, "I am going away, resume your natural simplicity, no one is going to look at you."

In the evening, at Madame Villemontier's, Helen found an opportunity of speaking of FranÇois. The AbbÉ shook his head, aware of what was coming; and Helen, who had her eye upon him, understood him, and checked herself. However, her tendency got the better of her discretion, and half an hour afterwards she returned to the same subject, though in an indirect manner. The AbbÉ happened to be near her: "Stop, stop," said he in a whisper, touching her elbow, "I see you want me to relate it, and, indeed, it is best that I should," and hereupon he began:—

"This morning, FranÇois ..." and he assumed a manner so emphatic and comical, that Helen did all she could to make him desist: "Let me go on," he whispered, "and when there is anything that you wish to be made known or particularly remarked, merely give me a sign."

Helen, ashamed, pretended not to understand him, but yet could not keep from laughing. It may easily be imagined that she lost all desire of speaking of FranÇois during that evening, and from that moment, the AbbÉ, as he had told her, assumed the part of trumpeter. As soon as she opened her lips to insinuate anything to her own advantage, he immediately caught the word, and broke forth into a pompous panegyric. If her movements indicated any desire of attracting attention, "Look!" he would say, "what grace Mademoiselle Helen displays in all her movements." If she uttered a loud and forced laugh, "I beg you will observe," he said to every one, "How gay Mademoiselle Helen is to-day:" then he would afterwards approach her and whisper, "Have I fulfilled my functions properly? I shall do better another time," he would add, "but you do not give me notice, and I can only speak of what I perceive," and nothing escaped him; still there was mixed up with all this, something so comic, and at the same time so kind, that Helen, at once annoyed, embarrassed, and obliged to laugh, insensibly corrected herself, as well from her dread of the AbbÉ's remarks, as from his presenting her affected manners in a light so ridiculous, that she could not help being herself struck by their absurdity.

She has at last succeeded in entirely correcting herself of them, and she endeavours to gratify her self-love by more substantial and reasonable pleasures, than that of having people observing her at every moment of the day, and of directing attention to her most insignificant actions. She acknowledges that she owes this change to the AbbÉ RiviÈre, and says, that if all the young girls who feel disposed to give themselves affected airs, had, in like manner, an AbbÉ RiviÈre at their side, to show them, at each repetition of them, the impression which they produce on those who witness them, they would not long take the trouble of making themselves ridiculous.