He has justified their hopes and his own, having become Master Blanchet's head workman; he is about to marry his only daughter, and his father-in-law, rich enough to retire, has given up to him a business, which Gervais will not allow to decline under his care. Matthew, who only needs guidance, contents himself with being a little merry after his first meal, and a little sleepy after the last. He hopes to spend a peaceful old age with his son, while Va-bon-train, who, without being old, is also anxious for repose, has purchased a small property, married again, and given up his marionettes and the faithful Medor to his son Michael. Matthew has generously added the ass, and Jacquot, and has announced for Gervais' wedding-day, "a performance for the benefit of friendship, in which is to be seen the wonderful dispute between peerless Jacquot and the incomparable Scaramouche."
[Cecilia and Nanette;]
OR,
THE ACCIDENT.
It was in the month of December; the church clock had just struck five, and the morning was very dark, when one of the servants of the inn came to inform Madame de Vesac, and her daughter Cecilia, that the carriage was ready, and that they could continue their journey. They had left Paris early on the previous day, for the purpose of visiting the estate of Madame de Vesac, to which she had been called by urgent business. The distance was a hundred and fifty leagues, and they had travelled by post; they had been on the road till ten o'clock on the previous evening, and were now about to resume their journey after having taken a few hours' repose. Madame de Vesac called her daughter; Cecilia, terribly sleepy, half opened her eyes, then let her head fall back again upon her pillow. Her mother was obliged to call a second, and even a third time, and she awoke up at last, exclaiming "Oh dear! dear! how disagreeable it is to get up at five o'clock in the morning at this time of year!" She would have said, had she dared, "Oh dear! what a misfortune!" for every contradiction or suffering, however slight, always assumed, with Cecilia, the character of a misfortune. At every little accident that befel her, she fancied that no one had ever suffered so much as she did, and really believed that cold, hunger, thirst, and sleepiness, were with her quite different matters from what they were with other people. When laughed at for the disproportionate annoyance which the petty inconveniences of life occasioned her, she would say "Oh! you do not feel as I feel!" and, indeed, believed so.
Nevertheless, as Cecilia possessed a generous disposition, an elevated mind, a lively imagination, and a due share of pride, she had a passionate admiration for high and noble actions, and even a great desire to imitate them, sometimes saying that she would give everything in the world for an opportunity of becoming a heroine. "Provided," her mother would add with a smile, "that your acts of heroism never exposed you to the chance of being scratched by a thorn, or to the necessity of walking a few steps in uneasy shoes." And then Cecilia, a little vexed, would maintain that such things as these had nothing whatever to do with heroism.
Madame de Vesac had not been able to bring her maid with her, as she was ill at the time they left home. This rendered their arrivals at the inns, and especially their departures, more disagreeable, as they were themselves obliged to pack and unpack their luggage, and attend to a variety of troublesome details. Madame de Vesac spared her daughter these inconveniences as far as possible. On the present occasion, she had allowed her to sleep until the last moment, and when Cecilia awoke, almost everything was ready for their journey. Still it was necessary to arrange and pack up her night-things, and see that nothing was forgotten; and the cold and the darkness had so chilled her courage, that nothing but shame prevented her from shedding tears at every effort she made, and every step she took. And yet she was thirteen years old; but at no age do people cease to be children, if they allow themselves to attach importance to every whim that may cross their minds, or to every trifling inconvenience which they may have to bear. Cecilia had much more trouble, and was much longer about what she had to do than would have been necessary had she set courageously to work. "Make haste," repeated her mother every moment, and Cecilia made haste, but with the air of one who had no heart for what she was about. To have given herself this, nothing was required but a slight effort, a slight exertion of her reason: she need only have said, "What I have to do at present is so far from being beyond my powers, as I try to persuade myself, that if I felt the least wish to do it I should find no difficulty in it." But Cecilia did not choose to desire what would have been so beneficial to her, and, for the sake of saving herself a single mental effort, sufficient to conquer her repugnance and idleness, she allowed herself to relapse into them every moment, and submitted to the continued exertions demanded by every action and movement.
At last, all was ready; Madame de Vesac and her daughter entered their carriage and departed. Cecilia's griefs, however, being still undiminished, the night was so dark, and so cold, and she had so little courage to resist the feeling of sadness which it induced. She shivered in her wadded dress, and beneath her two or three shawls; her fur shoes did not prevent her from complaining of the deadly coldness of her feet, nor could she sufficiently cover her hands with her dress, though already encased in fur gloves. At length, in spite of her distress, she fell asleep, and slept quietly until it was broad daylight. When she awoke, the sun had already dissipated the thick fog of the morning. It shone brilliantly over the country covered with snow, and was even felt through the windows of the carriage. Everything seemed to announce a fine winter's day, and her heart began to revive. They stopped for breakfast, and took it in a comfortable warm room, and this completely restored her energy and cheerfulness. Her mother then began to jest about the despair she had manifested a few hours before. "I see," she said, "that for the acts of heroism to which you purpose to devote yourself, you will be careful to select the months of July and August, for cold is quite adverse to your virtue."
"But mamma," said Cecilia, "how can you expect one to stir, when one's fingers are benumbed with cold?"
"Since, though complaining the whole time, you did nevertheless manage to do so, I presume the thing was possible, but I perceive, at the same time, that such an effort must have something in it surpassing the highest courage, and were it not for the terrible fatality which has subjected you to so severe a trial, I should have been extremely careful not to have required anything of the kind from you."