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" 1 have come to consult you on a very important matter.”

346 ’*''’

4 W

TWO COPir .> eCCIVEO.

Copyright, 1S99

By Thomas Y. Crowell & Company

MY UNCLE ~AND MY CURi

Chapter I

T am such an exceedingly diminutive person that, 'except for the perfect proportion my head, feet, and hands bear to my stature, I should, in all likelihood, hear my- 'self spoken of as a dwarf. But my face is neither so outrageously long nor ridiculously broad as are the faces we connect with dwarfs and such-like misshapen creatures, while, as for my extremities, there is many a fine lady would give her eyes to have them.

For all that, I have often wept bitterly in secret over the puniness of my dimensions.

I say in secret ; for though my body be Liliputian it enshrines a proud and aspiring soul, a soul that would scorn to betray its little weaknesses to every chance acquaintance — above all, to my aunt. At any rate, I felt that way when I was fifteen. But persons with stiffer tempers than mine have

MY DNCLE AND MY CURE.

been forced to lower their crests before the vicissitudes, the cares, sorrows, joys, in a word, the discipline' of life.

This aunt of mine was assuredly the most intolerable woman I have ever encountered. I thought her very ugly also — my experience was of too limited a character at the time to enable me to draw comparisons ; still, I believe my estimate of her in this respect was correct enough. She had a vulgar face — all corners, — a shrill, harsh voice, a clumsy gait, and she was as tall as a steeple. It was simply ridiculous ! When I stood beside her I looked like an insect, a shrimp ; and when I spoke to her I had to throw my head back, as if I were trying to get a glimpse of the top of a poplar. She was of mean origin, and, like most people of her class, believed that brute force was the only thing in the world of any account ; and so she was never tired of pointing the finger of scorn at my insignificant little person. Oh, it was crushing !

The moral constitution of my aunt was on a par with the physical. It was composed mainly of irritability and churlishness, and had certain sharp angles which the unlucky persons who had to live with her knocked their heads against daily.

MY UKCLE AND MY CUEE.

My uncle, a country gentleman whose stupidity had been the common topic of conversation among his neighbors, was induced to marry her through pure weakness of mind and character. He died shortly after the wedding, and therefore I had no opportunity of making his acquaintance. When I was old enough to reflect on matters I laid his early demise at the door of my aunt, who had energy enough to drive a whole regiment of husbands to the grave, letting alone a poor creature like my uncle.

I was two years old when my parents went the way of all flesh, abandoning me to the tender mercies of circumstances, of life, and of — my family council.^

They left behind them a very satisfactory remnant of what had once been a great fortune : some four hundred thousand francs invested in land, and bringing me in a pretty good income.

My aunt expressed herself willing to take

^The Conseil de Famille is a body having extensive jurisdiction over minors and over such members of families as display an incapacity for managing their properties, whom they can reduce to the condition of minors. It consists of six of the nearest relations of the minor and a justice of the peace. It can approve or disapprove of a marriage, sanction or forbid the sale of property, and exercise a general supervision over all the interests of its ward. — Tr.

MY UCNLE AND MY CUR^:.

charge of me, not that she was at all fond of children ; but, as my uncle had been a wretched manager, my aunt was not in good circumstances, and she saw with satisfaction that my entrance into her house would make life very easy for her.

And what an ugly house my aunt’s house was ! — a huge, dilapidated structure in which no attention was paid to cleanliness and order; a dunghill in the yard around it, mud and hens and rabbits everywhere. Behind stretched a garden in which there seemed to be every plant in creation, all sprouting up pellmell without anybody taking the slightest notice of them. I really think if my aunt and I had not thought it as well to give some attention to the matter no gardener would ever have been seen pruning the trees or tearing up the weeds that grew in all directions, just as they had a mind to.

This virgin forest was an offence to my eyes, for, even when a child, a love of order was second nature with me.

The name borne by the property was Le Buisson. It lay far back in the country, and was a mile and a half from the church and from a little village containing a score of cottages. Not a single chateau or villa or manor

MY UNCLE AND MY CURE.

for five leagues round. We were entirely isolated from the world. Sometimes my aunt would go to C — , the nearest town to Le Buisson. But it was only necessary for me to express a strong desire to accompany her for her to make up her mind never to take me there. The only incidents that broke the monotony of our lives a little were the arrival of the farmers with the quarter’s rent for their farms and the visits of the cure.

Oh, what an excellent man my cure was !

He came to the house three times a week, having once, in a sudden fit of benevolent zeal, taken it into his head to stuff mine with all the knowledge he knew. He kept on to his task perseveringly, although I certainly used my best endeavors to try his patience. Not that I was specially dull-headed ; on the contrary, I learned with the greatest ease, but idleness was my pet failing. I loved it, cuddled it, and all the eloquence of the cure, as well as all his efforts to root out this plant of Satan from my soul, was so much lost labor.

And next — and this was the most momentous point of all — my reasoning faculties developed rapidly. I carried on discussions with the cure that drove the poor man half crazy ; I sometimes took the liberty of advancing opinions that often slighted and shocked his most cherished convictions.

There was nothing I relished more than contradicting and teasing him, falling foul of all his beliefs, tastes, and assertions. This used to set my blood a-tingling and keep my mind on the alert. I rather suspect he felt pretty much the same as 1 did, and would have been seriously aggrieved if I had suddenly given up my quibbling and lost my independent ideas.

But I did not care, and my pleasure was at its height when I saw him jumping about upon his chair, ruffling his hair in desperation, and forgetting all the laws of propriety by stuffing snuff up his nose. This forgetfulness, however, never occurred except on occasions of the most critical character.

Still, if he alone had been concerned, I believe I might have occasionally resisted this temptation of the devil, but my aunt had dropped into the unlucky habit of attending my lessons, although she did not understand a word we were saying, and yawned at least ten times during the hour.

Now, any sort of contradiction, even when it had nothing to do with her own unsightly person, worked my aunt up to madness, and her rage was intensified by the fact that she did not venture to say anything in the presence of the cur6. Moreover, the spectacle of me presuming to argue with him appeared to her to be a monstrous inversion of the natural and moral order of the universe. I never made an attack on her point blank ; she was a brutal woman, and I dreaded blows. Still, the mere sound of my voice — and I rather pride myself on its softness and beauty — had a most disastrous effect on her acoustic organs.

Now, considering the circumstances, it is easy to understand how impossible, how absolutely impossible it was to keep my love of mischief in check, when it enabled me to infuriate my aunt and, at the same time, to torment my cure.

And yet I was so fond of this poor cur6 of mine ! — and knew perfectly well, that in spite of my trumpery sophistries, sometimes bordering on impertinence, he had the very greatest affection for me. I was not only the flower of his flock, I was preeminently his favorite, his work, the child of his heart and brain, and, mingled with this fatherly love, was a strain of admiration for my abilities, my words and acts in general.

He had set his heart upon his task, had taken a vow that he would train my mind and watch over me like my guardian angel, notwithstanding my wilfulness, logic, and skittishness generally. Besides, this task had speedily become the greatest charm of his life, the best, if not the only relaxation his monotonous existence allowed him.

Eain or wind, hail or snow, hot or cold, stormy or calm, nothing could hinder the cure from appearing before me, punctual to the minute, his soutane tucked up as far as his knees, and his hat under his arm. I do not think I ever sav/ him with his hat on his head at any time during my life. This fancy of his for walking bareheaded in the open air, with a smile on his face for the passers-by, the birds, and the tufts of grass, amounted to an absolute passion. His plump, round body seemed to rebound from the earth, which he trod with a springy gait, apparently saying to her, ^^You are good, and I love you !” He was content with life, at peace with himself, at peace with the whole world. His kindly face, fresh and rosy, with its crown of white hair, used to remind me of those late roses that are still blooming beneath the first snows of winter.

When he entered the yard the hens and rabbits would run up at his call and devour the crumbs he Avas careful to slip into his pocket before leaving the presbytery. Perriiie, the poultry-maid, tripped forward to make him her best courtesy, and then Suzon, the cook, lost no time in opening the door and showing him into the draAving-room, where we had our lessons.

My aunt, sitting bolt upright in her arm-chair, as stiff as a poker and about as graceful, would rise when she saw him, give him a surly welcome, and at once dash headlong into the history of my transgressions. After this she dropped down with the same unbending rigidity, took her knitting in her fingers, her favorite cat on her lap, and waited, though she did not always wait, for a favorable opportunity to give me a piece of her mind. The good cure listened patiently to the shrill, harsh voice that set his teeth on edge. He bent his head modestly, as if the lecture were meant for himself, and, halfsmiling, shook his finger at me. Thank Heaven, he knew my aunt of old!

We took our places at a little table near the windoAv. This position had a double advantage : it kept us at a distance from my

10 MY UKCLE AKD MY CURE.

aunt, who sat enthroned at the back of the room, near the chimney-piece, and, at the same time, allowed me to follow the movements of the flies and the flight of the swallows in summer, while in winter I could observe the effects of the snow and rime on the trees in the garden.

The cur4 set his snuff-box down beside him, placed his checked handkerchief on an arm of his chair, and we began.

When I was not inclined to be excessively idle matters took a good turn, at least as long as the point at stake was the correcting of my exercises ; for, although I made them as short as possible I always worked hard at them. I wrote a good hand, and had a fluent style. The cure manifested his approval by frequently nodding his head, took snuff enthusiastically, and said repeatedly, Good ! Very good ! ’’ in all the tones of the gamut.

And during the whole time I was making a mental calculation of the number of stains on his soutane, and asking myself how he would look in a black wig, tight breeches, and a red velvet coat, like the articles worn by my grandfather in his portrait.

And the idea of the cure in wig and breeches was so comical that I roared.

Thereupon my aunt screeched out, You little fool ! Oh, you idiot ! ” and other compliments of the sort, more expressive than polite.

The cure looked at me with a smile, and repeated two or three times, ^^Ah, youth, youth ! What a thing it is to be young ! ” and he sighed gently, recalling some memory of the time, perhaps, when he was fifteen.

But the recitation came next, and tlien things did not go on so swimmingly. It was the critical moment, the time for question and answer, interchange of personal opinions, discussions, nay, even disputes and high words. The cure had a passionate admiration for the heroes of antiquity and for those almost fabulous feats in which physical courage turned the scale. This fancy of his was rather queer, as he was not made exactly of heroic stuff himself.

I had noticed that he did not care to return home at night, and the discovery, while rendering me fonder of him than ever, — for I am a miserable little coward myself, — convinced me I was not laboring under any rnistake in my estimate of his courage. Indeed, that calm, sedate soul of his had never even dreamed of martyrdom, never in the world. It was too much attached for that to the

MY UNCLE AND MY CURE.

unruffled routine of its existence, to the flock it loved, and, in fact, to the body in which it dwelt. I have seen him turn as pale as his rosy cheeks allowed when he happened to be reading about the tortures inflicted on the early Christians.

He thought it a very grand thing to jump into Paradise with one heroic leap, but he was quite content to jog along quietly toward eternity without fatigue or haste. He had none of those divine paroxysms that fill with a longing for death those who would behold the Ruler of time and creation at the earliest moment. Oh, by no means ! He had made up his mind to depart without a murmur when his hour arrived, but he was sincerely hopeful it would be postjjoned to as late a date as possible.

I must acknowledge that excess of courage is not my strong point, so that this gentle and easy-going way of thinking suited me to a shade.

Nevertheless, he would never give up his heroes. He admired, exalted, loved them the more, perhaps, that he knew full well if the opportunity offered he was not at all likely to imitate them.

As for myself, I shared neither in his tastes

3IT TTSCI^ AXD MY CCBEnor in his admiratuHi. These Greeks and Romans of his aroosed myntmost aversion, Bt an odd freak of mT whimsical :^ncy I had come to the conclusion that the latter resembled my annt^ — or my annt resembled them, just as yon like. — and the rery moment this afSnity was established the Romans were tried, condemned, and executed forerer after.

HoweTer, the cure was determined we should daUde in Roman history, ami I was as determinedjon my side to hare nothing to do with it. The great men of the Repablie did not awaken my sympathies in the slightest, and I could not teH cme emperor from another. It was all Tery well for the cure to burst into admiring exclamations, to pass from anger to argument and riee rena, it was impossible to shake me out of my indifference and my own way of looking at things.

Ebr instance, I eonclnded my recital of the story of Mucius Scaerola with this rema^ :

‘^He punished his ri^t hand because it made a mistake. What an idiot he most have been! ’’

The cure, who had been listening to me the moment before with an air of entire content, started up, indignant.

“ An idiot, mademoiselle ? And why, pray ? ”

“ Because the loss of his hand did not repair the mistake,” I answered. ^^It did not hinder Porsenna from being alive and kicking, and the poor secretary was not any the better for it, either.”

^^Well, perhaps you’re right, little one ; but it so alarmed Porsenna that he raised the siege immediately.”

“ Which only shows, M. le Cure, that your Porsenna was a dastard.”

Even so. Still, Pome was delivered, and thanks to whom ? Thanks to Scsevola and his heroic deed ! ”

And the cure, who would shiver at the mere notion of burning the end of his little finger, and was, therefore, perhaps the more inclined to sing the praises of Mucins Scsevola, strained every nerve to get me to appreciate his hero.

“ I stand by what I have said,” I returned calmly ; he was simply an idiot, an out-andout idiot ! ”

And then the cure gasped out with difficulty :

When children take to reasoning, men must expect to hear a good deal of nonsense.”

MY UNCLE AND MY CURE.

M. le Cure, you taught me only the other day that reason is one of our noblest faculties.”

Of course, of course, when we know how to make use of it ; but I was then speaking of full-grown men and not of little girls.^’

“ M. le Cure, the little bird tests its powers on the edge of its nest.”

The worthy cure was evidently rather put out, and ruffled up his white hair with such energy that his head looked not unlike the mop of a broom, if the mop were powdered.

You are too fond of arguing, my child,” he would sometimes say ; it is a sin of pride. I shall not be always here to answer you, and when you are face to face with life you will learn that endurance and not argument must be your weapon.”

Life indeed ! It was but little I cared for life ; as long as I had a cure to exercise my logic on I had all I wanted.

When I had teased and plagued and harassed him to the top of my bent he made vain endeavors to assume an expression of severity. He had to give the attempt up, for his mouth always smiled and refused absolutely to obey his will.

Thereupon he used to say :

Mademoiselle de Lavalle, you will go over

MY UNCLE AND MY CUE^J.

your Eoman emperors again, and in such a way, I hope, as not to confuse Tiberius with Vespasian.’’

Oh, M. le Cure,” I answered, let us drop these tiresome people, they bore me ! Why, you know if you had lived in their time they would have broiled you alive on a gridiron, or torn out your tongue and nails, or chopped you up into mincemeat ! ”

At this gloomy picture the cure started slightly, and, without deigning a reply, he tripped out of the room.

I knew that when he called me “ Mademoiselle de Lavalle” his displeasure had reached its climax. This ceremonious title was the strongest proof of his dissatisfaction, and I always felt remorseful, until I saw him coming again, with his disordered hair and smiling lips.

Chapter II

M y aunt abused me shamefully when I was a child, and I had such dread of blows that I obeyed her orders without ever venturing to dispute them.

She beat me even on the very day when I

MY UNCLE AND MY CURE.

reached my sixteenth year, but it was for the last time. From that day, a day fruitful in events of personal interest, a revolution that had been smouldering in the depths of my soul for some months suddenly burst into flame and completely altered my relations with my aunt.

At this time the cure and I were reviewing the history of France, and I cherished the notion that I knew it pretty well. In fact, taking into account the gaps and expurgations of my book, my knowledge of it was as good as I could very well have acquired.

How, the love the cur4 professed for our kings bordered on adoration, and yet he did not like Francis I. This antipathy of his was the more extraordinary, as Francis was a valiant knight and has always been popular. But he was not to the taste of the cur4, who never lost an opportunity of criticising him, and so, in a spirit of contradiction, I chose him for my favorite.

On the day to which I have previously alluded, the lesson I had to recite dealt with this new friend of mine, and I spent a part of the day before in trying to discover some way of dazzling the cure’s eyes with his glory. Unfortunately I could only repeat the words in my history, backing them up with opinions that were based more on feeling than reason.

I must have been cudgelling my brains for more than an hour when a brilliant idea flashed on my mind.

The library ! ’’ I exclaimed.

Without a moment’s delay I rushed down a long corridor, and, for the first time in my life, entered a moderate -sized room, the walls lined with shelves and covered with books, which were knit together by a multitude of delicate cobwebs.

It communicated with the apartments of my uncle, which had never been opened since his death ; it smelt so close and mouldy that I was almost suffocated. I quickly threw open the window, which was very small and had neither shutters nor blinds ; it looked out on the most neglected corner of the garden.

And then I proceeded to investigate. But what chance had I of discovering Francis I. among all these volumes ?

I was nearly giving it up when a little book met my eyes, and I shouted for joy. It contained the biographies of the kings of France who reigned before Henry IV. A fairly good portrait of Francis I. in the splendid costume of the Valois preceded his biography. I examined it with astonishment.

“ Is it possible/’ I said to myself, in my surprise, that such handsome men are in existence ? ”

The biographer, who did not share the cure’s dislike of my hero, gave him unlimited praise. He spoke with sincere enthusiasm of his beauty, valor, his chivalrous nature, and his enlightened protection of literature and art. He concluded with a few lines on his private life, and I learned a thing of which I had been entirely ignorant before, namely, that

‘^Francis I. led a joyous life and was prodigiously fond of women. ' But his preference was largely and sincerely in favor of the beautiful Countess Anne, to whom he gave the county of lltampes, raising it to the rank of a duchy, in order to render himself very pleasing to her, — ^ pour lui etre moult agreable.’ ” From these words I deduced the following conclusions : In the first place, as I had discovered a month ago that I was having a very dull time of it, that I was in need of many things, and that the possession of a cure, an aunt, hens, and rabbits was not enough of itself to ensure a person’s happiness, it was plain to me that, since a joyous life Avas the very reverse of mine, Francis I. showed great judgment in going in for it.

In the second, that he must have, certainly, been well grounded in the holy virtue of charity preached by my cur6, since he was so fond of women.

In the third, that Countess Anne was a lucky person, and I should have been well pleased if some king had given me a county and raised it to the rank of a duchy, in order to be moult agreable ” to me.

Bravo!’’ I cried, throwing the book up to the ceiling and catching it nimbly again.

I have all I need for bringing the cure to a stand and converting him to my opinion.”

I read the little biography over again in my bed at night.

‘‘What a fine man this Francis I. must have been ! ” I said to myself. “ But how is it the author speaks only of his affection for women ? How is it he says nothing of his fondness for men ? Well, every man to his taste ! But if I am to judge of women by what I see of my aunt I fancy I should have a very decided preference for men, myself.”

Then it occurred to me that the biographer belonged to the male sex, and that, from a feeling of amiability and modesty, he had

MY UNCLE AND MY CURE.

thought it due to courtesy to say as little as possible of those of his own gender.

And, with this luminous idea in my head, I fell asleep. . '

When I rose the next morning I was in a very contented frame of mind. In the first place, I was sixteen ; in the second, the face of the small figure which my looking-glass reflected was not unpleasing by any manner of means. Next, I spun two or three times round on my heel when I thought of how my newly acquired knowledge would embarrass the cure.

I was so impatient that I had taken my seat at the table long before he entered, ruddy and smiling as usual. As soon as I saw him my heart beat a little faster, as a great captain’s does on the eve of battle.

‘‘And now, my child,” said he, when the exercises were corrected and the expression of his countenance had told me what he thought of their laconism, “ let us pass to Francis I. and examine him from every point of view.”

Making himself as comfortable as he could in his arm-chair, he took his snuff-box in one hand, his handkerchief in the other, and prepared for the discussion he knew could not be avoided.

I was ready. I charged right down on my subject. I grew excited, impassioned, enthusiastic. I dwelt largely on the qualities described in my history; then I passed on to the special information I had recently imbibed.

^^And oh, M. le Cure, what a charming man he was ! His figure was majestic, his face noble and beautiful, and his pointed beard was so pretty, and his eyes were so fine ! ”

I paused a moment to recover breath ; and the cure, absolutely scared out of his wits, jumping bolt upright like one of those little imps on wires enclosed in pasteboard boxes, cried : “ Where did you get all this trash, mademoiselle ? ’’

That ’s my secret,” I answered, with a little mysterious smile, and burning my boats behind me. ^^M.'le Cure, I don’t know what harm this poor Francis I. ever did you. Are you aware that he had a great deal of common sense ? He led a joyous life and was prodigiously fond of women.”

Then the eyes of the cure opened so wide that I dreaded they would start out of his head. Saint Michael ! Saint Barnabas ! ” he ejaculated, and his snuff-box dropped out of his hand, making such a clatter that the cat leaped from the chair where it was lying, with a piercing wail.

My aunt, who was sleeping, woke up with a start, and cried : You vile wretch ! ’’

This was intended for me, not for the cat, although she had not the slightest idea what was the trouble. But it was a phrase with which she invariably opened and ended all her discourses.

Most assuredly I had hoped to produce a great impression, but this was more than I bargained for ; the extraordinary change in the face of the cure frightenec^^ me a little.

However, after a few moments I went on, composedly : He was particularly fond of a beautiful lady to whom he gave a duchy. You must really acknowledge, M. le Cure, that he was very kind-hearted and that it would be delightful to be in the place of Countess Anne !

Holy Mother of God,” murmured the cure in a choking voice, the child is possessed ! ”

What is the matter ? ” cried my aunt, running one of her knitting-needles through her back hair. Turn her out if she dares to be impertinent.”