Murad the Unlucky and Other Tales

M >> Maria Edgeworth >> Murad the Unlucky and Other Tales


Convinced of these melancholy truths, Madame de Fleury was determined not
to add to the number of those imprudent or ostentatious patrons, who
sacrifice to their own amusement and vanity the future happiness of their
favourites. Victoire's verses were not handed about in fashionable
circles, nor was she called upon to recite them before a brilliant
audience, nor was she produced in public as a prodigy; she was educated
in private, and by slow and sure degrees, to be a good, useful, and happy
member of society. Upon the same principles which decided Madame de
Fleury against encouraging Victoire to be a poetess, she refrained from
giving any of her little pupils accomplishments unsuited to their
situation. Some had a fine ear for music, others showed powers of
dancing; but they were taught neither dancing nor music--talents which in
their station were more likely to be dangerous than serviceable. They
were not intended for actresses or opera-girls, but for shop-girls,
mantua-makers, work-women, and servants of different sorts; consequently
they were instructed in things which would be most necessary and useful
to young women in their rank of life. Before they were ten years old
they could do all kinds of plain needlework, they could read and write
well, and they were mistresses of the common rules of arithmetic. After
this age they were practised by a writing-master in drawing out bills
neatly, keeping accounts, and applying to every-day use their knowledge
of arithmetic. Some were taught by a laundress to wash and get up fine
linen and lace; others were instructed by a neighbouring traiteur in
those culinary mysteries with which Sister Frances was unacquainted. In
sweetmeats and confectioneries she yielded to no one; and she made her
pupils as expert as herself. Those who were intended for ladies' maids
were taught mantua-making, and had lessons from Madame de Fleury's own
woman in hairdressing.

Amongst her numerous friends and acquaintances, and amongst the
shopkeepers whom she was in the habit of employing, Madame de Fleury had
means of placing and establishing her pupils suitably and advantageously:
of this, both they and their parents were aware, so that there was a
constant and great motive operating continually to induce them to exert
themselves, and to behave well. This reasonable hope of reaping the
fruits of their education, and of being immediately rewarded for their
good conduct; this perception of the connection between what they are
taught and what they are to become, is necessary to make young people
assiduous; for want of attending to these principles many splendid
establishments have failed to produce pupils answerable to the
expectations which had been formed of them.

During seven years that Madame de Fleury persevered uniformly on the same
plan, only one girl forfeited her protection--a girl of the name of
Manon; she was Victoire's cousin, but totally unlike her in character.

When very young, her beautiful eyes and hair caught the fancy of a rich
lady, who took her into her family as a sort of humble playfellow for her
children. She was taught to dance and to sing: she soon excelled in
these accomplishments, and was admired, and produced as a prodigy of
talent. The lady of the house gave herself great credit for having
discerned, and having brought forward, such talents. Manon's moral
character was in the meantime neglected. In this house, where there was
a constant scene of hurry and dissipation, the child had frequent
opportunities and temptations to be dishonest. For some time she was not
detected; her caressing manners pleased her patroness, and servile
compliance with the humours of the children of the family secured their
goodwill. Encouraged by daily petty successes in the art of deceit, she
became a complete hypocrite. With culpable negligence, her mistress
trusted implicitly to appearances; and without examining whether she were
really honest, she suffered her to have free access to unlocked drawers
and valuable cabinets. Several articles of dress were missed from time
to time; but Manon managed so artfully, that she averted from herself all
suspicion. Emboldened by this fatal impunity, she at last attempted
depredations of more importance. She purloined a valuable snuff-box--was
detected in disposing of the broken parts of it at a pawnbroker's, and
was immediately discarded in disgrace; but by her tears and vehement
expressions of remorse she so far worked upon the weakness of the lady of
the house as to prevail upon her to conceal the circumstance that
occasioned her dismissal. Some months afterwards, Manon, pleading that
she was thoroughly reformed, obtained from this lady a recommendation to
Madame de Fleury's school. It is wonderful that, people, who in other
respects profess and practise integrity, can be so culpably weak as to
give good characters to those who do not deserve them: this is really one
of the worst species of forgery. Imposed upon by this treacherous
recommendation, Madame de Fleury received into the midst of her innocent
young pupils one who might have corrupted their minds secretly and
irrecoverably. Fortunately a discovery was made in time of Manon's real
disposition. A mere trifle led to the detection of her habits of
falsehood. As she could not do any kind of needlework, she was employed
in winding cotton; she was negligent, and did not in the course of the
week wind the same number of balls as her companions; and to conceal
this, she pretended that she had delivered the proper number to the
woman, who regularly called at the end of the week for the cotton. The
woman persisted in her account, and the children in theirs; and Manon
would not retract her assertion. The poor woman gave up the point; but
she declared that she would the next time send her brother to make up the
account, because he was sharper than herself, and would not be imposed
upon so easily. The ensuing week the brother came, and he proved to be
the very pawnbroker to whom Manon formerly offered the stolen box: he
knew her immediately; it was in vain that she attempted to puzzle him,
and to persuade him that she was not the same person. The man was clear
and firm. Sister Frances could scarcely believe what she heard. Struck
with horror, the children shrank back from Manon, and stood in silence.
Madame de Fleury immediately wrote to the lady who had recommended this
girl, and inquired into the truth of the pawnbroker's assertions. The
lady, who had given Manon a false character, could not deny the facts,
and could apologise for herself only by saying that "she believed the
girl to be partly reformed, and that she hoped, under Madame de Fleury's
judicious care, she would become an amiable and respectable woman."

Madame de Fleury, however, wisely judged that the hazard of corrupting
all her pupils should not be incurred for the slight chance of correcting
one, whose bad habits wore of such long standing. Manon was expelled
from this happy little community--even Sister Frances, the most mild of
human beings, could never think of the danger to which they had been
exposed without expressing indignation against the lady who recommended
such a girl as a fit companion for her blameless and beloved pupils.



CHAPTER VII


"Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play:
No sense have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day."--GRAY.

Good legislators always attend to the habits, and what is called the
genius, of the people they have to govern. From youth to age, the taste
for whatever is called _une fete_ pervades the whole French nation.
Madame de Fleury availed herself judiciously of this powerful motive, and
connected it with the feelings of affection more than with the passion
for show. For instance, when any of her little people had done anything
particularly worthy of reward, she gave them leave to invite their
parents to a _fete_ prepared for them by their children, assisted by the
kindness of Sister Frances.

One day--it was a holiday obtained by Victoire's good conduct--all the
children prepared in their garden a little feast for their parents.
Sister Frances spread the table with a bountiful hand, the happy fathers
and mothers were waited upon by their children, and each in their turn
heard with delight from the benevolent nun some instance of their
daughter's improvement. Full of hope for the future and of gratitude for
the past, these honest people ate and talked, whilst in imagination they
saw their children all prosperously and usefully settled in the world.
They blessed Madame de Fleury in her absence, and they wished ardently
for her presence.

"The sun is setting, and Madame de Fleury is not yet come," cried
Victoire; "she said she would be here this evening--What can be the
matter?"

"Nothing is the matter, you may be sure," said Babet; "but that she has
forgotten us--she has so many things to think of."

"Yes; but I know she never forgets us," said Victoire; "and she loves so
much to see us all happy together, that I am sure it must be something
very extraordinary that detains her."

Babet laughed at Victoire's fears; but presently even she began to grow
impatient; for they waited long after sunset, expecting every moment that
Madame de Fleury would arrive. At last she appeared, but with a dejected
countenance, which seemed to justify Victoire's foreboding. When she saw
this festive company, each child sitting between her parents, and all at
her entrance looking up with affectionate pleasure, a faint smile
enlivened her countenance for a moment; but she did not speak to them
with her usual ease. Her mind seemed preoccupied by some disagreeable
business of importance. It appeared that it had some connection with
them; for as she walked round the table with Sister Frances, she said,
with a voice and look of great tenderness, "Poor children! how happy they
are at this moment!--Heaven only knows how soon they may be rendered, or
may render themselves, miserable!"

None of the children could imagine what this meant; but their parents
guessed that it had some allusion to the state of public affairs. About
this time some of those discontents had broken out which preceded the
terrible days of the Revolution. As yet, most of the common people, who
were honestly employed in earning their own living, neither understood
what was going on nor foresaw what was to happen. Many of their
superiors were not in such happy ignorance--they had information of the
intrigues that were forming; and the more penetration they possessed, the
more they feared the consequences of events which they could not control.
At the house of a great man, with whom she had dined this day, Madame de
Fleury had heard alarming news. Dreadful public disturbances, she saw,
were inevitable; and whilst she trembled for the fate of all who were
dear to her, these poor children had a share in her anxiety. She foresaw
the temptations, the dangers, to which they must be exposed, whether they
abandoned, or whether they abided by the principles their education had
instilled. She feared that the labour of years would perhaps be lost in
an instant, or that her innocent pupils would fall victims even to their
virtues.

Many of these young people were now of an age to understand and to govern
themselves by reason; and with these she determined to use those
preventive measures which reason affords. Without meddling with
politics, in which no amiable or sensible woman can wish to interfere,
the influence of ladies in the higher ranks of life may always be exerted
with perfect propriety, and with essential advantage to the public, in
conciliating the inferior classes of society, explaining to them their
duties and their interests, and impressing upon the minds of the children
of the poor sentiments of just subordination and honest independence. How
happy would it have been for France if women of fortune and abilities had
always exerted their talents and activity in this manner, instead of
wasting their powers in futile declamations, or in the intrigues of
party!



CHAPTER VIII


"E'en now the devastation is begun,
And half the business of destruction done."

GOLDSMITH.

Madame de Fleury was not disappointed in her pupils. When the public
disturbances began, these children were shocked by the horrible actions
they saw. Instead of being seduced by bad example, they only showed
anxiety to avoid companions of their own age who were dishonest, idle, or
profligate. Victoire's cousin Manon ridiculed these absurd principles,
as she called them, and endeavoured to persuade Victoire that she would
be much happier if she followed the fashion.

"What! Victoire, still with your work-bag on your arm, and still going
to school with your little sister, though you are but a year younger than
I am, I believe!--thirteen last birthday, were not you?--Mon Dieu! Why,
how long do you intend to be a child? and why don't you leave that old
nun, who keeps you in leading-strings?--I assure you, nuns, and school-
mistresses, and schools, and all that sort of thing, are out of fashion
now--we have abolished all that--we are to live a life of reason now--and
all soon to be equal, I can tell you; let your Madame de Fleury look to
that, and look to it yourself; for with all your wisdom, you might find
yourself in the wrong box by sticking to her, and that side of the
question.--Disengage yourself from her, I advise you, as soon as you
can.--My dear Victoire! believe me, you may spell very well--but you know
nothing of the rights of man, or the rights of woman."

"I do not pretend to know anything of the rights of men, or the rights of
women," cried Victoire; "but this I know: that I never can or will be
ungrateful to Madame de Fleury. Disengage myself from her! I am bound
to her for ever, and I will abide by her till the last hour I breathe."

"Well, well! there is no occasion to be in a passion--I only speak as a
friend, and I have no more time to reason with you; for I must go home,
and get ready my dress for the ball to-night."

"Manon, how can you afford to buy a dress for a ball?"

"As you might, if you had common sense, Victoire--only by being a good
citizen. I and a party of us denounced a milliner and a confectioner in
our neighbourhood, who were horrible aristocrats; and of their goods
forfeited to the nation we had, as was our just share, such delicious
_marangues_ and charming ribands!--Oh, Victoire, believe me, you will
never get such things by going to school, or saying your prayers either.
You may look with as much scorn and indignation as you please, but I
advise you to let it alone, for all that is out of fashion, and may,
moreover, bring you into difficulties. Believe me, my dear Victoire,
your head is not deep enough to understand these things--you know nothing
of politics."

"But I know the difference between right and wrong, Manon: politics can
never alter that, you know."

"Never alter that! there you are quite mistaken," said Manon. "I cannot
stay to convince you now--but this I can tell you: that I know secrets
that you don't suspect."

"I do not wish to know any of your secrets, Manon," said Victoire,
proudly.

"Your pride may be humbled, Citoyenne Victoire, sooner than you expect,"
exclaimed Manon, who was now so provoked by her cousin's contempt that
she could not refrain from boasting of her political knowledge. "I can
tell you that your fine friends will in a few days not be able to protect
you. The Abbe Tracassier is in love with a dear friend of mine, and I
know all the secrets of state from her--and I know what I know. Be as
incredulous as you please, but you will see that, before this week is at
end, Monsieur de Fleury will be guillotined, and then what will become of
you? Good morning, my proud cousin."

Shocked by what she had just heard, Victoire could scarcely believe that
Manon was in earnest; she resolved, however, to go immediately and
communicate this intelligence, whether true or false, to Madame de
Fleury. It agreed but too well with other circumstances, which alarmed
this lady for the safety of her husband. A man of his abilities,
integrity, and fortune, could not in such times hope to escape
persecution. He was inclined to brave the danger; but his lady
represented that it would not be courage, but rashness and folly, to
sacrifice his life to the villainy of others, without probability or
possibility of serving his country by his fall.

Monsieur de Fleury, in consequence of these representations, and of
Victoire's intelligence, made his escape from Paris; and the very next
day placards were put up in every street, offering a price for the head
of Citoyen Fleury, _suspected of incivisme_.

Struck with terror and astonishment at the sight of these placards, the
children read them as they returned in the evening from school; and
little Babet in the vehemence of her indignation mounted a lamplighter's
ladder, and tore down one of the papers. This imprudent action did not
pass unobserved: it was seen by one of the spies of Citoyen Tracassier, a
man who, under the pretence of zeal _pour la chose publique_, gratified
without scruple his private resentments and his malevolent passions. In
his former character of an abbe, and a man of wit, he had gained
admittance into Madame de Fleury's society. There he attempted to
dictate both as a literary and religious despot. Accidentally
discovering that Madame de Fleury had a little school for poor children,
he thought proper to be offended, because he had not been consulted
respecting the regulations, and because he was not permitted, as he said,
to take the charge of this little flock. He made many objections to
Sister Frances, as being an improper person to have the spiritual
guidance of these young people; but as he was unable to give any just
reason for his dislike, Madame de Fleury persisted in her choice, and was
at last obliged to assert, in opposition to the domineering abbe, her
right to judge and decide in her own affairs. With seeming politeness,
he begged ten thousand pardons for his conscientious interference. No
more was said upon the subject; and as he did not totally withdraw from
her society till the revolution broke out, she did not suspect that she
had anything to fear from his resentment. His manners and opinions
changed suddenly with the times; the mask of religion was thrown off; and
now, instead of objecting to Sister Frances as not being sufficiently
strict and orthodox in her tenets, he boldly declared that a nun was not
a fit person to be intrusted with the education of any of the young
citizens--they should all be _des eleves de la patrie_. The abbe, become
a member of the Committee of Public Safety, denounced Madame de Fleury,
in the strange jargon of the day, as "_the fosterer of a swarm of bad
citizens, who were nourished in the anticivic prejudices_ de l'ancien
regime, _and fostered in the most detestable superstitions, in defiance
of the law_." He further observed, that he had good reason to believe
that some of these little enemies to the constitution had contrived and
abetted Monsieur de Fleury's escape. Of their having rejoiced at it in a
most indecent manner, he said he could produce irrefragable proof. The
boy who saw Babet tear down the placard was produced and solemnly
examined; and the thoughtless action of this poor little girl was
construed into a state crime of the most horrible nature. In a
declamatory tone, Tracassier reminded his fellow-citizens, that in the
ancient Grecian times of virtuous republicanism (times of which France
ought to show herself emulous), an Athenian child was condemned to death
for having made a plaything of a fragment of the gilding that had fallen
from a public statue. The orator, for the reward of his eloquence,
obtained an order to seize everything in Madame de Fleury's school-house,
and to throw the nun into prison.



CHAPTER IX


"Who now will guard bewildered youth
Safe from the fierce assault of hostile rage?--
Such war can Virtue wage?"

At the very moment when this order was going to be put in execution,
Madame de Fleury was sitting in the midst of the children, listening to
Babet, who was reading AEsop's fable of _The old man and his sons_.
Whilst her sister was reading, Victoire collected a number of twigs from
the garden: she had just tied them together; and was going, by Sister
Frances' desire, to let her companions try if they could break the
bundle, when the attention to the moral of the fable was interrupted by
the entrance of an old woman, whose countenance expressed the utmost
terror and haste, to tell what she had not breath to utter. To Madame de
Fleury she was a stranger; but the children immediately recollected her
to be the chestnut woman to whom Babet had some years ago restored
certain purloined chestnuts.

"Fly!" said she, the moment she had breath to speak: "Fly!--they are
coming to seize everything here--carry off what you can--make haste--make
haste!--I came through a by-street. A man was eating chestnuts at my
stall, and I saw him show one that was with him the order from Citoyen
Tracassier. They'll be here in five minutes--quick!--quick!--You, in
particular," continued she, turning to the nun, "else you'll be in
prison."

At these words, the children, who had clung round Sister Frances, loosed
their hold, exclaiming, "Go! go quick: but where? where?--we will go with
her."

"No, no!" said Madame de Fleury, "she shall come home with me--my
carriage is at the door."

"Ma belle dame!" cried the chestnut woman, "your house is the worst place
she can go to--let her come to my cellar--the poorest cellar in these
days is safer than the grandest palace."

So saying, she seized the nun with honest roughness, and hurried her
away. As soon as she was gone, the children ran different ways, each to
collect some favourite thing, which they thought they could not leave
behind. Victoire alone stood motionless beside Madame de Fleury; her
whole thoughts absorbed by the fear that her benefactress would be
imprisoned. "Oh, madame! dear, dear Madame de Fleury, don't stay! don't
stay!"

"Oh, children, never mind these things."

"Don't stay, madame, don't stay! I will stay with them--I will stay--do
you go."

The children hearing these words, and recollecting Madame de Fleury's
danger, abandoned all their little property, and instantly obeyed her
orders to go home to their parents. Victoire at last saw Madame de
Fleury safe in her carriage. The coachman drove off at a great rate; and
a few minutes afterwards Tracassier's myrmidons arrived at the school-
house. Great was their surprise when they found only the poor children's
little books, unfinished samplers, and half-hemmed handkerchiefs. They
ran into the garden to search for the nun. They were men of brutal
habits, yet as they looked at everything round them, which bespoke peace,
innocence, and childish happiness, they could not help thinking it was a
pity to destroy what could do the nation no great harm after all. They
were even glad that the nun had made her escape, since they were not
answerable for it; and they returned to their employer satisfied for once
without doing any mischief; but Citizen Tracassier was of too vindictive
a temper to suffer the objects of his hatred thus to elude his vengeance.
The next day Madame de Fleury was summoned before his tribunal and
ordered to give up the nun, against whom, as a suspected person, a decree
of the law had been obtained.

Madame de Fleury refused to betray the innocent woman; the gentle
firmness of this lady's answers to a brutal interrogatory was termed
insolence--she was pronounced a refractory aristocrat, dangerous to the
state; and an order was made out to seal up her goods, and to keep her a
prisoner in her own house.



CHAPTER X


"Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car
The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne,
While the fair captive, marked with many a scar,
In lone obscurity, oppressed, forlorn,
Resigns to tears her angel form."--BEATTIE.

A close prisoner in her own house, Madame de Fleury was now guarded by
men suddenly become soldiers, and sprung from the dregs of the people;
men of brutal manners, ferocious countenances, and more ferocious minds.
They seemed to delight in the insolent display of their newly-acquired
power. One of those men had formerly been convicted of some horrible
crime, and had been sent to the galleys by M. de Fleury. Revenge
actuated this wretch under the mask of patriotism, and he rejoiced in
seeing the wife of the man he hated a prisoner in his custody. Ignorant
of the facts, his associates were ready to believe him in the right, and
to join in the senseless cry against all who were their superiors in
fortune, birth, and education. This unfortunate lady was forbidden all
intercourse with her friends, and it was in vain she attempted to obtain
from her gaolers intelligence of what was passing in Paris.