THE BRACELETS.
IN a beautiful and retired part of England lived Mrs. Villars, a ladywhose accurate understanding, benevolent heart, and steady temperpeculiarly fitted her for the most difficult, as well as most important,of all occupations—the education of youth. This task she had undertaken;and twenty young persons were put under her care, with the perfectconfidence of their parents. No young people could be happier; they weregood and gay, emulous, but not envious of each other; for Mrs. Villarswas impartially just; her praise they felt to be the reward of merit, andher blame they knew to be the necessary consequence of ill-conduct. Tothe one, therefore, they patiently submitted, and in the otherconsciously rejoiced. They rose with fresh cheerfulness in the morning,eager to pursue their various occupations. They returned in the eveningwith renewed ardour to their amusements, and retired to rest satisfiedwith themselves and pleased with each other.
Nothing so much contributed to preserve a spirit of emulation in thislittle society as a small honorary distinction, given annually, as aprize of successful application. The prize this year was peculiarly dearto each individual, as it was the picture of a friend whom they dearlyloved. It was the picture of Mrs. Villars in a small bracelet. Itwanted neither gold, pearls nor precious stones to give it value.
The two foremost candidates for this prize were Cecilia and Leonora.Cecilia was the most intimate friend of Leonora; but Leonora was only thefavourite companion of Cecilia.
Cecilia was of an active, ambitious, enterprising disposition, more eagerin the pursuit than happy in the enjoyment of her wishes. Leonora was ofa contented, unaspiring temperate character; not easily roused to action,but indefatigable when once excited. Leonora was proud; Cecilia wasvain. Her vanity made her more dependent upon the approbation of others,and therefore more anxious to please than Leonora; but that very vanitymade her, at the same time, more apt to offend. In short, Leonora wasthe most anxious to avoid what was wrong; Cecilia, the most ambitious todo what was right. Few of her companions loved, but many were led byCecilia, for she was often successful. Many loved Leonora, but none wereever governed by her, for she was too indolent to govern.
On the first day of May, about six o’clock in the evening, a great bellrang, to summon this little society into a hall, where the prize was tobe decided. A number of small tables were placed in a circle in themiddle of the hall. Seats for the young competitors were raised oneabove another, in a semicircle, some yards distant from the table, andthe judges’ chairs, under canopies of lilacs and laburnums, forminganother semicircle, closed the amphitheatre.
Everyone put their writings, their drawings, their works of various kindsupon the tables appropriated for each. How unsteady were the last stepsto these tables! How each little hand trembled as it laid down itsclaims! Till this moment everyone thought herself secure of success; andthe heart, which exulted with hope, now palpitated with fear.
The works were examined, the preference adjudged, and the prize wasdeclared to be the happy Cecilia’s. Mrs. Villars came forward, smiling,with the bracelet in her hand. Cecilia was behind her companions, on thehighest row. All the others gave way, and she was on the floor in aninstant. Mrs. Villars clasped the bracelet on her arm; the clasp washeard through the whole hall, and a universal smile of congratulationfollowed. Mrs. Villars kissed Cecilia’s little hand. “And now,” saidshe, “go and rejoice with your companions; the remainder of the day isyours.”
Oh! you whose hearts are elated with success, whose bosoms beat high withjoy in the moment of triumph, command yourselves. Let that triumph bemoderate, that it may be lasting. Consider, that though you are good,you may be better; and, though wise, you may be weak.
As soon as Mrs. Villars had given her the bracelet, all Cecilia’s littlecompanions crowded round her, and they all left the hall in an instant.She was full of spirits and vanity. She ran on. Running down the flightof steps which led to the garden, in her violent haste, Cecilia threwdown the little Louisa, who had a china mandarin in her hand, which hermother had sent her that very morning, and which was all broken to piecesby her fall.
“Oh, my mandarin!” cried Louisa, bursting into tears. The crowd behindCecilia suddenly stopped. Louisa sat on the lowest step, fixing her eyesupon the broken pieces. Then, turning round, she hid her face in herhands upon the step above her. In turning, Louisa threw down the remainsof the mandarin. The head, which she placed in the socket, fell from theshoulders, and rolled, bounding along the gravel walk. Cecilia pointedto the head and to the socket, and burst into laughter. The crowd behindlaughed, too.
At any other time they would have been more inclined to cry with Louisa;but Cecilia had just been successful, and sympathy with the victoriousoften makes us forget justice.
Leonora, however, preserved her usual consistency. “Poor Louisa!” saidshe, looking first at her, and then reproachfully at Cecilia. Ceciliaturned sharply round, colouring, half with shame and half with vexation.“I could not help it, Leonora,” said she.
“But you could have helped laughing, Cecilia.”
“I didn’t laugh at Louisa; and I surely may laugh, for it does nobody anyharm.”
“I am sure, however,” replied Leonora, “I should not have laughed if Ihad—”
“No, to be sure, you wouldn’t, because Louisa is your favourite. I canbuy her another mandarin when the old peddler comes to the door, ifthat’s all. I _can_ do no more, _can_ I?” said she, again turning roundto her companions. “No, to be sure,” said they; “that’s all fair.”
Cecilia looked triumphantly at Leonora. Leonora let go her hand; she ranon, and the crowd followed. When she got to the end of the garden, sheturned round to see if Leonora had followed her, too; but was vexed tosee her still sitting on the steps with Louisa. “I’m sure I can do nomore than buy her another, _can_ I!” said she, again appealing to hercompanions. “No, to be sure,” said they, eager to begin their play.
How many games did these juvenile playmates begin and leave off, beforeCecilia could be satisfied with any! Her thoughts were discomposed, andher mind was running upon something else. No wonder, then, that she didnot play with her usual address. She grew still more impatient. Shethrew down the ninepins. “Come, let us play at something else—atthreading the needle,” said she, holding out her hand. They all yieldedto the hand which wore the bracelet. But Cecilia, dissatisfied withherself, was discontented with everybody else. Her tone grew more andmore peremptory. One was too rude, another too stiff; one too slow,another too quick; in short everything went wrong, and everybody wastired of her humours.
The triumph of _success_ is absolute, but short. Cecilia’s companions atlength recollected that though she had embroidered a tulip, and painted apeach, better than they, yet that they could play as well, and keep theirtempers better; for she was discomposed.
Walking towards the house in a peevish mood, Cecilia met Leonora, butpassed on. “Cecilia!” cried Leonora.
“Well, what do you want with me?”
“Are we friends?”
“You know best,” said Cecilia.
“We are, if you will let me tell Louisa that you are sorry—”
Cecilia, interrupting her, “Oh, pray let me hear no more about Louisa!”
“What! not confess that you were in the wrong? Oh, Cecilia! I had abetter opinion of you.”
“Your opinion is of no consequence to me now, for you don’t love me.”
“No; not when you are unjust, Cecilia.”
“Unjust! I am not unjust; and if I were, you are not my governess.”
“No, but am not I your friend?”
“I don’t desire to have such a friend, who would quarrel with me forhappening to throw down little Louisa. How could I tell that she had amandarin in her hand? and when it was broken, could I do more thanpromise her another; was that unjust?”
“But you know, Cecilia—”
“I _know_,” ironically. “I know, Leonora, that you love Louisa better
than you love me; that’s the injustice!”
“If I did,” replied Leonora, gravely, “it would be no injustice, if shedeserved it better.”
“How can you compare Louisa to me!” exclaimed Cecilia, indignantly.
Leonora made no answer; for she was really hurt at her friend’s conduct.She walked on to join the rest of her companions. They were dancing in around upon the grass. Leonora declined dancing; but they prevailed uponher to sing for them. Her voice was not so sprightly, but it was sweeterthan usual. Who sang so sweetly as Leonora? or who danced so nimbly asLouisa? Away she was flying, all spirits and gaiety, when Leonora’s eyesfull of tears, caught hers. Louisa silently let go her companion’s hand,and, quitting the dance, ran up to Leonora to inquire what was the matterwith her. “Nothing,” replied she, “that need interrupt you. Go, mydear; go and dance again.”
Louisa immediately ran away to her garden, and pulling off her littlestraw hat, she lined it with the freshest strawberry-leaves, and was uponher knees before the strawberry-bed when Cecilia came by. Cecilia wasnot disposed to be pleased with Louisa at that instant, for two reasons;because she was jealous of her, and because she had injured her. Theinjury, however, Louisa had already forgotten. Perhaps to tell thingsjust as they were, she was not quite so much inclined to kiss Cecilia asshe would have been before the fall of her mandarin; but this was theutmost extent of her malice, if it can be called malice.
“What are you doing there, little one?” said Cecilia, in a sharp tone.“Are you eating your early strawberries here all alone?”
“No,” said Louisa, mysteriously, “I am not eating them.”
“What are you doing with them? can’t you answer, then? I’m not playingwith you, child!”
“Oh, as to that, Cecilia, you know I need not answer you unless I chooseit; not but what I would if you would only ask me civilly, and if youwould not call me _child_.”
“Why should not I call you child?”
“Because—because—I don’t know; but I wish you would stand out of mylight, Cecilia, for you are trampling upon all my strawberries.”
“I have not touched one, you covetous little creature!”
“Indeed—indeed, Cecilia, I am not covetous. I have not eaten one ofthem; they are all for your friend Leonora. See how unjust you are!”
“Unjust! that’s a cant word which you learnt of my friend Leonora, as youcall her; but she is not my friend now.”
“Not your friend now!” exclaimed Louisa; “then I am sure you must havedone something _very_ naughty.”
“How?” cried Cecilia, catching hold of her.
“Let me go, let me go!” cried Louisa, struggling. “I won’t give you oneof my strawberries, for I don’t like you at all!”
“You don’t, don’t you?” cried Cecilia, provoked, and, catching the hatfrom Louisa, she flung the strawberries over the hedge.
“Will nobody help me?” exclaimed Louisa, snatching her hat again, andrunning away with all her force.
“What have I done?” said Cecilia, recollecting herself; “Louisa! Louisa!”she called very loud, but Louisa would not turn back; she was running toher companions, who were still dancing, hand in hand, upon the grass,whilst Leonora, sitting in the middle, was singing to them.
“Stop! stop! and hear me!” cried Louisa, breaking through them; and,rushing up to Leonora, she threw her hat at her feet, and panting forbreath—“It was full—almost full of my own strawberries,” said she, “thefirst I ever got out of my garden. They should all have been for you,Leonora; but now I have not one left. They are all gone!” said she; andshe hid her face in Leonora’s lap.
“Gone! gone where?” said everyone, at once running up to her.
“Cecilia! Cecilia!” said she, sobbing.
“Cecilia,” repeated Leonora, “what of Cecilia?”
“Yes, it was—it was.”
“Come with me,” said Leonora, unwilling to have her friend exposed.“Come, and I will get you some more strawberries.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the strawberries, indeed; but I wanted to have had thepleasure of giving them to you.”
Leonora took her up in her arms to carry her away, but it was too late.
“What, Cecilia! Cecilia, who won the prize! It could not surely beCecilia,” whispered every busy tongue.
At this instant the bell summoned them in. “There she is! There sheis!” cried they, pointing to an arbour, where Cecilia was standingashamed and alone; and, as they passed her, some lifted up their handsand eyes with astonishment, others whispered and huddled mysteriouslytogether, as if to avoid her. Leonora walked on, her head a littlehigher than usual.
“Leonora!” said Cecilia, timorously, as she passed.
“Oh, Cecilia! who would have thought that you had a bad heart?” Ceciliaturned her head aside and burst into tears.
“Oh, no, indeed, she has not a bad heart!” cried Louisa, running up toher and throwing her arms around her neck. “She’s very sorry; are notyou, Cecilia? But don’t cry any more, for I forgive you, with all myheart—and I love you now, though I said I did not when I was in apassion.”
“Oh, you sweet-tempered girl! how I love you!” said Cecilia, kissing her.
“Well, then, if you do, come along with me, and dry your eyes, for theyare so red!”
“Go, my dear, and I’ll come presently.”
“Then I will keep a place for you, next to me; but you must make haste,or you will have to come in when we have all sat down to supper, and thenyou will be so stared at! So don’t stay, now.”
Cecilia followed Louisa with her eyes till she was out of sight. “And isLouisa,” said she, to herself, “the only one who would stop to pity me?Mrs. Villars told me that this day should be mine. She little thoughthow it would end!”
Saying these words, Cecilia threw herself down upon the ground; her armleaned upon a heap of turf which she had raised in the morning, andwhich, in the pride and gaiety of her heart, she had called her throne.
At this instant, Mrs. Villars came out to enjoy the serenity of theevening, and, passing by the arbour where Cecilia lay, she started.Cecilia rose hastily.
“Who is there?” said Mrs. Villars.
“It is I, madam.”
“And who is _I_?”
“Cecilia.”
“Why, what keeps you here, my dear? Where are your companions? This is,perhaps, one of the happiest days of your life.”
“Oh, no, madam,” said Cecilia, hardly able to repress her tears.
“Why, my dear, what is the matter?” Cecilia hesitated. “Speak, my dear.You know that when I ask you to tell me anything as your friend, I neverpunish you as your governess; therefore you need not be afraid to tell mewhat is the matter.”
“No, madam, I am not afraid, but ashamed. You asked me why I was notwith my companions. Why, madam, because they have all left me, and—”
“And what, my dear?”
“And I see that they all dislike me; and yet I don’t know why theyshould, for I take as much pains to please as any of them. All mymasters seem satisfied with me; and you yourself, madam, were pleasedthis very morning to give me this bracelet; and I am sure you would nothave given it to anyone who did not deserve it.”
“Certainly not,” said Mrs. Villars. “You well deserve it for yourapplication—for your successful application. The prize was for the mostassiduous, not for the most amiable.”
“Then, if it had been for the most amiable, it would not have been forme?”
Mrs. Villars, smiling,—“Why, what do you think yourself, Cecilia? Youare better able to judge than I am. I can determine whether or no youapply to what I give you to learn; whether you attend to what I desireyou to do, and avoid what I desire you not to do. I know that I like youas a pupil, but I cannot know that I should like you as a companion,unless I were your companion. Therefore I must judge of what I shoulddo, by seeing what others do in the same circumstances.”
“Oh, pray don’t,
madam! for then you would not love me either. And yet Ithink you would love me; for I hope that I am as ready to oblige, and asgood-natured as—”
“Yes, Cecilia, I don’t doubt but that you would be very good natured tome; but I’m afraid that I should not like you unless you weregood-tempered, too.”
“But, madam, by good-natured I mean good-tempered—it’s all the samething.”
“No, indeed, I understand by them two very different things. You aregood-natured, Cecilia; for you are desirous to oblige and serve yourcompanions—to gain them praise, and save them from blame—to give thempleasure, and relieve them from pain; but Leonora is good-tempered, forshe can bear with their foibles, and acknowledge her own. Withoutdisputing about the right, she sometimes yields to those who are in thewrong. In short, her temper is perfectly good; for it can bear andforbear.”
“I wish that mine could!” said Cecilia, sighing.
“It may,” replied Mrs. Villars; “but it is not wishes alone which canimprove us in anything. Turn the same exertion and perseverance whichhave won you the prize to-day to this object, and you will meet with thesame success; perhaps not on the first, the second, or the third attempt;but depend upon it that you will at last. Every new effort will weakenyour bad habits, and strengthen your good ones. But you must not expectto succeed all at once. I repeat it to you, for habit must becounteracted by habit. It would be as extravagant in us to expect thatall our faults could be destroyed by one punishment, were it ever sosevere, as it was in the Roman emperor we were reading of a few days ago,to wish that all the heads of his enemies were upon one neck, that hemight cut them off at one blow.”
Here Mrs. Villars took Cecilia by the hand, and they began to walk home.Such was the nature of Cecilia’s mind, that when any object was forciblyimpressed on her imagination, it caused a temporary suspension of herreasoning faculties. Hope was too strong a stimulus for her spirits; andwhen fear did take possession of her mind, it was attended with totaldebility. Her vanity was now as much mortified as in the morning it hadbeen elated. She walked on with Mrs. Villars in silence, until they cameunder the shade of the elm-tree walk, and there, fixing her eyes uponMrs. Villars, she stopped short.
“Do you think, madam,” said she, with hesitation—“do you think, madam,that I have a bad heart?”
“A bad heart,—my dear! why, what put that into your head?”
“Leonora said that I had, madam, and I felt ashamed when she said so.”
“But, my dear, how can Leonora tell whether your heart be good or bad?However, in the first place, tell me what you mean by a bad heart.”
“Indeed I do not know what is meant by it, madam; but it is somethingwhich everybody hates.”
“And why do they hate it?”
“Because they think that it will hurt them, ma’am, I believe: and thatthose who have bad hearts take delight in doing mischief; and that theynever do anybody any good but for their own ends.”
“Then the best definition,” said Mrs. Villars, “which you can give me ofa bad heart is, that it is some constant propensity to hurt others, andto do wrong for the sake of doing wrong.”
“Yes, madam; but that is not all either. There is still something elsemeant; something which I cannot express—which, indeed, I never distinctlyunderstood; but of which, therefore, I was the more afraid.”
“Well, then, to begin with what you do understand, tell me, Cecilia, doyou really think it possible to be wicked merely for the love ofwickedness? No human being becomes wicked all at once. A man begins bydoing wrong because it is, or because he thinks it, for his interest. Ifhe continue to do so, he must conquer his sense of shame and lose hislove of virtue. But how can you, Cecilia, who feel such a strong senseof shame, and such an eager desire to improve, imagine that you have abad heart?”
“Indeed, madam, I never did, until everybody told me so, and then I beganto be frightened about it. This very evening, madam, when I was in apassion, I threw little Louisa’s strawberries away, which, I am sure, Iwas very sorry for afterwards; and Leonora and everybody cried out that Ihad a bad heart—but I am sure I was only in a passion.”
“Very likely. And when you are in a passion, as you call it, Cecilia,you see that you are tempted to do harm to others. If they do not feelangry themselves, they do not sympathize with you. They do not perceivethe motive which actuates you; and then they say that you have a badheart. I daresay, however, when your passion is over, and when yourecollect yourself, you are very sorry for what you have done and said;are not you?”
“Yes, indeed, madam—very sorry.”
“Then make that sorry of use to you, Cecilia, and fix it steadily in yourthoughts, as you hope to be good and happy, that if you suffer yourselfto yield to your passion upon every occasion, anger and its consequenceswill become familiar to your mind; and, in the same proportion, yoursense of shame will be weakened, till what you began with doing fromsudden impulse you will end with doing from habit and choice: then youwould, indeed, according to our definition, have a bad heart.”
“Oh, madam! I hope—I am sure I never shall.”
“No, indeed, Cecilia; I do, indeed, believe that you never will; on thecontrary, I think that you have a very good disposition, and what is ofinfinitely more consequence to you, an active desire of improvement.Show me that you have as much perseverance as you have candour, and Ishall not despair of your becoming everything that I could wish.”
Here Cecilia’s countenance brightened, and she ran up the steps in almostas high spirits as she ran down them in the morning.
“Good-night to you, Cecilia,” said Mrs. Villars, as she was crossing thehall. “Good-night to you, madam,” said Cecilia; and she ran upstairs tobed. She could not go to sleep; but she lay awake, reflecting upon theevents of the preceding day, and forming resolutions for the future, atthe same time that she had resolved, and resolved without effect, shewished to give her mind some more powerful motive. Ambition she knew tobe its most powerful incentive. “Have I not,” said she to herself,“already won the prize of application, and cannot the same applicationprocure me a much higher prize? Mrs. Villars said that if the prize hadbeen promised to the most amiable, it would not have been given to me.Perhaps it would not yesterday, perhaps it might not to-morrow; but thatis no reason that I should despair of ever deserving it.”.
In consequence of this reasoning, Cecilia formed a design of proposing toher companions that they should give a prize, the first of the ensuingmonth (the 1st of June), to the most amiable. Mrs. Villars applauded thescheme, and her companions adopted it with the greatest alacrity.
“Let the prize,” said they, “be a bracelet of our own hair;” andinstantly their shining scissors were produced, and each contributed alock of their hair. They formed the most beautiful gradation of colours,from the palest auburn to the brightest black. Who was to have thehonour of plaiting them? was now the question. Caroline begged that shemight, as she could plait very neatly, she said. Cecilia, however, wasequally sure that she could do it much better; and a dispute would haveinevitably ensued, if Cecilia, recollecting herself just as her colourrose to scarlet, had not yielded—yielded, with no very good grace indeed,but as well as could be expected for the first time. For it is habitwhich confers ease; and without ease, even in moral actions, there can beno grace.
The bracelet was plaited in the neatest manner by Caroline, finishedround the edge with silver twist, and on it was worked, in the smallestsilver letters, this motto, “TO THE MOST AMIABLE.” The moment it wascompleted, everybody begged to try it on. It fastened with little silverclasps, and as it was made large enough for the eldest girls, it was toolarge for the youngest. Of this they bitterly complained, andunanimously entreated that it might be cut to fit them.
“How foolish!” exclaimed Cecilia; “don’t you perceive that if any of youwin it, you have nothing to do but to put the clips a little further fromthe edge, but if we get it, we can’t make it larger?”
“Very
true,” said they; “but you need not to have called us foolish,Cecilia.”
It was by such hasty and unguarded expressions as these that Ceciliaoffended. A slight difference in the manner makes a very material one inthe effect. Cecilia lost more love by general petulance than she couldgain by the greatest particular exertions.
How far she succeeded in curing herself of this defect—how far she becamedeserving of the bracelet, and to whom the bracelet was given—shall betold in the History of the First of June.
* * * * *
The First of June was now arrived, and all the young competitors were ina state of the most anxious suspense. Leonora and Cecilia continued tobe the foremost candidates. Their quarrel had never been finallyadjusted, and their different pretensions now retarded all thoughts of areconciliation. Cecilia, though she was capable of acknowledging any ofher faults in public before all her companions, could not humble herselfin private to Leonora. Leonora was her equal; they were her inferiors,and submission is much easier to a vain mind, where it appears to bevoluntary, than when it is the necessary tribute to justice or candour.So strongly did Cecilia feel this truth, that she even delayed making anyapology, or coming to any explanation with Leonora, until success shouldonce more give her the palm.
“If I win the bracelet, to-day,” said she to herself, “I will solicit thereturn of Leonora’s friendship; it will be more valuable to me than eventhe bracelet, and at such a time, and asked in such a manner, she surelycannot refuse it to me.” Animated with this hope of a double triumph,Cecilia canvassed with the most zealous activity. By constant attentionand exertion she had considerably abated the violence of her temper, andchanged the course of her habits. Her powers of pleasing were nowexcited, instead of her abilities to excel; and, if her talents appearedless brilliant, her character was acknowledged to be more amiable. Sogreat an influence upon our manners and conduct have the objects of ourambition.
Cecilia was now, if possible, more than ever desirous of doing what wasright, but she had not yet acquired sufficient fear of doing wrong. Thiswas the fundamental error of her mind; it arose in a great measure fromher early education. Her mother died when she was very young; and thoughher father had supplied her place in the best and kindest manner, he hadinsensibly infused into his daughter’s mind a portion of thatenterprising, independent spirit which he justly deemed essential to thecharacter of her brother. This brother was some years older thanCecilia, but he had always been the favourite companion of her youth.What her father’s precepts inculcated, his example enforced; and evenCecilia’s virtues consequently became such as were more estimable in aman than desirable in a female. All small objects and small errors shehad been taught to disregard as trifles; and her impatient dispositionwas perpetually leading her into more material faults; yet her candour inconfessing these, she had been suffered to believe, was sufficientreparation and atonement.
Leonora, on the contrary, who had been educated by her mother in a mannermore suited to her sex, had a character and virtues more peculiar to afemale. Her judgment had been early cultivated, and her good senseemployed in the regulation of her conduct. She had been habituated tothat restraint, which, as a woman, she was to expect in life, and earlyaccustomed to yield. Compliance in her seemed natural and graceful; yetnotwithstanding the gentleness of her temper, she was in reality moreindependent than Cecilia. She had more reliance upon her own judgment,and more satisfaction in her own approbation. The uniform kindness ofher manner, the consistency and equality of her character, had fixed theesteem and passive love of her companions.
By passive love we mean that species of affection which makes usunwilling to offend rather than anxious to oblige, which is more a habitthan an emotion of the mind. For Cecilia her companions felt activelove, for she was active in showing her love to them.
Active love arises spontaneously in the mind, after feeling particularinstances of kindness, without reflection on the past conduct or generalcharacter. It exceeds the merits of its object, and is connected with afeeling of generosity, rather than with a sense of justice.
Without determining which species of love is the most flattering toothers, we can easily decide which is the most agreeable feeling to ourminds. We give our hearts more credit for being generous than for beingjust; and we feel more self-complacency when we give our lovevoluntarily, than when we yield it as a tribute which we cannot withhold.Though Cecilia’s companions might not know all this in theory, theyproved it in practice; for they loved her in a much higher proportion toher merits than they loved Leonora.
Each of the young judges were to signify their choice by putting a red ora white shell into a vase prepared for the purpose. Cecilia’s colour wasred, Leonora’s white.
In the morning nothing was to be seen but these shells; nothing talked ofbut the long expected event of the evening. Cecilia, following Leonora’sexample, had made it a point of honour not to inquire of any individualher vote, previously to their final determination.
They were both sitting together in Louisa’s room. Louisa was recoveringfrom the measles. Everyone during her illness had been desirous ofattending her; but Leonora and Cecilia were the only two that werepermitted to see her, as they alone had had the distemper. They wereboth assiduous in their care of Louisa, but Leonora’s want of exertion toovercome any disagreeable feelings of sensibility often deprived her ofpresence of mind, and prevented her from being so constantly useful asCecilia. Cecilia, on the contrary, often made too much noise and bustlewith her officious assistance, and was too anxious to invent amusementsand procure comforts for Louisa, without perceiving that illness takesaway the power of enjoying them.
As she was sitting at the window in the morning, exerting herself toentertain Louisa, she heard the voice of an old peddler who often used tocome to the house. Downstairs they ran immediately, to ask Mrs. Villars’permission to bring him into the hall. Mrs. Villars consented, and awayCecilia ran to proclaim the news to her companions. Then, firstreturning into the hall, she found the peddler just unbuckling his box,and taking it off his shoulders.
“What would you be pleased to want, miss?” said the peddler; “I’ve allkinds of tweezer-cases, rings, and lockets of all sorts,” continued he,opening all the glittering drawers successively.
“Oh!” said Cecilia, shutting the drawer of lockets which tempted hermost, “these are not the things which I want. Have you any chinafigures? any mandarins?”
“Alack-a-day, miss, I had a great stock of that same chinaware; but nowI’m quite out of them kind of things; but I believe,” said he, rummagingone of the deepest drawers, “I believe I have one left, and here it is.”
“Oh, that is the very thing! what’s its price?”
“Only three shillings, ma’am.” Cecilia paid the money, and was justgoing to carry off the mandarin, when the peddler took out of hisgreat-coat pocket a neat mahogany case. It was about a foot long, andfastened at each end by two little clasps. It had besides, a small lockin the middle.
“What is that?” said Cecilia, eagerly.
“It’s only a china figure, miss, which I am going to carry to an elderlylady, who lives nigh hand, and who is mighty fond of such things.”
“Could you let me look at it?”
“And welcome, miss,” said he, and opened the case.
“Oh, goodness! how beautiful!” exclaimed Cecilia.
It was a figure of Flora, crowned with roses, and carrying a basket offlowers in her hand. Cecilia contemplated it with delight. “How Ishould like to give this to Louisa!” said she to herself; and, at last,breaking silence, “Did you promise it to the old lady?”
“Oh, no, miss, I didn’t promise it—she never saw it; and if so be thatyou’d like to take it, I’d make no more words about it.”
“And how much does it cost?”
“Why, miss, as to that, I’ll let you have it for half-a-guinea.”
Cecilia immediately produced the box in whi
ch she kept her treasure, and,emptying it upon the table, she began to count the shillings. Alas!there were but six shillings. “How provoking!” said she; “then I can’thave it. Where’s the mandarin? Oh, I have it,” said she, taking it up,and looking at it with the utmost disgust. “Is this the same that I hadbefore?”
“Yes, miss, the very same,” replied the peddler, who, during this time,had been examining the little box out of which Cecilia had taken hermoney—it was of silver. “Why, ma’am,” said he, “since you’ve taken sucha fancy to the piece, if you’ve a mind to make up the remainder of themoney, I will take this here little box, if you care to part with it.”
Now this box was a keepsake from Leonora to Cecilia. “No,” said Ceciliahastily, blushing a little, and stretching out her hand to receive it.
“Oh, miss!” said he, returning it carelessly, “I hope there’s no offence.I meant but to serve you, that’s all. Such a rare piece of china-workhas no cause to go a-begging,” added he. Then, putting the Floradeliberately into the case, and turning the key with a jerk, he let itdrop into his pocket; when, lifting up his box by the leather straps, hewas preparing to depart.
“Oh, stay one minute!” said Cecilia, in whose mind there had passed avery warm conflict during the peddler’s harangue. “Louisa would so likethis Flora,” said she, arguing with herself. “Besides, it would be sogenerous in me to give it to her instead of that ugly mandarin; thatwould be doing only common justice, for I promised it to her, and sheexpects it. Though, when I come to look at this mandarin, it is not evenso good as hers was. The gilding is all rubbed off, so that I absolutelymust buy this for her. Oh, yes! I will, and she will be so delighted!and then everybody will say it is the prettiest thing they ever saw, andthe broken mandarin will be forgotten for ever.”
Here Cecilia’s hand moved, and she was just going to decide: “Oh, butstop,” said she to herself, “consider—Leonora gave me this box, and it isa keepsake. However, we have now quarrelled, and I dare say that shewould not mind my parting with it. I’m sure that I should not care ifshe was to give away my keepsake, the smelling-bottle, or the ring whichI gave her. Then what does it signify? Besides, is it not my own? andhave I not a right to do what I please with it?”
At this moment, so critical for Cecilia, a party of her companions openedthe door. She knew that they came as purchasers, and she dreaded herFlora’s becoming the prize of some higher bidder. “Here,” said she,hastily putting the box into the peddler’s hand, without looking at it;“take it, and give me the Flora.” Her hand trembled, though she snatchedit impatiently. She ran by, without seeming to mind any of hercompanions.
Let those who are tempted to do wrong by the hopes of futuregratification, or the prospect of certain concealment and impunity,remember that, unless they are totally depraved, they bear in their ownhearts a monitor, who will prevent their enjoying what they ill obtained.
In vain Cecilia ran to the rest of her companions, to display herpresent, in hopes that the applause of others would restore her ownself-complacency; in vain she saw the Flora pass in due pomp from hand tohand, each vying with the other in extolling the beauty of the gift andthe generosity of the giver. Cecilia was still displeased with herself,with them, and even with their praise. From Louisa’s gratitude, however,she yet expected much pleasure, and immediately she ran upstairs to herroom.
In the meantime, Leonora had gone into the hall to buy a bodkin; she hadjust broken hers. In giving her change, the peddler took out of hispocket, with some halfpence, the very box which Cecilia had sold to him.Leonora did not in the least suspect the truth, for her mind was abovesuspicion; and besides, she had the utmost confidence in Cecilia.
“I should like to have that box,” said she, “for it is like one of whichI was very fond.”
The peddler named the price, and Leonora took the box. She intended togive it to little Louisa. On going to her room she found her asleep, andshe sat softly down by her bedside. Louisa opened her eyes.
“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” said Leonora.
“Oh, no. I didn’t hear you come in; but what have you got there?”
“Only a little box; would you like to have it? I bought on purpose foryou, as I thought perhaps it would please you, because it’s like thatwhich I gave Cecilia.”
“Oh, yes! that out of which she used to give me Barbary drops. I am verymuch obliged to you; I always thought that exceedingly pretty, and this,indeed, is as like it as possible. I can’t unscrew it; will you try?”
Leonora unscrewed it. “Goodness!” exclaimed Louisa, “this must beCecilia’s box. Look, don’t you see a great L at the bottom of it?”
Leonora’s colour changed. “Yes,” she replied calmly, “I see that; but itis no proof that it is Cecilia’s. You know that I bought this box justnow of the peddler.”
“That may be,” said Louisa; “but I remember scratching that L with my ownneedle, and Cecilia scolded me for it, too. Do go and ask her if she haslost her box—do,” repeated Louisa, pulling her by the ruffle, as she didnot seem to listen.
Leonora, indeed, did not hear, for she was lost in thought. She wascomparing circumstances, which had before escaped her attention. Sherecollected that Cecilia had passed her as she came into the hall,without seeming to see her, but had blushed as she passed. Sheremembered that the peddler appeared unwilling to part with the box, andwas going to put it again in his pocket with the halfpence. “And whyshould he keep it in his pocket, and not show it with his other things?”Combining all these circumstances, Leonora had no longer any doubt of thetruth, for though she had honourable confidence in her friends, she hadtoo much penetration to be implicitly credulous.
“Louisa,” she began, but at this instant she heard a step, which, by itsquickness, she knew to be Cecilia’s, coming along the passage. “If youlove me, Louisa,” said Leonora, “say nothing about the box.”
“Nay, but why not? I daresay she had lost it.”
“No, my dear, I’m afraid she has not.” Louisa looked surprised. “But Ihave reasons for desiring you not to say anything about it.”
“Well, then, I won’t, indeed.”
Cecilia opened the door, came forward smiling, as if secure of a goodreception, and taking the Flora out of the case, she placed it on themantlepiece, opposite to Louisa’s bed. “Dear, how beautiful!” criedLouisa, starting up.
“Yes,” said Cecilia, “and guess who it’s for.”
“For me, perhaps!” said the ingenuous Louisa.
“Yes, take it, and keep it, for my sake. You know that I broke yourmandarin.”
“Oh, but this is a great deal prettier and larger than that.”
“Yes, I know it is; and I meant that it should be so. I should only havedone what I was bound to do if I had only given you a mandarin.”
“Well,” replied Louisa, “and that would have been enough, surely; butwhat a beautiful crown of roses! and then that basket of flowers! theyalmost look as if I could smell them. Dear Cecilia, I’m very muchobliged to you; but I won’t take it by way of payment for the mandarinyou broke; for I’m sure you could not help that, and, besides, I shouldhave broken it myself by this time. You shall give it to me entirely;and as your keepsake, I’ll keep it as long as I live.”
Louisa stopped short and coloured; the word keepsake recalled the box toher mind, and all the train of ideas which the Flora had banished.“But,” said she, looking up wistfully in Cecilia’s face, and holding theFlora doubtfully, “did you—”
Leonora, who was just quitting the room, turned her head back, and gaveLouisa a look, which silenced her.
Cecilia was so infatuated with her vanity, that she neither perceivedLeonora’s sign nor Louisa’s confusion, but continued showing off herpresent, by placing it in various situations, till at length she put itinto the case, and laying it down with an affected carelessness upon thebed, “I must go now, Louisa. Good-bye,” said she, running up and kissingher; “but I’ll come again p
resently,” then, clapping the door after hershe went. But as soon as the formentation of her spirits subsided, thesense of shame, which had been scarcely felt when mixed with so manyother sensations, rose uppermost in her mind. “What!” said she toherself, “is it possible that I have sold what I promised to keep forever? and what Leonora gave me? and I have concealed it too, and havebeen making a parade of my generosity. Oh! what would Leonora, whatwould Louisa—what would everybody think of me, if the truth were known?”
Humiliated and grieved by these reflections, Cecilia began to search inher own mind for some consoling idea. She began to compare her conductwith that of others of her own age; and at length, fixing her comparisonupon her brother George, as the companion of whom, from her infancy, shehad been habitually the most emulous, she recollected that an almostsimilar circumstance had once happened to him, and that he had not onlyescaped disgrace, but had acquired glory, by an intrepid confession ofhis fault. Her father’s word to her brother, on the occasion, she alsoperfectly recollected.
“Come to me, George,” he said holding out his hand, “you are a generous,brave boy: they who dare to confess their faults will make great and goodmen.”
These were his words; but Cecilia, in repeating them to herself, forgotto lay that emphasis on the word _men_, which would have placed it incontradistinction to the word women. She willingly believed that theobservation extended equally to both sexes, and flattered herself thatshe should exceed her brother in merit if she owned a fault, which shethought that it would be so much more difficult to confess. “Yes, but,”said she, stopping herself, “how can I confess it? This very evening, ina few hours, the prize will be decided. Leonora or I shall win it. Ihave now as good a chance as Leonora, perhaps a better; and must I giveup all my hopes—all that I have been labouring for this month past? Oh,I never can! If it were but to-morrow, or yesterday, or any day butthis, I would not hesitate; but now I am almost certain of the prize, andif I win it—well, why then I will—I think I will tell all—yes I will; Iam determined,” said Cecilia.
Here a bell summoned them to dinner. Leonora sat opposite to her, andshe was not a little surprised to see Cecilia look so gay andunconstrained. “Surely,” said she to herself, “if Cecilia had done thatwhich I suspect, she would not, she could not, look as she does.” ButLeonora little knew the cause of her gaiety. Cecilia was never in higherspirits, or better pleased with herself, than when she had resolved upona sacrifice or a confession.
“Must not this evening be given to the most amiable? Whose, then, willit be?” All eyes glanced first at Cecilia, and then at Leonora. Ceciliasmiled; Leonora blushed. “I see that it is not yet decided,” said Mrs.Villars; and immediately they ran upstairs, amidst confused whisperings.
Cecilia’s voice could be distinguished far above the rest. “How can shebe so happy!” said Leonora to herself. “Oh Cecilia, there was a timewhen you could not have neglected me so! when we were always together thebest of friends and companions; our wishes, tastes, and pleasures thesame! Surely she did once love me,” said Leonora; “but now she is quitechanged. She has even sold my keepsake; and she would rather win abracelet of hair from girls whom she did not always think so muchsuperior to Leonora, than have my esteem, my confidence, and myfriendship for her whole life—yes, for her whole life, for I am sure shewill be an amiable woman. Oh, that this bracelet had never been thoughtof, or that I were certain of her winning it; for I am sure that I do notwish to win it from her. I would rather—a thousand times rather—that wewere as we used to be than have all the glory in the world. And howpleasing Cecilia can be when she wishes to please!—how candid she is!—howmuch she can improve herself! Let me be just, though she has offendedme; she is wonderfully improved within this last month. For one fault,and _that_ against myself, shall I forget all her merits?”
As Leonora said these last words, she could but just hear the voices ofher companions. They had left her alone in the gallery. She knockedsoftly at Louisa’s door. “Come in,” said Louisa; “I’m not asleep. Oh,”said she, starting up with the Flora in her hand, the instant that thedoor was opened; “I’m so glad you are come, Leonora, for I did so long tohear what you all were making such a noise about. Have you forgot thatthe bracelet—”
“Oh, yes! is this the evening?” inquired Leonora.
“Well, here’s my white shell for you,” said Louisa. “I’ve kept it in mypocket this fortnight; and though Cecilia did give me this Flora, I stilllove you a great deal better.”
“I thank you, Louisa,” said Leonora, gratefully. “I will take yourshell, and I shall value it as long as I live; but here is a red one, andif you wish to show me that you love me, you will give this to Cecilia.I know that she is particularly anxious for your preference, and I amsure that she deserves it.”
“Yes, if I could I would choose both of you,” said Louisa, “but you knowI can only choose which I like the best.”
“If you mean, my dear Louisa,” said Leonora, “that you like me the best,I am very much obliged to you, for, indeed, I wish you to love me; but itis enough for me to know it in private. I should not feel the least morepleasure at hearing it in public, or in having it made known to all mycompanions, especially at a time when it would give poor Cecilia a greatdeal of pain.”
“But why should it give her pain?” asked Louisa; “I don’t like her forbeing jealous of you.”
“Nay, Louisa, surely you don’t think Cecilia jealous? She only tries toexcel, and to please; she is more anxious to succeed than I am, it istrue, because she has a great deal more activity, and perhaps moreambition. And it would really mortify her to lose this prize—you knowthat she proposed it herself. It has been her object for this monthpast, and I am sure she has taken great pains to obtain it.”
“But, dear Leonora, why should you lose it?”
“Indeed, my dear, it would be no loss to me; and, if it were, I wouldwillingly suffer it for Cecilia; for, though we seem not to be such goodfriends as we used to be, I love her very much, and she will love meagain—I’m sure she will; when she no longer fears me as a rival, she willagain love me as a friend.”
Here Leonora heard a number of her companions running along the gallery.They all knocked hastily at the door, calling “Leonora! Leonora! will younever come? Cecilia has been with us this half-hour.”
Leonora smiled. “Well, Louisa,” said she, smiling, “will you promiseme?”
“Oh, I am sure, by the way they speak to you, that they won’t give youthe prize!” said the little Louisa, and the tears started into her eyes.“They love me, though, for all that,” said Leonora; “and as for theprize, you know whom I wish to have it.”
“Leonora! Leonora!” called her impatient companions; “don’t you hear us?What are you about?”
“Oh, she never will take any trouble about anything,” said one of theparty; “let’s go away.”
“Oh, go, go! make haste!” cried Louisa; “don’t stay; they are so angry.”
“Remember, then, that you have promised me,” said Leonora, and she leftthe room.
During all this time, Cecilia had been in the garden with her companions.The ambition which she had felt to win the first prize—the prize ofsuperior talents and superior application—was not to be compared to theabsolute anxiety which she now expressed to win this simple testimony ofthe love and approbation of her equals and rivals.
To employ her exuberant activity, Cecilia had been dragging branches oflilacs and laburnums, roses and sweet briar, to ornament the bower inwhich her fate was to be decided. It was excessively hot, but her mindwas engaged, and she was indefatigable. She stood still at last toadmire her works. Her companions all joined in loud applause. They werenot a little prejudiced in her favour by the great eagerness which sheexpressed to win their prize, and by the great importance which sheseemed to affix to the preference of each individual. At last, “Where isLeonora?” cried one of them; and immediately, as we have seen, they ranto call h
er.
Cecilia was left alone. Overcome with heat and too violent exertion, shehad hardly strength to support herself; each moment appeared to herintolerably long. She was in a state of the utmost suspense, and all hercourage failed her. Even hope forsook her; and hope is a cordial whichleaves the mind depressed and enfeebled.
“The time is now come,” said Cecilia; “in a few moments all will bedecided. In a few moments—goodness! How much do I hazard? If I shouldnot win the prize, how shall I confess what I have done? How shall I begLeonora to forgive me? I, who hoped to restore my friendship to her asan honour! They are gone to seek for her. The moment she appears Ishall be forgotten. What—what shall I do?” said Cecilia, covering herface with her hands.
Such was Cecilia’s situation when Leonora, accompanied by her companions,opened the hall door. They most of them ran forwards to Cecilia. AsLeonora came into the bower, she held out her hand to Cecilia. “We arenot rivals, but friends, I hope,” said she. Cecilia clasped her hand;but she was in too great agitation to speak.
The table was now set in the arbour—the vase was now placed in themiddle. “Well!” said Cecilia, eagerly, “who begins?” Caroline, one ofher friends, came forward first, and then all the others successively.Cecilia’s emotion was hardly conceivable. “Now they are all in! Countthem, Caroline!”
“One, two, three, four; the numbers are both equal.” There was a deadsilence. “No, they are not,” exclaimed Cecilia, pressing forward, andputting a shell into a vase. “I have not given mine, and I give it toLeonora.” Then, snatching the bracelet, “It is yours, Leonora,” saidshe; “take it, and give me back your friendship.” The whole assemblygave one universal clap and a general shout of applause.
“I cannot be surprised at this from you, Cecilia,” said Leonora; “and doyou then still love me as you used to do?”
“Oh, Leonora, stop! don’t praise me; I don’t deserve this,” said she,turning to her loudly applauding companions. “You will soon despise me.Oh, Leonora, you will never forgive me! I have deceived you; I havesold—”
At this instant, Mrs. Villars appeared. The crowd divided. She hadheard all that passed, from her window. “I applaud your generosity,Cecilia,” said she, “but I am to tell you that, in this instance it isunsuccessful. You have not it in your power to give the prize toLeonora. It is yours. I have another vote to give to you. You haveforgotten Louisa.”
“Louisa!” exclaimed Cecilia; “but surely, ma’am, Louisa loves Leonorabetter than she does me.”
“She commissioned me, however,” said Mrs. Villars, “to give you a redshell; and you will find it in this box.”
Cecilia started, and turned as pale as death; it was the fatal box!
Mrs. Villars produced another box. She opened it; it contained theFlora. “And Louisa also desired me,” said she, “to return to you thisFlora.” She put it into Cecilia’s hand. Cecilia trembled so that shecould not hold it. Leonora caught it.
“Oh, madam! Oh, Leonora!” exclaimed Cecilia; “now I have no hope left.I intended—I was just going to tell—”
“Dear Cecilia,” said Leonora, “you need not tell it me; I know italready; and I forgive you with all my heart.”
“Yes, I can prove to you,” said Mrs. Villars, “that Leonora has forgivenyou. It is she who has given you the prize; it was she who persuadedLouisa to give you her vote. I went to see her a little while ago; andperceiving, by her countenance, that something was the matter, I pressedher to tell me what it was.
“‘Why, madam,’ said she, ‘Leonora has made me promise to give my shell toCecilia. Now I don’t love Cecilia half so well as I do Leonora.Besides, I would not have Cecilia think I vote for her because she gaveme a Flora.’ Whilst Louisa was speaking,” continued Mrs. Villars, “I sawthis silver box lying on the bed. I took it up, and asked if it was notyours, and how she came by it. ‘Indeed, madam,’ said Louisa, ‘I couldhave been almost certain that it was Cecilia’s; but Leonora gave it me,and she said that she bought it of the peddler this morning. If anybodyelse had told me so, I could not have believed them, because I rememberthe box so well; but I can’t help believing Leonora.’ But did not youask Cecilia about it? said I. ‘No, madam,’ replied Louisa; ‘for Leonoraforbade me. I guessed her reason.’ Well, said I, give me the box, and Iwill carry your shell in it to Cecilia. ‘Then, madam,’ said she, ‘if Imust give it her, pray do take the Flora, and return it to her first,that she may not think it is for that I do it.’”
“Oh, generous Louisa!” exclaimed Cecilia; “but, indeed, Leonora, I cannottake your shell.”
“Then, dear Cecilia, accept of mine instead of it! you cannot refuse it;I only follow your example. As for the bracelet,” added Leonora, takingCecilia’s hand, “I assure you I don’t wish for it, and you do, and youdeserve it.”
“No,” said Cecilia, “indeed, I do not deserve it. Next to you, surelyLouisa deserves it best.”
“Louisa! oh, yes, Louisa,” exclaimed everybody with one voice.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Villars, “and let Cecilia carry the bracelet to her; shedeserves that reward. For one fault I cannot forget all your merits,Cecilia, nor, I am sure, will your companions.”
“Then, surely, not your best friend,” said Leonora, kissing her.
Everybody present was moved. They looked up to Leonora with respectfuland affectionate admiration.
“Oh, Leonora, how I love you! and how I wish to be like you!” exclaimedCecilia—“to be as good, as generous!”
“Rather wish, Cecilia,” interrupted Mrs. Villars, “to be as just; to beas strictly honourable, and as invariably consistent. Remember, thatmany of our sex are capable of great efforts—of making what they callgreat sacrifices to virtue or to friendship; but few treat their friendswith habitual gentleness, or uniformly conduct themselves with prudenceand good sense.”