However, this much is certain, although childhood generally leaves
a train of pleasant recollections in a young girl's life, mine was
only fraught with torture and misery, desperate struggles, and
humiliation. I was unwilling to be confirmed because I did not
wish to wear a certain dress, which a 'benevolent lady' had
presented for the use of the asylum, and which had belonged to a
little girl of my own age who had died of consumption. The
thought of arraying myself in this dress to approach the holy
table frightened and revolted me as much as if I had been
sentenced to drape myself in a winding-sheet. And yet it was the
prettiest dress of all--white muslin beautifully embroidered. It
had been ardently coveted by the other children, and had been
given to me as a sort of reward of merit. And I dared not explain
the cause of my unconquerable repugnance. Who would have
understood me? I should only have been accused of undue
sensitiveness and pride, absurd in one of my humble position. I
was then only twelve years old; but no one knew the struggle in my
mind save the old priest, my confessor. I could confess
everything to him; he understood me, and did not reproach me.
Still he answered: 'You must wear this dress, my child, for your
pride must be broken. Go--I shall impose no other penance on
you.' I obeyed him, full of superstitious terror; for it seemed to
me that this was a frightful omen which would bring me misfortune,
my whole life through.
Pages:
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210