Paula the Waldensian by Eva Lecomte

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PAULA

THE WALDENSIAN

by Eva Lecomte

_Adapted and translated from the Spanish Version by W. M. Strong_

PREFACE

I Hope and trust that the young people who read this book will have as much
joy in the reading of it as I have had in its writing.

Paula's Saviour wishes to be your Saviour too. Paula was by no means
perfect, but she did love God with all her heart and her neighbor as
herself.

This simple country girl, young and strong, yet so tender-hearted and
forgetful of self, appears to me sometimes like one of the clear brooks of
my beloved land, pure and fresh, slipping noiselessly between flowered
banks of forget-me-nots. It was by love that she "conquered"--as we shall
see!

If some day you should come to my country, do not forget that I would have
great joy in seeing any of those who have read this book. I live in the
little town of Villar at the bottom of the valley, where on every side
there are hills and mountains as far as the eye can reach. To me it is the
loveliest country in the world and I am sure that Paula thought so too.

And so good-bye, dear young reader! I must not keep you any longer, for I
am sure you have a great desire to know about Paula; and anyway, I suppose
you will have done what I would have done at your age, namely, read the
story first, and left my poor preface to the last--for which I have already
pardoned you!

And now, may God bless you, Paula dear, as you walk among these my young
friends who read about you! My prayer is that you may shed over them the
same sweet ray of celestial light that you have already shed over others.

EVA LECOMTE.

Villar-Pellice, France.

Translator's note:

"Paula" was originally written in French and translated from thence into
Spanish; and the present translator having discovered this literary and
spiritual jewel, felt that it should be given also to the young people of
the English-speaking world, not only that they might know Paula herself,
but that, through her, they might become more intimately acquainted with
Paula's Saviour and accept Him as their own Redeemer and Lord.

W. M. STRONG.

Coihueco, Chile, South America, 1940.

CONTENTS

PART ONE

1. AN UNEXPECTED LETTER

2. MEMORIES

3. PAULA ARRIVES

4. PAULA'S TREASURES

5. LOUIS' WATCH

6. IN THE MIDST OF DARKNESS

7. CATALINA'S ILLNESS

8. THE FIVE-FRANC PIECE

9. A LITTLE GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN

10. IN THE COUNTRY

11. THE CAT MOTHER

12. A TREASURE RESTORED

13. THE SCHOOL-TEACHER AND HER BROTHER

PART TWO

1. SOME YEARS LATER

2. THE BRETON

3. SAVED!

4. THE YOUNG SCHOOL-MISTRESS

5. THE NIGHT-SCHOOL

6. THE HOUSE OF GOD

7. IN HIS PRESENCE

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

AN UNEXPECTED LETTER

Clearly engraved on the walls of my memory there still remains a picture of
the great gray house where I spent my childhood. It was originally used for
more than a hundred years as the convent of the "White Ladies", with its
four long galleries, one above the other, looking proudly down upon the
humbler dwellings of the village. On the side of the house, where ran the
broad road from Rouen to Darnetal, a high rugged wall surrounded a wide
yard, guarded at the entrance by two massive doors, studded with enormous
spikes. The naked barrenness of this yard was, to say the least, forbidding
in the extreme; but the fertile fields on the other side of the house
spread themselves like a vast and beautiful green carpet, dotted here and
there with little villages, crowned with church spires and their
corresponding belfries, from which on a Sunday morning pealed out the
cheerful call to prayer and worship. The ancient convent long before our
story begins had been transformed into a lovely dwelling with an immense
garden on one side, edged by a dozen little brick houses that seemed so
small that they made us children think of certain doll-houses that we used
to see in the Paris magazines. They were known locally as the "Red
Cottages." A long avenue of ancient elms separated us from these houses of
our neighbors, and in front of the cottages stretched a line of stone
benches, where, in the shade of the great trees, the old men of the village
used to sit and recount to us tales of the days when the Convent
flourished. Some of these stories made us shiver. (Indeed, they had a habit
of straying into our dreams at night.)

The rest of the land around the Convent had, with the passing of the years,
fallen into the hands of the villagers themselves. Each one had a small
space for flowers in front and a vegetable garden behind.

Of course, our own garden covering the whole space in front of the Red
Cottages, was a much more pretentious affair with its deep well, its
many-colored kiosks, and its noisy bee-hives. In fact, it was in our eyes,
the most enchanting corner of the earth.

I don't remember all the details about the special thing that happened one
day, but I know that I shall never forget it to the end of my life.

We were at tea in the garden. Teresa, our old servant, was walking up and
down in her kitchen. She never seemed to have time to sit down to eat Dear
old Teresa! She always seemed like a mother to me, for we had lost our own
dear mother when I was still in the cradle.

My brother and I had quarrelled over a mere nothing, when we were called in
to tea by our father. Of course, we did not dare continue our dispute
openly in front of him, but we continued our war-like activities by kicking
each other under the table.

Louis was ten years old and I was nine. As he was older and a boy, he of
course, considered that he had the right to the last word. Now kicks had
replaced words; but as we were seated at quite a distance from one another,
we did not succeed in causing very great damage to each other's shins.
Notwithstanding this, I began to lose patience, and in order to end the
matter, knowing that Louis was not very courageous, I leaned my chair as
far inside as I could and let him have one terrific kick. At this, his face
changed color and my father now disturbed by the extra noise of my kick,
finally began to realize what was happening. I do not know how matters
would have terminated, if Teresa had not at this moment come into the
garden with a black-bordered letter in her hand which she delivered to our
father. He took it silently and opened it as Teresa carried away the
tea-pot.

I saw immediately by my father's expression that the letter carried serious
news, and I am sure Louis noticed it also for he completely forgot to
return my kick.

"Teresa!" called my father.

"All right, I'm coming," said that good lady.

"Read this, and tell me what you think of it," and my father handed the
letter to the old servant.

Teresa seated herself at the end of the table between Louis and me, and
with her head in her hand commenced to read--Teresa was not very
well-educated and she read the letter very slowly and half-aloud. "Who
wrote this?" was her first question.

"The Pastor of the village," replied my father.

"A minister!" exclaimed Teresa. "He's a mighty poor writer for a minister,
and no doubt his mother paid mighty well for his 'education.'"

My father smiled a bit sadly.

"You don't understand it, Teresa?"

"Yes, yes; I understand half of it, and I think I can guess at the other
half."

"Do you want me to help you?" offered Louis.

Teresa looked scornfully at Louis--

"You! I should say not! You don't care to help me in the kitchen or run
errands for me, and the only thing the matter with you now is curiosity!"

That settled Louis, and Teresa went on with her reading. Bending her great
fat form more and more closely over the letter, she became more serious as
she neared the bottom of the fourth page where the writing became so close
and so fine that it was hardly possible to decipher it. When, at last, she
lifted her head, her eyes were full of tears. "Poor, poor little thing!"
she repeated softly.

"Well, what do you think?" said my father.

"What do I think? Why we must send at once and have her come here as soon
as possible, because--"

"Who?" my father interrupted her without ceremony.

"Yes; who? who?" questioned Louis.

"Tell us, father, please," added my sister Rosa, a tall, serious girl of
fifteen.

And as he did not answer us quickly our questions multiplied.

"Patience! Patience!" cried my father; "your turn will come."

"Teresa, you are getting old, and another girl in the house simply means
more work for you and a lot more problems for me. If 'she' (my father had
never been able to reconcile himself to pronounce the name of my mother
since her untimely death)--if 'she' were here I would not hesitate, but to
bring another orphan into a family already half-orphaned doesn't seem right
to me."

"Don't worry, sir, a little more work doesn't worry Teresa Rouland. She
will have to get up a little earlier and go to bed a little later, and that
will be all."

"Well, Teresa, I'll think about it, and it needs to be 'thought about' a
good deal."

"And why do you say that, sir? One doesn't have to reflect long about doing
good."

"Well, I'll tell you why I hesitate. I'm sure that someone else could much
better replace the parents of this orphaned girl. I must confess that for
my part I don't feel equal to the task."

"Sir, would you like to know what I think? You have said to yourself, 'From
the time that my wife died life has become a burden, and if it wasn't for
the children I would have died of grief, but for love of them I must work
and live. Therefore, with my heart torn and desolated as it is, I don't
feel called upon to take any responsibility upon myself other than that of
my own children!'"

"There is a good deal of truth in what you say, Teresa."

"Yes, sir, but it is very bad, very bad, if you will let me say so! I know
I ought not to talk so, as I'm only a poor old servant; but remember, I was
the one that brought up the lovely woman that we all mourn for, and I knew
her before you did, sir, and I loved her as if she were my own child. When
I put her in the coffin it was as if they had taken out a piece of my own
heart. She was so young to die, so sweet, so good, and besides so
marvelously beautiful! But I dried my tears as best I could, for I knew
there was much to be done; and I said to myself that I would honor the
memory of my mistress by doing always that which I knew she would have
approved of. And now, sir, take this little orphan as you know your good
wife would have done, as the daughter of her beloved sister...." She
stopped suddenly, slightly abashed, as she realized that perhaps she had
said a little too much for one in her station in life.

But more than her mere words, her voice vibrant with emotion had moved us
all to the depths of our souls.

"You are a valiant woman with a great heart," my father said, as he took
her hand. "I will write this very night and ask them to send the girl to us
as soon as possible."

Then turning to us he added, "You no doubt know by this time of whom we
have been speaking. Your cousin Paula has just lost her father. You will
remember, her mother died some years ago, and we are her nearest relatives.
Your uncle's friends have written me as to whether I will consent to
receive Paula in our home, and in a few days, more or less, she will be
among us."

We opened our mouths to ask a thousand questions, but father stopped us.
"No, no! That is enough for now! Later I will tell you the details;
besides, I must go out immediately. Go now to your various tasks and don't
be thinking too much about this coming of your cousin."

CHAPTER TWO

MEMORIES

That night I could not study my lessons. In fact, I could do nothing but
think about Paula! I was not a student and was always at the bottom of the
class. Louis, in the matter of study, was no better than I; but in the
school, thanks to his brilliancy of mind, he always seemed to skin through
somehow. Rosa was not a bit like her brother and sister; being a model of
patience, application and obedience. I was very proud of my sister Rosa,
and I loved and admired her, but I never had the slightest desire to
imitate her.

After my father had gone, nothing was talked of except our cousin Paula.
When would she come? What would she be like? Would she be content to be
here among us? All these were questions which we could not answer as we
knew very little about her. They had told me that Paula lived in the
Waldensian Valley--a country where the inhabitants fed on black bread and
lived in homes that were like stables. I had no idea just exactly where the
mountains of Piedmont were. I had searched the map without being able to
find the region, but I supposed it must be somewhere between France, Italy
and Switzerland.

There was another thing I had found out; namely, that Paula was about my
own age. What happiness! This fact I repeated over and over until Louis
told me to keep quiet. This attitude on his part I put down as discontent
because Paula wasn't a boy, so I kept repeating, "Paula's the same as me!"

"For mercy's sake, will you keep quiet, Lisita? Besides you have your
grammar twisted as usual. It doesn't surprise me in the least that you're
always at the foot of the class, if that's the way you study."

"You can talk to me as you like," I answered, "but when Paula gets here
I'll never speak to you again, and I'll tell her not to say a word to you
either. I am mighty glad that Paula's a girl and not a disagreeable boy
like you."

"Oh, keep your Paula, much do I care!" replied Louis.

"Come, come," exclaimed Rosa, "what's the good of fighting over this poor
girl Paula whom neither of you have ever seen!"

"It's Louis' fault!"

"No, it's Lisita's!"

"It's the two of you! If Paula could see the way you quarrel I'm sure she
would not want to come. I hope she will love us all and we must all of us
love her also, because she's not only an orphan, but she's a niece of our
poor dear, dead mother."

Rosa knew well how to bring about peace. One word about our mother was
enough.

"See here, Lisita," and Rosa drew me toward her, "I see that you haven't
the slightest desire to study tonight, so close your book, and if you get
up early tomorrow morning I'll help you. Do you know what I would do now if
I were you."

"What?"

"I'd go and see Catalina, You know that she does not like to be alone all
of the afternoon, and I think Teresa has gone out If I didn't have so much
to do I'd see her myself. Now, look out you don't make too much noise.
Catalina has a terrible headache today."

"All right. I'm off!" I said.

The idea of visiting my oldest sister never made me very happy in those
days. In fart, I hardly ever entered her room because it bored me terribly
to be in the company of such a disagreeable invalid.

I remembered the time when Catalina was the liveliest and happiest person
in the whole house, but unfortunately all this had changed in an instant.
One day three years before, Catalina had fallen from the top of a high
cherry-tree which she had climbed against the advice of Teresa. She was
unconscious when we picked her up, and it seemed at first as if she would
die as a result of the fall. After six months of cruel suffering, however,
her youth had triumphed over death; but the big sister who had always been
as happy and as lively as a bird was gone from us, and in her place
remained a forlorn, unhappy girl with a poor twisted body, who at rare
intervals sallied from her room a few steps with the aid of her crutches.
Unfortunately her character had also suffered severely, for in spite of the
tenderness and solicitude of my father who sought to satisfy her slightest
desire, and in spite of the untiring care of Teresa and the patience and
sweetness of Rosa, Catalina's life was one long complaint. Her room, with
its white bed adorned with blue curtains and its magnificent view of the
fields and mountains, was the most beautiful in the whole house. A pair of
canaries sang for her in their respective corners; the finest fruits were
always for her; and as she was a great reader, new books were continually
brought in; but nothing seemed to have power to put a smile of satisfaction
on her thin, wasted face.

Poor Catalina! It was certainly true--I didn't love her very much. I was so
accustomed to see my sister in her invalid state that her pitiful condition
didn't seem to move me, and she was always in such a bad humor that I only
went to see her on rare occasions.

However, on this particular afternoon, I had, of course, a great desire to
carry her the news of our cousin's coming, and so I gladly went to visit
her; but forgetting all the warnings of Rosa I burst open the door like a
gust of wind.

Catalina was lying with her face toward the wall with the curtains of the
bed partly drawn, and a green shade had been placed over the cages of the
two birds in order to stop their singing. Under other circumstances I would
have prudently retired, thinking that Catalina, more irritated or sicker
than usual, was endeavoring to sleep. Doubtless our old servant had come in
to speak to her regarding Paula, and finding her apparently asleep had
arranged things as I found them. She turned her head on hearing me come in
and in a sharp tone exclaimed, "What a noise, Lisita! Can't you give me a
single quiet moment!"

"You know I haven't been here all day!" I answered impatiently. "In fact, I
haven't been here since yesterday morning, and besides, I forgot that Rosa
told me that you had a headache."

"Well, you know it now!"

"So you wouldn't care to have me tell you the big news!"

"No!"

"Well, I am going to tell you anyhow, because I can't keep it to myself any
longer! Uncle John is dead!"

"Uncle John! Dead?"

"Yes, and I'm happy!"

"What do you mean, you're happy!"

"Well, I am happy!--not because Uncle John is dead, but because his little
girl, Paula, who is just my age, is coming to live with us, so, of course,
why shouldn't I be happy?"

"Well, you can just forget your 'happiness,' because Paula is _not_ going
to live with us. I can tell you that right now!"

"And why not? Father said she was coming! You can ask Teresa, or Rosa, or
Louis!"

"I am not going to ask anyone, but I tell you that Paula is _not_ coming
here! No! and indeed, NO! I've got enough to put up with, with Louis and
you! It seems as if you tear my head apart, for you quarrel from morning
till night; and when you play it seems as if the house is coming down; and
now suppose another bad-mannered little girl should come among us! But I
tell you it _never_ shall happen!"

"You're not the one who orders things here!"

"Neither do you, you impertinent little thing."

"Now, don't get mad, Catalina!" I cried, as I burst into tears.

"You don't know what you are talking about. You do not realize that Paula
has no one in the world to care for her. Teresa read us the letter out
loud. I know I'm not a good girl and I'm almost as disagreeable as you are,
but I am going to be good when Paula comes. You shall see. She will be my
dearly beloved sister and she is almost exactly my age. Oh, I certainly
shall love her so, and we shall always be together and we, we...."

"Keep quiet, Lisita. Your tongue runs like a mill-wheel. Besides, where did
you get all these details?"

"It was this afternoon, just as we finished tea. They wrote to father, and
father gave the letter to Teresa, and Teresa said that a little extra work
didn't bother her, and so father said, 'All right, let her come!'"

"And I? Father said nothing about me?"

"Not that I remember."

"Oh," sobbed Catalina, "everything is done without me now! Because I am
nothing more than an invalid, everything is arranged without consulting me!
What difference does it make to you--who are able to laugh and run and
play--if I suffer here without having a thing to say about what goes on in
the house! How would you like to be in my place? Father never came to say
one single word to me about the matter, and now without consulting me as to
whether it would disturb me, they wish to bring another trouble to torment
me more! But it shall not be, and the day that she comes I shall go to a
hospital, because they do not want me here any more!"

Poor Catalina! She had passed a very bad day, and always on such days she
would weep on the slightest pretext. I didn't care for her very much, but
that day I pitied her with all my heart and I did what I could to calm her;
for once her nerves were excited, nothing could console the poor unhappy
girl. Besides, I was very much afraid that she would be able to change my
father's purpose in regard to Paula. He, generally so severe, so cold, and
insensible in his attitude toward us, obeyed the slightest wish of his
eldest daughter. And if--if!--she succeeded in preventing Paula's coming I
felt that I would never, never pardon Catalina! But now I tried to embrace
her.

"Listen," I said; "father had to go out, but when he returns he will tell
you the same thing that I have told you!"

But Catalina would not hear me. With her head hidden in the pillows, she
continued crying.

I was desperate! As a rule it took a lot less than this to make Catalina
worse. Catalina worse! And all my fault! What would my father say! And yet
I had had no bad intentions. How could I have known that she would have
received my good news in this way? Suddenly I had a brilliant idea. Leaving
Catalina I ran to the kitchen where Teresa was preparing the vegetables for
supper. "Teresa, come quickly," I cried with my eyes full of tears;
"Catalina is making herself sick with crying."

"And why? I left her sleeping only a short time ago."

"Oh, yes, I know; but please come at once, Teresa! It's all my fault! I
told her that Paula was coming and she is beside herself! But really and
truly I had no idea that she would take it that way!"

Teresa jumped up quickly, saying under her breath, "What next?" and then to
me, "You certainly are a troublesome youngster, my poor Lisita!"

"But Teresa, I vow to you...."

"Be quiet, and go back to Catalina's room! I'll be there as soon as I can!"

I left the kitchen well content. Teresa was not full of pretty phrases but
she had a heart of gold, and I knew that somehow or other she would be able
to fix things with Catalina. I found Rosa already in Catalina's room on my
return, trying in vain to calm her. She turned to me.

"What on earth has happened? I heard Catalina sobbing, clear at the other
end of the house. Are you responsible for this?"

"No, no, it wasn't I; it was Paula."

"Paula!"

I tried to explain, but at this minute Teresa entered, bringing with her a
plateful of delicious apples.

"Come, come, Catalina!" and her deep, sonorous voice seemed like soothing
balm, as her presence appeared to fill the room. "What on earth are you
crying about? It is but a short moment ago that I secured permission from
your papa to read you a letter which he has just received from Italy, and I
went out to pick up some of your favorite apples, the first of the season,
and here I come to find you crying!"

Catalina became a little calmer hearing the word "letter," for, to the poor
confined invalid, a letter from abroad was a great event. Nevertheless,
between her sobs she remarked, "Is it a letter about this terrible 'Paula'
that they are talking about?"

"Yes," answered Teresa, with that soothing voice of hers. "It's a letter
that tells us a bit about a niece of your poor mother."

Catalina calmed down completely. If the memory of our mother still lived in
the heart of her other daughters it had first place above all else with
Catalina.

"Now, read it to me, Catalina," said Teresa. "You can do so much better
than I can in the reading line, and it will sound so much better from your
lips than from my poor stumbling ones. Wait till I fix up the pillows, and
don't cry any more. And now your headache is better, isn't it?"

"It still pains terribly, Teresa. Let Rosa read it."

Rosa took the letter, and read in her clear, sweet voice the lines that had
so stirred us all.

There were but few details. Our Uncle John had died; so wrote the pastor of
the little church in that far-off Waldensian Valley. He had died as he had
lived--a real Christian. He had no near relatives, it appeared; and the
rest of the family had gone to America two years before. Paula, therefore,
was alone. Just before breathing his last, my uncle had expressed the
desire to leave his daughter in the care of our father whom he had never
known, but of whom he had heard nothing but good. Beside all this he had
left his daughter in the hands of God, the loving Father of all orphans,
praying Him to guide and direct in the whole affair. His last prayer had
been for us; asking God to bless our family that we might all be guided
into the straight and narrow Way that leadeth unto life eternal. Then
followed certain details relative to a small inheritance that Paula
possessed, and the prayer of the Pastor himself that the temporal and
spiritual happiness of the little orphan might be maintained.

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