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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ten Tales + +Author: François Coppée + +Contributor: Brander Matthews + +Illustrator: Albert E. Sterner + +Translator: Warren Walter Learned + +Release Date: January 15, 2007 [EBook #20380] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEN TALES *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + <div id="front_matter"> + <div id="frontispiece" class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig001.jpg" alt="An engraved portrait of the author." title="FRANÇOIS COPPÉE." /> + <p class="caption">FRANÇOIS COPPÉE.</p> + </div> + <div id="title_page"> + <p class="supertitle">FROM THE FRENCH</p> + + <h1 class="title">Ten Tales</h1> + + <p class="stopword">By</p> + + <p class="author">François Coppée</p> + + <p class="other_contributors">Translated by <span class="special_name">Walter Learned</span>, + with fifty pen-and-ink drawings by + <span class="special_name">Albert E. Sterner</span>, and an introduction + by <span class="special_name">Brander Matthews</span></p> + + <div id="pub_info"> + <p class="location">NEW YORK</p> + <p class="publisher">HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE</p> + <p class="pub_date">1891</p> + </div> + </div> + <div id="copyright_page"> + <p>Copyright, 1890, by <span class="special_name">Harper & Brothers</span>.</p> + <p class="rights_statement">All rights reserved.</p> + </div> + <div id="contents"> + <h2>Contents</h2> + <ul> + <li><a href="#tale_1">THE CAPTAIN’S VICES</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_2">TWO CLOWNS</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_3">A VOLUNTARY DEATH</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_4">A DRAMATIC FUNERAL</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_5">THE SUBSTITUTE</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_6">AT TABLE</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_7">AN ACCIDENT</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_8">THE SABOTS OF LITTLE WOLFF</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_9">THE FOSTER SISTER</a></li> + <li><a href="#tale_10">MY FRIEND MEURTRIER</a></li> + </ul> + </div> + <div id="introduction"> + <h2><span class="pagenum"><a id="pageix" name="pageix"></a>ix</span>INTRODUCTION.</h2> + <p>The <i>conte</i> is a form of fiction in which the + French have always delighted and in which + they have always excelled, from the days of + the <i>jongleurs</i> and the <i>trouvères</i>, past the periods + of La Fontaine and Voltaire, down to + the present. The <i>conte</i> is a tale, something + more than a sketch, it may be, and something + less than a short story. In verse it is at times + but a mere rhymed anecdote, or it may attain + almost to the direct swiftness of a ballad. + The <i>Canterbury Tales</i> are <i>contes</i>, most + of them, if not all; and so are some of the + <i>Tales of a Wayside Inn</i>. The free-and-easy + tales of Prior were written in imitation + of the French <i>conte en vers</i>; and that, + likewise, was the model of more than one of + the lively narrative poems of Mr. Austin + Dobson.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="pagex" name="pagex"></a>x</span>No one has succeeded more abundantly + in the <i>conte en vers</i> than M. Coppée. Where + was there ever anything better of its kind + than <i>L’Enfant de la Balle?</i>—that gentle + portrait of the Infant Phenomenon, framed + in a chain of occasional gibes at the sordid + ways of theatrical managers and at their hostility + towards poetic plays. Where is there + anything of a more simple pathos than + <i>L’Épave?</i>—that story of a sailor’s son + whom the widowed mother strives vainly to + keep from the cruel waves that killed his + father. (It is worthy of a parenthesis that + although the ship M. Coppée loves best is + that which sails the blue shield of the City + of Paris, he knows the sea also, and he depicts + sailors with affectionate fidelity.) But + whether at the sea-side by chance, or more + often in the streets of the city, the poet seeks + out for the subject of his story some incident + of daily occurrence made significant by his + interpretation; he chooses some character + common-place enough, but made firmer by + conflict with evil and by victory over self. + Those whom he puts into his poems are still + the humble, the forgotten, the neglected, the + unknown; and it is the feelings and the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexi" name="pagexi"></a>xi</span>struggles of these that he tells us, with no + maudlin sentimentality, and with no dead + set at our sensibilities. The sub-title Mrs. + Stowe gave to <i>Uncle Tom’s Cabin</i> would + serve to cover most of M. Coppée’s <i>contes</i> + either in prose or verse; they are nearly + all pictures of <em>life among the lowly</em>. But + there is no forcing of the note in his painting + of poverty and labor; there is no harsh + juxtaposition of the blacks and the whites. + The tone is always manly and wholesome.</p> + + <p><i>La Marchande de Journaux</i> and the other + little masterpieces of story-telling in verse + are unfortunately untranslatable, as are all + poems but a lyric or two, now and then, + by a happy accident. A translated poem is + a boiled strawberry, as some one once put it + brutally. But the tales which M. Coppée + has written in prose—a true poet’s prose, + nervous, vigorous, flexible, and firm—these + can be Englished by taking thought and + time and pains, without which a translation + is always a betrayal. Ten of these tales + have been rendered into English by Mr. + Learned; and the ten chosen for translation + are among the best of the two score and + more of M. Coppée’s <i>contes en prose</i>. These + <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexii" name="pagexii"></a>xii</span>ten tales are fairly representative of his range + and variety. Compare, for example, the passion + in “The Foster Sister,” pure, burning + and fatal, with the Black Forest <i>naïveté</i> of + “The Sabots of Little Wolff.” Contrast the + touching pathos of “The Substitute,” poignant + in his magnificent self-sacrifice, by which + the man who has conquered his shameful + past goes back willingly to the horrible life + he has fled from that he may save from a + like degradation and from an inevitable moral + decay the one friend he has in the world, + all unworthy as this friend is—contrast + this with the story of the gigantic deeds + “My Friend Meurtrier” boasts about unceasingly, + not knowing that he has been discovered + in his little round of daily domestic + duties, making the coffee of his good old + mother and taking her poodle out for a walk.</p> + + <p>Among these ten there are tales of all + sorts, from the tragic adventure of “An Accident” + to the pendent portraits of the “Two + Clowns,” cutting in its sarcasm, but not + bitter—from “The Captain’s Vices,” which + suggests at once George Eliot’s <i>Silas Marner</i> + and Mr. Austin Dobson’s <i>Tale of Polypheme</i>, + to the sombre revery of the poet “At + <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexiii" name="pagexiii"></a>xiii</span>Table,” a sudden and searching light cast on + the labor and misery which underlies the luxury + of our complex modern existence. Like + “At Table,” “A Dramatic Funeral” is a picture + more than it is a story; it is a marvellous + reproduction of the factitious emotion of the + good-natured stage folk, who are prone to + overact even their own griefs and joys. “A + Dramatic Funeral” seems to me always as + though it might be a painting of M. Jean + Beraud, that most Parisian of artists, just as + certain stories of M. Guy de Maupassant + inevitably suggest the bold freedom of M. + Forain’s sketches in black-and-white.</p> + + <p>An ardent admirer of the author of the stories + in <i>The Odd Number</i> has protested to me + that M. Coppée is not an etcher like M. de + Maupassant, but rather a painter in water-colors. + And why not? Thus might we call + M. Alphonse Daudet an artist in pastels, so + adroitly does he suggest the very bloom of + color. No doubt M. Coppée’s <i>contes</i> have + not the sharpness of M. de Maupassant’s, + nor the brilliancy of M. Daudet’s—but what + of it? They have qualities of their own; they + have sympathy, poetry, and a power of suggesting + pictures not exceeded, I think, by + <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexiv" name="pagexiv"></a>xiv</span>those of either M. de Maupassant or M. + Daudet. M. Coppée’s street views in Paris, + his interiors, his impressionist sketches of + life under the shadows of Notre Dame, are + convincingly successful. They are intensely + to be enjoyed by those of us who take the + same keen delight in the varied phases of + life in New York. They are not, to my mind, + really rivalled either by those of M. de Maupassant, + who is a Norman by birth and a + nomad by choice, or by those of M. Daudet, + who is a native of Provence, although now + for thirty years a resident of Paris. M. Coppée + is a Parisian from his youth up, and even + in prose he is a poet; perhaps this is why + his pictures of Paris are unsurpassable in + their felicity and in their verity.</p> + + <p>It may be fancy, but I seem to see also a + finer morality in M. Coppée’s work than in + M. de Maupassant’s or in M. Daudet’s or in + that of almost any other of the Parisian + story-tellers of to-day. In his tales we + breathe a purer moral atmosphere, more + wholesome and more bracing. It is not + that M. Coppée probably thinks of ethics + rather than æsthetics; in this respect his attitude + is undoubtedly that of the others; + <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexv" name="pagexv"></a>xv</span>there is no sermon in his song—or at least + none for those who will not seek it for themselves; + there is never a hint of a preachment. + But for all that I have found in his + work a trace of the tonic morality which inheres + in Molière, for example, also a Parisian + by birth, and also in Rabelais, despite his + disguising grossness. This finer morality + comes possibly from a wider and a deeper + survey of the universe; and it is as different + as possible from the morality which is externally + applied and which always punishes + the villain in the fifth act.</p> + + <p>It is of good augury for our own letters + that the best French fiction of to-day is getting + itself translated in the United States, + and that the liking for it is growing apace. + Fiction is more consciously an art in France + than anywhere else—perhaps partly because + the French are now foremost in nearly all + forms of artistic endeavor. In the short + story especially, in the tale, in the <i>conte</i>, their + supremacy is incontestable; and their skill + is shown and their æsthetic instinct exemplified + partly in the sense of form, in the + constructive method, which underlies the + best short stories, however trifling these may + <span class="pagenum"><a id="pagexvi" name="pagexvi"></a>xvi</span>appear to be, and partly in the rigorous suppression + of non-essentials, due in a measure, + it may be, to the example of Mérimee. That + is an example we in America may study to + advantage; and from the men who are writing + fiction in France we may gain much. + From the British fiction of this last quarter + of the nineteenth century little can be learned + by any one—less by us Americans in whom + the English tradition is still dominant. When + we look to France for an exemplar we may + find a model of value, but when we copy an + Englishman we are but echoing our own + faults. “The truth is,” said Mr. Lowell in + his memorable essay <i>On a Certain Condescension + in Foreigners</i>—“the truth is that we + are worth nothing except so far as we have + disinfected ourselves of Anglicism.”</p> + + <p class="introducer">Brander Matthews.</p> + </div> + </div> + + <div id="tale_1" class="tale"> + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page1" name="page1"></a>1</span>THE CAPTAIN’S VICES.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page2" name="page2"></a>2</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page3" name="page3"></a>3</span></p> + + <a class="figcenter" href="images/fig016.jpg"><img src="images/fig016a.jpg" alt="A small village. The text reads 'The Captain's Vices.'" title="The Captain's Vices. Click to see the whole illustration." /></a> + + <a class="figleft" href="images/fig016.jpg"><img src="images/fig016b.jpg" alt="A group of five geese, walking down the left side of the page." title="Click to see the whole illustration." /></a> + + <h3>I.</h3> + + <p>It is of no importance, + the name of the little provincial + city where Captain + Mercadier—twenty-six + years of service, twenty-two + campaigns, and three + wounds—installed himself + when + he was retired + on a + pension.</p> + + <a class="figleft" href="images/fig016.jpg"><img src="images/fig016c.jpg" alt="Two more geese, strolling in the grass across the bottom of the page." title="Click to see the whole illustration." /></a> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page4" name="page4"></a>4</span>It was quite like all those other little villages + which solicit without obtaining it a + branch of the railway; just as if it were not + the sole dissipation of the natives to go every + day, at the same hour, to the Place de + la Fontaine to see the diligence come in at + full gallop, with its gay cracking of the whips + and clang of bells.</p> + + <p>It was a place of three thousand inhabitants—ambitiously + denominated souls in the + statistical tables—and was exceedingly proud + of its title of chief city of the canton. It + had ramparts planted with trees, a pretty + river with good fishing, a church of the + charming epoch of the flamboyant Gothic, + disgraced by a frightful station of the cross, + brought directly from the quarter of Saint + Sulpice. Every Monday its market was gay + with great red and blue umbrellas, and + countrymen filled its streets in carts and + carriages. But for the rest of the week it + retired with delight into that silence and + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page5" name="page5"></a>5</span>solitude which made it so dear to its rustic + population. Its streets were paved with + cobble-stones; through the windows of the + ground-floor one could see samplers and + wax-flowers under glass domes, and, through + the gates of the gardens, statuettes of Napoleon + in shell-work. The principal inn was + naturally called the Shield of France; and + the town-clerk made rhymed acrostics for + the ladies of society.</p> + + <p>Captain Mercadier had chosen that place + of retreat for the simple reason that he had + been born there, and because, in his noisy + childhood, he had pulled down the signs and + plugged up the bell-buttons. He returned + there to find neither relations, nor friends, + nor acquaintances; and the recollections of + his youth recalled only the angry faces of + shop-keepers who shook their fists at him + from the shop-doors, a catechism which + threatened him with hell, a school which + predicted the scaffold, and, finally, his departure + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page6" name="page6"></a>6</span>for his regiment, hastened by a paternal + malediction.</p> + + <p>For the Captain was not a saintly man; + the old record of his punishment was black + with days in the guard-house inflicted for + breaches of discipline, absences from roll-calls, + and nocturnal uproars in the mess-room. + He had often narrowly escaped losing + his stripes as a corporal or a sergeant, + and he needed all the chance, all the license + of a campaigning life to gain his first epaulet. + Firm and brave soldier, he had passed + almost all his life in Algiers at that time when + our foot soldiers wore the high shako, white + shoulder-belts and huge cartridge-boxes. + He had had Lamoricière for commander. + The Due de Nemours, near whom he received + his first wound, had decorated him, and + when he was sergeant-major, Père Bugrand + had called him by his name and pulled his + ears. He had been a prisoner of Abd-el-Kader, + bearing the scar of a yataghan stroke + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page7" name="page7"></a>7</span>on his neck, of one ball in his shoulder and + another in his chest; and notwithstanding + absinthe, duels, debts of play, and almond-eyed + Jewesses, he fairly won, with the point + of the bayonet and sabre, his grade of captain + in the First Regiment of Sharp-shooters.</p> + + <p>Captain Mercadier—twenty-six years of + service, twenty-two campaigns, and three + wounds—had just retired on his pension, + not quite two thousand francs, which, joined + to the two hundred and fifty francs from his + cross, placed him in that estate of honorable + penury which the State reserves for its old + servants.</p> + + <p>His entry into his natal city was without + ostentation. He arrived one morning on + the imperiale of the diligence, chewing an + extinguished cigar, and already on good + terms with the conductor, to whom, during + his journey, he had related the passage of + the Porte de Fer; full of indulgence, moreover, + for the distractions of his auditor, who + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page8" name="page8"></a>8</span>often interrupted the recital by some oath + or epithet addressed to the off mare. When + the diligence stopped he threw on the sidewalk + his old valise, covered with railway + placards as numerous as the changes of + garrison that its proprietor had made, and + the idlers of the neighborhood were astonished + to see a man with a decoration—a + rare thing in the province—offer a glass of + wine to the coachman at the bar of an inn + near by.</p> + + <p>He installed himself at once. In a house + in the outskirts, where two captive cows + lowed, and fowls and ducks passed and repassed + through the gate-way, a furnished + chamber was to let. Preceded by a masculine-looking + woman, the Captain climbed + the stair-way with its great wooden balusters, + perfumed by a strong odor of the stable, and + reached a great tiled room, whose walls were + covered with a bizarre paper representing, + printed in blue on a white background and + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page9" name="page9"></a>9</span>repeated infinitely, the picture of Joseph Poniatowski + crossing the Elster on his horse. + This monotonous decoration, recalling nevertheless + our military glories, fascinated the + Captain without doubt, for, without concerning + himself with the uncomfortable straw + chairs, the walnut furniture, or the little bed + with its yellowed curtain, he took the room + without hesitation. A quarter of an hour + was enough to empty his trunk, hang up his + clothes, put his boots in a corner, and ornament + the wall with a trophy composed of + three pipes, a sabre, and a pair of pistols. + After a visit to the grocer’s, over the way, + where he bought a pound of candles and + a bottle of rum, he returned, put his purchase + on the mantle-shelf, and looked around + him with an air of perfect satisfaction. And + then, with the promptitude of the camp, he + shaved without a mirror, brushed his coat, + cocked his hat over his ear, and went for a + walk in the village in search of a café.</p> + + <h3><span class="pagenum"><a id="page10" name="page10"></a>10</span>II.</h3> + + <p>It was an inveterate habit of the Captain + to spend much of his time at a café. It was + there that he satisfied at the same time the + three vices which reigned supreme in his + heart—tobacco, absinthe, and cards. It was + thus that he passed his life, and he could + have drawn a plan of all the places where + he had ever been stationed by their tobacco + shops, cafés, and military clubs. He never + felt himself so thoroughly at ease as when + sitting on a worn velvet bench before a + square of green cloth near a heap of beer-mugs + and saucers. His cigar never seemed + good unless he struck his match under the + marble of the table, and he never failed, + after hanging his hat and his sabre on a + hat-hook and settling himself comfortably, + by unloosing one or two buttons of his coat, + to breathe a profound sigh of relief, and exclaim,</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page11" name="page11"></a>11</span>“That is better!”</p> + + <p>His first care was, therefore, to find an establishment + which he could frequent, and + after having gone around the village without + finding anything that suited him, he + stopped at last to regard with the eye of a + connoisseur the Café Prosper, situated at + the corner of the Place du Marché and the + Rue de la Pavoisse.</p> + + <p>It was not his ideal. Some of the details + of the exterior were too provincial: the + waiter, in his black apron, for example, the + little stands in their green frames, the footstools, + and the wooden tables covered with + waxed cloth. But the interior pleased the + Captain. He was delighted upon his entrance + by the sound of the bell which was + touched by the fair and fleshy dame du + comptoir, in her light dress, with a poppy-colored + ribbon in her sleek hair. He saluted + her gallantly, and believed that she + sustained with sufficient majesty her triumphal + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page12" name="page12"></a>12</span>place between two piles of punch-bowls + properly crowned by billiard-balls. He + ascertained that the place was cheerful, + neat, and strewn evenly with yellow sand. + He walked around it, looking at himself in + the glasses as he passed; approved the panels + where guardsmen and amazons were + drinking champagne in a landscape filled + with red holly-hocks; called for his absinthe, + smoked, found the divan soft and the absinthe + good, and was indulgent enough not + to complain of the flies who bathed themselves + in his glass with true rustic familiarity.</p> + + <p>Eight days later he had become one of + the pillars of the Café Prosper.</p> + + <p>They soon learned his punctual habits + and anticipated his wishes, while he, in turn, + lunched with the patrons of the place—a + valuable recruit for those who haunted the + café, folks oppressed by the tedium of a + country life, for whom the arrival of that + new-comer, past master in all games, and + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page13" name="page13"></a>13</span>an admirable raconteur of his wars and his + loves, was a true stroke of good-fortune. + The Captain himself was delighted to tell his + stories to folks who were still ignorant of his + repertoire. <img class="figright" src="images/fig026.jpg" alt="A rotund man with small mustache stands with his hands in his pockets." /> There were fully + six months before him in + which to tell of his games, + his feats, his battles, the + retreat of Constantine, the + capture of Bou-Maza, and + the officers’ receptions + with the concomitant intoxication + of rum-punch.</p> + + <p>Human weakness! He + was by no means sorry, on + his part, to be something + of an oracle; he from whom the sub-lieutenants, + new-comers at Saint-Cyr, fled dismayed, + fearing his long stories.</p> + + <p>His usual auditors were the keeper of + the café, a stupid and silent beer-cask, always + in his sleeved vest, and remarkable + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page14" name="page14"></a>14</span>only for his carved pipe; the bailiff, a scoffer, + dressed invariably in black, scorned for + his inelegant habit of carrying off what remained + of his sugar; the + town-clerk, the gentleman + of acrostics, a person of + much amiability and a feeble + constitution, who sent + to the illustrated journals + solutions of enigmas and rebuses; + and, lastly, the veterinary surgeon of + the place, the only one who, from his + position of atheist and democrat, was allowed + to contradict the Captain. <img class="figleft" src="images/fig027.jpg" alt="A bearded man wearing glasses sits with a glass before him." /> This practitioner, + a man with tufted whiskers and + eye-glasses, presided over the radical committee + of electors, and when the curé took + up a little collection among his devotees for + the purpose of adorning his church with + some frightful red and gilded statues, denounced, + in a letter to the <i>Siècle</i>, the cupidity + of the Jesuits.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page15" name="page15"></a>15</span>The Captain having gone out one evening + for some cigars after an animated political + discussion, the aforesaid veterinary grumbled + to himself certain phrases of heavy irritation + concerning “coming to the point,” + and “a mere fencing-master,” and “cutting + a figure.” But as the object of these vague + menaces suddenly returned, whistling a + march and beating time with his cane, the + incident was without result.</p> + + <p>In short, the group lived harmoniously + together, and willingly permitted themselves + to be presided over by the new-comer, whose + white beard and martial bearing were quite + impressive. And the small city, proud of so + many things, was also proud of its retired + Captain.</p> + + + <h3>III.</h3> + + <p>Perfect happiness exists nowhere, and + Captain Mercadier, who believed that he + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page16" name="page16"></a>16</span>had found it at the Café Prosper, soon recovered + from his illusion.</p> + + <p>For one thing, on Mondays, the market-day, + the Café Prosper was untenantable.</p> + + <p>From early morning it was overrun with + truck-peddlers, farmers, and poultrymen. + Heavy men with coarse voices, red necks, + and great whips in their hands, wearing blue + blouses and otter-skin caps, bargaining over + their cups, stamping their feet, striking their + fists, familiar with the servant, and bungling + at billiards.</p> + + <p>When the Captain came, at eleven o’clock, + for his first glass of absinthe, he found this + crowd gathered, and already half-drunk, ordering + a quantity of lunches. His usual place + was taken, and he was served slowly and + badly. The bell was continually sounding, + and the proprietor and the waiter, with napkins + under their arms, were running distractedly + hither and thither. In short, it was an ill-omened + day, which upset his entire existence.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page17" name="page17"></a>17</span>Now, one Monday morning, when he was + resting quietly at home, being sure that the + café would be much too full and busy, the + mild radiance of the autumn sun persuaded + him to go down and sit upon the stone seat + by the side of the house.</p> + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig030.jpg" alt="A dapper man with tophat and cane talks with a wretched-looking girl with a wooden leg. Three geese are nearby." /> + </div> + <p class="continued"> He was sitting + there, depressed and smoking a damp cigar, + when he saw coming down the end of the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page18" name="page18"></a>18</span>street—it was a badly paved lane leading + out into the country—a little girl of eight or + ten, driving before her a half-dozen geese.</p> + + <p>As the Captain looked carelessly at the + child he saw that she had a wooden leg.</p> + + <p>There was nothing paternal in the heart + of the soldier. It was that of a hardened + bachelor. In former days, in the streets of + Algiers, when the little begging Arabs pursued + him with their importunate prayers, + the Captain had often chased them away + with blows from his whip; and on those rare + occasions when he had penetrated the nomadic + household of some comrade who was + married and the father of a family, he had + gone away cursing the crying babies and + awkward children who had touched with their + greasy hands the gilding on his uniform.</p> + + <p>But the sight of that particular infirmity, + which recalled to him the sad spectacle of + wounds and amputations, touched, on that + account, the old soldier. He felt almost a + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page19" name="page19"></a>19</span>constriction of the heart at the sight of that + sorry creature, half-clothed in her tattered + petticoats and old chemise, bravely running + along behind her geese, her bare foot in the + dust, and limping on her ill-made wooden + stump.</p> + + <p>The geese, recognizing their home, turned + into the poultry-yard, and the little one was + about to follow them when the Captain + stopped her with this question:</p> + + <p>“Eh! little girl, what’s your name?”</p> + + <p>“Pierette, monsieur, at your service,” she + answered, looking at him with her great + black eyes, and pushing her disordered locks + from her forehead.</p> + + <p>“You live in this house, then? I haven’t + seen you before.”</p> + + <p>“Yes, I know you pretty well, though, for + I sleep under the stairs, and you wake me + up every evening when you come home.”</p> + + <p>“Is that so, my girl? Ah, well, I must walk + on my toes in future. How old are you?”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page20" name="page20"></a>20</span>“Nine, monsieur, come All-Saints day.”</p> + + <p>“Is the landlady here a relative of yours?”</p> + + <p>“No, monsieur, I am in service.”</p> + + <p>“And they give you?”</p> + + <p>“Soup, and a bed under the stairs.”</p> + + <p>“And how came you to be lame like that, + my poor little one?”</p> + + <p>“By the kick of a cow when I was five.”</p> + + <p>“Have you a father or mother?”</p> + + <p>The child blushed under her sunburned + skin. “I came from the Foundling Hospital,” + she said, briefly. Then, with an awkward + courtesy, she passed limping into the + house, and the Captain heard, as she went + away on the pavement of the court, the hard + sound of the little wooden leg.</p> + + <p>Good heavens! he thought, mechanically + walking towards his café, that’s not at all the + thing. A soldier, at least, they pack off to + the Invalides, with the money from his medal + to keep him in tobacco. For an officer, they + fix up a collectorship, and he marries somewhere + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page21" name="page21"></a>21</span>in the provinces. But this poor girl, + with such an infirmity,—that’s not at all the + thing!</p> + + <p>Having established in these terms the injustice + of fate, the Captain reached the + threshold of his dear café, but he saw there + such a mob of blue blouses, he heard such a + din of laughter and click of billiard-balls, + that he returned home in very bad humor.</p> + + <p>His room—it was, perhaps, the first time + that he had spent in it several hours of the day—looked + rather shabby. His bed-curtains + were the color of an old pipe. The fireplace + was heaped with old cigar-stumps, and one + could have written his name in the dust on + the furniture. He contemplated for some + time the walls where the sublime lancer of + Leipsic rode a hundred times to a glorious + death. Then, for an occupation, he passed + his wardrobe in review. It was a lamentable + series of bottomless pockets, socks full of + holes, and shirts without buttons.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page22" name="page22"></a>22</span>“I must have a servant,” he said.</p> + + <p>Then he thought of the little lame girl.</p> + + <p>“That’s what I’ll do. I’ll hire the next + little room; winter is coming, and the little + thing will freeze under the stairs. She will + look after my clothes and my linen and + keep the barracks clean. A valet, how’s + that?”</p> + + <p>But a cloud darkened the comfortable picture. + The Captain remembered that quarter-day + was still a long way off, and that his + account at the Cafe Prosper was assuming + alarming proportions.</p> + + <p>“Not rich enough,” he said to himself. + “And in the mean time they are robbing me + down there. That is positive. The board + is too high, and that wretch of a veterinary + plays bezique much too well. I have paid + his way now for eight days. Who knows? + Perhaps I had better put the little one in + charge of the mess, soup au café in the morning, + stew at noon, and ragout every evening—campaign + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page23" name="page23"></a>23</span>life, in fact. I know all + about that. Quite the thing to try.”</p> + + <p>Going out he saw at once the mistress of + the house, a great brutal peasant, and the + little lame girl, who both, with pitchforks in + their hands, were turning over the dung-heap + in the yard.</p> + + <p>“Does she know how to sew, to wash, to + make soup?” he asked, brusquely.</p> + + <p>“Who—Pierette? Why?”</p> + + <p>“Does she know a little of all that?”</p> + + <p>“Of course. She came from an asylum + where they learn how to take care of themselves.”</p> + + <p>“Tell me, little one,” added the Captain, + speaking to the child, “I am not scaring + you—no? Well, my good woman, will you + let me have her? I want a servant.”</p> + + <p>“If you will support her.”</p> + + <p>“Then that is finished. Here are twenty + francs. Let her have to-night a dress and a + shoe. To-morrow we’ll arrange the rest.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page24" name="page24"></a>24</span>And, with a friendly tap on Pierette’s + cheek, the Captain went off, delighted that + everything was concluded. Possibly he + thought he would have to cut off some + glasses of beer and absinthe, and be cautious + of the veterinary’s skill at bezique. + But that was not worth speaking of, and the + new arrangement would be quite the thing.</p> + + + <h3>IV.</h3> + + <p>Captain, you are a coward!</p> + + <p>Such was the apostrophe with which the + caryatides of the Café Prosper hereafter + greeted the Captain, whose visits became + rarer day by day.</p> + + <p>For the poor man had not seen all the + consequences of his good action. The suppression + of his morning absinthe had been + sufficient to cover the modest expense of + Pierette’s keeping, but how many other reforms + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page25" name="page25"></a>25</span>were needed to provide for the unforeseen + expenses of his bachelor establishment! + Full of gratitude, the little girl wished to + prove it by her zeal. Already the aspect of + his room was changed. The furniture was + dusted and arranged, the fireplace cleaned, + the floor polished, and spiders no longer + spun their webs over the deaths of Poniatowski + in the corner. When the Captain came + home the inviting odor of cabbage-soup saluted + him on the staircase, and the sight of + the smoking plates on the coarse but white + table-cloth, with a bunch of flowers and polished + table-ware, was quite enough to give + him a good appetite. Pierette profited by + the good-humor of her master to confess + some of her secret ambitions. She wanted + andirons for the fireplace, where there was + now always a fire burning, and a mould for + the little cakes that she knew how to make + so well. And the Captain, smiling at the + child’s requests, but charmed with the homelike + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page26" name="page26"></a>26</span><img class="figleft" src="images/fig039.jpg" alt="A man sits with his chin in his hand." />atmosphere of his + room, promised to + think of it, and on the + morrow replaced his + Londres by cigars for + a sou each, hesitated + to offer five points at + ecarté, and refused his + third glass of beer or his second glass of + chartreuse.</p> + + <p>Certainly the struggle was long; it was + cruel. Often, when the hour came for the + glass that was denied him by economy, when + thirst seized him by the throat, the Captain + was forced to make an heroic effort to withdraw + his hand already reaching out towards + the swan’s beak of the café; many times he + wandered about, dreaming of the king turned + up and of quint and quatorze. But he almost + always courageously returned home; + and as he loved Pierette more through every + sacrifice that he made for her, he embraced + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page27" name="page27"></a>27</span>her more fondly every day. For he + did embrace her. She was no longer his + servant. When once she stood before him + at the table, calling him “Monsieur,” and + so respectful in her bearing, he could not + stand it, but seizing her by her two hands, + he said to her, eagerly:</p> + + <p>“First embrace me, and then sit down + and do me the pleasure of speaking familiarly, + confound it!”</p> + + <p>And so to-day it is accomplished. Meeting + a child has saved that man from an + ignominious age.</p> + + <p>He has substituted for his old vices a + young passion. He adores the little lame + girl who skips around him in his room, + which is comfortable and well furnished.</p> + + <p>He has already taught Pierette to read, + and, moreover, recalling his calligraphy as a + sergeant-major, he has set her copies in writing. + It is his greatest joy when the child, + bending attentively over her paper, and sometimes + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page28" name="page28"></a>28</span>making a blot which she quickly licks + up with her tongue, has succeeded in copying + all the letters of an interminable adverb + in <i>ment</i>. His uneasiness is in thinking that + he is growing old and has nothing to leave + his adopted child.</p> + + <p>And so he becomes almost a miser; he + theorizes; he wishes to give up his tobacco, + although Pierette herself fills and lights his + pipe for him. He counts on saving from + his slender income enough to purchase a + little stock of fancy goods. Then when he + is dead she can live an obscure and tranquil + life, hanging up somewhere in the back + room of the small shop an old cross of the + Legion of Honor, her souvenir of the Captain.</p> + + <p>Every day he goes to walk with her on + the rampart. Sometimes they are passed by + folks who are strangers in the village, who + look with compassionate surprise at the old + soldier, spared from the wars, and the poor + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page29" name="page29"></a>29</span>lame child. And he is moved—oh, so pleasantly, + almost to tears—when one of the + passers-by whispers, as they pass:</p> + + <p>“Poor father! Yet how pretty his daughter + is.”</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig042.jpg" alt="A still life with wine bottles and a glass." /> + </div> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page30" name="page30"></a>30</span></p> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_2" class="tale"> + + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page31" name="page31"></a>31</span>TWO CLOWNS.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page32" name="page32"></a>32</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page33" name="page33"></a>33</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig046.jpg" alt="A smiling clown-face to the left, a sad one to the right, with a devilish looking man behind." title="Two Clowns" /> + </div> + + <p>The night was clear and + glittering with stars, and there + was a crowd upon the market-place. They + crowded in gaping delight around the tent + of some strolling acrobats, where red and + smoking lanterns lighted the performance + which was just beginning. Rolling their + muscular limbs in dirty wraps, and decorated + from head to foot with tawdry ruffles of + fur, the athletes—four boyish ruffians with + vulgar heads—were ranged in line before + the painted canvas which represented their + exploits; they stood there with their heads + down, their legs apart, and their muscular + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page34" name="page34"></a>34</span>arms crossed upon their chests. Near them + the marshal of the establishment, an old + sub-officer, with the drooping mustache of + a brandy-drinker, belted in at the waist, a + heart of red cloth on his leather breastplate, + leaned on a pair of foils. The feminine + attraction, a rose in her hair, with a man’s + overcoat protecting her against the freshness + of the evening air over her ballet-dancer’s + dress, played at the same time the + cymbals and the big bass-drum a desperate + accompaniment to three measures of a polka, + always the same, which were murdered by a + blind clarionet player; and the ringmaster, + a sort of Hercules with the face of a galley-slave, + a Silenus in scarlet drawers, roared + out his furious appeal in a loud voice. + Mixed with the crowd of loafers, soldiers, + and women, I regarded the abject spectacle + with disgust—the last vestige of the olympic + games.</p> + + <p>Suddenly the music ceased, and the crowd + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page35" name="page35"></a>35</span>broke into roars of laughter. The clown had + just made his appearance.</p> + + <p>He wore the ordinary costume of his kind, + the short vest and many-colored stockings + of the peasants of the opera comique, the + three horns turned + backward, the red wig + with its turned-up + queue and its butterfly + on the end. <img class="figright" src="images/fig048.jpg" alt="A 3/4-length portrait of a clown, with arms akimbo." />He + was a young man, but + alas, his face, whitened + with flour, was + already seamed with + vice. Planting himself before the public, + and opening his mouth in a silly grin, he + showed bleeding gums almost devoid of + teeth. The ringmaster kicked him violently + from behind.</p> + + <p>“Come in,” he said, tranquilly.</p> + + <p>Then the traditional dialogue, punctuated + by slaps in the face, began between the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page36" name="page36"></a>36</span>mountebank and his clown, and the entire + audience applauded these souvenirs of the + classic farce, fallen from the theatre to the + stage of the mountebank, and whose humor, + coarse but pungent, seemed a drunken echo + of the laughter of Molière. The clown exerted + his low talent, throwing out at each + moment some low jest, some immodest pun, + to which his master, simulating a prudish + indignation, responded by thumps on the + head. But the adroit clown excelled in the + art of receiving affronts. He knew to perfection + how to bend his body like a bow + under the impulse of a kick, and having received + on one cheek a full-armed blow, he + stuffed his tongue at once in that cheek + and began to whine until a new blow passed + the artificial swelling into the other cheek. + Blows showered on him as thick as hail, and, + disappearing under a shower of slaps, the + flour on his face and the red powder of his + wig enveloped him like a cloud. At last he + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page37" name="page37"></a>37</span>exhausted all his resources of low scurrility, + ridiculous contortions, grotesque grimaces, + pretended aches, falls at full length, etc., till + the ringmaster, judging this gratuitous show + long enough, and that the public were sufficiently + fascinated, sent him off with a final + cuff.</p> + + <p>Then the music began again with such + violence that the painted canvas trembled. + The clown, having seized the sticks of a + drum fixed on one of the beams of the scaffolding, + mingled a triumphant rataplan with + the bombardment of the bass-drum, the + cracked thunder of the cymbals, and the + distracted wail of the clarionet. The ringmaster, + roaring again with his heavy voice, + announced that the show was about to begin, + and, as a sign of defiance, he threw two + or three old fencing-gloves among his fellow-wrestlers. + The crowd rushed into the + tent, and soon only a small group of loungers + remained in front of the deserted stage.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page38" name="page38"></a>38</span>I was just going off, when I noticed by + my side an old woman who looked with + strange persistence at the empty stage where + the red lights were still burning. She wore + the linen bonnet and the crossed fichu of + the poorer class of women, and her whole + appearance was that of neatness and honesty. + Asking myself what powerful interest + could hold her in such a place, I looked at + her with more attention, and I saw that her + eyes were full of tears, and that her hands, + which she had crossed over her breast, were + trembling with emotion.</p> + + <p>“What is the matter with you?” I said, + coming near to her, impelled by an instinctive + sympathy.</p> + + <p>“The matter, good sir?” cried the old + woman, bursting into tears. “Passing by + this market-place—oh, quite by chance, I + tell you (I have no heart for pleasure)—passing + before that dreadful tent, I have just + seen in the wretch who has received all those + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page39" name="page39"></a>39</span>blows my only son, sir, my sole child! It is + the grief of my life, do you see? I never + knew what had become of him since—oh, + since my poor husband sent him away to + sea as a cabin-boy. He was apprenticed to + an ironmonger, sir. He robbed his master—he, + the son of two honest people. As for + me, I would have pardoned him. You know + what mothers are. But my man, when they + came and told him that his son had stolen, + he was like a madman. It was that that + killed him, I am sure. I have never seen + the unhappy child again. For five years I + have heard nothing from him. I sought to + deceive myself. I said experience will reform + him, and there—there—just now—”</p> + + <p>And the poor old woman sobbed in a pitiful + way. A crowd had formed. It was no + longer to me that she spoke; it was not to + the crowd; it was to herself, to the bitterness + of her own heart.</p> + + <p>“He, my Adrien, the child that I nourished + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page40" name="page40"></a>40</span>at my own breast, a mountebank in a + travelling theatre! struck and insulted before + the whole world! He, whom I saved + at four when he was so ill, a clown in a tent! + He, the beautiful baby of whom I was so + proud, whom I made the neighbors admire + when he was so small that he rolled naked + on my knee, holding his little foot in his + hand!”</p> + + <p>Suddenly at this point in her heart-breaking + monologue the old woman perceived the + crowd listening to her. She looked on the + spectators in astonishment, as one who starts + from sleep. She recognized me who had + questioned her, and became frightfully pale.</p> + + <p>“What have I said?” she stammered. + “Let me pass.” And brusquely putting us + aside with an imperious gesture, she went + off with a rapid step, and disappeared in the + night.</p> + + <p>The adventure made a lively impression + on me. I thought often of it, and after that, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page41" name="page41"></a>41</span>when I saw before my eyes some wretched + and degraded creature, some woman of the + street, trailing her light silk skirts in the flare + of a gas-jet, some drunken idler leaning on + the bar of a café and bending his bloated + face over his glass of absinthe, I have + thought, “Is it possible that that being can + ever have been a little child?”</p> + + <p>Now, some little time after that <i>rencontre</i>—let + us be careful not to indicate the date—I + was taken into a gallery of the Chamber + of Deputies to be present at a sensational + sitting. The law that they were discussing + on that day is of no importance, but it was + the old and tedious story: a Ministerial candidate, + formerly in the Opposition, proposed + to strike a blow at some liberty—I don’t + know what—which he had formerly demanded + with virulence and force. And, more + than that, the man in power was going to + forfeit his word to the tribune. In good + French that is called “to betray,” but in + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page42" name="page42"></a>42</span>parliamentary language they employ the + phrase, “accomplish a change of base.” + Opinion was divided, the majority uncertain; + and upon his speech would depend the political + future of the speaker. Therefore, on + that day, the legislators were in their places, + and the Chamber did not resemble, as usual, + a class of noisy boys presided over by a + master without authority. The lunch-counter + was deserted, and the deputies of the + Centre themselves were not absorbed in their + personal correspondence.</p> + + <p>The orator mounted the tribune. He had + the commonplace figure of a verbose orator: + bold eye, protruding lips, as enlarged by the + abuse of words. He began by fingering his + notes with an important air, tasting the glass + of sweetened water, and settling himself in + his place; then he started a babble of words + without sense, with the nauseous facility of + the bar; misusing vague ideas, abstract + terms, and words in <i>ly</i> and <i>ion</i>, stereotyped + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page43" name="page43"></a>43</span>words, and ready-made phrases. A flattering + murmur greeted the end of his exordium; + for the French people in general, and the + political world in particular, manifest a depraved + taste for that sort of eloquence. Encouraged, + the fine speaker entered the heart + of his subject, and cynically sang his recantation. + He abjured none of his opinions, he + repudiated none of his acts; he would always + remain liberal (a blow on his chest), + but that which was good yesterday might + be dangerous to-day; truth on the other + side of the Alps, error on this side. The + forbearance of the Government was abused. + And he threatened the assembly; became + prophet; let loose the dogs of war. He + even risked a bit of poetry, flourished old + metaphors, which were worn out in the time + of Cicero, and compared by turn, in the + same phrase, his political career to a pilot, a + steed, and a torch. So much poetry could + only accentuate his success. There was a + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page44" name="page44"></a>44</span>salvo of bravos, and the Opposition grumbled, + foreseeing their defeat. Violent interruptions + broke forth: furious voices recalled + the orator’s past life, and threw as insults his + former professions in his face. He was unmoved, + and stood with a disdainful air, which + was very effective. <img class="figleft" src="images/fig057.jpg" alt="An orating man." /> + Then the bravos redoubled, + and he + smiled vaguely, thinking, + no doubt, of the + proof-sheets of the + <i>Officiel</i>, where he + could by-and-by insert + in the margin, + without too much exaggeration, + “profound sensation” and “prolonged + applause.” Then, when quiet was + re-established, sure of his success, he affected + a serene majesty. He took up again his + discourse, soaring like a goose, launching + out with high doctrine, citing Royer-Collard.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page45" name="page45"></a>45</span>But I heard no more. The scandalous + spectacle of that political mountebank, who + sacrificed eternal principles to the interests + of the day, recalled to my memory the tent + of the acrobats. The cold rhetoric of that + harangue, vibrating with neither truth nor + emotion, recalled to me the patter, learned + by heart, of the powdered clown on the + stage. The superb air which the orator assumed + under the rain of reproaches and insults + singularly resembled the indifference + of the clown to the loud slaps on his face. + Those sonorous phrases, whose echoes had + just died away, sounded as false as a strolling + band. The word “liberty” rolled like + the bass-drum, “public interests” and “welfare + of the State” clanged discordantly like + the cymbals, and when the comedian spoke + of his “patriotism” I almost heard the <i>couac</i> + of a clarionet.</p> + + <p>A long uproar woke me from my revery. + The speech was finished, and the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page46" name="page46"></a>46</span>orator, having descended from the rostrum, + was receiving congratulations. They were + about to vote: the urns were being passed + around, but the result was certain, and + the crowd of tribunes was already dispersing.</p> + + <p>As I went across the vestibule I saw an + elderly lady dressed in black. She was + dressed like a wealthy bourgeoise and appeared + radiant. I stopped one of the well-groomed + little chaps whom one sees trotting + around in the Ministerial corridors. I + knew him slightly, and I asked him who + that lady was.</p> + + <p>“The mother of the orator,” he replied, + with official emotion. “She must be very + proud.”</p> + + <p>Very proud! The old mother who wept + so bitterly in the market-place was not that; + and if the mother of his future Excellency + had reflected, she would have regretted—she + too—the time when her boy was very small, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page47" name="page47"></a>47</span>and rolled naked on her knee, holding his + little foot in his hand.</p> + + <p>But, bah! everything is relative, even + shame.</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig060.jpg" alt="A still life, with a bottle and glass, and a pile of papers." /> + </div> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page48" name="page48"></a>48</span></p> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_3" class="tale"> + + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page49" name="page49"></a>49</span>A VOLUNTARY DEATH.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page50" name="page50"></a>50</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page51" name="page51"></a>51</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig064.jpg" alt="A still life: books, papers, pen and ink, and a solitary rose lying across the papers." title="A Voluntary Death" /> + </div> + + <p>I knew the poet Louis Miraz very well, + in the old times in the Latin Quarter, where + we used to take our meals together at a + crémerie on the Rue de Seine, kept by an + old Polish woman whom we nicknamed the + Princess Chocolawska, on account of the + enormous bowl of créme and chocolate + which she exposed daily in the show-window + of her shop. It was possible to dine there + for ten sous, with “two breads,” an “ordinaire + for thirty centimes,” and a “small + coffee.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page52" name="page52"></a>52</span>Some who were very nice spent a sou + more for a napkin.</p> + + <p>Besides some young men who were destined + to become geniuses, the ordinary + guests of the crémerie were some poor compatriots + of the proprietress, who had all to + some extent commanded armies. There + was, above all, an imposing and melancholy + old fellow with a white beard, whose old + befrogged cloak, shabby boots, and old hat, + which looked as if snails had crawled over + it, presented a poem of misery, and whom + the other Poles treated with a marked respect, + for he had been a dictator for three + days.</p> + + <p>It was, moreover, at the Princess Chocolawska’s + that I knew a singular fool, who + gained his bread by giving German lessons, + and declared himself a convert to Buddhism. + On the mantle of the miserable room, where + he lived with a milliner of Saint-Germain, + was enthroned an ugly little Buddha in jade, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page53" name="page53"></a>53</span>fixing his hypnotized eyes on his navel, and + holding his great toes in his hands. The + German professor accorded to the idol the + most profound veneration, but on the epoch + of quarter-day he was sometimes forced to + carry him to the Mont-de-piété, upon which + he fell into a state of sombre chagrin, and + did not recover his serenity until he was + able to make amends for his impious act. + He never failed, moreover, to renew his + avowals in prosperous times, and finally to + take his god out of pawn.</p> + + <p>As to Louis Miraz, he had the deep eyes, + the pale complexion, and the long and dishevelled + hair of all those young men who + come to town in third-class carriages to + conquer glory, who spend more for midnight + oil than for beefsteaks, and who, rich already + with some manuscripts, have thrown out to + great Paris from the height of some hill in + its environs the classic defiance of Rastignac. + At that time my hair was archaic + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page54" name="page54"></a>54</span>enough in length to grease the collar of my + coat. Thus we were made to understand + each other, and Louis Miraz soon took me + to his attic-room in the Rue des Quatre-Vents, + where he dragged two thousand alexandrines + over me.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig067.jpg" alt="Two men having a conversation at a table." /> + </div> + + <p>Seriously, they were fresh and charming + verses, with the inspiration of spring-tide, + having the perfume of the first lilacs, and + <i>Forest Birds</i> (the title of that collection of + poems which Louis Miraz published a little + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page55" name="page55"></a>55</span>while after he read them to me) will retain + a place among the volumes in the first rank + of belles-lettres, by the side of those poets of + a single book—of the Daudet of the Amoureuses, + for example.</p> + + <p>For Miraz wrote no more verse. A young + eaglet seeking the upper air, he made his + eyrie on the summit of Montmartre, and for + quite a while we lost sight of him. Then I + found his name again in Sunday journals + and reviews, when he began to write those + short and exquisite sketches which have + made his reputation. Thus five years passed, + when I met him one day in the editor’s + office of a journal for which I worked.</p> + + + <p class="thought_break_asterism">⁂</p> + + <p>Each of us was as much pleased as the + other at thus meeting again; and after the + first “What, is that you? Is that you?” we + stood facing each other, shaking hands, and + exposing, in a laugh of cordial delight, our + teeth, which in old times we used to exercise + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page56" name="page56"></a>56</span>on the same crust of poverty. He had not + changed. He had not even sacrificed his + long hair, which he threw back with the + graceful movement of a horse who tosses + his mane. Only he had the clear complexion + and calm eye of a contented man, and + his slim figure was clad in most fashionable + costume.</p> + + <p>“We won’t drift apart again, will we?” + said he, affectionately, taking me by the arm; + and he led me out in the boulevard, where + the April sun gilded the young leaves of the + plane-trees.</p> + + <p>Ah, happy day! How we exhausted the + “Don’t you remembers?” “Do you remember + the fried eggs which tasted of straw, and + the dreadful rice-milk of the Princess Chocolawska? + and the melancholy air of the + old dictator? and the German who used to + pawn his god every three months?” At last + those days of hardship were finished. He + had from afar applauded my success, as I + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page57" name="page57"></a>57</span>had watched his. But one thing I did not + know, and that was that he had married a + woman whom he adored, and that he had a + charming little girl.</p> + + <p>“Come and see them; you shall dine + with me.”</p> + + <p>I let myself be persuaded, and he carried + me down to the Enclos des Ternes, where + he lived in a cottage among the trees. + There everything made you welcome. No + sooner had we opened the door of the garden + than a young dog frisked about our + feet.</p> + + <p>“Down, Gavroche! He will soil your + clothes.”</p> + + <p>But at the sound of the bell Madame + Miraz appeared at the steps with her little + daughter in her arms. An imposing and + beautiful blond, her well-moulded figure + wrapped in a blue gown.</p> + + <p>“Put on a plate more. I’ve an old comrade + with me.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page58" name="page58"></a>58</span>And the happy father, keeping his hat on + his head and carrying his little girl, showed + me all over his establishment—the dining-room, + brightened by light bits of faience, + the study, abounding in books, with its window + opening out on the green turf, so that a + puff of wind had strewn with rose-leaves the + printer’s proofs which were scattered on the + table.</p> + + <p>“This is only a beginning, you know. It + wasn’t so long ago that we were working + for three sous a line.”</p> + + <p>And while I luxuriated under a blossoming + Judas-tree which I saw in the garden, + Miraz, at ease in his home, had slipped into + his working-vest, put on his slippers, and, + lying on his sofa, caught little Helen in + his arms to toss her in the air—“Houp + la! Houp la!”</p> + + <p>I do not remember ever to have had a + more perfect impression of contentment. + We dined pleasantly—two good courses, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page59" name="page59"></a>59</span>that was all; a dinner without pretence, + where we served ourselves with the pepper-mill. + The charming Madame Miraz presided + with her bright smile, having her child + by her side in a high-chair. She spoke but + little, but her sweet and intelligent attention + followed our light and paradoxical chat, + the good-humored fooling of men of letters; + and at the dessert she took a rose from the + bouquet which ornamented the table, and + placed it in her hair near her ear with a supreme + grace. She was indeed that lovely + and silent friend whom a dreamer requires.</p> + + <p>We took our coffee in the study—they intended + to furnish the salon very soon with + the price of a story to be published by Levy—then, + as the evening was cool, a fire of + sticks and twigs was built, and while we + smoked, Miraz and I, recalling old memories, + the mistress of the house, holding on her + knees little Helen, now ready for bed, made + her repeat “Our Father” and “Hail Mary,” + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page60" name="page60"></a>60</span>which the little one lisped, rubbing her little + feet together before the warm flame.</p> + + <p class="thought_break_asterism">⁂</p> + + <p>We saw each other again, often at first, + then less frequently, the difficult and complicated + life of literary labor taking us each + his own way. So the years passed. We + met, shook hands. “Everything going well?” + “Splendidly.” And that was all. Then, + later, I found the name of Louis Miraz but + rarely in the journals and periodicals. “Happy + man; he is resting,” I said to myself, remembering + that he was spoken of as having + made a small fortune. Finally, last autumn, + I learned that he was seriously ill.</p> + + <p>I hurried to see him. He still lived at + the Enclos des Ternes; but on this sombre + day of the last of November the little house + seemed cold, and looked naked among the + leafless trees. It seemed to me shrunken + and diminished, like everything that we have + not seen for a long time.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page61" name="page61"></a>61</span>The dog was probably dead, for his bark + no longer answered the sound of the bell + when I passed the little gate and entered + the garden, all strewn with dead leaves where + the night’s frost had withered the last chrysanthemums.</p> + + <p>It was not Madame Miraz—she was absent—it + was Helen who received me, Helen, + who had grown to be a great girl of fourteen, + with an awkward manner. She opened + for me the door of her father’s study, + and brusquely lifting her great black eyelashes, + turned on me a timid and distressed + glance.</p> + + <p>I found Miraz huddled in an easy-chair + in the corner of the fireplace, wrapped in a + sort of bed-gown, with gray locks streaking + his long hair; and by the cold, clammy hand + which he reached towards me, by the pallid + face which he turned upon me, I knew that + he was lost. Horrible! I found in my unhappy + comrade that worn and ruined look + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page62" name="page62"></a>62</span>which used to strike us formerly among the + poor Poles of the crémerie.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig075.jpg" alt="A man in robe and slippers naps in a chair in a study." /> + </div> + + <p>“Ah, well, old man, things are not going + well?”</p> + + <p>“Deucedly bad, my boy,” he answered, + with a heart-breaking smile. “I am going + out stupidly with consumption, as they do + in the fifth act, you know, when the venerable + doctor, with a head like Béranger, feels + the first walking gentleman’s pulse, and lifts + his eyes towards heaven, saying, ‘The death-struggle + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page63" name="page63"></a>63</span>approaches!’ Only the difference + is that with me it continues; it will not conclude, + the death-struggle. Smoke away; + that doesn’t disturb me,” he added, seeing + me put my cigar one side, his cough sounding + like a death-rattle.</p> + + <p>I tried to find encouraging words. I talked + with him, holding him by the hand and + patting him affectionately on the shoulder; + but my voice had in my own ears the empty + hollowness of deceit, and Miraz, looking at + me, seemed to pity my efforts.</p> + + <p>I was silent.</p> + + <p>“Look,” said he, pointing to his table; + “see my work-bench. For six months I + have not been able to write.”</p> + + <p>It was true. Nothing could be more sad + than that heap of papers covered with dust, + and in an old Roman plate there was a bundle + of pens, crusted with ink, and like those + trophies of rusty foils which hang on the + walls of old fencers.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page64" name="page64"></a>64</span>I made a new attempt to revive him. Die! + at his age. Nonsense! He wasn’t taking + care of himself. He must pass the winter + in the South, drink a good draught of sunlight. + He could. He was easy in his money + matters.</p> + + <p>But he stopped me, putting his hand on + my arm.</p> + + <p>“Listen,” he said, gravely, “we have seen + each other seldom, but you are my oldest, + perhaps my best, friend. You have proved + me pen in hand. Well, I am going to tell + you something in confidence, for you to keep + to yourself, unless it may serve on some occasion + to discourage the young literary aspirants + who bring their manuscripts to you—always + a praiseworthy action. Yes, I have + been successful. Yes, I have been paid a + franc a line. Yes, I have made money, and + there in that drawer are a certain number + of yellow, green, and red papers from + which a bit is clipped every six months, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page65" name="page65"></a>65</span>and which represent three or four thousand + francs of income. It is rare in our profession, + and to gain that poor hoard I have + been obliged—I, a poet—to imitate the unsociable + virtues of a bourgeois, know how to + deny a jewel to my wife, a dress to my daughter. + At last I have that money. And I + often said to myself, if I should die their + bread is assured, and here is a little marriage + portion for Helen! And I was content—I + was proud!—for I know them, the + stories of our widows and our orphans, the + fourpenny help of the government, the tobacco + shops for six hundred francs in the + province, and, if the daughter is intelligent + and pretty like mine, the dramatic author, + an old friend of the father, who advises her + to enter the Conservatoire, and who makes + of her—mercy of God! that shall never be. + But for all that, my boy, it is necessary that + I should not linger. Sickness is expensive, + and already it has been necessary to sell + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page66" name="page66"></a>66</span>one or two bonds from that drawer. To + seek the sunlight, as you suggest, to bask + like a lizard at Cannes or at Menton, one + more bond must go, and there would not be + enough to last to the end, if I should wait + for seven or eight years more, now that I + can no longer write. Happily, there is nothing + to fear. But what I have suffered since + I have been incapable of writing, and have + felt my hoard of gold shrink and diminish + in my hand like the Magic Skin of Balzac, is + frightful. Now you understand me, do you + not? and you will no longer bid me take + care of myself. No; if you still pray to God, + ask him to send me speedily to the undertaker’s.”</p> + + <p class="thought_break_asterism">⁂</p> + + <p>Fifteen days later some thirty of us followed + the hearse which carried Louis Miraz + to the Cemetery Montmartre. It had snowed + the day before, and Doctor Arnould, the + old frequenter of painters’ studios, the friend + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page67" name="page67"></a>67</span>and physician of the dead man, walking behind + me, called in his brusque voice,</p> + + <p>“Very commonplace, but always terrible + the contrast: a burial in the snow—black + on white. The Funeral of the Poor, by the + late Vigneron, isn’t to be ridiculed. Brr!”</p> + + <p>At last we came to the edge of the grave. + The place and the time were sad. Under a + cloudy sky the little yew-trees, swayed by the + wind, threw down their burdens of melted + snow. The by-standers had formed a circle, + and were watching the grave-diggers, who + were lowering the coffin by cords. Near a + cross-bearer, whose short surplice permitted + the bottom of his trousers to be seen, the + priest waited with a finger in his book; and, + having grasped the rim of his hat under his + left arm, the orator of the Society of Men of + Letters already held in his black-gloved hand + the funeral oration, hastily patched up by the + aid of a comrade over a couple of glasses at + the corner of a café table.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page68" name="page68"></a>68</span>Suddenly, as the priest began his Latin + prayers, Doctor Arnould seized me by the + arm and whispered in my ear,</p> + + <p>“You know that he killed himself?”</p> + + <p>I looked at him with astonishment. But + he pointed to the group in black, composed + of Madame Miraz and her daughter, who + were sobbing under their long veils and + clasping each other in a tragic embrace, and + he added,</p> + + <p>“For them. Yes, for six months he threw + all his medicines in the fire, and designedly + committed all sorts of imprudences. He + confessed it to me before his death. I had + not understood it at all—I, who had expected + to prolong his life at least three years by + creosote. At last the other night, when it + was freezing cold, he left his window open, + as if by forgetfulness, and was taken with + bleeding at the lungs. Yes, that he might + leave bread for those two women. The + curé does not dream that he is blessing a + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page69" name="page69"></a>69</span>suicide. But what of it, my good fellow? + Miraz is in the paradise of the brave. The + details of such a death. Eh? It is tougher + than the passage of the Bridge of Arcole.”</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig082.jpg" alt="A cemetary plot." /> + </div> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page70" name="page70"></a>70</span></p> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_4" class="tale"> + + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page71" name="page71"></a>71</span>A DRAMATIC FUNERAL.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page72" name="page72"></a>72</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page73" name="page73"></a>73</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig086.jpg" alt="A procession follows a carriage." title="A Dramatic Funeral" /> + </div> + + <p>For twenty-five years he had played the + role of the villain at the Boulevard du Crime,<span class="fnmarker">*</span><span class="footnote">* A nickname given to the Boulevard du Temple, on account of the numerous melodramatic theatres situated there.</span> + and his harsh voice, his nose like an eagle’s + beak, his eye with its savage glitter, had + made him a good player of such parts. For + twenty-five years, dressed in the cloak and + encircled by the fawn-colored leather belt + of Mordaunt, he had retreated with the step + of a wounded scorpion before the sword of + D’Artagnan; draped in the dirty Jewish + gown of Rodin, he had rubbed his dry + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page74" name="page74"></a>74</span>hands together, muttering the terrible “Patience, + patience!” and, curled on the chair + of the Duc d’Este, he had said to Lucretia + Borgia, with a sufficiently infernal glance, <img class="figleft" src="images/fig087.jpg" alt="A man in a flat-topped hat." /> + “Take care and make no + mistake. The flagon of gold, + madame.” When, preceded + by a tremolo, he made his entry + in the scene, the third + gallery trembled, and a sigh + of relief greeted the moment + when the first walking gentleman at last + said to him: “Between us two, now,” and + immolated him for the grand triumph of + virtue.</p> + + <p>But this sort of success, which is only betrayed + by murmurs of horror, is not of the + kind to make a dramatic career seductive; + and besides the old actor had always hidden + in a corner of his heart the bucolic ideal + which is in the heart of almost all artists. + He sighed for an old age of leisure, and the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page75" name="page75"></a>75</span>comfortable dignity of a retired shopkeeper; + the house in the country, where he could live + with his family, with melons, under an arbor; + cakes and wine in the winter evenings; his + daughter a scholar in a convent; his son in + the uniform of the Polytechnique; and the + cross of the Legion.</p> + + <p>Now, when we had occasion to know him, + he had already nearly realized his dreams.</p> + + <p>After the failure of the theatre where he + had been for a long time engaged, some + capitalists had thought of him to put the + enterprise on its feet again. With his systematic + habits, his good sense, his thorough and + practical knowledge of the business, and a + sufficiently correct literary instinct, he became + an excellent manager. He was the + owner of stocks and a villa at Montmorency; + his son was a student at Sainte-Barbe, and + his daughter had just come out of Les Oiseaux; + and if the malice of small newspapers + had retarded his nomination in the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page76" name="page76"></a>76</span>Legion of Honor by recalling every year, + about the first of January, his old ranting + on the stage, when he played formerly the + villains’ parts, he could yet hope that it would + not be long before the red ribbon would + flourish in his button-hole. He had still + preserved some of the habits of a strolling + player, such as being very familiar with everybody, + and dyeing his mustaches; but as + he was, on the whole, good, honest, and serviceable, + he conquered the esteem and friendship + of those with whom he came in contact.</p> + + <p>So it was with sincere grief that the whole + dramatic world learned one day the terrible + sorrow which had smitten that excellent + man. His daughter, a girl of seventeen, + had died suddenly of brain-fever.</p> + + <p>We knew how he adored the child; how + he had brought her up in the strictest principles + of family and religion, far from the theatre, + something as Triboulet hid his daughter + Blanche in the little house of the cul-de-sac + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page77" name="page77"></a>77</span>Bucy. <img class="figright" src="images/fig090.jpg" alt="Three men in a group; one's back is to us." />We understood + that all the + hopes and ambitions + of the man rested on + the head of that + charming girl, who, + near all the corruption + of the theatre, + had grown up in innocence + and purity, as + one sees sometimes + in the scanty grass of + the faubourgs a field-flower + spring up by + the door of a hovel.</p> + + <p>We were among the first at the funeral, to + which we had been summoned by a black-bordered + billet.</p> + + <p>A crowd of the people of the neighborhood + encumbered the street before the house + of the dead, attracted by the pomps of the + first-class funeral ordered by the old comedian, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page78" name="page78"></a>78</span>who had preserved the taste of the <i>mise + en scène</i> even in his grief. The magnificent + hearse and cumbrous mourning-coaches + were already drawn up to the sidewalk, and + under the door, and in the shade of the + heavy fringed and silvered draperies, amid + the twinkling of burning candles, between + two priests reading prayers in their Prayer-books, + the form of the massive coffin could + be seen under its white cloth, covered with + Parma violets.</p> + + <p>As we walked among the crowd we noticed + the groups formed of those who, like us, + were waiting the departure of the cortége. + There were almost all the actors, men and + women, of Paris, who had come to pay + their last respects to the daughter of their + comrade. Undoubtedly nothing could be + more natural; but we experienced not the + less a strange sensation on seeing, around + the coffin of that pure young girl who had + breathed away her last breath in a prayer, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page79" name="page79"></a>79</span>the gathering of all those faces marked by + the brand of the theatre.</p> + + <p>They were all there: the stars, the comedians, + the lovers, the traitors; nobody was + lacking: soubrettes, duennas, coquettes, first + walking ladies. </p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig092.jpg" alt="Two men stand talking." /> + </div> + + <p class="continued">Wearing a sack-coat and a + felt hat on his long gray hair, the superb + adventurer of all the cloak and sword dramas + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page80" name="page80"></a>80</span>leaned against the shutter of a shop in his + familiar attitude, and crossed his arms to + show his handsome hands; while a little + old fellow with the wrinkled face of a clown + spoke to him briskly in the broad, harsh + voice which had so often made us explode + with laughter. By the side of the aged first + young man, who, pinched in his scanty + frock-coat, and with trousers trailing under + foot, twirled in his gloved hands his locks + of over-black hair, stood a great handsome + fellow, beautiful as a model, who had not + been able to renounce even for that day his + eccentricities of costume, and strutted in a + black velvet cape and the boots of an + equerry. Oh, how sad, tired, and old they + seemed in the gray light of that winter + morning, all those pathetic heads, graceful + or laughable, which we were only in the + habit of seeing when transfigured by the + prestige of the stage. Chins had become + blue-black under too frequent shaving; hair + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page81" name="page81"></a>81</span>thin and dry under the hot + iron of the hair-dresser; <img class="figright" src="images/fig094.jpg" alt="A full-length portrait of a man in a draped cloak." /> + skins rough under the injurious + action of unguents and + vinegar; eyes dull, burned + by the glare of foot-lights—blinded, + almost fixed, like + those of an owl in the sunlight.</p> + + <p>The women were especially + to be pitied. Obliged + by the occasion to rise at + a very early hour, and not + having had the time for a + careful and minute toilet, they gathered in + groups of four or five, chilled and shivering + in their fur mantles, muffs, and triple black + veils. Notwithstanding the hasty rouge and + powder of the morning, they were unrecognizable, + and it required an effort of imagination + to find in them a memory of that + sublime seraglio of the Parisian theatres, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page82" name="page82"></a>82</span>exposed every evening to the desires of several + thousand men. On all of these charming + types appeared the mark of weariness + and age.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig095.jpg" alt="Three women stand in a group." /> + </div> + + <p class="continued">Some ossified into faded skeletons, + others grew dull with an unhealthy + weight of fat; wrinkles crossed the foreheads + and starred the temples; lips were + livid and eyes circled with dark rings; the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page83" name="page83"></a>83</span>complexions were particularly frightful—that + uniform tint, morbid and sickly, the work of + rouge and grease-paints. That heavy woman, + with the head and neck of a farmer’s + wife (one almost sees a basket on her shoulder), + is the terrible and fatal queen of grand, + romantic dramas; and that small blonde and + pale creature, so faded under her laces, and + who would have completely filled a music-teacher’s + carrying roll, was the artless young + woman whom all the vaudevillists married + at the dénouement of their pieces. There + were the dying glances of the lorette in the + hospital, the pose of the old copyist of the + Louvre, and the theatrical sneer.</p> + + <p>Soon the cabs drove up with the functionaries + connected with the administration of + the theatre, in black hats and coats, with an + official air of sadness; young reporters, the + outflow of journalism, staring at everybody + and taking notes; dramatic authors, Monday + feuilletonists—in short, all of those + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page84" name="page84"></a>84</span>nocturnal beings, tired and worn-out, who are + properly called the actives of Paris.</p> + + <p>The groups became more compact, and + talked animatedly. Old friends found each + other; they shook hands, and, in view of the + circumstances, smiled cordially, while the + women saluted each other through their + veils.</p> + + <p>In passing, we could catch fragments of + conversation like this:</p> + + <p>“When will the affair begin?”</p> + + <p>“Were you at the opening of the Variétès + yesterday?”</p> + + <p>Theatrical terms were heard—“My talents,” + “My charms,” “My physique.” Some + business, even, was done. A new manager + was quite surrounded; an old actress organized + her benefit.</p> + + <p>Suddenly there was a movement in the + crowd. The undertaker’s men had just + placed the coffin in the hearse, and the + young girls of the Sisterhood of the Virgin, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page85" name="page85"></a>85</span>to which the dead girl had belonged, arranged + themselves in two lines, in their + white veils, at the sides of the funeral-car. + Preceded by the master of ceremonies, in + silk stockings and a wand of office in his + hand, the poor father appeared on the pavement + in full mourning, with a white cravat, + broken down by grief and sustained by his + friends.</p> + + <p>The procession set out and came to the + parish church, fortunately near.</p> + + <p>There was a grand mass, with music which + was not finished. It was too warm in the + church stuffed with people, and the inattention + was general. Men who recognized each + other saluted with a light movement of the + head; conversation was exchanged in a low + voice; some young actors struck attitudes + for the benefit of the women, and the pious + responded to Dominus Vobiscum droned by + the priest. At the elevation, from behind the + altar, rang out a magnificent Pié Jesu, sung + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page86" name="page86"></a>86</span>by a celebrated baritone, who had never + put in his voice so much amorous languor. + Outside the church-yard the small boys of + the quarter stood on tiptoe, and, hanging on + to the railings, pointed out the celebrities + with their fingers.</p> + + <p>The office finished, the long defile commenced; + and every one went to the entrance + of the church to sprinkle some drops of holy-water + on the bier, and press the hand of the + old actor, who, broken by grief, and having + hardly strength to hold his hat, leaned against + a pillar.</p> + + <p>That was the most horrible moment.</p> + + <p>Carried away by the habit of playing up + to the situation, all these theatrical people + put into the token of sympathy which they + gave to their friend the character of their + employment. The star advanced gravely, and + with a three-quarter inclination of his head + flashed out the “Look of Fate.” The old + tragedian with a gray beard assumed a stoical + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page87" name="page87"></a>87</span>expression, and did not forget to “vibrate” + in pronouncing a masculine “Courage!” + The clown approached with a short, + trotting step, and shaking his head until his + cheeks trembled, he murmured, “My poor + old fellow.” And the fairy queen, with the + sensibility of a sensitive female, threw herself + impulsively on the neck of the unhappy father, + who, with swollen face, bloodshot eyes, + and hanging lip, blackened his face and his + gloved hands with the dye of his mustache, + diluted by tears.</p> + + <p>And all the time, a few steps from this + grotesque and sinister scene, we could see—last + word of this antithesis—the white figures + of the young girls of the sisterhood, + kneeling on the chairs nearest the coffin of + their companion, and who undoubtedly were + beseeching God, in their naïve and original + prayers, to grant her the paradise of their + dreams: a pretty paradise in the Jesuitical + style, all in carved and gilded wood, and + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page88" name="page88"></a>88</span>many-colored marble, where one could see + at the end a tableau in a transparent light; + the Virgin crowned with stars, with a serpent + under her feet, while little cherubs suspended + in mid-air over her head an azure streamer + flaming with these words: “<i>Ecce Regina + Angelorum</i>.”</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig101.jpg" alt="A clown sits dejected on a flower-covered grave marker, his back to us." /> + </div> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_5" class="tale"> + + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page89" name="page89"></a>89</span>THE SUBSTITUTE.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page90" name="page90"></a>90</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page91" name="page91"></a>91</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig104.jpg" alt="A sombre-looking boy stands with his hands in his pockets." title="The Substitute" /> + </div> + + <p>He was scarcely ten years old when he + was first arrested as a vagabond.</p> + + <p>He spoke thus to the judge:</p> + + <p>“I am called Jean François Leturc, and + for six months I was with the man who + sings and plays upon a cord of catgut between + the lanterns at the Place de la Bastille. + I sang the refrain with him, and after + that I called, ‘Here’s all the new songs, ten + centimes, two sous!’ He was always drunk, + and used to beat me. That is why the police + picked me up the other night. Before + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page92" name="page92"></a>92</span>that I was with the man who sells brushes. + My mother was a laundress; her name was + Adéle. At one time she lived with a man on + the ground-floor at Montmartre. She was a + good work-woman and liked me. She made + money because she had for customers waiters + in the cafés, and they use a good deal of + linen. On Sundays she used to put me to + bed early so that she could go to the ball. + On week-days she sent me to Les Fréres, + where I learned to read. Well, the sergeant-de-ville + whose beat was in our street used + always to stop before our windows to talk + with her—a good-looking chap, with a medal + from the Crimea. They were married, + and after that everything went wrong. He + didn’t take to me, and turned mother against + me. Every one had a blow for me, and so, + to get out of the house, I spent whole + days in the Place Clichy, where I knew the + mountebanks. My father-in-law lost his + place, and my mother her work. She used + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page93" name="page93"></a>93</span>to go out washing to take care of him; this + gave her a cough—the steam…. She is + dead at Lamboisière. She was a good woman. + Since that I have lived with the seller + of brushes and the catgut scraper. Are you + going to send me to prison?”</p> + + <p>He said this openly, cynically, like a man. + He was a little ragged street-arab, as tall as + a boot, his forehead hidden under a queer + mop of yellow hair.</p> + + <p>Nobody claimed him, and they sent him + to the Reform School.</p> + + <p>Not very intelligent, idle, clumsy with his + hands, the only trade he could learn there + was not a good one—that of reseating straw + chairs. However, he was obedient, naturally + quiet and silent, and he did not seem to be + profoundly corrupted by that school of vice. + But when, in his seventeenth year, he was + thrown out again on the streets of Paris, he + unhappily found there his prison comrades, + all great scamps, exercising their dirty professions: + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page94" name="page94"></a>94</span>teaching dogs to catch rats in the + the sewers, and blacking shoes on ball nights + in the passage of the Opera—amateur wrestlers, + who permitted themselves to be thrown + by the Hercules of the booths—or fishing at + noontime from rafts; all of these occupations + he followed to some extent, and, some + months after he came out of the house of + correction, he was arrested again for a petty + theft—a pair of old shoes prigged from a + shop-window. Result: a year in the prison + of Sainte Pélagie, where he served as valet + to the political prisoners.</p> + + <p>He lived in much surprise among this + group of prisoners, all very young, negligent + in dress, who talked in loud voices, and carried + their heads in a very solemn fashion. + They used to meet in the cell of one of the + oldest of them, a fellow of some thirty years, + already a long time in prison and quite a + fixture at Sainte Pélagie—a large cell, the + walls covered with colored caricatures, and + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page95" name="page95"></a>95</span>from the window of which one could see all + Paris—its roofs, its spires, and its domes—and + far away the distant line of hills, blue and + indistinct upon the sky. There were upon the + walls some shelves filled with volumes and + all the old paraphernalia of a fencing-room: + broken masks, rusty foils, breast-plates, and + gloves that were losing their tow. It was + there that the “politicians” used to dine together, + adding to the everlasting “soup and + beef,” fruit, cheese, and pints of wine which + Jean François went out and got by the can—a + tumultuous repast interrupted by violent + disputes, and where, during the dessert, the + “Carmagnole” and “Ca Ira” were sung in + full chorus. They assumed, however, an air + of great dignity on those days when a newcomer + was brought in among them, at first + entertaining him gravely as a citizen, but on + the morrow using him with affectionate familiarity, + and calling him by his nickname. + Great words were used there: Corporation, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page96" name="page96"></a>96</span>Responsibility, and phrases quite unintelligible + to Jean François—such as this, for example, + which he once heard imperiously put + forth by a frightful little hunchback who + blotted some writing-paper every night:</p> + + <p>“It is done. This is the composition of + the Cabinet: Raymond, the Bureau of Public + Instruction; Martial, the Interior; and + for Foreign Affairs, myself.”</p> + + <p>His time done, he wandered again around + Paris, watched afar by the police, after the + fashion of cockchafers, made by cruel children + to fly at the end of a string. He became + one of those fugitive and timid beings + whom the law, with a sort of coquetry, arrests + and releases by turn—something like + those platonic fishers who, in order that they + may not exhaust their fish-pond, throw immediately + back in the water the fish which + has just come out of the net. Without a + suspicion on his part that so much honor + had been done to so sorry a subject, he had + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page97" name="page97"></a>97</span>a special bundle of memoranda in the mysterious + portfolios of the Rue de Jérusalem. + His name was written in round hand on the + gray paper of the cover, and the notes and + reports, carefully classified, gave him his + successive appellations: “Name, Leturc;” + “the prisoner Leturc,” and, at last, “the criminal + Leturc.”</p> + + <p>He was two years out of prison, dining + where he could, sleeping in night lodging-houses + and sometimes in lime-kilns, and taking + part with his fellows in interminable + games of pitch-penny on the boulevards + near the barriers: He wore a greasy cap + on the back of his head, carpet slippers, and + a short white blouse. When he had five + sous he had his hair curled. He danced + at Constant’s at Montparnasse; bought for + two sous to sell for four at the door of + Bobino, the jack of hearts or the ace of + clubs serving as a countermark; sometimes + opened the door of a carriage; led horses + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page98" name="page98"></a>98</span>to the horse-market. From the lottery of + all sorts of miserable employments he drew + a goodly number. Who can say if the atmosphere + of honor which one breathes as a + soldier, if military discipline might not have + saved him. Taken, in a cast of the net, with + some young loafers who robbed drunkards + sleeping on the streets, he denied very earnestly + having taken part in their expeditions. + Perhaps he told the truth, but his antecedents + were accepted in lieu of proof, and he + was sent for three years to Poissy. There + he made coarse playthings for children, was + tattooed on the chest, learned thieves’ slang + and the penal-code. A new liberation, and + a new plunge into the sink of Paris; but + very short this time, for at the end of six + months at the most he was again compromised + in a night robbery, aggravated by + climbing and breaking—a serious affair, in + which he played an obscure role, half dupe + and half fence. On the whole his complicity + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page99" name="page99"></a>99</span>was evident, and he was sent for five years + at hard labor. His grief in this adventure + was above all in being separated from an + old dog which he had found on a dung-heap, + and cured of the mange. The beast loved + him.</p> + + <p>Toulon, the ball and chain, the work in + the harbor, the blows from a stick, wooden + shoes on bare feet, soup of black beans dating + from Trafalgar, no tobacco money, and + the terrible sleep in a camp swarming with + convicts; that was what he experienced for + five broiling summers and five winters raw + with the Mediterranean wind. He came + out from there stunned, was sent under surveillance + to Vernon, where he worked some + time on the river. Then, an incorrigible + vagabond, he broke his exile and came again + to Paris. He had his savings, fifty-six francs, + that is to say, time enough for reflection. + During his absence his former wretched + companions had dispersed. He was well + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page100" name="page100"></a>100</span>hidden, and slept in a loft at an old woman’s, + to whom he represented himself as a + sailor, tired of the sea, who had lost his papers + in a recent shipwreck, and who wanted + to try his hand at something + else. <img class="figleft" src="images/fig113.jpg" alt="A man stands on some steps, and peers in a window." /> His tanned + face and his calloused + hands, together with some + sea phrases which he dropped + from time to time, + made his tale seem probable + enough.</p> + + <p>One day when he risked + a saunter in the streets, + and when chance had led + him as far as Montmartre, + where he was born, an unexpected + memory stopped him before the + door of Les Frères, where he had learned to + read. As it was very warm the door was + open, and by a single glance the passing outcast + was able to recognize the peaceable + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page101" name="page101"></a>101</span>school-room. Nothing was changed: neither + the bright light shining in at the great + windows, nor the crucifix over the desk, nor + the rows of benches with the tables furnished + with ink-stands and pencils, nor the + table of weights and measures, nor the map + where pins stuck in still indicated the operations + of some ancient war. Heedlessly and + without thinking, Jean François read on the + blackboard the words of the Evangelist + which had been set there as a copy:</p> + + <p>“Joy shall be in heaven over one sinner + that repenteth, more than over ninety and + nine just persons, which need no repentance.”</p> + + <p>It was undoubtedly the hour for recreation, + for the Brother Professor had left his + chair, and, sitting on the edge of a table, he + was telling a story to the boys who surrounded + him with eager and attentive eyes. + What a bright and innocent face he had, that + beardless young man, in his long black + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page102" name="page102"></a>102</span>gown, and white necktie, and great ugly + shoes, and his badly cut brown hair streaming + out behind! All the simple figures of + the children of the people who were watching + him seemed scarcely less childlike than + his; above all when, delighted with some of + his own simple and priestly pleasantries, he + broke out in an open and frank peal of + laughter which showed his white and regular + teeth, a peal so contagious that all the + scholars laughed loudly in their turn. It + was such a sweet, simple group in the bright + sunlight, which lighted their dear eyes and + their blond curls.</p> + + <p>Jean François looked at them for some + time in silence, and for the first time in that + savage nature, all instinct and appetite, there + awoke a mysterious, a tender emotion. His + heart, that seared and hardened heart, unmoved + when the convict’s cudgel or the + heavy whip of the watchman fell on his + shoulders, beat oppressively. In that sight + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page103" name="page103"></a>103</span>he saw again his infancy; and closing his + eyes sadly, the prey to torturing regret, he + walked quickly away.</p> + + <p>Then the words written on the blackboard + came back to his mind.</p> + + <p>“If it wasn’t too late, after all!” he murmured; + “if I could again, like others, eat + honestly my brown bread, and sleep my fill + without nightmare! The spy must be sharp + who recognizes me. My beard, which I + shaved off down there, has grown out thick + and strong. One can burrow somewhere in + the great ant-hill, and work can be found. + Whoever is not worked to death in the hell + of the galleys comes out agile and robust, + and I learned there to climb ropes with loads + upon my back. Building is going on everywhere + here, and the masons need helpers. + Three francs a day! I never earned so + much. Let me be forgotten, and that is all + I ask.”</p> + + <p>He followed his courageous resolution; he + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page104" name="page104"></a>104</span>was faithful to it, and after three months he + was another man. The master for whom he + worked called him his best workman. After + a long day upon the scaffolding, in the hot + sun and the dust, constantly bending and + raising his back to take the hod from the + man at his feet and pass it to the man over + his head, he went for his soup to the cook-shop, + tired out, his legs aching, his hands + burning, his eyelids stuck with plaster, but + content with himself, and carrying his well-earned + money in a knot in his handkerchief. + He went out now without fear, since he + could not be recognized in his white mask, + and since he had noticed that the suspicious + glances of the policeman were seldom turned + on the tired workman. He was quiet and + sober. He slept the sound sleep of fatigue. + He was free!</p> + + <p>At last—oh, supreme recompense!—he + had a friend!</p> + + <p>He was a fellow-workman like himself, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page105" name="page105"></a>105</span>named Savinien, a little peasant with red + lips who had come to Paris with his stick + over his shoulder and a bundle on the end + of it, fleeing from the wine-shops and going + to mass every Sunday. Jean François loved + him for his piety, for his candor, for his honesty, + for all that he himself had lost, and so + long ago. It was a passion, profound and + unrestrained, which transformed him by fatherly + cares and attentions. Savinien, himself + of a weak and egotistical nature, let + things take their course, satisfied only in + finding a companion who shared his horror + of the wine-shop. The two friends lived together + in a fairly comfortable lodging, but + their resources were very limited. They were + obliged to take into their room a third companion, + an old Auvergnat, gloomy and rapacious, + who found it possible out of his + meagre salary to save something with which + to buy a place in his own country. Jean + François and Savinien were always together. + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page106" name="page106"></a>106</span>On holidays they together took long walks + in the environs of Paris, and dined under + an arbor in one of those small country + inns where there are a great many mushrooms + in the sauces and innocent rebusses + on the napkins. There Jean François learned + from his friend all that lore of which they + who are born in the city are ignorant: + learned the names of the trees, the flowers, + and the plants; the various seasons for harvesting; + he heard eagerly the thousand details + of a laborious country life—the autumn + sowing, the winter chores, the splendid celebrations + of harvest and vintage days, the + sound of the mills at the water-side, and the + flails striking the ground, the tired horses + led to water, and the hunting in the morning + mist; and, above all, the long evenings + around the fire of vine-shoots, that were + shortened by some marvellous stories. He + discovered in himself a source of imagination + before unknown, and found a singular + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page107" name="page107"></a>107</span>delight in the recital of events so placid, so + calm, so monotonous.</p> + + <p>One thing troubled him, however: it was + the fear lest Savinien might learn something + of his past. Sometimes there escaped from + him some low word of thieves’ slang, a vulgar + gesture—vestiges of his former horrible + existence—and he felt the pain one feels + when old wounds re-open; the more because + he fancied that he sometimes saw in Savinien + the awakening of an unhealthy curiosity. + When the young man, already tempted by + the pleasures which Paris offers to the poorest, + asked him about the mysteries of the + great city, Jean François feigned ignorance + and turned the subject; but he felt a vague + inquietude for the future of his friend.</p> + + <p>His uneasiness was not without foundation. + Savinien could not long remain the + simple rustic that he was on his arrival in + Paris. If the gross and noisy pleasures of + the wine-shop always repelled him, he was + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page108" name="page108"></a>108</span>profoundly troubled by other temptations, full + of danger for the inexperience of his twenty + years. When spring came he began to go + off alone, and at first he wandered about + the brilliant entrance of some dancing-hall, + watching the young girls who went in with + their arms around each others’ waists, talking + in low tones. Then, one evening, when + lilacs perfumed the air and the call to quadrilles + was most captivating, he crossed the + threshold, and from that time Jean François + observed a change, little by little, in his + manners and his visage. He became more + frivolous, more extravagant. He often borrowed + from his friend his scanty savings, + and he forgot to repay. Jean François, feeling + that he was abandoned, jealous and forgiving + at the same time, suffered and was + silent. He felt that he had no right to reproach + him, but with the foresight of affection + he indulged in cruel and inevitable + presentiments.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page109" name="page109"></a>109</span>One evening, as he was mounting the + stairs to his room, absorbed in his thoughts, + he heard, as he was about to enter, the sound + of angry voices, and he recognized that of + the old Auvergnat who lodged with Savinien + and himself. An old habit of suspicion made + him stop at the landing-place and listen to + learn the cause of the trouble.</p> + + <p>“Yes,” said the Auvergnat, angrily, “I am + sure that some one has opened my trunk + and stolen from it the three louis that I + had hidden in a little box; and he who has + done this thing must be one of the two + companions who sleep here, if it were not + the servant Maria. It concerns you as much + as it does me, since you are the master of + the house, and I will drag you to the courts + if you do not let me at once break open the + valises of the two masons. My poor gold! + It was here yesterday in its place, and I will + tell you just what it was, so that if we find + it again nobody can accuse me of having + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page110" name="page110"></a>110</span>lied. Ah, I know them, my three beautiful + gold pieces, and I can see them as plainly + as I see you! One piece was more worn + than the others; it was of greenish gold, + with a portrait of the great emperor. The + other was a great old fellow with a queue + and epaulettes; and the third, which had + on it a Philippe with whiskers, I had marked + with my teeth. They don’t trick me. Do + you know that I only wanted two more like + that to pay for my vineyard? Come, search + these fellows’ things with me, or I will call + the police! Hurry up!” + “All right,” said the voice of the landlord; + “we will go and search with Maria. So + much the worse for you if we + find nothing, and the masons + get angry. You have forced + me to it.”</p> + + <p><img class="figleft" src="images/fig123.jpg" alt="A man leans near a door." />Jean François’ soul + was full of fright. He + remembered the embarrassed + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page111" name="page111"></a>111</span>circumstances and the small loans + of Savinien, and how sober he had seemed + for some days. And yet he could not believe + that he was a thief. He heard the + Auvergnat panting in his eager search, and + he pressed his closed fists against his breast + as if to still the furious beating of his + heart.</p> + + <p>“Here they are!” suddenly shouted the + victorious miser. “Here they are, my louis, + my dear treasure; and in the Sunday vest + of that little hypocrite of Limousin! Look, + landlord, they are just as I told you. Here + is the Napoleon, the man with a queue, and + the Philippe that I have bitten. See the + dents? Ah, the little beggar with the sanctified + air. I should have much sooner suspected + the other. Ah, the wretch! Well, he + must go to the convict prison.”</p> + + <p>At this moment Jean François heard the + well-known step of Savinien coming slowly + up the stairs.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page112" name="page112"></a>112</span>He is going to his destruction, thought he. + Three stories. I have time!</p> + + <p>And, pushing open the door, he entered + the room, pale as death, where he saw the + landlord and the servant stupefied in a corner, + while the Auvergnat, on his knees, in the + disordered heap of clothes, was kissing the + pieces of gold.</p> + + <p>“Enough of this,” he said, in a thick voice; + “I took the money, and put it in my comrade’s + trunk. But that is too bad. I am a + thief, but not a Judas. Call the police; I + will not try to escape, only I must say a + word to Savinien in private. Here he is.”</p> + + <p>In fact, the little Limousin had just arrived, + and seeing his crime discovered, believing + himself lost, he stood there, his eyes + fixed, his arms hanging.</p> + + <p>Jean François seized him forcibly by the + neck, as if to embrace him; he put his mouth + close to Savinien’s ear, and said to him in a + low, supplicating voice,</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page113" name="page113"></a>113</span>“Keep quiet.”</p> + + <p>Then turning towards the others:</p> + + <p>“Leave me alone with him. I tell you I + won’t go away. Lock us in if you wish, but + leave us alone.”</p> + + <p>With a commanding gesture he showed + them the door.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig126.jpg" alt="A seated man leans over his knees, while another man confronts him." /> + </div> + + <p class="continued">They went out.</p> + + <p>Savinien, broken by grief, was sitting on + the bed, and lowered his eyes without understanding + anything.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page114" name="page114"></a>114</span>“Listen,” said Jean François, who came + and took him by the hands. “I understand! + You have stolen three gold pieces to buy + some trifle for a girl. That costs six months + in prison. But one only comes out from + there to go back again, and you will become + a pillar of police courts and tribunals. I + understand it. I have been seven years at + the Reform School, a year at Sainte Pélagie, + three years at Poissy, five years at Toulon. + Now, don’t be afraid. Everything is arranged. + I have taken it on my shoulders.”</p> + + <p>“It is dreadful,” said Savinien; but hope + was springing up again in his cowardly heart.</p> + + <p>“When the elder brother is under the + flag, the younger one does not go,” replied + Jean François. “I am your substitute, that’s + all. You care for me a little, do you not? + I am paid. Don’t be childish—don’t refuse. + They would have taken me again one of + these days, for I am a runaway from exile. + And then, do you see, that life will be less + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page115" name="page115"></a>115</span>hard for me than for you. I know it all, + and I shall not complain if I have not done + you this service for nothing, and if you swear + to me that you will never do it again. Savinien, + I have loved you well, and your friendship + has made me happy. It is through it + that, since I have known you, I have been + honest and pure, as I might always have + been, perhaps, if I had had, like you, a father + to put a tool in my hands, a mother to teach + me my prayers. It was my sole regret that + I was useless to you, and that I deceived + you concerning myself. To-day I have unmasked + in saving you. It is all right. Do + not cry, and embrace me, for already I hear + heavy boots on the stairs. They are coming + with the <i>posse</i>, and we must not seem + to know each other so well before those + chaps.”</p> + + <p>He pressed Savinien quickly to his breast, + then pushed him from him, when the door + was thrown wide open.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page116" name="page116"></a>116</span>It was the landlord and the Auvergnat, + who brought the police. Jean François + sprang forward to the landing-place, held + out his hands for the handcuffs, and said, + laughing, “Forward, bad lot!”</p> + + <p>To-day he is at Cayenne, condemned for + life as an incorrigible.</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig129.jpg" alt="A still life with a water jug and two tablets." /> + </div> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_6" class="tale"> + + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page117" name="page117"></a>117</span>AT TABLE.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page118" name="page118"></a>118</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page119" name="page119"></a>119</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig132.jpg" alt="A still life with champagne and a fan." /> + </div> + + <p>When the <i>maître d’hôtel</i>—oh, what a respectable + paunch in an ample kerseymere + vest! What a worthy and red face, well + framed by white whiskers! (an English physique, + I assure you)—when the imposing + <i>maître d’hôtel</i> opened with two raps the door + of the salon, and announced in his musical + bass voice, at the same time sonorous and + respectful, “The dinner of madame la comtesse + is served,” hats were hung on the + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page120" name="page120"></a>120</span>corners of brackets, while the more distinguished + of the guests offered their arms to + the ladies, and all passed into the dining-room, + silent, almost meditative, like a procession.</p> + + <p>The table glittered. What flowers! What + lights! Each guest found his place without + difficulty. As soon as he had read his name + on the glazed card, a grand lackey in silk + stockings pushed gently behind him a luxurious + chair embroidered with a count’s coronet. + Fourteen at the table, not more: four + young women in full toilets, and ten men + belonging to the aristocracy of blood or of + merit, who had put on that evening all their + orders in honor of a foreign diplomat sitting + at the right hand of the mistress of the + house. Clusters of jewelled decorations + hung from button-holes, plaques of diamonds + glittered in the lapel of one or two black + coats, a heavy commander’s cross sparkled + on the starched front of a general with a + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page121" name="page121"></a>121</span>red cravat. As to the ladies, they bore all + the splendors of their jewel-boxes.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig134.jpg" alt="A bewhiskered man stands in front of a folding screen." /> + </div> + + <p>An elegant and exquisite reunion! What + an atmosphere of good-living in the high + hall—splendidly decorated and ornamented + on its four panels with studies for a dining-hall + in the fine style of olden days—where + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page122" name="page122"></a>122</span>were fruits, venison, and eatables of all sorts. + The service of the table was noiseless; the + domestics seemed to glide upon the thick + carpet. The butler whispered the wines in + the ears of the guests with a confidential + tone, and as if he were revealing a secret + upon which life depended.</p> + + <p>At the soup—a <i>consommé</i> at the same + time mild and stimulating, giving force and + youthful vigor to the digestion—chat between + neighbors began. Undoubtedly these + were the merest trifles that were at first so + low spoken. But what politeness in the + grave gestures! What affability in looks + and smiles! Soon after the Chateâu-yquem, + wit sparkled. These men, for the most part + old or very mature, all remarkable through + birth or through talent, had lived much; full + of experience and memories, they were made + for conversation, and the beauty of the women + present inspired them with a desire to + shine, and excited them to a courteous rivalry. + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page123" name="page123"></a>123</span>There was a snapping of bright words, + a flight of sudden sallies, and the conversationalists + broke into groups of two or three. + A famous voyager with bronzed skin, recently + returned from the farthest deserts, told his + two neighbors of an elephant hunt, without + any boasting, with as much tranquillity as + though he were speaking of shooting rabbits. + Farther off, the fine profile and white hair of + an illustrious savant was gallantly inclined + towards the comtesse, who listened to him + laughing—a very slender blonde, her eyes + young and intent, with a collar of splendid + emeralds on a bosom like a professional + beauty, and the neck and shoulders of the + Venus de Medici.</p> + + <p class="after_thought_break">Decidedly the dinner promised to be + charming as well as sumptuous. Ennui, + that too frequent guest at mundane feasts, + would not come to sit at that table. These + fortunate ones were going to pass a delicious + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page124" name="page124"></a>124</span>hour, drinking enjoyment through every + pore, by every sense.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig137.jpg" alt="A woman and man converse at table; a second man looks thoughtfully at his plate." /> + </div> + + <p>Now, at that same table, at the lower end, + in the most modest place, a man still young, + the least qualified, the most obscure of all + who were there, a man of reverie and imagination, + one of those dreamers in whom is + something of philosophy, something of poetry, + sat silent.</p> + + <p>Admitted into that high society by virtue + of his renown as an artist, one of nature’s + aristocrats but without vanity, sprung from + the people and not forgetting it, he breathed + voluptuously that flower of civilization which + is called good company.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page125" name="page125"></a>125</span>He knew—none better than he—how everything + in this environment—the charm of + the women, the wit of the men, the glittering + table, the furnishing of the hall, to the + exquisite wine which he had just touched + to his lips—how everything was choice and + rare, and he rejoiced that a concourse of + things so lovely and so harmonious existed. + He was plunged in a bath of optimism; it + seemed to him good that there should be, + sometimes and somewhere in the weary + world, beings almost happy. Provided that + they were accessible to pity, charitable—and + these happy people probably were that—who + could distress them? what could injure + them? Ah, beautiful and consoling chimera + to believe that for such as these life is + pleasant; that they retain always—or almost + always—that gay, happy light in the + eye, that half-blossomed smile upon the + lips; that they have blotted out, as far + as possible, from their existence, imperious + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page126" name="page126"></a>126</span>and discreditable desires and abject infirmities.</p> + + <p>He whom we will call the Dreamer was + pursuing that train of thought, when the + <i>maître d’hôtel</i>—the superb <i>maître d’hôtel</i>—entered + with solemnity, carrying in a great silver + plate a turbot of fabulous dimensions—one + of those phenomenal fish which are only + seen in the old paintings representing the + miraculous draught of fish, or perhaps in + the window of Chevet, before a row of astonished + street-boys who flatten their noses + against the glass window.</p> + + <p class="post_thought_break">Dinner is served. But when the Dreamer + had before him on his plate a portion of + the monstrous turbot, the light odor of the + sea evoked in his mind, prone to unexpected + suggestions, that corner of Breton, that poor + village of sailors, where he had been belated + the other autumn until the equinox, and + where he had rendered assistance in some + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page127" name="page127"></a>127</span>dreadful storms. He suddenly called to + mind that terrible night when the fishing-boats + could not come back to port, the night + that he had passed on the mole amid a + group of frightened women, standing where + the sea-spray streamed down his face, and + the cold and furious wind seemed striving + to tear his clothes from his back. What + a life was theirs, those poor men! Down + there how many widows, young and old, + wearing always the black shawl, went at + break of day, with their swarms of children, + to earn their bread—oh, nothing but + bread!—working in the sickening smell of + hot oil in the sardine factories! He saw + again in memory the church above the village, + half-way up the cliff, the steeple painted + white to show to the distant boats the + passage between the reefs; and he saw, + also, in the short grass of the cemetery + nibbled by the sheep, the gravestones on + which this sinister inscription was so often + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page128" name="page128"></a>128</span>repeated: “<i>Lost at sea.</i>” “<i>Lost at sea.</i>” “<i>Lost + at sea.</i>”</p> + + <p>The enormous turbot was of savory and + delicate taste, and the shrimp sauce with + which it was served proved that the <i>chef</i> of + the comte had followed a course in cooking + at the Café Anglais and profited by it. + For our refined civilization reaches even this + point. One takes degrees in culinary science. + There are doctors in roasts and bachelors + in sauces. All of the guests eat as if + they appreciated, and with delicate gestures, + but without showing special favor for exceptional + dishes, through good form and because + they were habituated to exquisite food.</p> + + <p class="post_thought_break">The Dreamer himself had no appetite. + He was still in thought with the Bretons, + with the sons of the sea, who had caught, perhaps, + this magnificent turbot. He remembered + the day that followed the tempest—that + morning, rainy and gray—when, walking by + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page129" name="page129"></a>129</span>the heavy, leaden sea, he had found a body + at his feet and recognized it as that of an old + sailor, the father of a family, who had been + lost at sea three days before—mournful jetsam, + stranded in the wrack and foam, so + heart-rending to see, with the gray hair of + the drowned full of sand and shells!</p> + + <p>A shudder passed over his heart.</p> + + <p>But the lackeys had already removed the + plates; every trace of the giant fish had disappeared, + and while they were serving another + course, the diners, elegant triflers, had + taken up their chat again.<img class="figright" src="images/fig142.jpg" alt="A small table with a teapot on it." /> + Hunger being already somewhat + appeased, they were + more animated, they spoke + with more abandon—light + laughs ran round. Oh, charming + and gracious company!</p> + + <p class="post_thought_break">Then the Dreamer, the silent + guest, was seized with an + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page130" name="page130"></a>130</span>infinite sadness; for all the work and distress + that were required to create this comfort + and well-being came surging on his + imagination.</p> + + <p>That these men of the world might wear + light dress-coats in mid-December, that these + women might expose their arms and their + shoulders, the temperature of the room was + that of a spring morning. And who furnished + the coal? The poor devils of the + black country, the subterranean workmen + who lived in hellish mines. How white and + fresh is the complexion of that young woman + against her corsage of pink satin! But + who had woven that satin? The human + spider of Lyons, the weaver, always at his + trade in the leprous houses of the Croix + Rousse. She wears in her tiny ears two + beautiful pearls. What brilliancy! what opaline + transparence! Almost perfect spheres! + The pearl which Cleopatra dissolved in vinegar + and swallowed, and which was worth + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page131" name="page131"></a>131</span>ten thousand sesterces, was not more pure. + But does she know, that young woman, that + in far-off Ceylon, on the pearl-oyster banks + of Arripo and Condatchy, the Indians of the + Indian Company plunge heroically down in + twelve fathoms of water, one foot in the + heavy stone weight which drags them down + to the bottom, a knife in the left hand for + defence against the shark?</p> + + <p class="post_thought_break">But what of that? One is lovely and coquettish. + The air of the dining-hall is warm + and perfumed. There one can dine gaily, + adorned and half nude, flirting with one’s + neighbors. What has one to do, I ask you, + with a dark workman, who digs fifty feet + under the ground, with a weaver sitting with + stiffened joints before the loom, with a savage + who emerges from the sea and sometimes + reddens it with his blood? Why should one + think of things so sad, so ugly? What an absurdity!</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page132" name="page132"></a>132</span>Meanwhile the Dreamer pursued his train + of thought.</p> + + <p>An instant ago, without taking thought, + mechanically he crumbled on the cloth a bit + of the gilded bread which was placed near + his napkin. As a viand, a mere bit of fancy, + insignificant in such a repast, it made him + think of the <i>naïf</i> phrase of the great lady + concerning the starving wretches—“Let + them eat cake.” Nevertheless, this little + cake is bread all the same—bread made of + flour, which in turn is made of wheat. Great + heaven! yes, it is bread, simply bread, like + the loaf of the peasant, like the bran-roll of + the soldier; and that it might be here, on + the table of the rich, required the patient labor + of many poor.</p> + + <p>The peasant labored, sowed, reaped. He + pushed his plough or led his harrow across + the fertile field, under the cold needles of + the autumn rain; he started from sleep, full + of terror for his crop, when it thundered by + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page133" name="page133"></a>133</span>night; he trembled, seeing the passage of + great violet clouds charged with hail; he + went forth, dissatisfied and gloomy, to the + heavy work and exhausting labor of harvest.</p> + + <p>And when the old miller, twisted by rheumatism + which he has caught in the river + fogs, has sent the flour to Paris, the market-porters + with the great white hats have carried + the crushing sacks on their broad backs, + and last night, even, in the baker’s cellar the + workmen toiled until morning.</p> + + <p>Verily, yes! It has cost all these efforts, + all these pains—the bit of bread carelessly + broken by the white hands of these patricians.</p> + + <p>And now the incorrigible Dreamer was + possessed by these things. The delicacies + of the repast only recalled to him the suffering + of humanity. Presently, when the + butler poured for him a glass of Chambertin, + did he not remember that certain glass-blowers + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page134" name="page134"></a>134</span>became consumptive through blowing + bottles?</p> + + <p>Let it pass—it is absurd. He well knows + that so the world is made. An economist + would have laughed in his face. Would he + become a Socialist, perhaps? There will always + be rich and poor, as there will always + be well-formed men and hunchbacks.</p> + + <p>Besides, the fortunates before him were + not unjustly so. These were not vulgar favorites + of the Gilded Calf—parvenus gross + and conceited. The nobleman who presides + at the table bears with honor and dignity + a name associated with all the glories + of France; the general with the gray mustache + is a hero, and charged at Rezonville + with the intrepidity of a Murat; the painter, + the poet, have faithfully served Art and + Beauty; the chemist, a self-made man who + began life as a shop-boy in a drug-store, and + to whom the learned world listens to-day as + to an oracle, is simply a man of genius; + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page135" name="page135"></a>135</span>these high-born dames are generous and + good, and they will often dip their fair hands + courageously in the depth of misfortune. + Why should not these members of the <i>élite</i> + have exceptional enjoyment?</p> + + <p>The Dreamer said to himself that he had + been unjust. These were old sophisms—good, + at the best, for the clubs of the faubourgs, + which had been awakened in his + memory, and by which he had been duped. + Is it possible? He was ashamed of himself.</p> + + <p>But the dinner neared its end; and while + the lackeys refilled for the last time the + champagne-glasses, the table grew silent—the + guests felt the apathy of digestion. The + Dreamer looked at them, one after the other, + and all the faces had satiated, <i>blasé</i> expressions + which disturbed and disquieted + him. A sentiment, obscure, inexplicable, but + so bitter! protested even from the depth of + his soul against that repast; and when they + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page136" name="page136"></a>136</span>rose at last from the table, he repeated softly + and stubbornly to himself:</p> + + <p>“Yes; they are within their rights. But + do they know, do they understand, that their + luxury is made from many miseries? Do + they think of it sometimes? Do they think + of it as often as they should? Do they think + of it?”</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig149.jpg" alt="A pile of hats sits on a padded bench." /> + </div> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_7" class="tale"> + + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page137" name="page137"></a>137</span>AN ACCIDENT.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page138" name="page138"></a>138</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page139" name="page139"></a>139</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig152.jpg" alt="A still life with a small statue of a woman holding a baby, a candle, and eyeglasses resting on the pages of an open book." /> + </div> + + <h3>I.</h3> + + <p>Saint Medard, the old church of the Rue + Mouffetard, once well known as the scene of + the Convulsionnaires, is a very poor parish. + The “Faubourg Marceau,” as they call it + there, has not much religion, and the vestry-board + must have hard work to make both + ends meet. On Sundays, at the hours of + service, there are but few there, and they are + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page140" name="page140"></a>140</span>for the most part women: some twenty of the + folk of the quarter and some servants in their + round caps. As for the men, there are not at + the most more than three or four—old men + in peasant jackets, who kneel awkwardly on + the stone floor, near a pillar, their caps under + their arms, rolling a great chaplet of + beads between their fingers, moving their + lips, and raising their eyes towards the arched + roof, with an air as if they had given the + stained-glass windows. On week days, nobody. + On Thursdays, in the winter, the + aisles resounded for an instant with the + clang of wooden shoes, when the students + of the catechism came and went. Sometimes + a poor woman, leading one or two + children and carrying a baby in her arms, + came to burn a little candle on the stand + at the chapel of the Virgin, or perhaps one + heard by the baptismal font the wailing of + a new-born babe; or, more often, the funeral + of some poor wretch: a deal box, covered + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page141" name="page141"></a>141</span>with a black cloth and resting on two trestles, + hastily blessed by the priest, before a + little group of women, the men being free-thinkers, + and waiting the conclusion of the + ceremony in the drinking-shop across the + way, where they played bagatelle for drinks.</p> + + <p>Therefore, the old Abbé Faber, one of the + vicars of the parish, is sure that twice out of + three times he will find no penitent before + his confessional, and has only to hear, for + the most part of the time, the uninteresting + confession of some good women. But he is + conscientious, and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, + and Saturdays, at seven o’clock precisely, + he betakes himself regularly to the chapel + of St. John, only to make a short prayer and + return should there be nobody there.</p> + + + + <h3>II.</h3> + + <p>One day last winter, struggling against a + heavy wind with his open umbrella, the Abbé + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page142" name="page142"></a>142</span>Faber toiled painfully up the Rue Mouffetard, + on the way to his parish, and, almost + certain that his toil was useless, he regretted + to himself the warm fire he had just quitted + in his little room in the Rue D’homond, and + the folio <i>Bollandiste</i> which he had left lying + on the table, with his eye-glasses on its open + pages. But it was Saturday night, the day + when certain old widows, who earned their + scant income in the neighboring boarding-houses, + sometimes sought absolution for the + morrow’s communion. The honest priest + could not, therefore, excuse himself from + entering his oak box and opening, with the + punctuality of a cashier, that wicket where + the devotees, for whom the confessional is a + spiritual savings-bank, make a weekly deposit + of their venial sins.</p> + + <p>The Abbé Faber was the more sorry to + go out, because that particular Saturday was + pay-day, and on such occasions the Rue + Mouffetard swarmed with people, and a people + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page143" name="page143"></a>143</span>not well disposed toward his cloth. However + good a man one may be, it is far from + agreeable to be forced to lower the eyes to + avoid malevolent looks, and to stop the ears + against insolent words heard in passing. + There was a certain drinking-shop which the + abbé particularly dreaded—a shop brilliant + with gas and exhaling an odor of alcohol + through its open doors, through which one + could see a perspective of barrels labelled: + “Absinthe,” “Bitter,” “Madère,” “Vermouth,” + etc. Here, leaning against the bar, + were always a band of loafers in long blouses + and high hats, who saluted the poor abbé, + walking quickly along the pavement, with + ribald jests.</p> + + <p>However, on this night the streets were + deserted on account of the bad weather, and + the abbé reached his church without interruption. + He dipped his finger in the holy + water, crossed himself, made a brief reverence + before the grand altar, and went towards + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page144" name="page144"></a>144</span>his confessional. At least he had not + come for nothing. A penitent was waiting.</p> + + + + <h3>III.</h3> + + <p>A male penitent! a rare and exceptional + thing at Saint Médard. But, distinguishing + by the red light of the lamp hanging from + the roof of the chapel the short white jacket + and the heavy nailed shoes of the kneeling + man, the Abbé Faber believed him to be + some workman who had kept his rustic + faith and his early habits of religious observance. + Without doubt the confession that + he was about to hear would be as stupid as + that of the cook of the Rue Monge, who, after + having accused himself of petty thefts, exclaimed + loudly against a single word of restitution. + The priest even smiled to himself + as he remembered the formal confession of + one of the inhabitants of the faubourg, who + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page145" name="page145"></a>145</span>came to ask for a billet of confession that + he might marry. “I have neither killed or + robbed. Ask me about the rest.” And so + the vicar entered very tranquilly into his + confessional, and, after having taken a copious + pinch of snuff, opened without emotion + the little curtain of green serge which closed + the wicket.</p> + + <p>“Monsieur le curé,” stammered a rough + voice, which was making an effort to speak + low.</p> + + <p>“I am not a curé, my friend. Say your + <i>confiteor</i>, and call me father.”</p> + + <p>The man, whose face the abbé could not + see among the shadows, stumbled through + the prayer, which he seemed to have great + difficulty in recalling, and he began again in + a hoarse whisper:</p> + + <p>“Monsieur le curé—no—my father—excuse + me if I do not speak properly, but I + have not been to confession for twenty-five + years—no, not since I quitted the country—you + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page146" name="page146"></a>146</span>know how it is—a man in Paris, and + yet I have not been worse than other people, + and I have said to myself, ‘God must + be a good sort of fellow.’ But to-day what + I have on my conscience is too heavy to carry + alone, and you must hear me, monsieur le + curé: I have killed a man!”</p> + + <p>The abbé half rose from his seat. A murderer! + There was no longer any question + of his mind wandering from the duties of + his office, of half annoyance at the garrulity + of the old women, to whom he listened with + a half attentive ear, and whom he absolved + in all confidence. A murderer! That head + which was so near his had conceived and + planned such a crime! Those hands, crossed + on the confessional, were perhaps still stained + with blood! In his trouble, perhaps not unmixed + with a certain amount of fear, the + Abbé Faber could only speak mechanically.</p> + + <p>“Confess yourself, my son. The mercy of + God is infinite.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page147" name="page147"></a>147</span>“Listen to my whole story,” said the man, + with a voice trembling with profound grief. + “I am a workingman, and I came to Paris + more than twenty years ago with a fellow-countryman, + a companion from childhood. + We robbed birds’-nests, and we learned to + read in school together—almost a brother, + sir. He was called Philip; I am called Jack, + myself. He was a fine big fellow; I have always + been heavy and ill-formed. There was + never a better workman than he—while I am + only a ‘botcher’—and so generous and good-natured, + wearing his heart on his sleeve. I + was proud to be his friend, to walk by his + side—proud when he clapped me on the back + and called me a clumsy fellow. I loved him + because I admired him, in fact. Once here, + what an opportunity! We worked together + for the same employer, but he left me alone + in the evenings more than half the time. + He preferred to amuse himself with his companions—natural + enough, at his age. He + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page148" name="page148"></a>148</span>loved pleasure, he was free, he had no responsibilities. + All this was impossible for me. + I was forced to save my money, for at that + time I had an invalid mother in the country, + and I sent her all my savings. As for + me, I stayed at the fruiterer’s where I lodged, + and who kept a lodging-house for masons. + Philip did not dine there; he used to go + somewhere else, and, to tell the truth, the + dinners were not particularly good. But the + fruiterer was a widow, far from happy, and I + saw that my payments were of help to her; + and then, to be frank, I fell at once in love + with her daughter. Poor Catherine! You + will soon know, monsieur le curé, what came + from it all. I was there three years without + daring to tell her of the love I had for her. + I have told you that I am not a good workman, + and the little that I gained hardly sufficed + for me and for the support of my + mother. There could be no thought of + marrying. At last my good mother left this + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page149" name="page149"></a>149</span>world for a better. I was somewhat less + pressed for money, and I began to save, and + when it seemed to me that I had enough + to begin with, I told Catherine of my love. + She said nothing at first—neither yes nor + no. Well, I knew that no one would fall + upon my neck; I am not attractive. In the + mean time Catherine consulted her mother, + who thought well of me as a steady workman, + as a good fellow, and the marriage was + decided upon. Ah, I had some happy weeks! + I saw that Catherine barely accepted me, and + that she was by no means carried away with + me; but as she had a good heart, I hoped + that she would love me some day—I would + make her love me. As a matter of course, I + told everything to Philip, whom I saw every + day at the work-yard, and as Catherine and + I were engaged, I wanted him to meet her. + Perhaps you have already guessed the end, + monsieur le curé. Philip was handsome, + lively, good-tempered—everything that I + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page150" name="page150"></a>150</span>was not; and without attempting it, innocently + enough, he fascinated Catherine. Ah, + Catherine had a frank and honest heart, and + as soon as she recognized what had happened + she at once told me everything.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig163.jpg" alt="A seated man looks at a woman whose back is turned and head is bowed." /> + </div> + + <p class="continued">Ah, I can never forget that moment! It was + Catherine’s birthday, and in honor of it I + had bought a little cross of gold which I had + arranged in a box with cotton. We were + alone in the back shop, and she had just + brought me my soup. I took my box from + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page151" name="page151"></a>151</span>my pocket, and, opening it, I showed her + the jewel. Then she burst into tears.</p> + + <p>“‘Forgive me, Jack,’ she said, ‘and keep + that for her whom you will marry. As for + me, I can never become your wife. I love + another—I love Philip.’</p> + + + <h3>IV.</h3> + + <p>“Believe me, I had trouble enough then, + monsieur le curé; my soul was full of it. + But what could I do, since I loved them + both? Only what I believed was for their + happiness—let them marry. And as Philip + had always lived freely, and spent as he + made, I lent him my hoard to buy the furniture.</p> + + <p>“Then they were married, and for a while + all went well. They had a little boy, and I + stood sponsor for him and named him Camille, + in remembrance of his mother. It + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page152" name="page152"></a>152</span>was a little after the birth of the baby that + Philip began to go wrong. I was mistaken + in him—he was not made for marriage; he + was too fond of frivolity and pleasure. You + live in a poor quarter, monsieur le curé, and + you must know the sad story by heart—the + workman who glides little by little from idleness + into drunkenness, who is off on a spree + for two or three days, who does not bring + home his week’s wages, and who only returns + to his home, broken up by his spree, to make + scenes and to beat his wife. In less than + two years Philip became one of these wretches. + At first I tried to reform him, and sometimes, + ashamed of himself, he would attempt + to do better; but that did not last long. + Then my remonstrances only irritated him; + and when I went to his house, and he saw + me look sadly around the chamber made + bare by the pawn-shop, at poor Catherine, + thin and pale with grief, he became furious. + One day he had the audacity to be jealous + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page153" name="page153"></a>153</span>of me on account of his wife, who was as + pure as the blessed Virgin, reminding me + that I was once her lover and accusing me + of still being so, with slanders and infamies + that I should be ashamed to repeat. We + almost flew at each other’s throats. I saw + what I must do. I would see Catherine and + my godson no more; and as for Philip, I + would only meet him when by chance we + worked on the same job.</p> + + <p>“Only, you will understand, I loved Catherine + and little Camille too well to lose sight + of them entirely. On Saturday evenings, + when I knew that Philip was drinking up his + wages with his comrades, I used to prowl + about the quarter, and chat with the boy + when I found him; and if it was too miserable + at home, he did not return with empty + hands, you know. I believe that the wretched + Philip knew that I was helping his wife, + and that he closed his eyes to the fact, finding + it rather convenient. I will hurry on, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page154" name="page154"></a>154</span>for the story is too miserable. Some years + have passed; Philip plunging deeper in vice; + but Catherine, whom I had helped all I + could, has educated her son, who is now a + fellow of twenty years, good and courageous + like herself. He is not a workman; he is + educated; he has learned to draw at the + evening schools, and he is now with an architect, + where he gets good wages. And + though the house is saddened by the presence + of the drunkard, things go fairly well, + for Camille is a great comfort to his mother; + and for a year or two, when I see Catherine—she + is so changed, the poor woman!—leaning + on the arm of her manly son, it warms + my heart.</p> + + <p>“But yesterday evening, coming out of + my cook-shop, I met Camille; and shaking + hands with him—oh, he is not ashamed of + me, and he doesn’t blush at a blouse covered + with plaster—I saw that something was the + matter.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page155" name="page155"></a>155</span>“‘Let’s see—what’s the matter now?’</p> + + <p>“‘I drew the lot yesterday,’ he replied, + ‘and I drew the number ten—a number that + sends you to die with fever in the colonies + with the marines. That will, at all events, + send me there for five years, to leave mother + alone, without resources, with father, who + has never been drinking so much, who has + never been so wicked. And it will kill her—it + will kill her! How cursed it is to be + poor!’</p> + + <p>“Oh, what a horrible night I passed! + Think of it, monsieur le curé, that poor + woman’s labor for twenty years destroyed + in a minute by an unhappy chance; because + a child, rummaging in a sack, has drawn an + unfortunate number! In the morning I was + broken as by age when I went to the house + we were building on the Boulevard Arago. + Of what use is sorrow? we must work all + the same. So I mounted the scaffolding. + We had already built the house to the fourth + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page156" name="page156"></a>156</span>story, and I began to place my mortar. Suddenly + I felt some one strike me on the shoulder. + It was Philip. He only worked now + when the inclination seized him, and he was + apparently putting in a day’s work to get + something to drink; but the builder, having + a forfeit to pay if the building was not finished + by a certain date, accepted the first-comers.</p> + + + + <h3>V.</h3> + + <p>“I had not seen Philip for a long time, + and it was with difficulty that I recognized + him. Burned and fevered by brandy, his + beard gray, his hands trembling, he was + more than an old man—he was a ruin.</p> + + <p>“‘Well,’ I said to him, ‘the boy has drawn + a bad number.’</p> + + <p>“‘What of it?’ he replied, with an angry + look. ‘Are you going to worry me about + that, too, like Catherine and Camille? The + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page157" name="page157"></a>157</span>boy will do as others have done: he will + serve his country. I know what worries + them, both my wife and son. If I were dead + he would not have to go. But, so much the + worse for them, I am still solid at my post, + and Camille is not the son of a widow.’</p> + + <p>“The son of a widow! Ah, monsieur le + curé, why did he use that unhappy phrase? + The evil thought came to me at once, and it + never quitted me all the morning that I + worked at the wretch’s side. I imagined all + that she was about to suffer—poor Catherine!—when + she no longer had her son to care for + and protect her, and she must be alone with + the miserable drunkard, now completely brutalized, + ugly, and capable of anything. A + neighboring clock struck eleven, and the + workmen all descended to lunch. We remained + until the last, Philip and I, but in + stepping on the ladder to descend, he turned + to me with a leer, and said, in his hoarse, + dissipated voice:</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page158" name="page158"></a>158</span>“‘You see, steady as a sailor; Camille is + not nearly the son of a widow.’</p> + + <p>“The blood mounted to my head. I was + beside myself. I seized with both hands + the rounds of the ladder to which Philip + clung shouting ‘Help!’ and with a single + effort I toppled it over.</p> + + <p>“He was instantly killed—by an accident, + they said—and now Camille is the son of a + widow and need not go.</p> + + <p>“That is what I have done, monsieur le + curé, and what I want to tell to you and to + the good God. I repent, I ask pardon, of + course; but I must not see Catherine in her + black dress, happy on the arm of her son, or + I could not regret my crime. To prevent + that I will emigrate—I will lose myself in + America. As to my penance—see, monsieur + le curé, here is the little cross of gold that + Catherine refused when she told me that she + was in love with Philip. I have always kept + it, in memory of the only happy days that I + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page159" name="page159"></a>159</span>ever knew in my life. Take it and sell it. + Give the money to the poor.”</p> + + <p class="post_thought_break">Jack rose absolved by the Abbé Faber.</p> + + <p>One thing is certain, and that is that the + priest never sold the little cross of gold. + After having paid its price into the Treasury + of the Church, he hung the jewel, as an <i>ex-voto</i>, + on the altar of the chapel of the Virgin, + where he often went to pray for the poor + mason.</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig172.jpg" alt="Two men carry a draped coffin." /> + </div> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page160" name="page160"></a>160</span></p> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_8" class="tale"> + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page161" name="page161"></a>161</span>THE SABOTS OF LITTLE WOLFF.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page162" name="page162"></a>162</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page163" name="page163"></a>163</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig176.jpg" alt="A pair of wooden shoes." title="The Sabots of little Wolff. A Christmas Story." /> + </div> + + <p>Once upon a time—it was so long ago that + the whole world has forgotten the date—in + a city in the north of Europe—whose name + is so difficult to pronounce that nobody remembers + it—once upon a time there was a + little boy of seven, named Wolff, an orphan + in charge of an old aunt who was hard and + avaricious, who only embraced him on New-Year’s + Day, and who breathed a sigh of regret + every time that she gave him a porringer + of soup.</p> + + <p>But the poor little chap was naturally so + good that he loved the old woman just the + same, although she frightened him very + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page164" name="page164"></a>164</span>much, and he could never see without trembling + the great wart, ornamented with four + gray hairs, which she had on the end of her + nose.</p> + + <p>As the aunt of Wolff was known through + all the village to have a house and an old + stocking full of gold, she did not dare send + her nephew to the school for the poor. But + she so schemed to obtain a reduction of the + price with the school-master whose school + little Wolff attended, that the bad teacher, + vexed at having a scholar so badly dressed + and who paid so poorly, punished him very + often and unjustly with the backboard and + fool’s cap, and even stirred his fellow-pupils + against him, all sons of well-to-do men, who + made the orphan their scapegoat.</p> + + <p>The poor little fellow was therefore as + miserable as the stones in the street, and hid + himself in out-of-the-way corners to cry; + when Christmas came.</p> + + <p>The night before Christmas the school-master + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page165" name="page165"></a>165</span>was to take all of his pupils to the + midnight mass, and bring them back to their + homes.</p> + + <p>Now, as the winter was very severe that + year, and as for several days a great quantity + of snow had fallen, the scholars came to + the rendezvous warmly wrapped and bundled + up, with fur caps pulled down over + their ears, double and triple jackets, knitted + gloves and mittens, and good thick nailed + boots with strong soles. Only little Wolff + came shivering in the clothes that he wore + week-days and Sundays, and with nothing + on his feet but coarse Strasbourg socks and + heavy sabots, or wooden shoes.</p> + + <p>His thoughtless comrades made a thousand + jests over his sad looks and his peasant’s + dress. But the orphan was so occupied + in blowing on his fingers, and suffered so + much from his chilblains, that he took no notice + of them; and the troop of boys, with the + master at their head, started for the church.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page166" name="page166"></a>166</span><img class="figleft" src="images/fig179.jpg" alt="A little boy blows on his hands." /> + It was fine in the church, which was resplendent + with wax-candles; and the scholars, + excited by the pleasant warmth, profited + by the noise of the organ and the singing to + talk to each other in a low voice. They + boasted of the fine suppers that were waiting + for them at home. The son of the + burgomaster had seen, before he went out, + a monstrous goose that the truffles marked + with black spots like a leopard. At the + house of the first citizen there was a little + fir-tree in a wooden box, from whose branches + hung oranges, sweetmeats, and toys. And + the cook of the first citizen had pinned behind + her back the two strings of her cap, as + she only did on her days of inspiration when + she was sure of succeeding with her famous + sugar-candy. And then the scholars spoke, + too, of what the Christ-child would bring to + them, of what he would put in their shoes, + which they would, of course, be very careful + to leave in the chimney before going to bed. + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page167" name="page167"></a>167</span>And the eyes of those little chaps, lively as + a parcel of mice, sparkled in advance with + the joy of seeing in their imagination pink + paper bags of burnt almonds, lead soldiers + drawn up in battalions in their boxes, menageries + smelling of varnished wood, and magnificent + jumping-jacks covered with purple + and bells.</p> + + <p>Little Wolff knew very well by experience + that his old miserly aunt would send him + supperless to bed. But in the simplicity of + his soul, and knowing that he had been all + the year as good and industrious as possible, + he hoped that the Christ-child would not + forget him, and he, too, looked eagerly forward + by-and-by to putting his wooden shoes + in the ashes of the fireplace.</p> + + <p>The midnight mass concluded, the faithful + went away, anxious for supper, and the + band of scholars, walking two by two after + their teacher, left the church.</p> + + <p>Now, under the porch, sitting on a stone + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page168" name="page168"></a>168</span>seat under a Gothic niche, a child was sleeping—a + child covered by a robe of white linen, + and whose feet were bare, notwithstanding + the cold. He was not a beggar, for his robe + was new and nice, and near him on the + ground were seen, lying in a cloth, a square, + a hatchet, a pair of compasses, and the other + tools of a carpenter’s apprentice. <img class="figleft" src="images/fig181.jpg" alt="A boy wrapped in cloth, sleeping in a niche. He has a halo and bare feet. A wooden shoe is on the ground before him." />Under + the light of the stars, his face, with its closed + eyes, bore an expression of divine sweetness, + and his long locks of golden + hair seemed like an <i>auréole</i> + about his head. But + the child’s feet, blue in + the cold of that December + night, were sad to see.</p> + + <p>The scholars, so well + clothed and shod for the + winter, passed heedlessly + before the unknown child. + One of them, even, the son + of one of the principal + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page169" name="page169"></a>169</span>men in the village, looked at the waif with + an expression in which could be seen all the + scorn of the rich for the poor, the well-fed + for the hungry.</p> + + <p>But little Wolff, coming the last out of the + church, stopped, full of compassion, before + the beautiful sleeping infant.</p> + + <p>“Alas!” said the orphan to himself, “it is + too bad: this poor little one going barefoot + in such bad weather. But what is worse than + all, he has not to-night even a boot or a wooden + shoe to leave before him while he sleeps, + so that the Christ-child could put something + there to comfort him in his misery.”</p> + + <p>And, carried away by the goodness of his + heart, little Wolff took off the wooden shoe + from his right foot, and laid it in front of + the sleeping child; and then, as best he + could, limping along on his poor blistered + foot and dragging his sock through the + snow, he went back to his aunt’s.</p> + + <p>“Look at the worthless fellow!” cried his + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page170" name="page170"></a>170</span>aunt, full of anger at his return without one + of his shoes. “What have you done with + your wooden shoe, little wretch?”</p> + + <p>Little Wolff did not know how to deceive, + and although he was shaking with terror at + seeing the gray hairs bristle up on the nose + of the angry woman, he tried to stammer + out some account of his adventure.</p> + + <p>But the old woman burst into a frightful + peal of laughter.</p> + + <p>“Ah, monsieur takes off his shoes for + beggars! Ah, monsieur gives away his wooden + shoe to a barefoot! That is something + new for example! Ah, well, since that is so, + I am going to put the wooden shoe which + you have left in the chimney, and I promise + you the Christ-child will leave there to-night + something to whip you with in the morning. + And you shall pass the day to-morrow on + dry bread and water. We will see if next + time you give away your shoes to the first + vagabond that comes.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page171" name="page171"></a>171</span>And the wicked woman, after having given + the poor boy a couple of slaps, made him + climb up to his bed in the attic. Grieved + to the heart, the child went to bed in the + dark, and soon went to sleep on his pillow + steeped with tears.</p> + + <p>But on the morrow morning, when the old + woman, awakened by the cold and shaken + by her cough, went down stairs—oh, wonderful + sight!—she saw the great chimney full + of beautiful playthings, and sacks of magnificent + candies, and all sorts of good things; + and before all these splendid things the + right shoe, that her nephew had given to the + little waif, stood by the side of the left shoe, + that she herself had put there that very + night, and where she meant to put a birch-rod.</p> + + <p>And as little Wolff, running down to learn + the meaning of his aunt’s exclamation, stood + in artless ecstasy before all these splendid + Christmas presents, suddenly there were loud + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page172" name="page172"></a>172</span>cries of laughter out-of-doors. The old + woman and the little boy went out to know + what it all meant, and saw all the neighbors + gathered around the public fountain. What + had happened? Oh, something very amusing + and very extraordinary. The children + of all the rich people of the village, those + whose parents had wished to surprise them + by the most beautiful gifts, had found only + rods in their shoes.</p> + + <p>Then the orphan and the old woman, + thinking of all the beautiful things that were + in their chimney, were full of amazement. + But presently they saw the curé coming with + wonder in his face. Above the seat, placed + near the door of the church, at the same + place where in the evening a child, clad in a + white robe, and with feet bare notwithstanding + the cold, had rested his sleeping head, + the priest had just seen a circle of gold incrusted + with precious stones.</p> + + <p>And they all crossed themselves devoutly, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page173" name="page173"></a>173</span>comprehending that the beautiful sleeping + child, near whom were the carpenter’s tools, + was Jesus of Nazareth in person, become + for an hour such as he was when he worked + in his parents’ house, and they bowed themselves + before that miracle that the good + God had seen fit to work, to reward the + faith and charity of a child.</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig186.jpg" alt="Snowy rooftops, the church above all, and the moon shining behind." /> + </div> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page174" name="page174"></a>174</span></p> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_9" class="tale"> + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page175" name="page175"></a>175</span>THE FOSTER SISTER.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page176" name="page176"></a>176</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page177" name="page177"></a>177</span></p> + + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig190.jpg" alt="Two adults and two children eat at a table." title="The Foster Sister" /> + </div> + + + <h3>I.</h3> + + <p>Sitting in her office at the end of the + shop, shut off from it by glass windows, pretty + Madame Bayard, in a black gown and + with her hair in sober braids, was writing + steadily in an enormous ledger with leather + corners, while her husband, following his + morning custom, stopped at the door to + scold his workmen, who had not finished + unloading a dray from the Northern Railway, + which blocked the road, and carried to + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page178" name="page178"></a>178</span>the druggist of the Rue + Vieille du Temple a dozen + casks of glucose.</p> + + <p><img class="figleft" src="images/fig191.jpg" alt="A woman writes in a large book on an angled desk." />“I have bad news to + tell you,” said Madame + Bayard, sticking her pen + in a cup of leaden shot, + when her husband had + entered the glass cage. + “Poor Voisin is dead.”</p> + + <p>“The nurse of Leon? Poor woman! And + her little daughter?”</p> + + <p>“That is the saddest part, my dear. A + relative of poor Voisin writes me that they + are too poor to take charge of the child, and + she must be sent to an orphan asylum.”</p> + + <p>“Oh, those peasants!”</p> + + <p>The druggist was silent for a moment, + rubbing his thick blond beard; then suddenly + looking at his wife with kindly eyes:</p> + + <p>“Say, Mimi, the child is the foster sister + of our Leon. Suppose we give her a home?”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page179" name="page179"></a>179</span>“I should think so,” was the quiet reply + of the pretty wife.</p> + + <p>“Well done,” cried Bayard, as, caring little + if he were seen by his clerks and store-boys, + he leaned towards his wife and kissed + her forehead, “well done! you’re a good + woman, Mimi. We will take little Norine + with us, and bring her up with Leon. That + won’t ruin us, eh? Besides, I have just made + a good stroke in quinine. We will go after + the child Sunday to Argenteuil, sha’n’t we?”</p> + + <p>“We will make that our Sunday excursion.”</p> + + + <h3>II.</h3> + + <p>Good people, these Bayards; an honor to + the drug trade. Their marriage had united + two houses which had been for a long time + rivals; for Bayard was the son of <i>The Silver + Pill</i>, founded by his great-great-grandfather + in 1756 in the Rue Vieille du Temple, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page180" name="page180"></a>180</span>and had espoused the daughter of the <i>Offering + to Esculapius</i>, of the Rue des Lombards, + an establishment which dated from the First + Empire, as was shown by the sign, copied + from the celebrated painting of Guérin. + Honest people, excellent people—and there + are many more, like them, whatever folks + may say, among the older Paris houses, conservators + of old traditions; going to the second + tier, on Sunday, at the opera comique, + and ignorant of false weights and measures. + It was the curé of Blancs-Manteaux who had + managed that marriage with his confrère of + Saint-Merry. The first had ministered at + the death-bed of the elder Bayard, and was + dismayed to see a young man of twenty-five + all alone in a house so gloomy as that of <i>The + Silver Pill</i>, justly famed for its ipecac; and + the second was anxious to establish Mademoiselle + Simonin, to whom he had administered + her first communion, and whose father + was one of his most important parishioners, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page181" name="page181"></a>181</span>old Simonin of the <i>Offering to Esculapius</i>, + celebrated for its camphor. The negotiations + were successful; camphor and ipecac, + two excellent specialties, were united in the + holy bonds of matrimony, there was a dinner + and ball at the Grand Véfour, and now for + ten years, tranquilly working every day, summer + and winter, in her glass cage, Madame + Bayard, with her pale brown face and her + plaited hair, had smitten the hearts of all + the young clerks of the quarter Sainte-Croix + de la Bretonnerie.</p> + + <p>And yet for a long time there had been a + disappointment in that happy household, a + cloud in that bright sky. An heir was wanted, + and it was five years before little Leon + came into the world. One can imagine with + what joy he was received. Now one day + they might write over the door of <i>The Silver + Pill</i> these words, “Bayard & Son.” But as + the infant arrived at the time of a boom in + isinglass, Madame Bayard, whose presence + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page182" name="page182"></a>182</span>in the shop was indispensable, could not + think of nursing him. She even gave up the + idea of taking a nurse in the house, fearing + for the new-born the close air of that corner + of old Paris, and contented herself with taking + every Sunday with her husband a little + excursion to Argenteuil to see her son with + his nurse Voisin, who was overwhelmed with + coffee, sugar, soap, and other dainties. At + the end of eighteen months Mother Voisin + brought back the baby in a magnificent + state, and for two years a child’s nurse, + chosen with great care, had taken the child + out for his airings in the square of the Tour + Saint-Jacques, and had exhibited for the admiration + of her companion-nurses, the pouting + lips, the high color, and the dimpled + back of the future druggist.</p> + + <p>And now these good Bayards, learning of + the death of Mother Voisin, could not bear + the thought that the little girl who had been + nourished at the same breast with their boy + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page183" name="page183"></a>183</span>should be abandoned to public charity, so + they went to Argenteuil for Norine.</p> + + <p>Poor little one! Since the fifteen days + that her mother slept in the cemetery she had + been taken charge of by a cousin who kept + a billiard-saloon; and though she was not + yet five years old, she had been put to work + washing the beer-glasses.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig196.jpg" alt="Two men sit drinking at a table." /> + </div> + + <p>The Bayards found her charming, with + great eyes as blue as the summer sun, and + her thick blond tresses escaping from her + ugly black bonnet. Leon, who had been + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page184" name="page184"></a>184</span>brought with his nurse, embraced his foster + sister; and the cousin, who that very morning + had boxed the orphan’s ears for negligence + in sweeping out the hall, appeared + before the Parisians to be as much touched + as if parting with Norine was a heart-breaking + affair.</p> + + <p>The order for an ample breakfast restored + his serenity.</p> + + <p>It was a beautiful Sunday in June, and + they were in the country—“an occasion + which should be improved,” declared Bayard, + “by taking the air; shouldn’t it, Mimi?”</p> + + <p>And while pretty Madame Bayard, having + pinned up her skirts, went out with the children + and the nurse to pick flowers in a neighboring + field, the druggist, who was less ambitious, + treated the saloon-keeping cousin + to a glass of vermouth, seated at the billiard-table, + which was covered with dead flies. + They breakfasted under a vineless arbor, + which the hot noonday sun riddled with its + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page185" name="page185"></a>185</span>rays. But what of that? They were pleased + and contented all the same. Madame Bayard + had hung her hat on the lattice; and + her husband, wearing a bargeman’s straw + helmet, which had been lent to him by the + saloon-keeper, cut up the duck in the best + of spirits. Little Leon and Norine, who + had immediately become the best of friends, + emptied the salad-bowl of its cream-cheese. <img class="figright" src="images/fig198.jpg" alt="A woman and a girl in tall grass." /> + Then they all romped in the grass, went + boating on the stream, and, intoxicated with + the fresh country air, the + indwellers of the city, + coming from the close + Paris streets, pushed to + its fullest extreme this + idyl in the fashion of + Paul de Kock.</p> + + <p>For, yes; there was a + moment, as they came + back in the boat, in a + delicious sunset, when + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page186" name="page186"></a>186</span>tinted clouds floated in a glowing sky, when + Madame Bayard—the serious Madame Bayard—whose + frown turned to stone the shop-boys + of the druggist, sang the air called + “To the Shores of France,” to the rhythmic + fall of the oars, plied by her husband in his + shirt-sleeves. They dined in the arbor where + they had breakfasted, but the second repast + was a shade less happy. The night-moths, + which dashed in to burn themselves at the + candles, frightened the children; and Madame + Bayard was so tired that she could + not even guess the simple rebus on her dessert + napkin.</p> + + <p>Never mind; it has been a good day; and + on their return in a first-class carriage—this + was not a time for petty economies—Madame + Bayard, with her head on her husband’s + shoulder, watching Leon and Norine, + limp with sleep on the lap of the nurse, half + asleep herself, murmured to her husband, in + a happy voice:</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page187" name="page187"></a>187</span>“See, Ferdinand; we have done well to + take the little one. She will be a comrade + for Leon. They will be like brother and + sister.”</p> + + + + <h3>III.</h3> + + <p>In fact, they did thus grow up together.</p> + + <p>They were most kind-hearted people, these + Bayards. They made no difference between + the humble orphan and their own dear boy, + who would one day in the firm of “Bayard + & Son” work monopolies in rhubarb and + corners in castor-oil; indeed, they loved as + their own child little Norine, who was as intelligent + as she was charming, as fair in mind + as she was delicate in body.</p> + + <p>Now the nurse took the two children to + the square of the Tour Saint-Jacques when + the weather was pleasant, and in the evening + at the family table there were two high-chairs + side by side for the boy and his foster + sister.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page188" name="page188"></a>188</span>In addition to which, the Bayards were + not slow to perceive the good influence which + Norine had upon Leon. Quicker, of a more + nervous temperament, more easy of comprehension + than the lymphatic boy, whose wits + were “wool-gathering,” according to his father, + she seemed to communicate to him + something of her own spirit and fire. “She + jogs him up,” said Madame Bayard.</p> + + <p>And since he had lived with his foster + sister Leon had perceptibly grown brighter + and quicker. When they were of an age to + learn to read, Leon, who made but little + progress, and stumbled along with one of + those alphabets with pictures where the letter + E is by the side of an elephant and the + letter Z by the side of a zouave, was the despair + of his mother. But as soon as Norine, + who in a very short time learned to spell + and read, came to the aid of the little man, + he immediately made rapid progress.</p> + + <p>So things went on, until both children + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page189" name="page189"></a>189</span>were sent to a school for little children kept + by a gentlewoman named Merlin, in the Rue + de l’Homme Armé.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig202.jpg" alt="A boy and a girl hold hands and walk to school." /> + </div> + + <p class="continued">According to the fallacious + circular which Mademoiselle Merlin + sent to the folks of the quarter, there was a + garden—that is to say, four broomsticks in + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page190" name="page190"></a>190</span>a sandy court; and it was there, the first + day during recess, that the innocent Leon + burst into cries of terror when he saw the + school-mistress, forced by some accident to + interrupt her knitting, stick one of her great + knitting-needles in her capacious head-dress. + A “senior,” who was more familiar with her + head-dress, explained the phenomenon in + vain to Leon and Norine, for the boy, none + the less, preserved in the presence of Mademoiselle + Merlin an impression of superstitious + terror.</p> + + <p>She would have paralyzed his infant faculties, + and have prevented him in the class + from following the pointer of Mademoiselle + Merlin, as she sniffled through her sing-song + lecture before the map of Europe, or the + table of weights and measures, if Norine + had not been there to reassure and encourage + him. She was at once the first scholar + in the school, and became for slow and lazy + Leon a sort of sisterly counsellor and affectionate + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page191" name="page191"></a>191</span>under-teacher. Towards four o’clock + Madame Bayard had the two children, whom + the nurse had brought back to the store, + placed near her in the glass office; and Norine, + opening a copy-book or a book, explained + to Leon the uncomprehended task + or made him repeat the lesson that he had + not understood.</p> + + <p>“The good God has rewarded us,” Madame + Bayard sometimes whispered to her + husband in the evening. “That little Norine + is a treasure, and so good, so industrious! + Only to-day I listened to her helping + Leon again. I believe that without her he + would never have learned the multiplication-table.”</p> + + <p>“I believe you, Mimi,” responded Bayard. + “I have observed it. Things go on marvellously + well with us, and we will portion her + and marry her, shall we not, when she comes + to a suitable age?”</p> + + <h3><span class="pagenum"><a id="page192" name="page192"></a>192</span>IV.</h3> + + <p>Age comes—ah, how fast age comes! And + behold! now in the glass cage of the shop + there is a slender and beautiful young girl + sitting at the side of Madame Bayard, who + already shows some silver threads in her + black bands. It is Norine now who writes + in the great ledger with leather corners, while + her adopted mother plies her needles on + some embroidery.</p> + + <p>Seven o’clock! Time that they came + home, and the shop must be closed against + the November wind which is twisting and + turning the flames of the gas-jets.</p> + + <p>Look at them now: Bayard grown stout, + portly, and covered with trinkets, while Leon, + who has just entered the first class in pharmacy, + has actually become a fine-looking + young fellow.</p> + + <p>“Good-day, Mimi; good-day, Norine! Let + us go right in to dinner. I will tell you all + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page193" name="page193"></a>193</span>the news while we are eating the soup,” said + the druggist.</p> + + <p>They went up to the dining-room, and + while Madame Bayard, sitting under a barometer + in the shape of a lyre, served the + thick soup, Bayard, tucking his napkin in his + vest and regarding his wife with a knowing + look, said,</p> + + <p>“You know it is all right.”</p> + + <p>“The Forgets agree?”</p> + + <p>“Exactly; and Leon will espouse Hortense + in six months, and our daughter-in-law will + come and live with us. Yes, Norine, you + have known nothing about it, because one + does not speak of such things before young + girls; but for more than a year Leon has + been in love with Hortense Forget, and has + been teasing us to arrange the marriage—not + such a difficult thing after all, since it + only required a word. Leon is a good catch. + The only difficulty was that we wanted to + keep our son with us. At last it is all arranged, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page194" name="page194"></a>194</span>and your foster brother will have the + wife he wants. I hope you are pleased.”</p> + + <p>“Very much pleased,” replied Norine.</p> + + <p>Oh, deaf and blind! They never heard the + voice of Norine when she replied to them—that + low, pathetic tone, which is the echo of + a broken heart. Nor did they see how pale + she became, and that her head, suddenly + grown heavy, swayed from side to side as if + Norine were about to faint. They saw nothing, + comprehended nothing; and for a long + time they had seen and comprehended nothing. + Yet they dearly loved this Norine, who + was the grace, the charm of the house. They + dreamed, these good people, of marrying her + one of these days to their head-clerk, a widower + of prudent and economical habits, and + “all that is necessary to make a woman happy.” + Leon loved her, too, with all his heart; + but as a dear, good sister. Nor did the great + spoiled boy suspect that Norine loved him, + and suffered from her love—aye, to death + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page195" name="page195"></a>195</span>itself. No; even that evening, when they had + unconsciously inflicted upon her the worst + of torture, they never suspected the truth; + and they would sleep peacefully, indulging + in beautiful dreams of the future, at the very + hour when, shut in her chamber—the chamber + separated by such a thin partition from + that of her adopted parents—Norine would + fall upon her bed, fainting with grief, and + bury her head in her pillow to stifle her + sobs.</p> + + + + <h3>V.</h3> + + <p>The ball is finished; and in the empty + rooms the candles, burned to the very end, + have broken some of the sconces and the + fragments lie upon the waxed floors.</p> + + <p>The Bayards have insisted that the wedding + should be celebrated at their house; + but by the aid of many flowers (it is midsummer) + they have given a holiday appearance + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page196" name="page196"></a>196</span>to the apartment in the Rue Vieille du + Temple where they have triumphantly installed + their daughter-in-law.</p> + + <p>At last it is finished; the young couple + have retired to their nuptial chamber, where + Madame Bayard has gone for a moment + with them. Coming out she found Norine + still in the little salon, helping the servants + extinguish the lights. She embraced the + young girl tenderly, saying,</p> + + <p>“Go to bed, my child. You must be very + tired.” And she added, with a smile, “Well, + it will be your turn before long.”</p> + + <p>And Norine was at last alone in the room, + now so gloomy, and lighted only by her single + candle resting on the piano.</p> + + <p>Heavens! how heavy was the odor of the + flowers, and how her head ached.</p> + + <p>Ah, that horrible day! What torment she + had endured since the moment when she + knelt, impressed into service as a lady’s-maid, + with pins in her lips, at the feet of + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page197" name="page197"></a>197</span>her rival Hortense, and arranged + her white satin train, + to the hour when Leon, + holding his wife by the + waist, drew her towards her, + Norine, and the lips of the + young couple met almost + upon her very forehead!<img class="figright" src="images/fig210.jpg" alt="A young woman picks flowers." /></p> + + <p>Oh, the odor of the flowers + is insupportable, and she + is so giddy and faint.</p> + + <p>She fell upon a sofa, unnerved + by a frightful headache, + her head thrown back, clasping her + forehead with her two hands, but with open + eyes staring always at the door—the door + of that chamber which was shut upon the + young couple, closed upon the mystery which + was breaking her heart. A sort of delirium + overwhelmed her. How the heavy perfume + of those flowers overpowered her, and how + a thousand memories assailed her at once. + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page198" name="page198"></a>198</span>She was a child again in the saloon at Argenteuil, + and the kind Parisians came and + caressed her. She was embraced by the + dear little boy wearing a white plume in his + hat. Rapid pictures flashed upon her soul. + The <i>pension</i> of the Rue de l’Homme Armé, + and Mademoiselle Merlin, with her knitting-needle + stuck in her head-dress, pointed with + the end of her stick to the table of weights + and measures. The drug-store on Sundays, + all dark, the shutters closed, and she playing + catch with Leon among the barrels and sacks.</p> + + <p>Good God! was she losing her head? She + could not help humming that waltz, during + which Leon once held her in his arms. She + was stifled. Oh, the flowers! She must go + out, or at least open a window. But she + could not rise; her strength had deserted + her. Could she die thus? Two iron fingers + seemed to be pressing her temples. Oh, the + roses and the orange-flowers—those orange-flowers + above all!</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page199" name="page199"></a>199</span>At last she made a great effort. She rose + upright and pale—pale as her white robe. + But suddenly her strength left her, and falling + first upon her knees, and then with her + head and shoulders upon the wood floor, + poor Norine lay stretched at the threshold + of the bridal chamber, killed by disappointed + love and by the flowers.</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig212.jpg" alt="A young woman lies on the ground next to a wicker chair." /> + </div> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page200" name="page200"></a>200</span></p> + + </div> + + <div id="tale_10" class="tale"> + <h2 class="tale_title"><span class="pagenum"><a id="page201" name="page201"></a>201</span>MY FRIEND MEURTRIER.</h2> + + <p><span class="pagenum blank_page"><a id="page202" name="page202"></a>202</span></p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page203" name="page203"></a>203</span></p> + <div class="figcenter first_picture"> + <img src="images/fig216.jpg" alt="A man walks down a quiet street." title="My Friend Meurtrier" /> + </div> + + <h3>I.</h3> + + <p>I was at one time employed in a government + office. Every day from ten o’clock + until four I became a voluntary prisoner + in a depressing office, adorned with yellow + pasteboard boxes, and filled with the musty + odor of old papers. There I lunched on + Italian cheese and apples which I roasted + at the grate. I read the morning papers, + even to the advertisements; I rhymed verses, + and I attended to the affairs of state to the + extent of drawing at the end of each month + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page204" name="page204"></a>204</span>a salary which barely kept me from starving.</p> + + <p>I recall to-day one of my companions in + captivity at that epoch.</p> + + <p>He was called Achille Meurtrier, and certainly + his fierce look and tall form seemed + to warrant that name. He was a great big + fellow, about forty years old, not too much + chest or shoulders, but who increased his + apparent size by wearing felt hats with wide + brims, ample and short coats, large plaid + trousers, and neckties of a sanguine red under + rolling collars. He wore a full beard, + long hair, and was very proud of his hairy + hands.</p> + + <p>The chief boast of Meurtrier, otherwise + the best and most amiable of companions, + was to trifle with an athletic constitution, to + possess the biceps of a prize-fighter, and, as + he said himself, not to know his own strength. + He never made a gesture, even in the exercise + of his peaceful profession, that did not + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page205" name="page205"></a>205</span>have for its object to convince the spectators + of his prodigious vigor. Did he have to + take from its case a half-empty pasteboard + box, he advanced towards the shelf with the + heavy step of a street porter, grasped the + box solidly with a tight hand, and carried it + with a stiff arm as far as the next table, with + a shrugging of shoulders and frowning of + brow worthy of Milo of Crotona. He carried + this manner so far that he never used + less apparent effort even to lift the lightest + objects, and one day when he held in his + right hand a basket of old papers I saw him + extend his left arm horizontally as if to make + a counterpoise to the tremendous weight.</p> + + <p>I ought to say that this robust creature + inspired me with a profound respect, for I + was then, even more than to-day, physically + weak and delicate, and in consequence filled + with admiration for that energetic physique + which I lacked.</p> + + <p>The conversations of Meurtrier were not + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page206" name="page206"></a>206</span>of a nature to diminish the admiration with + which he inspired me.</p> + + <p>In the summer, above all, on Monday + mornings, when we had returned to the office + after our Sunday holiday, he had an inexhaustible + fund of stories concerning his adventures + and feats of strength. After taking + off his felt-hat, his coat, and his vest, and + wiping the perspiration from his forehead + with the sleeve of his shirt, to indicate his + sanguine and ardent temperament, he would + thrust his hands deep in the pockets of his + trousers, and, standing near me in an attitude + of perpendicular solidity, begin a monologue + something as follows:</p> + + <p>“What a Sunday, my boy! Positively no + fatigue can lay me up. Think of it: yesterday + was the regatta at Joinville-le-Pont; at + six o’clock in the morning the rendezvous at + Bercy, at The Mariners, for the crew of the + <i>Marsouin</i>; the sun is up; a glass of white wine + and we jump into our rowing suits, seize an + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page207" name="page207"></a>207</span>oar and give way—one-two, one-two—as far + as Joinville; then overboard for a swim before + breakfast—strip to swimming drawers, a + jump overboard, and look out for squalls. + After my bath I have the appetite of a tiger. + Good! I seize the boat by one hand and I + call out, ‘Charpentier, pass me a small ham.’ + Three motions in one time and I have finished + it to the bone. ‘Charpentier, pass + me the brandy-flask.’ Three swallows and + it is empty.”</p> + + <p><img class="figright" src="images/fig220.jpg" alt="A bearded man stands with his hands in his pockets, feet wide apart." />So the description would continue—dazzling, + Homeric.</p> + + <p>“It is the hour for the regatta—noon—the + sun just overhead. + The boats draw up in line on + the sparkling river, before a tent + gaudy with streamers. On the + bank the mayor with his staff + of office, gendarmes in yellow + shoulder-belts, and a swarm of + summer dresses, open parasols, + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page208" name="page208"></a>208</span>and straw hats. Bang! the signal-gun is + fired. The <i>Marsouin</i> shoots ahead of all + her competitors and easily gains the prize—and + no fatigue! We go around Marne, + and, returning, dine at Créteil. How cool + the evening in the dusky arbor, where pipes + glow through the darkness, and moths singe + their wings in the flame of the <i>omelette au + kirsch</i>. At the end of a dessert, served on + decorated plates, we hear from the ball-room + the call of the cornet—‘Take places for the + quadrille!’ But already a rival crew, beaten + that same morning, has monopolized the + prettiest girls. A fight!—teeth broken, eyes + blackened, ugly falls, and whacks below the + belt; in a word, a poem of physical enthusiasm, + of noisy hilarity, of animal spirits, + without speaking of the return at midnight, + through crowded stations, with girls whom + we lift into the cars, friends separated calling + from one end of the train to the other, + and fellows playing a horn upon the roof.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page209" name="page209"></a>209</span>And the evenings of my astonishing companion + were not less full of adventure than + his Sundays. Collar-and-elbow wrestling + in a tent, under the red light of torches, between + him—simple amateur—and Du Bois, + the iron man, in person; rat-chases near + the mouths of sewers, with dogs as fierce as + tigers; sanguinary encounters at night, in + the most dangerous quarters, with ruffians + and nose-eaters, were the most insignificant + episodes of his nightly career. Nor do I + dare relate other adventures of a more intimate + character, from which, as the writers + of an earlier day would say in noble + style, a pen the least timorous would recoil + with horror.</p> + + <p>However painful it may be to confess an + unworthy sentiment, I am obliged to say + that my admiration for Meurtrier was not + unmixed with regret and bitterness. Perhaps + there was mingled with it something + of envy. But the recitation of his most marvellous + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page210" name="page210"></a>210</span>exploits had never awakened in me + the least feeling of incredulity, and Achille + Meurtrier easily took his place in my mind + among heroes and demigods, between Roland + and Pirithous.</p> + + + + <h3>II.</h3> + + <p>At this time I was a great wanderer in + the suburbs, and I occupied the leisure of + my summer evenings by solitary walks in + those distant regions, as unknown to the + Parisians of the boulevards as the country + of the Caribbees, and of whose sombre + charm I endeavored later to tell in verse.</p> + + <p>One evening in July, hot and dusty, at the + hour when the first gas-lights were beginning + to twinkle in the misty twilight, I was walking + slowly from Vaugirard through one of + those long and depressing suburban streets + lined on each side by houses of unequal + height, whose porters and porteresses, in + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page211" name="page211"></a>211</span>shirt sleeves and in calico, sat on the steps + and imagined that they were taking the fresh + air. Hardly any one passing in the whole + street; perhaps, from end to end, a mason, + white with plaster, a sergeant-de-ville, a child + carrying home a four-pound loaf larger than + himself, or a young girl hurrying on in hat + and cloak, with a leather bag on her arm; + and every quarter-hour the half-empty omnibus + coming back to its place of departure + with the heavy trot of its tired horses.</p> + + <p>Stumbling now and then on the pavement—for + asphalt is an unknown luxury in these + places—I went down the street, tasting all + the delights of a stroller. Sometimes I stopped + before a vacant lot to watch, through + the broken boards of the fence, the fading + glories of the setting sun and the black silhouettes + of the chimneys thrown against a + greenish sky. Sometimes, through an open + window on the ground-floor, I caught sight + of an interior, picturesque and familiar: here + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page212" name="page212"></a>212</span>a jolly-looking laundress holding her flat-iron + to her cheek; there workmen sitting at tables + and smoking in the basement of a cabaret, + while an old Bohemian with long gray + hair, standing before them, sang something + about “Liberty,” accompanying himself on + a guitar about the color of bouillon—the + scenes of Chardin and Van Ostade.</p> + + <p>Suddenly I stopped.</p> + + <p>One of these personal pictures had caught + my eye by its domestic and charming simplicity.</p> + + <p>She looked so happy and peaceful in her + quiet little room, the dear old lady in her + black gown and widow’s cap, leaning back + in an easy-chair covered with green Utrecht + velvet, and sitting quietly with her hands + folded on her lap. Everything around her + was so old and simple, and seemed to have + been preserved, less through a wise economy + than on account of hallowed memories, since + the honey-moon with monsieur of the high + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page213" name="page213"></a>213</span>complexion, in a frock-coat and flowered + waistcoat, whose oval crayon ornamented + the wall.</p> + + <div class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/fig226.jpg" alt="An old woman naps in a chair next to a piano." /> + </div> + + <p class="continued">By two lamps on the mantle-shelf + every detail of the old-fashioned furniture + could be distinguished, from the clock on a + fish of artificial and painted marble to the + old and antiquated piano, on which, without + doubt, as a young girl, in leg-of-mutton sleeves + and with hair dressed <i>à la Grecque</i>, she had + played the airs of Romagnesi.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page214" name="page214"></a>214</span>Certainly a loved and only daughter, remaining + unmarried through her affection for + her mother, piously watched over the last + years of the widow. It was she, I was sure, + who had so tenderly placed her dear mother; + she who had put the ottoman under her + feet, she who had put near her the inlaid table, + and arranged on it the waiter and two + cups. I expected already to see her coming + in carrying the evening coffee—the sweet, + calm girl, who should be dressed in mourning + like the widow, and resemble her very much.</p> + + <p>Absorbed by the contemplation of a scene + so sympathetic, and by the pleasure of imagining + that humble poem, I remained standing + some steps from the open window, sure + of not being noticed in the dusky street, + when I saw a door open and there appeared—oh, + how far he was from my thoughts at + that moment—my friend Meurtrier himself, + the formidable hero of tilts on the river and + frays in unknown places.</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page215" name="page215"></a>215</span>A sudden doubt crossed me. I felt that + I was on the point of discovering a mystery.</p> + + <p>It was indeed he. His terrible hairy + hand held a tiny silver coffee-pot, and he + was followed by a poodle which greatly embarrassed + his steps—a valiant and classic + poodle, the poodle of blind clarionet-players, + a poor beggar’s poodle, a poodle clipped like + a lion, with hairy ruffles on his four paws, + and a white mustache like a general of the + Gymnase.</p> + + <p>“Mamma,” said the giant, in a tone of ineffable + tenderness, “here is your coffee. I + am sure that you will find it nice to-night. + The water was boiling well, and I poured it + on drop by drop.”</p> + + <p>“Thank you,” said the old lady, rolling + her easy-chair to the table with an air; + “thank you, my little Achille. Your dear + father said many a time that there was not + my equal at making coffee—he was so kind + and indulgent, the dear, good man—but I + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page216" name="page216"></a>216</span>begin to believe that you are even better + than I.”</p> + + <p>At that moment, and while Meurtrier was + pouring out the coffee with all the delicacy + of a young girl, the poodle, excited no doubt + by the uncovered sugar, placed his forepaws + on the lap of his mistress.</p> + + <p>“Down, Médor,” she cried, with a benevolent + indignation. “Did any one ever see + such a troublesome animal? <img class="figleft" src="images/fig229.jpg" alt="A man in an apron pours liquid into a coffee pot." />Look here, + sir! you know very well that + your master never fails to give + you the last of his cup. By-the-way,” + added the widow, + addressing her son, “you have + taken the poor fellow out, have + you not?”</p> + + + <p>“Certainly, mamma,” he replied, + in a tone that was almost infantile. + “I have just been to the creamery for your + morning milk, and I put the leash and collar + on Médor and took him with me.”</p> + + <p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page217" name="page217"></a>217</span>“And he has attended to all his little + wants?”</p> + + <p>“Don’t be disturbed. He doesn’t want + anything.”</p> + + <p>Reassured on this point, important to canine + hygiene, the good dame drank her coffee, + between her son and her dog, who each + regarded her with an inexpressible tenderness.</p> + + <p>It was assuredly unnecessary to see or + hear more. I had already descried what a + peaceful family life—upright, pure, and devoted—my + friend Meurtrier hid under his + chimerical gasconades. But the spectacle + with which chance had favored me was at + once so droll and so touching that I could + not resist the temptation to watch for some + moments longer. That indiscretion sufficed + to show me the whole truth.</p> + + <p>Yes, this type of roisterers, who seemed to + have stepped from one of the romances of + Paul de Kock—this athlete, this despot of + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page218" name="page218"></a>218</span>bar-rooms and public-houses—performed + simply and courageously, in these lowly + rooms in the suburbs, the sublime duties of + a sister of charity. This intrepid oarsman + had never made a longer voyage than to + conduct his mother to mass or vespers every + Sunday. This billiard expert knew only how + to play bézique. This trainer of bull-dogs + was the submissive slave of a poodle. This + Mauvaise-Philibert was an Antigone.</p> + + <h3>III.</h3> + + <p>The next morning, on arriving at the office, + I asked Meurtrier how he had employed the + previous evening, and he instantly improvised, + without a moment’s hesitation, an account + of a sharp encounter on the boulevard + at two in the morning, when he had knocked + down with a single blow of his fist, having + passed his thumb through the ring of his + <span class="pagenum"><a id="page219" name="page219"></a>219</span>keys, a terrible street rough. I listened, + smiling ironically, and thinking to confound + him; but remembering how respectable a + virtue is which is hidden even under an absurdity, + I struck him amicably on the shoulder, + and said, with conviction:</p> + + <p>“Meurtrier, you are a hero!”</p> + + <div class="figcenter last_picture"> + <img src="images/fig232.jpg" alt="A pot on a stove." /> + </div> + + </div> + + <div id="end_matter"> + <!-- a place holder for the closing border --> + </div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Ten Tales, by François Coppée + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TEN TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 20380-h.htm or 20380-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/3/8/20380/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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