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CONTENTS IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON, THE MEMORARE, - . - THE GODFATHER, MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG, MALDONATA ; OR, THE GRATEFUL LIONESS, 9 64 77 110 138 Mp ing si under coven , atteiK Ithat, husba nient Mr euffici( Bums i lBituat( peacei tbe er Ihe ec ^e pe fcenth u ^ i 4uall< IDLENESS; Oh, THE DOUBLE LESSON. Mr. D'Olbar, a former colonel of artillery, after hav- ing shared in the perils and glories of the French arms, under the great Emperor, had retired from the service i covered with honorable scars, but still well able to attend to the affairs of his family. He well understood that, being again his own master, the serious duties of jhusband and father devolved on him, and to their fulfil- ment he cheerfully devoted himself. Mr. d'Olbar's fortune, though not large, was amply sufficient for his tastes and habits. Besides various Bums invested in the funds, he had a handsome property [ituate in Artois, his native province. It was in that peaceful retreat, for which he had so often sighed amid le endless bustle of the camp, that he presided over 16 education of his three sons, the eldest of whom, at the period of which we write, had just attained his fif- teenth year, and the youngest his tenth. A gentleman, named Deville, whose Christian virtues equalled his learning and accomplishments, had been 10 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. some time a resident in the family, and a voluntary sharer in Mr. d'Olbar's paternal cares. These two men, although neither of the same ago nor the same dis[)osi- tion, seemed to live in such perfect harmony, such inti- mato union, that each followed to the letter the line of conduct by both marked out for the education of the boys. Hence it was that the latter obeyed Mr. Deville's orders as they did their father^s; they knew that the slightest disobedience towards him would be severely chastised, and their lilial love, still more than their fear of correc- tion, made them docile and obedient. Moreover, the colonel exacted from his sons no respect for his friend, of which he did not himself constantly set the example. He was always ready to adopt his advice, and never spoke to him without a certain inflection of the voice which denoted his esteem and regard. This did not escape the keen observation of the boys, and, as Mr. d'Olbar was usually rather cool and reserved in his manners, they naturally suspected the existence of some mysterious bond which attached their father to Mr. Deville. Curiosity, in children, seldom stops at wishes or con- jectures ; it is continually on the alert till its end is obtained, and often induces them to resort to means of which they are afterwards ashamed. As regards Mr. d'Olbar's sons, nothing of this kind was to be feared. Accustomed to confide everything to their father, they made up their minds to let him know the extent of their curiosity, and it was the eldest who took upon him to do it. A fortunate circumstance soon gave him an oppor- fro in j aiitary men, [jh inti- liiie 01 e boys. 5 orders lightest astised, correc- resj>ect mtly set s advice, ictiou of d. This ;, and, as ed in his J of some r to Mr. s or con- its cud is means of rards Mr. be feared, ther, they it of their him to do an oppor- I IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE tunity of doing it without appea intrusive. Mr. d'Olbar^s dwelling was situat from a large village named Blandec in summer oy our neighbors beyond st' of its proximity to the coast, from dozen leagues distant, but also on accoun ous uir and deliishtful situation. ;:Vr^A> It would be hard, indeed, to find a more charming or'"'" more varied landscape than here met the eye. Several mills, fed by limpid brooks, with their sluices and narrow bridges ; an ancient castle with its turrets ; handsome villas surrounded by graceful foliage ; snug farm-houses, whose straw-thatched roofs are covered with ivy and wild vine ; far-stretching meadows, where numerous flocks are grazing ; pretty white cottages with their neat garden-plots, scattered here and there — all this forms a tableau so picturesque and of such varied beauty, that no one can look upon this quiet nook without wishing to be one of its peaceful inhabitants. One side of this beautiful village is a warren, traver- sed all the way by a winding rivulet which seems to give a new charm to the verdant banks between which it flows. There, if one wishes to be alone with his thoughts, he may have solitude undisturbed ; he has only to leave the beaten path and climb a wooded hill frequented only by wild rabbits, and immediately he finds under the fohage a mossy hillock, where he can sit land muse at will, without fear of being seen by prying %yes. IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. This place, as favorable to the sports of youth as to the meditations of riper age, was often visited by the two friends with their pupils. The latter, with books and copy-books slung over their shoulders, fastened by a cord, their lunch under their arm, balls and marbles in their pocket, ran gambolling and jumping afbfr their father and his friend. Arriving about the middle of the pretty warren, they seated themselves on the verdant turf and began at once to study, the silence of the place alone interrupted by the murmur of the rivulet or the song of birds. They ap[)lied themselves, then, with the same assiduity, if not with equal ardor, to obtain a smile or kind word from their good father, or an approving nod from the grave Deville. Then followed a pleasant chat, with number- less questions put by the boys and answered with a view to their instruction by the two gentlemen. Then came the time for play, of which the boys, it need hardly be said, made right good use, and after an hour or two of active recreation, they returned home, where a kind mother welcomed the joyous band with a smile which enhanced the pleasures of the day. Tliere were times, however, when the domestic sky was obscured by clouds arising from certain faults which w^ere but too visible in Alphonse, the second son of Mr. d'Olbar. The boy was now fourteen, yet, notwithstand- ing all the care bestowed on him, he made little or no progress in his studies. With him, filial love had to struggle with an indolence which he himself believed insurmountable, because it too often prevailed over his 1 let us 1 on th( 1 we ha 1 intima m to tell m "T IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 13 I, they ,t once ted by They if not d from grave umber- a view 3oys, it fter au home, with a s 5tic sky which of Mr. thstand- e or no had to believed over his very best resolutions. Thus, when, overcome in his unceasing struggle, he incurred a reprimand or was deprived of a caress, the poor lad was so discouraged, so utterly dejected that he could not join his brothers in their sports, and returned to the house with a swelling heart. One of these unlucky days, when Alphonse, more than usually dejected, sat under one of the aged willows which overhung the streamlet already mentioned, Alfred, his elder brother, wishing to divert him, approached and said to him : " Since you're not in hnmor of playing to-day, Alphonse, let us go back to father, where he is walking alone yonder on the hill, you see Mr. Deville is not with him, and so we have a good chance to ask him how he came to be so intimate with our second mentor. Perhaps he may agree to tell us." "I dare not," replied Alphonse, "my lessons were badly learned, and my exercise detestable. Father looked at me as though he was both angry and sorry. That look pierced my heart, for it made me feel how very wicked I am in giving way to that cursed idleness which yet I can't get over." '' Bah !" said Alfred, in a tone half jest, half earnest, "when one knows his energy it only wants a little cour- age to get the better of him. Come along now, and I'll help you to struggle against this idleness which frightens you so. I promise you I'll give it some good thumps now and then which will soon send it about its business. After all, now, come to look at you, I don't think my aid 14 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. will be necessary : repentance, they say, is a door open to all good sentiments ; here you are on the high-road to it, and have only to walk straight before you : hereafter you will follow the dictates of your own heart, and the enemy will be overcome." So saying, Alfred pressed his brother's hand affection- ately, then, calHng Gustave, their youngest brother, he took them to his father, and presented a double petition in such persuasive terms that not only was Alphonse received back into favor, but their good father consented to make them acquainted with the particulars of his con- nection with Mr. Deville. " Yes, my children,'' said he, regarding each in turn with lively emotion ; "yes, I will willingly explain to you the extent of my gratitude to the friend to whom I owe my happiness. Were it not for him, I should be now one of that multitude of ignorant creatures who know nothing i)f the duties imposed on them by God, nor should I have the happy faculty of instructing you in the various branches of knowledge necessary for your future prosper- ity in life. "Alphonse, it is to you especially that my story may be profital)le. Like you, I was addicted to that odious idleness over which you were just now crying so bitterly. my dear son ' you know not the miseries of which it may be the source. I might cite a tliousand terrilit examples, but I hope my own will suffice to convince you on this point, and to give you, at last, the strength to overcome a vice which, at the very least, exposes us to contempt." IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 15 enemy Section- > her, he petition Iphonse Hisented his con- in turn n to you m I owe now one ' nothing d I have I various prosper- :,ory may at odious bitterly. whlcli it d terrific v'ince you rength to )ses us to After these words, which Alphonse heard with inex- pressible emotion, Mr. d'Olbar paused a moment, then commenced his story in the following terms : "My father," said he, "was, like myself, an officer retired from the service, having little to boast of, how- ever, except his virtues, his noble birth, and a small property now included in my estate. He had a trifling pension which he lost at the revolution of 1789. " Being married and the fatho'r of two children, and employment being extremely difficult to procure at that disastrous period, he courageously resolved to support his family by the sweat of his brow, since nothing else was left them. Hiding then, his old sword, his parchments and his cross of St. Louis, won on the field of honor, he not only applied himself to cultivate his own little farm, but hired out his services to others who required his assistance. "The courage and endurance necessary for the dis- charge of duties so painful and so laborious, he derived from that sacred love of wife and children which inspires man with such heroic devotion. Nevertheless he gradu- ally fell into a state of hopeless dejection, which ^t times he found it difficult to (conceal at home. " The birth of a third child increased the expense of our little household where want began at times to show its hideous face, especially when bad weather prevented my fatlier from going to wo^k. Then I saw the silent tear trickling from my mother's eyes, and, without know- ing why, I wept too and clung to her more closely. " Boys," continued Mr. d'Olbar, looking in turn at 16 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. each of his sons who were listening with the closest attention, ''boys, a kind Providence has hitherto saved you from the woes and miseries of poverty ; may it avert them them from you all your life ! May God, at the same time, give you a heart to feel for the woes and wants of others, and inspire you with that respect and compassion to which their sufferings entitle them. '* To return to my tale : My childhood, as you see, passed away gloomily enough in a home which was the abode of indigence. Yet notwithstanding that indigence, my excellent father neglected no means of procuring for me the elements of that instruction on which he founded his dearest hopes. ** A neighboring teacher, whose religious principles had withstood the shock of revolution which had convulsed all France, consented to admit me amongst his pupils for a very trifling remuneration. " I was then eight years old, with an excellent reten- tion and great facility of learning. Unhappily these precious gifts were nullified by much idleness and a total want of application. I succeeded nevertheless, thanks to the talents which nature had given me, in obtaining the first places amongst the young villagers, my schoolmates. Still my worthy teacher was far from being blind to my faults, for which he often rebuked me very sharply, and, indeed, he spared no pains to cure me of them. Hoping that as I grew older these faults might gradually disap- pear, he forbore tiny complaints that might grieve or annoy my parents, for the good man respected their mis- fortunes. ■S long unab or ni( two I as I sendii than tear, devot wouk towai shall reparj could remor "I were of wlj his art IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. n "Six years passed away thus. From my size and robust appearance, one would have taken me to be six- teen. I had the happiness of making my first Commu- nion. I wrote well, showed considerable talent for figures, and was well acquainted with the rudiments of Latin. Less would have sufficed to persuade my poor father that I could do much greater things with ease. He thought of sending me to study the classics at a famous college in the neighboring town. Alas ! this favorite project so long and so fondly cherished, he found himself wholly unable to carry out. At one time he thought of selling or mortgaging his little property, but reflecting that my two sisters had as much right to his paternal solicitude as I had, he renounced this, the only feasible means of sending me to college, and his despondency was greater than ever. "Ah I" continued Mr. d'Olbar, as he wiped away a tear, "if children only understood the love, the sublime devotion that exists in the heart of a father or a mother, would there be one found to show himself ungrateful towards them ? I think not ; and were it not that I shall subsequently have to tell you of the expiation and reparation of the faults of my youth, most certainly I could not bring myself to speak of them : shame and remorse would bury them forever. But to resume : " It was just when these harrassing cares about me were at their height in my father^s bosom, that a relative of whom the family had long lost sight suddenly made his appearance. "Mr. de Verval, my mother's brother, had escaped 18 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. the troubles of time, by flying to a foreign land. More fortunate than most of his companions in exile, he had been saved the trials and privations of emigration by contracting, in Vienna, an advantageous marriage, which secured to him an easy competence. Left a widower soon after, he was one of the first to obtain permission to return to France, and in due time he reached Paris, where he had many friends and relations. " In speaking to you, my children, of this maternal uncle, I would wish to confine myself to his good quali- ties and the favors he conferred on me ; but his stern and rugged temper had such an effect on years of my life that I cannot pass it over in silence. Mr. do Yerval was the coldest, and most arbitrary man I have ever known. There was no affection in his heart ever strong enough to control his will, or influence his tastes. Coming back to us, he was, doubtless, pleased to see my father and mother again, although we children looked in vain for any exterior symptom of emotion on his stern features. During his stay, he never invited the confidence of my parents, who were, therefore, silent with regard to their want. He, nevertheless, saw what they chose not to reveal : when about to leave us, he told my father that he would pay my board in a Parisian college, provided I were sent within a fortnight. This offer was very tempting : it revived the hopes so long entertained with regard to my prospects. After some struggles, my parents made a sacrifice of their own feelings, and con- sented to let me go. " It is needless to tell you how grieved were my fond (< IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 19 mother and my dear sisters when the momeut of my departure came. Even I myself, with all my lightness of disposition, did not receive their last embrace without emotion, or look back on the dear old home I was leav- ing for the first time, without a feehng of sorrow. That pleasant country, those verdant meadows, and smiling hills, the scenes of my boyish sports, had no small share in my regret : I could have kissed every tree I passed, every blade of grass so often trodden in careless play. Many a time did I turn to look at the smoke of our chimney, and even to that my lips breathed a sad fare- well. Was it a presentiment of the troubles that awaited mo far away from that beloved home where I left so much affection ? I know not that — I rather suppose that every boy or girl leaving home for the first time must feci much as I felt then. "My father had not courage to go with me to the village of Arques, where I was to taka the stage for Paris. One of our neighbors came in his stead, and the good man tried hard to console me as we went along When the coach appeared, he bade me a kind farewell, and gave me in charge to the driver, who had already undertaken to convey me in safety to my destination. " 1 will not attempt to describe my feelings during this journey. I was so dejected, so unhappy, that no exterior object had power to attract my attention. On the third day, about noon, we reached the great city. There only did my curiosity begin to awake. Our way lay through one of the liveliest and most animated sections of the my fond m city The noise, the continual motion, of which we 20 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 'r 1 Rr "^ could form no adequate idea in our quiet country, struck me with such surprise, that my eyes wandered irom one tiling to another, anxious to see all at once. As we whirled along through the busy thoroughfares I wanted to hear my companions complain as I did of being borne too swiftly on, and I felt annoyed at the cool indifference with which they looked on things that excited so much admiration in myself. " But at hist I was forced to leave the coach where for some "moments T had enjoyed so much pleasure. For- tunately, a new attraction presented itself to my curios- ity. Faitliful to his engagement with regard to me, the driver informed me, as I stepped from the coach, that he would go with me himself to the place of my destination ; and when he had delivered their baggage to the other passengers, he took mine on his shoulder, and made a sign for me to follow him. I willingly obeyed ; but, my head being gidjiy from the effects of the long journey by stage, I could hardly keep my feet, but went staggering along the narrow streets at the imminent risk of being run over by some of Mie numerous carriages which were passing so swiftly to ana fro. The driver, with an angi*y oath or imprecation, dragged me by the arm out of the danger, or warned me to take care. At length we got out of this muddy labyrinth, descended a flight of steps leading to a passage garnished with pretty shops, where toys and confectionery alternately caught my eyes, and excited desires which I was unable to gratify ; then I per- ceived a large garden, surrounded by magnificent buildings, and I asked my companion if that was my uncle^s house. agam IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 81 " ' Not exactly, little fellow/ replied the man, laughing in my face, which mortified me not a little. "The building I saw was the Palais-Royal, built by Richelieu, in the time of Louis XIII. " I entered with my laughing guide an immense gallery, and I was so dazzled by the splendor of the surrounding objects that I cried aloud : ' Oh ! if my sisters could only see all that I' " Heading this, the coachman was seized with a violent fit of laughter, but whilst I was gazing enraptured on the marvellous bazaar, he took me by force away from that enchanting spectacle. " A little after, the colonnade of the Louvre threw me into another ecstacy : I was transported with admiration at the sight of such magnificent architecture, but there again my merciless guide urged me on without a moment's delay. " * Come along, my little fellow,' he kept saying 'n his jeering way, * do you think I have got time to wait on your wonders ? Since you are going to live in Paris, you can see all these at your leisure. We have a good quar- ter of an hour's walk before us yet, so pull out and leave off your gazing !' And he actually pulled me along for the remainder of the way. " Arrived at the Pont-Neuf, my attention was again attracted by the shops, the river, with its baths and its great boats of washerwomen : but on I had to go, on aud on, till at last we reached the foot of the Rue Tournon, where my uncle resided. "He was only a new comer in t-io place, and had 22 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. apartments on the first floor. My conductor left mc at the door after having made sure tliat Mr. Verval lived there. " I cannot tell you how sad I felt when this faithful travelling companion bade me adieu. It seemed to me as though in him 1 lost the last trace of home, and I could hardly restrain my tears. The face of the servant who gave me admission was but little calculated to remove this impression. 1 saw his features, cold and stern like those of his master, darkening as he looked at me, and my heart was chilled. " ' My master is gone out,' said he very drily, ' but he left orders for you to await his return in this room,' and he opened the door of a small dining-room opening on a narrow court. ' If you'd like to eat a bit before dinner, which will be at five o'clock precisely, I'll bring you a crust of bread.' " I had eaten nothing all day ; but, without consulting my stomach, I refused the offer, and sat down in a corner of the dark room where the servant left me. "There, I tried in vain to think of the wonders I had seen, the recollection had no power to overcome my sad- ness ; I felt as tliough all around me were an immense void. To crown my misery I was ready to faint with hunger, yet I could not bring myself to call back the man who had spoken to me so harshly — I waited till my uncle came. "At five o'clock he appeared, punctual to the moment. * Well,' said he, in his dry, cool way, as he condescended to give me his hand, ' you have had a pleasant journey of it. How goes all at home V I II thou< lowec then sorro\^ which calme "IV Mr. d( "M Xevor IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 23 " Without waiting for an answer, he pointed to a seat at the table, and we sat down to dinner. The meal being over I felt much refreshed, and did my best to make a favorable impression on my uncle, but he hardly appeared to notice my little attempts to please him. Rising imme- diately after the desert, he told me in the same cold way, without the least appearance of a smile : ' You must be tired, nephew, bed is the best place for you — Peter will show you where you sleep to-night, and to-morrow you enter the college. You shall be awoke at seven ; at eight we leave here. Good-bye. Try and sleep well/ " And so he left the room, this time without shaking hands. ' This icy welcome formed such a dismal contrast to the fond afifection lavished on me at home, that I could not but think of it with a desponding heart, young and tlioughtless though I was. With a swelling heart I fol- lowed Pierre to a loft where he pointed out a bed, and then left me without a glimpse of light. Slowfully and sorrowfully I knelt down, and, having said the prayers which my mother taught me, I lay down to sleep with a calmer mind. " Nevertheless, when I appeared next morning before Mr. de Verval, I was still sad and dejected. " ' What I' said he, ' are you home-sick already ? Never mind, that won't last long when you're once in college. Boys have no time there for fretting, I promise you. I suppose your parents told you that you have to api)ly yourself very closely to your studies if you want to gain my good will. It depends altogether ou yourself. 24 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. If you do not lay your mind to study, depend upon it, you will soon be punished. Make haste now and eat your breakfast till we get away/ " I obeyed in silence, and a quarter of an hour after, we reached the college of Louis-le-Grand. It was on a Thursday. Being qncstioned as to my previous studies, I was placed in the fourth class. My uncle then paid a quarter in advance, provided me with everything I required, and I put on at once the college costume. '* I cannot tell you how I felt on finding myself thus suddenly metamorphosed, especially when I saw my numerous companions in recreation. Several ran up to rae with that sprightly vivacity natural to youth ; they invited me to join their play ; I willingly agreed, and when I followed them at noon to the refectory, Mr. de Yerval's cutting words were all forgotten — no traces of sadness remained. " This circumstance may give you an idea of the light- ness of ray disposition. Unhappily it will not be the only proof of it. Thus, from the very first day, instead of seeking the company of the best disposed of my new comrades, I took up with the idlest and most dissipated. Many of them boasted before me of their cleverness in outwitting their masters, and I admired their dexterity too much not to try and imitate it. One of them, espe- cially, excited my admiration, and to him I was wonder- fully attracted from the first. "This youth, whom I shall call Isidore, has had so large a share in all my subsequent misfortunes, that it may not be amiss to give you a sketch of bis character. IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 25 ''Though older than I, he was, nevertheless, more backward in his studies ; not that he was wanting in quickness or intelliffcnce, but because his idleness had been greater even tlian mine. Having a horror of any- thing like work, a stranger to all generous sentiments, if at times he pretended to apply himself to study, it was only for fear of being punished, doing his best always to appear naturally stupid, in order that his teaclieta might give him less to learn or to do. Thus, emulation, that noble ardor which excites us to excel in our studies or our labors, whatever they may be, was, in him, annihi- lated by that shameful love of idleness which has since brought him to the most abject misery. Otherwise, he was mild, supple, insinuating, already well versed in the art of dissimulation, and that fatal talent was in his hands a weapon ever turned against those whom he wished to seduce. "I had the ill-fortune to attract his attention. We were born in the same province, which gave him yet another title to my confidence, and he made such use of it, that his pernicious councils became the spring of all my actions. " It is worthy of remark that the wicked are generally anxious to have imitators : one would suppose they find an excuse for themselves in the number of their prose- lytes. *' Alas 1 I was too young and too giddy to make such reflections. Drawn gradually away from my duties, I neglected them all, or discharged them in such a way that, from the very first, I was ranged amongst the 26 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. idlest and most dissipated pupils of the college. Thus, often as my uncle came to the master to inquire after my conduct, complaints of all kinds were added to the bad marks already received. In vain did letters from home unite reprimands with advice ; on receiving them, I was much affected, and made many good resolutions, but soon the fatal influence of Isidore and his evil example made me forget all. "What he applied himself chiefly to destroy in my heart, was the love and fear of God, the only basis of true good, and without which man, were his intentions ever so good, floats incessantly amidst the shoals of life, where he at length perishes like a rudderless vessel. "Before I had formed this unhallowed connection, sacred things inspired me with respect ; my mother, as I told you, had given me a taste for prayer. Isidore turned this pious custom into ridicule ; then I was left without strength or support against his evil councils, and my own inclinations. "Six months passed thus. Since the day I entered college I had neve»' once seen Mr. de Verval, for on holi- days I was nearly always in punishment. One day, how- ever, I was sent for to the parlor to see my uncle. I went down trembling, and bhishing, not daring to raise my eyes even when he spoke to me. " * Well !' said he, in a tone of the coldest and most piercing irony, ' I see you are ashamed of yourself ; you are aware, then, of the extent of your fault, and feel how unwarrantably you have abused my kindness. Neither can you forget, I think, the poverty to which IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 2T rhus, iv my e bad home I was t soon i made in my isis of entious of life, el. iiection, er, as I Isidore ^as left lis, and entered on holi- y, liow- icle. 1 raise id most ilf ; you Ind feel lindness. whicb your parents are reduced, and the hopes they founded on you. Notwithstanding all this, setting aside the duties of filial love and of just gratitude towards me, you have braved all to give yourself up to the most degrading idleness. Well ! attend now to what I say ; I will not waste time listening to idle excuses : I merely come to signify my will. You have lost six months, six months which cost me a considerable sum. I give you six more to repair your fault. If I then have sufficient proof of your good intentions, if you shall have testified a proper zeal and application to your studies, if, in fine, you shall have escaped punishment for that time, I may yet repose some confidence in you, and continue to pay your expen- ses. But mark me well ! — should the contrary be the case, and you fail in the conditions I have imposed on you, you shall immediately leave the college, and betake yourself to some trade, at which you must earn your bread by the sweat of your brow. My resolution on this point is fixed and irrevocable ; so think of it ! It is only for the sake of your family that I give you this sec- ond trial. May you come forth victorious I If not, you shall learn too late that no one braves me with impunity.^ ""\rith these words, pronounced in a harsh, discordant voice, Mr. de Yerval left the room, where I remained as i if spell-bound. Passing at the moment was one of the ushers who had on several occasions manifested an interest in me by giving me excellent advice, unhappily |too much neglected. Seeing my paleness, he thought I ^was unwell, and came to question me. I could hardly r; ■A 'I i i 38 IDLENESS : OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. speak to lam at first, being half choked with sighs and sobs. He understood me nevertheless, and urged me in the tenderest and most earnest manner to try and do bet- ter. He consoled me as best he could, made me promise to shun the dangerous company of Isidore, and to strug- gle against my own idle habits. " This promise I faithfully kept for tTVO whole months. Accordingly I made rapid progress during that time, and was never once punished. Never had I felt so happy. Supported and encouraged by the kind and prudent Deville, whom you have doubtless recognized already, I hoped to pass through the time of probation with credit to myself, and I no longer dreaded the presence of my uncle. But alas ! my worthy mentor was taken from me. Notwithstanding his obscure position in the college his merits were not unknown. He was offered a situation as private tutor, with a good salaiy ; he accepted the oifer, and went to his home somewhere in the provinces. ''I was grieved at heart when the time of his depart- ure came, and he himself was scarcely less so ; he renewed his good advice, marked out a line of conduct which must have ensured success, and set out quite satis- fied that I was in a fair way of doing well. Alas ! this excellent friend had not yet acquired a full knowledge of the human heart ; he knew not, above all, what wicked- ness can do to obtain its end. Isidore, that insidious enemy of my repose, had not lost sight of me. Forced by Mr. Deville's kind protection to keep away from mo, he returned to the charge as soon as he found me again I saw w Myd( name couns( "0 But a my tra ''M myself parents little h long as more tij sure of "'A ''Sue IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 29 and ne in ) bet- omise strug- oDths. le, and happy. Tudent 3ady, I I credit nee of ; taken iu the ffered a here in depart- Iso ; he 1 conduct lite satis- lasl this hedge of wicked- llusidioiis Forced from me, U aguiu exposed, and with my usual weakness, 1 allowed him to get the upper hand of me and gradually relapsed into my former bad habits. " I wish, dear children, 1 could efface from my memory this period of my life, for it was the cause of many evils ! What shall I say ? Drawn farther than ever away from the path of duty in which I had so lately walked with so much honor and contentment, I forgot my promises, my parents, even my uncle's threats, and the punishments began again. **I was just in the midst of these repeated transgres- sions when my last month of trial came on. To complete my madness, I allowed myself to be drawn into revolt : it was the abyss which had been opened before me as I saw when they were about to put me in close confinement. My despair was all the more dreadful when I learned the name of the informer : it was Isidore, the very one whose counsels had ruined me I " Oh 1 how bitter, how sincere was then my regret I But all too late ; I was now to undergo the penalty of my transgressions, " Mr. de Yerval came to me in my prison. I threw myself at his feet, crying, *■ Uncle ! have pity on my poor parents ! give me only another chance I leave me yet a little longer ! — I will remain six months, or a year, or as long as you please, on bread and water, for I deserve more than that. But repentance is in my soul, and I am sure of making up for the past.' *' * Arise, and go before me I' *'Such was the answer I received. I had only to vV\ ! % I 'I m ^^m \':\ A I*- ^> m- 30 IDLENESS : OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. obey. We reached the college-gate where a hackney coach awaited us ; my desk and trunk were placed in it by the porter, and we set out. During the rapid journey which we made, my despair broke out anew ; I endeav- ored to excite my uncle's pity and obtain his pardon ; he was inexorable, and silenced me with so much severity, that I was fairly overwhelmed and fell back almost faint- ing on my seat. " A few moments after we entered a wide street which I afterwards found to be St. Antoine street, and where numerous furniture stores were to be seen on either side. The coach stopped at one of them ; my uncle made me get out, and my baggage was taken into the shop. A man then appeared with broad, square shoulders, and harsh, though rather regular features. He saluted Mr. de Verval, and eyed me from head to foot. *' ' So this is our young man !' said he ; ' faith he has the cut of a good workman. My word for it he'll keep straight here ; if not, I'd be bound to show him the way with an odd cut of the lash, and I'm apt to strike hard when I'm put to it. I hope things won't come to that anyliow.' " ' You have full power to do as you please,' said Mr. de Yerval, ' he must be a good tradesman, since he would be nothing else.' " I dropped once more at ray uncle's feet, crying : ' Uncle ! in Heaven's name, don't forsake me I Mercy 1 Mercy !' . , " ' You only annoy me with your tears and prayers,' he replied coldly, as he pushed me away. ' Did I not tell li < IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 31 H you six months ago that my will should be irrevocable ? You have audaciously braved me out ; and now you shall undergo the penalty of your guilt. The step which I now take has your father's approbation. You have, therefore, no resource, and must submit to your fate.' ''Then addressing the cabinet-maker — * Mr. Simonnin, have you got those things which were wanting V " ' Oh I yes, sir, yes ; here's the vest, and the apron, too. The other things will be ready by to-morrow.' " ' It is well — I thank you for being so punctual. Now, sir,' continued my uncle, turning again towards me, 'leave off that coat, which you are to wear no more, and put on the clothes which suit your new trade. If you should one day do it honor by your virtues, perhaps I may remember our kindred ; meanwhile, you have only yourself to depend on.' " " So saying, he entered the coach and disappeared. A long silence followed. For me, I stood motionless at tlie farther end of the shop, holding in my hand the vest which I was to put on. All at once it dropped from my hand, and I fell stiff on the floor. I know not how long I remained in that state, but when I recovered I found myself in the back-shop. A woman was near me, and she looked at me with so much compassion that I burst out crying, and felt much relieved. " ' Come, come, no more nonsense I' cried master Simonnin, who was standing near the arm-chair in which he had placed me. 'It's all well enough for the first moment or so. To be sure it's hard enough to be made a tradesman of when one might be a gentleman, but H'&i 5.1 ,?l li I'm m ■ii ;>.- 1 I m m I IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. whose fault is it ? Now, there's no use in crying like a baby ; the wine is out and must be drank. What's your name, my boy V *' ' Ernest d'Olbar, sir.' *' * Well, listen to me, Ernest : there's no use fretting about what has happened. It won't kill anybody to be a cabinet-maker, for, after all, it's a fine trade. As for me, though I say it myself, there's worse than me in the world, for all you would'nt think so to look at me. Ask Madam Simonnin there ! If so be that my apprentices aren't lazy, I treat them well ; they eat as we do our- selves, and as mucli as ever they like. In the morning, indeed, they have nothing but plenty of bread, but I give them two sous to buy butter or cheese. Then they get an odd chance now and then from the customers, when they go home with furniture to them. All that amounts to something at the end of the year : it may buy you a new cap to sport on Sundays. That is not the trouble, though, for as I'm to have the dressing of you, you'll have nothing of that kind to provide. So your pocket will be the better furnished. But with all this, mind again what I have to tell you : you must march right straight before you — if not, we must use the lash, which I'd be sorry to do. But I see by your face it'll never come to that between us. Let your uncle say as he will, I don't find you half so black as he pa i- ted you. Come along now, child ! take courage I as the song says, * Friends are always near !' ** These last words of my new master touched me. I laid hold of his hard, rough hand, and pressed it warmly. IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 33 He, in Ins turn, seemed affected j but unwilling to let me see it, he said to his wife : " 'Come, Toinette, give us our dinner. Show Ernest how to set the table, which he has got to do every day, and also to open and close the shop, and keep the floor clean. You have to see to the workshop, too, my boy, as well as the store ; that's in the bargain. The customers must always find the furniture polished as bright as the sun, for if not kept in that way it doesn't take the eye. Every morning you must fetch a supply of water from the fountain and sweep the sidewalk. This, you see, is the drudgery that an apprentice has to go through — bah I I had my turn of it. When one gets to handle the tools well all that is over, to be sure. Then, all you've got to do is to distinguish yourself as soon as possible at the bench — there, like everywhere else, there is credit to be gained. For the rest,^ said he, ' it is now Saturday, — until Monday you will have nothing to do but bring in the water, do the sweeping, close the store to-night, and such little jobs. But when Monday comes, you must take the jack-plane in your hand, and let us see what you caii do.' "If my heart was uplifted for a moment when I thought I perceived a touch of sympathy in Simonnin's rough face, the sense of my misfortune weighed me down more heavily than ever as I listened to this enumeration ot my duties. I knew, nevertheless, that, with a man like him, reasoning or objectiiig would only make matters worse. And, besides, had not Mr. de Yerval declared that my father gave his consent to this rigorous appren- II -■hi: rl 84 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. i ticeship? The best thing I couUl do, then, wns to sub- mit, and endeavor to gain the good will of my patron by my dociUty and close assiduity. " These reflections lucliily occurred to me in the midst of my grief ; they gave me strengtli to control myself so far that Simonnin thought he had overcome my repug- nance, and from that moment I made such rapid strides in his favor that when evening came he offered to take me with him to the tavern. " ' Let the boy alone !' said his good wife, who saw my embarrassment at this proposal, ' teach him to work, not to drink : he can get along very well without that. Besides, I want him — he must stay here.^ *" Well, good woman, have it your own way,' said Simonnin, ' I'm content. You have full power here, you know, and it's the least you may have the apprentice to help you in the house. Good-bye, then, old woman I — I'll be home at ten — good-bye, youngster I Go to bed at nine, if Ma'am Simonnin gives you leave !' "When he was gone, I thanked his good wife, who with great sweetness and good sense proceeded to give me advice as to my future conduct. She then conducted me to a very small but clean room on the fifth story, with a pretty large window. Here I found my desk and trunk. When I was alone, I opened them, I looked at my books and copy-books which Mr. do A^erval had not taken with my college dress, and Ine sobs which I had hitherto repressed broke forth then unrestrained. "Oh I my children," continued Mr. d'Olbar, *' you can hardly undei stand the agony of regret which then tor- IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 85 turcd my soul. But yet I see you do not sympathise with the poignant grief with which I the ^ht of my father, whose hopes I had destroyed. When we were parting, he said to me : " * Ernest, I depend on you. The studies which you are to complete in Paris will obtain you admission to a military school, whence you shall come out with epau- lettes on your shoulders. When I see that sight, all my woes shall be forgotten. Go, then, and may the Lord bless you I' " Yes, these were the words of that good father ; and I, wretch that I was 1 had forgotten them ! Yielding to shameful sloth and idleness, and to bad advice, I had lost the protection of the only relative who could at all assist me, and / was consequently reduced to a state of manual labor. "Overpowered by these late reflections, I was sadly turning over the leaves of my books, when suddenly a thought struck me. Ma'am Simonriin had told me that my day's work in her house was only to commence at seven o'clock, and ended at eight in the evening, except the closing of the store, which had to be done after that. Much time must then remain to me ; I might profit by it to study my authors, to practice Arithmetic and its kindred sciences, for which my first master said I had much talent. By myself, of course, I could make little progress, but that should not prevent me from trying my hand ; Providence, perhaps, would come to my aid, for it seemed to me as though this sudden inspiration came from above ; I felt it deep within my soul, and I thanked ' %':' 74" t^iU m "w. V\! ')? i'H 36 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. God for it so fervently, that I lay down to sleep with a lighter heart. " Next morning I was up before five o'clock. The day was beginning to dawn. I said my prayers, and, as on the previous night, I felt that a great change had been wrought in me. Then I resolved to write to my parents. 1 fell on my knees, as though I were really in their presence ; I earnestly besought their forgiveness, and promised to deserve it by my future conduct. " When I went down stairs, Ma'am Simonnin received me with the same kindness. I showed her my letter, not yet sealed ; she read it with attention, and giving it back, said to me with tears in her eyes : " ' Poor lad I be faithful this time to the promises you have made your parents ; it is the only consolation you can now give them 1' "At this moment the master appeared. Showing me the strap and the buckle he said : * There, boy, take hold of that. Be off to the fountain like a good fellow. That'll stretch your limbs for you, and then here are your two sous — as you pass the grocer's, you can buy butter or cheese for them, or anything you like.' " I obeyed, but 1 did my errand so quickly^ that on seeing me come back dragging the two large buckets of water, the worthy man cried out gaily : '''Why, what a smart fellow you are! one would think you had always been at that business. Come, (this was a favorite word of his,) when I want to carry the hand-barrow I know now who'll help me.' *"I will and welcome, my good Mr. Simonnin, IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESi. V. 8t I replied, smiling ; ' you see I can take my share of a load any time.' " 1 then opened the shop and went to breakfast. Dur- ing that meal a bright idea struck me. Being res ived to work every evening in my chamljer, I required light, so as not to use the lamp which belonged to my master. I, therefore, made up my mind to eat my bread dry every morning, and to keep my sous for the purclu-se of candles and paper, too, when the little stock in my desk was "un out. Tills resolution completed my arrangements for study. The taste for it came to me very late, children, as you may well say, but the imprisonment which I underwent in the college, and still more, the severity of Mr. de Verval, had fully opened my eyes ; I resolved, at any cost, to repair my faults, and that praiseworthy ob- ject became the sole end of my life. " I understood very well that the prosecution of my studies ought not in any way to interfere with the duties of my state : it was my intention to apply myself couscientiously to discharge them to the best of my ability. "That very day, I had the good fortune *o make a grand step in my new master's favor. This man, whom I, at first, thought so rough, on account of his threats, had a heart full of the kindliest feelings, and was, moreover, an upright, honest man, all of which I discovered pretty soon. " It was generally on Sunday that he and his wife settled their accounts. Accordingly, when I entered the back shop that morning after breakfast, I saw them both I ■if); I|3 m 1 ttj ■J] til* 38 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. sorely puzzled making out some accounts, and I took it upon me to offer my services. Toinettc immediately gave me her place, and when Simounin saw mo at work he joy. fully exclaimed: "'My fuith, boy, if you handle the tools as you do the pen, I prophesy that you'll be one of the best workmen in St. Antoine's suburbs. Why that uncle of yours didn't know what he was talking about, with his scolding and grumbling I I think you must have worked pretty hard, after all, to know as much as you do at fifteen!^ " This reminds me of the old proverb: ' In the kingdom of the blind, the lame are kings/ Simonnin thought me well instructed, because his knowledge was much exceeded by mine, and that alone made him suppose that I had made good use of my time. But I could not allow him to remain in error, or accept a compliment so little de- served, especially as it conveyed a slur on my uncle's veracitv. Inflexible as the latter had shown himself towards me, it would have been ungrateful in me either to deny, or let any one else doubt his generous intentions, which I had abused for a whole year. So, without any hesitation, I confessed all to Simonnin, not even forget- ting the pain which my bad conduct had inflicted on my parents. At this part of my story, my broken voice be- trayed the depth of my own sorrow. I even ventured to confide to him my plan of study, entreating him not to throw any obstacle in my way inasmuch as it should not infringe on my duty towards him; at the same time I requested him beforehand to keep my secret. He listened attentively and in silence, but I saw by his face that he IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. was pleased. WIumi I liad told all, ho shook me warmly by the hand, and said: " 'All ri«'ht, my lad. rcrsevere in your good resolu- tions, and God will befriend you. After to-day, you'li find a friend in your master, always ready to help you to the best of his power. As a beginning, you shall have an hour more every day for your studies; you can go up to your room every evening at seven o'clock, instead of eight, and if you continue to please me as well as you do now, we shall see if we cannot push you on a bit towards the end proposed by your father.' •» " Hearing this, I threw myself into the worthy trades- man's arais; he held me there a moment in silence, then * resumed: "'Come, come, ion't give way like that. It's foolish, you know. Come! Toinette tells me you have a letter to send off to-day to your people, so we'll go and post it, and after that, we'll go through the city a little, for I know you haven't seen much of it yet.' " Here his wife gave him a look which he appeared to understand, for he immediately added with a smile: '"Be easy, dame, there will be no glass for this morn- ing. I see now that this good lad needs all the brains he has got to bring his bark safe to shore, and, indeed, it won't be my fault if he gets stranded on the shoal of the tavern.' " We then went out. I was light as a bird: the frank avowal of my misdeeds, the generous encouragement given by Simonnin to my proposed plan, and ray firm resolution to merit the esteem of so good a master, all i 'it! II \.t. k IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. coucurred to lighten my grief. My working jaclcot no longer appeared ugly; it was much handsomer since I determined to wear it with honor. So I stept after the cabinet-maker with great alacrity. Much more obliging than my former guide — notwithstanding his natural quick- ness of temper — he permitted me to examine at my leisure the diflerent objects of interest which I saw on my way. Many of the choicest works of art still bore the dismal traces of revolutionary fury, for the tempest which had convulsed the entire country had but just passed away. I addressed some questions to Simonnin on this subject, and his replies were marked with such justice and good sense, that I was both pleased and surprised. The fact is, that when the workingman's ideas are not perverted by false doctrines, they are generally distinguished by sound judgment, with a just appreciation of men and things. I am too much indebted to this faculty of my excellent master not to pay a just tribute to the virtues of the class to which he belongs. " We did not reach home till six o^clock in the evening. The good woman was at first a little put out, for the dinner was cold, and so forth ; but Simonnin gave such a droll account of my raptures on seeing the sights of the great city, that she laughed heartily herself, and the anger was all gone. " From that day forward, I was really treated by this worthy couple as if I were their own son. They had no children, which was doubtless an additional reason why they took such an interest in me — an interest which, to Bay the truth, I did my best to merit by close attention IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 41 and perfect docility. Nevertheless, my life at Simonnin's was not /exempt from trouble. The work given me to do very often exceeded my strength, for on certain days the housework was much heavier, and in the intervals I had to work unceasingly either at the bench, or varnish- ing and polishing furniture brought in by out-door hands. When at work the sweat often stood in large drops on my brow, and there were times when I could hardly stand from fatigue — but still I should go on — there was no rest or relaxation during the hours of labor. In this respect, Mr. Simonnin was unmerciful ; ceaseless toil could alone keep him in humor. So it was that when I ascended to my chamber at night, I found it hard to take up my books; the pen fell from my hacked and trembling fingers. Then I invoked God's assistance, thought of my dear father and mother, and got courage to go on. '* Yes, children, I have found from experience that with faith, good-will and filial affection, one can overcome many obstacles which laziness alone sets down as hivinci- ble; my apprenticeship to the cabinet-making, progressing side by side with my studies, should serve to convince you that, with God's assistance, man has many resources within himself. " - "In the commencement of this double enterprise, my progress, indeed, was hardly perceptible; I barely kept myself from forgetting the authors studied during my brief career in the college. Neither did I gain much ground in mathematics, for which I had a particular taste. In vain did I grow pale over my Bezout, an author then followed in military schools, and which I had 42 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. ^m ■ .) J < I ' commenced with my first teacher. I did not then under- stand that learned work, although I confined myself to the elementary part, and my tears often fell on the page before me. Completely discouraged, I would give up, and put away the book; then taking hold of it again, I would say : ' This will never do ; God, who has inspired me to this, will, perhaps, guide my understanding; and all at once the problem was made clear to me, and I ended with being surprised at myself for fancying it difficult.^ ** Yet all this did not profit me much in the way of progress. I knew very well that without a teacher I could never obtain the instruction necessary to carry out my father's views, and enable me to undergo an exami- nation; but, at the end of three months, the worthy Simonnin, knowing my secret hopes and projects, gave me no small encouragement. " 'Work away, my boy!' he said to me one evening when he ascended to my garret to look at my writing books, ' work away, and all will go well. You have per- severance, I see plainly. I am well pleased with you in every way, and have made you my book-keeper, much to my own advantage. On the other hand, you are atten- tive to your work, and are never afraid of trouble, and, on my word, you make such a good offer already at the plane that I don't say but you'll be able in a few months from now to earn some small matter for yourself. It's true I didn't bargain with the other for that, (this was his usual mode of referring to my uncle) ; but no matter, the honest man never lets his own interest go between him IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 43 and justice. Now, when your first year is up, and maybe sooner, if business stirs up, I mean to give you a little acknowledgment every month which will enable you to have a master. Poor fellow I if I was a little better oft than I am, I'd do more than that for you: in place of keeping you working here, I'd have sent you back to col- lege, partly to console your parents, and partly to spite that hard-hearted nnole of yours whom I have been trying hard to soften a bit by praising up your obedience and assiduity, though I took good care to keep him in the dark about your studies.' " You may imagine, children, how fervently I thanked the worthy Simonnin, whose promise gave a new impetus to ray courage. Nevertheless, there was one great draw- back to my happiness. It is true, I must avail myself of the good man's generous proposal, if nothing better turned up, but he was doing what he was not bound to do, and it might be, more also than he was able to do. This thought gave me great concern, but Provi- dence, ever kind, came to my assistance when and how I least expected, and made Simonnin's kind sacrifice unnecessary. "One morning, when I had helped my master to take home several articles of furniture to a fine house on Isle St. Louis, not far from our place, I was left by Simonnin to give the last polish to the furniture. When going away, he told me, as usual, to be quick with my work, so, taking oif my jacket, so as to work more at my ease, I went down on my knees before each piece of furniture, and rubbed away so hard that m I 'Mr m ; i 44 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. in a little while my shirt and vest were wet with per- spiration. . , • " 'Poor lad!* said some one passing behind me, 'don't work so hard ; that is violent exercise, and the weather is excessively warm/ " I turned quickly, for the voice had reached my heart; recognizing at once the person to whom it belonged, I uttered a piercing cry and fell to the ground. It was Deville, the excellent friend whose advice I had fatally neglected, and before whom I now had to blush with shame. " He did not at once recognize me, but on hearing that cry of anguish, and seeing that strange posture I had, from shame, assumed, he ran to me, raised my head, saw ray downcast face, and cried in his turn: " ' Ernest d'Olbar I is it possible?' "Then only did I venture to arise; he took me in his arms, and pressed me to his bosom, while I, choking with emotion, could hardly utter a word. , .< *' 0, my children! what a treasnre of goodness lies hid. den in the heart of the virtuous man when God inspir-s his actions! I had hardly made known to Mr. Deville the extent of my faults, and the efforts I was makuig to repair them, when pressing me again in his arms, he said: _ • . .- , . . .• - , " ' Dear Ernest ! I now see you, then, what I long wished to see you! Oh! do not regret the hardship which, young as you are, you have undergone: besides that, it serves as expiation, it is by it that your soul is tempered, that you have acquired a sense of duty, and IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 45 per- ion't ther cai't*, od, I u was itally with r that '. had, I, saw m his with s hid. ispiv's )eYille jakiiig s, he long [rdship )esides I soul is ly, and found the holy inspirations which will henceforward guide you in the path of rectitude. Adversity and labor, my young friend, are the two crucibles wherein virtue purifies her chosen souls. Have courage, then I " * As to your scientific studies,' pursued he with an indescribable smile, *we shall be two now to prosecute them, and I should be much disappointed if, in three years, you are not fit to pass your examination for admis- sion to the Polytechnic School. During that time you can also learn your trade, and make sure of being no burden to your friend, the cabinet-maker. The little donation which he promised to give you shall then be the reward of your labors; you will accept it; and those little savings, carefully kept together, will defray your first ex- penses at the school. During those three years, I, too, will be lay laying up something for a little fund to meet your expenses at a later period. Do not interrupt me,' he went on, seeing by my face the emotions of my soul, ' hear me to the end :' " * I felt an unaccountable interest in you from your first entrance into the college: ever after I desired to gain your affections, and direct your conduct, iu order to * lead you to good; but unhappily I could not be much with you. Your faults and our separation grieved me much. I regretted that I could not snatch you from your perilous condition. Often, my dear Ernest, did I beseech the Lord to restore you to a sentiment of duty, and now that I find you penetrated with that sentiment, , I am too happy not to regard you henceforward as a brother confided to my care by Divine Providence. I am I !■ ':v. It 1 *¥•*« .m 46 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. alone in the world. Frou my childhood I have been de- prived of the sweets of family allection, I will try to renew them by adopting you.' .•.>.; < - : During this discourse, the eyes of the noble fellow were fixed on mine. With clasped hands we stood regarding each other, he with the tender solicitude of a father, I with the gratitude of a respectful son. I burst into tears, and couid hardly get out a few words of joy and gratitude. ^ "That moment, children, was, perhaps, one of the happiest of my hfe, for I had just acquired a friend, that is to say, the most precious treasure that man can have on earth, and which he rarely ever finds. Young as I was, I felt the value of such a blessing, and Deville must have been hardly less delighted to witness the transports of my joy. . .-, ; "At length, w^e both recovered our composure. My friend told me that he had fallen in with an excellent family, from whom he thought he could easily obtain per- mission to devote two or three hours every evening to me: it was just the time when he left his pupil in the drawing- room. There would then be nothing to prevent him from carrying out his genetous intention of giving me regular lessons. ''When I was leaving, Deville promised to see me that same evening, and you may imagine how joyfully 1 hastened to relate all to the w^ortliy Simonnins. If I liad before doubted their affection for me, I would have had that day a convincing proof of it ; for they were almost as rejoiced to hear of my good fortune as if it had con- cerned their own child. . . ..' IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 47 ** I need not tell you with what alacrity I went to work planing my planks. I no longer felt fatigue, antl the heat of the day troubled me no more. It seems that happiness gives strength an hundred fold: before it all diiliculties vanish ; all becomes light and easy ; it sees objects through the prism of its own contentment. " These dispositions I also brought with me to my evening studies. AVhen I heard my beloved preceptor mounting the ladder like stairs leading to my garret — when I had insialled him by my side, in front of my little table, whereon my books were carefully ranged, I opened my Bezout with entire confidence, just as though I were able to explain its pages from beginning to end without missing a word ; doubtless Deville must have been amused at my assurance. '* However, he appeared well satisfied, not with my progress, (you know it could not have been much,) but with the application which had carried me through a fresh study of my several avthors. From that moment, he confidently predicted the success of our projects. " Soothed that night by the sweetest dreams, I found myself at my father's feet in the so-much desired uni- form. That beloved father blessed and praised me ; my mother and sisters pressed me by turns to their heart Oh I how I begged of God, on awaking, that a dream so delightful might one day be realized, and with what ardor the very thought inspired me for the accomplishment of my duties! "But there is no need to dwell on those first days of my recovered happiness. You can easily imagine me in m I' MS '■\m m , I 48 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. my garret-room, where, every evening, for three wliolc years, the best of friends shut himself up with me, endur- ing, without a murmur, the heat of the roof in summer and the rigorous cold in winter. During our last season, a frosty wind made the weather still more inclement for a great part of the time, so that our fingers were often numb with the cold. Deville would laugh and throw a quilt over my shoulders, then, wrapping himself up in his cloak, he would cheerfully resume the rapid series of in- struction which he gave mo in the sciences. Each step I made in advance gave him so much pleasure that his countenance was constantly beaming with joy during those long studious evenings. " On the other hand, Simonnin had succeeded in making me a good workman. For some time past I could receive what he chose to give me without fear of abusing his kindness. My savings at length enabled me to dress in a more becoming manner. " I had attained my eighteenth year, and Deville was of opinion that I might safely present myself for the school examination. At that period the diploma of bachelor was not required, but even if it had been, I would not have shrank from trying to obtain it. I ordered the fine black coat, and I own my heart beat when I tried it on; it seemed to me that with it I could mount again some steps of the social ladder, whence my own idleness and my uncle's severity had brought me down. " During my apprenticeship, I had written several letters to my uncle imploring forgiveness, but he remained inflexible, and had even renewed his prohibition, through m ,' IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 49 Simonnin, to appear before him. I had, therefore, no warrant to apply to him on this momentous occasion, the most important ui my life, since it was to decide my destiny. "The thought was painful to me, not because I had any idea of soliciting Mr. Yerval's pecuniary assistance if 1 succeeded in obtaining admission : Deville's generous friendship left me quite easy on that point, and I felt a. pleasure in owing all to him; no, but my mother's brother had also some claims on my gratitude, rigorous as they were, and I would have wished, at least, to obtain his approval. That w^as not to be thought of, however, so I must only to do without it. Had I not, moreover, the sanction of my father's will ? y ' " One morning, then, leaving my working-clothes be- hind in my room, I went down stairs a gentleman, as worthy Simonnin said, I found him in his Sunday clothes in the back shop waiting for me, with an emotion almost equal to my own. " Toinette gave me my breakfast, and nothing would serve me but she must wait on me, too, that day! * Dear Ernest,' said she, * I'll be very sorry, I'm sure, when you come to leave us. But no matter for that, I will pray to God all the time you're below, to give you a good chance. Poor boy! you deserve to succeed, and it's your happiness we ought to study first of all' "These words touched me deeply, but I had not time to express what I felt, for Deville just then arrived, radiant with joy; he appeared so perfectly sure of my success, that at last I began to share his confidence, and 8 m I m I ml I m i "^m I r L t ! 50 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. ill;'.. it ' my spirits rose accordingly. I was nevertheless much disturbed when leaving the house with my two friends, who were both anxious to witness my examination. When they left me to take their places amongst the audience, I trembled like an aspen leaf, and little would have tempted me to make my escape before the examina- tion commenced. The remembrance of my father it was that gave me courage to persevere; I breathed an in- ward prayer; my mind grew calm and collected, and I answered with so much clearness and precision the first questions put to me that my judges smiled encourage- ment. " I knew not then that they were in possession of the manner in which I had pursued my studies, and felt inter- ested on that account in my success. Still they did not spare me either in the number or the nature of their questions; some of them even tried me with questions as difficult as they were altogether unusual ; it seemed as though, being well assured of my ability to answer, they had resolved to fix on me the general attention. Hap- pily, I did not hesitate in my answers, and I was pro- claimed the second best of the competitors. 'After the examination, the gentlemen who had put me through such a rigorous ordeal, all crowded around the poor apprentice, and kindly expressed their entire satisfaction. You may be sure my happiness was at its height at that moment. " So happy was I, dear children, that when Deville and Simonnin came to me, I could not say a word to either; I could only look at them and press their hands alternately. IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. n f much riends, nation. rst the 1 would :amina- ' it was an in- , and I the first jourage- i of the i\t inter- did not of their stions as emed as rer, they Ilap- vas pro- had put around r entire s at its rille and Either; I jrnately. " We were going out when who should we meet but Mr. de S., colonel of engineers; I knew him very well because I had often seen him in Simonnin's store. He shook hands with me, and congratulated me very warmly, then taking me with my companions to a private room, he begged us to wait a few minutes. When he returned, there was a person with him; I uttered a cry: it was my uncle! He had secretly witnessed my examination. I would have thrown myself at his feet, but he would not suffer me to do so. " ' No, no, dear Ernest, you are welcome now to my arms. You have won my heart by your courage and perseverance: if I know how to punish, I also know how to reward. For you, sir,' he said, * turning to Deville, * I an; much and deeply indebted to you. I know all, my nephew has found in you a guardian angel ; to you he owes his science, and what is still better the good prin- ciples which do honor to him and you. Henceforward, I share his gratitude to you.' « "Then shaking Simonnin by the hand, he went on smiling : ' As to you, my worthy Simonnin, I beg you to excuse what you called my harshness. In placing Ernest under your care, I knew you would make a man of him, and my expectations are so much sur- passed that I must say I do not regret the hard trial he has undergone. Try, then, as we are all particularly happy just now, to forgive the *^ hard- \karled unde,^^ who is now under many obligations to your " * Humph I if you had spoken me fair about the lad m •• I would not have called you any such thnig,' replied the honest tradosmuu somewhat tartly. " 'What the puck, sir, isn't it as plain as my hand that Ernest is a good boy and a brave boy, too? I always told you so, but what vexed me was that you never seemed to believe me. Well ! I flatter myself he's a first-rate workman now, at any rate, what is more he has a power of learning, it seems. I'll warrant me he's a credit to his family, anyhow. If they don't know it, Mr. de Verval, they're not worthy of him — that's all I have got to say.' "So saying, my former master looked at me with a most exulting air ; but in a moment his eyes were full of tears. "I cannot tell you how I felt during this colloquy. I was at that moment like the ship-wrecked mariner long- tossed about by wind and wave, and thrown at last on a smiling shore, where he is at first stunned by his recent struggle with the elements. ** Still there was one thought uppermost in my mind : it was the double joy of my father and mother on hearing of my success and Mr. de Verval's pardon. " It was no part of the latter's character to give way long to any emotion, so, in order to cut the matter short, he took us all to his apartments, where an excellent din- ner awaited us, and he did the honors to our entire satisfaction. I then learned that, being connected with Colonel de S., he learned from him both the efl'orts I had been making for three whole years and ray projects as regarded the examination. All this had been secretly IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 53 told the Colonel by my good friend Toinette, and the Colonel had all along nsed his influence in my fuvor not only with my uncle but the gentlemen who examined me. Aly obligations to him did not end there : his genoroua patronage followed me into the career of arms and con- tri))uted nmch to my success. ^ '* During dinner I noticed that the two friends obser ^d me narrowly, and hstened attentively to the little I did speak. When the meal was over my uncle again took my hand and said : " * I think, Ernest, you will have no objection to sleep one night more iu the little room where you have worked so long and so well to secure your future prospects. Go then, to-night ; but to-moiTOw, my dear nephew, you must take possession of the apartment I intend for you. By-and-bye, when you get on the school costume, you shall go home to spend some time with your parents. If Mr. Deville will consent to be your companion in that journey, my post-chaise is at your service, to go and come. Each will thus have his share of happiness.' " This language, and the affectionate tone m which it was uttered, filled my heart with such joy, that I hardly dared to express my feelings, unaccustomed as I was to address my uncle otherwise than with timid respect. " Mr. de Yerval was apparently satisfied with the manner in which I testified my gratitude, for he suffered me to kiss his hand several times, and I, on my part, was so delighted with his unexpected goodness that, when we returned to Simonnin's, I could hardly command myself to tell Toinette all that had taken place. In fact, ' ■ '1 I u 'Mi I .! J:i! 9lt:f , fefey. \ 54 ii'';' I < IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. Deville was at last obliged to undertake that office, and when he came to Ma^am Simonnin's making a confidant of the colonel in relation to my studies : '" Bah !' said the good woman, suddenly breaking in, * if I let him into the secret, I knew well enough what I was about. I saw all along that the gentleman took an interest in our dear boy. He did all he could to keep me in the dark about the uncle's intentions, but I was just as cute as he was. I guessed how matters stood, and as what I had to say was, after all, much to Ernest's credit, I ventured to open my budget and talk, but not for talk's sake, you see I' "I thanked the worthy woman again and again, and when we came to separate on the following day, both she and her husband made me promise to go and see them every week. This promise I faithfully kept as long as I remained at the school. In later years, when fortune smiled upon me, I had the happiness of giving them more substantial proofs of my gratitude. " So now, my sons, the poor apprentice has at last ex- changed his plane for a sword, which he is to wear for the service of his country. He is on his way to his native province. You may guess what his emotions were on visiting again that paternal roof which he quitted four years before with such a heavy heart. " Deville, perhaps quite as much affected as myself, since he was tlie author of so much happiness, held my hand in his. Now and then we looked at each other without speaking, and yet how many thoughts were expressed in that mute language ! IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 55 " Blandeck is already passed, and my heart swells almost to bursting. Suddenly I perceive a man with a load of brushwood on his head ; headlong I rushed from the carriage and threw myself at his feet. * My son ! my Ernest !* he cries, and we are locked in each other's arms, surrounded by the neighbors, some of whom ran to apprise my mother and sisters. They run and we are all clasped in the same embrace. The crowd thickens, every one is anxious to greet and welcome me. We are conducted to the house amid joyful acclamations, and never was family festival more complete than ours. " Our first emotions being somewhat calmed, I pre- sented Deville to my father. They shook each other warmly by the hand. I will not tell you what words passed between them, but from that moment they were attached friends. " Next morning, by the dawn of day, Deville came and woke me. Seating himself on the side of my bed, he said : ' Ernest, do you love me V ^ " ' Do I love you ! — why, how can you ask such a question?' " ' Simply because, if you do you will permit me to ad- vance now a portion of what you will afterwards appro- priate to your family !' "I locked at him in silence, not knowing what he could possibly mean. He went on : " ' Hear me, Ernest. In three years, besides my patrimony which I have not touched, I have saved five thousand francs which I intended for you. Your uncle, taking you again into favor, has deprived me of the !^ 3i ■•'H'>i m rf A. 1*-. ) 1« ,■1; ■- ,■1 ^< ::i j'.ri,'- i!! ■ , I 56 ii'W IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. pleasure of providing for your school expenses. I hoped to be your support, my Ernest, and see now I am disap- pointed. Well, I have been thinking that you would permit me to offer the sum I have mentioned to your excellent father, on condition that he will adopt me as a second son, and condescend to receive every year his share of my salary. Hereafter, my young friend, your turn will come ; I will accept your gifts then as you accept mine now; that will be a solemn contract between us, for mind I do not understand friendship without this reciprocity of devotion and confidence.^ " * 0, my dear Deville !' I exclaimed, ' for me, I can receive any and everything from you ; but think you that my father can accept such an offer V "'Wliat is the matter now?' said the latter, as he entered my chamber. Deville then repeated to him what he had said to me, adding whatever else his noble heart could suggest in order to make the offer pleasing. My father listened attentively, then remained silent and thoughtful. I feared for a moment that he was going to utter a refusal, which would have deeply wounded my friend ; this was not the case. ** ' Well I I accept your offer,' said he, holding out his hand to Deville. ' When one meets a man like you, to re- ject his favors is a mark of meanness, and, thank Heaven ! misfortune has not brought mo to that. ^Now, my son,' he continued, addressing me, ' you have an important task to fulfil, for you will be the pledge of my debt to your friehd ; it is you who will have to discharge it, and I have too good an opinion of your heart to fear that you will fail us V IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 51 loped lisap- vould your ) as a T his , your 3 you tween ,t this I can u that as he 1 what heart My and going ed my S ^V " To tell you the joy of Deville on hearing these words, would be impossible. He threw himself on my father's neck, and from that moment I really believe he loved him as a son ; he had found a family instead of the one he had lost, and no longer felt himself alone in the world. " Nevertheless, the time came all too quickly when we were forced to leave that happy circle. Our duties called us back to Paris, and we resumed our journey thither after many sad farewells. ** Throwing a lust look over these smiling scenes which you see around us, Deville sighed deeply, and said to me : * Ernest, let this beloved spot, this calm retreat be hence- forward our place of meeting. Every year we will come 'ere both of us to refresh our souls, to forget the noise and tumultuous cares of the world ; and, hereafter, when you have discharged your duty to your country, when you have gained fame and fortune, we shall meet here to part no more. This plan meets your approbation, I see; well ! we must make it the object of our life, and labor, each in his own sphere, to bring it about. Meanwhile, my young friend,' he continued, after a moment's thought, * should Providence hereafter provide you with anything better, I would not have this project hinder you from embracing it ; before all else I desire your happiness.' " ' And do you think I could enjoy it without you ? 0, my dear Deville I we shall have everything in common all our lives I' ^ " ' Well 1 be it so,' he replied, ' and may the Lord bless you.' " Now, my children," continued Mr. d'Olbar, " I shall f Am I m >,,",■- : I 58 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. f, Ml ■; -S not stop to describe eitlier my stay at the Polyteclinic School, or that wliich I subsequently made at the School of Metz. I will only tell you that in both schools I had the good fortune to please my superiors, and that I entered as lieutenant in the corps of artillery, where good recommendations were before me. " When sent to join the army, I endeavored to dis- tinguish myself like my comrades. I obtained the cross, then the grade of captain. We were then at a period when promotion was rapid as victory. My uncle, too — whose friendship I had happily retained — assisted me through his friend, Colonel de S. " At a later period, when I was promoted to the rank of lieutenant-colonel, M. de Verval obtained leave for me to spend some months in France. During that time I was indebted to him for the greatest happiness of my life, for he had prepared the way for my union with your mother, and, in order to facilitate that auspicious alliance, he portioned me handsomely. " It was then that I could realize, at least in part, the cherished wishes of my heart. I purchased this property where my parents and sisters came to live with us, and also my friend. Your mother, who already shared all my affections, would not be separated from them, and when the time of my departure came, she found herself surrounded by tender and sympathizing friends. "My children, there are some of life's duties very painful ; I felt it when, after a long stay with my family, I was compelled to tear myself away from those I loved IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 59 part, this with ready from !, she fiizing very so well, in order to join that Russian expedition which was destined to be so fatal to France. v " It was during the time of that deplorable campaign, that death deprived us almost simultaneously of my uncle and my two sisters. Deville came to join me in Poland, (his anxious friendship would not permit him to await my return ; ) and from his mouth I learned our triple loss. " Bowed down under the weight of the miseries I had endured with that unhappy army whose sufferings and whose heroism posterity will tell, I only returned to my family to share in the general sorrow. To crown all our affliction, we were f.gain forced to separate ; the public service still required me, and I set out with a bleeding heart, for I foresaw that these last struggles would end but in ruin and defeat. ' " At length came the battle of Waterloo. You know its details, my sons, but you know not that your father, grievously wounded in that disastrous conflict, would have perished but for the generous friend who had so long devoted himself to him, and who saved him from death in a manner little short of miraculous. " Although separated from me, Deville could not cease to follow me in thought. He saw from the first that our army could never withstand the crushing power of the allied forces. Tormented by anxiety for my fate, he hastened to the army and arrived on the field at the very moment when the general rout of our shattered forces threw terror atid dismay into every heart. Andre, my servant, had seen me fall in the last charge. Deville .il* I < f 1 m n r\ • .r. 60 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. meets him, pale and terrified, amongst the flying. He stops him, forces bim to go back with him to the field of battle, makes him point out the square in which I had fought, and, after an hour of the most revolting search, he discovers me under a heap of dead bodies. I will not try to describe the terrible impression which the sight of my apparently lifeless body made on the loving heart of my true friend. He laid his hand on my heart, however, and found that it still beat, or rather fluttered ; but what was to be done to save me in the dismal solitude of that bloody plain, so thickly covered with the dead and dying ? "At length Providence came to his assistance. Whilst kneeling by me, and supporting me in his arms, Andre perceived several persons picking up the wounded, whom they placed in litters. A woman, or rather an angel in woman's form,* was directing this work of mercy. Her g^'acious words and gestures encouraged her assistants to persevere in their painful search. " * Look here I Look yonder !' she would cry, point- ing to places still unexplored, 'go on! — go on! — courage! — God will bless you !' ' ** I was brought by Deville and Andre to this angelic woman. Seeing my poor friend's distress, she called one of the surgeons by whom she was accompanied. He gave my wounds a temporary dressing, and I wi s after- wards conveyed to Brussels. A month after, furnished * Historical. We regret not being able to give the name of this lady, to whom many of those wounded at Waterloo are indebted for their lives. She belongs to Brussels. '^i He eld of I had earch, ill not ight of eart of >\vever, it what bude of jad and Whilst , Andre i, whom ingel in \ Her tants to y, poi^t- jouragel le name of ^erloo are IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 61 I with a disguise and good passports, DevlUe and I took tlie way to Blanieck, where our coming was awaited iu harrowing suspense. ** You now see, my dear boys," said Mr. d'Olbar in conclusion, "you now see how the ties which unite Deville and myself were formed and cemented. I pur- posely p?str d this explanat*'^" until such time as you were Oiu enou^a to comprehend what your father owes to that dear friend, so that you may help to pay that debt of gratitude which we all owe him. May you, all three, in return for his care and solicitude, try to imitate the virtues of which he is the perfect model!" Here ends Mr. d'01bar\s story. If our young readers have been following it with interest, they will be glad to learn that Alphonse, the colonel's second son, profited much by the lesson it conveyed, especially as God soon furnished him with another striking proof of the sad effects of idleness. One day, when the two friends alid their pupils were, as usufil, assembled in the pretty warren, the youngest boy, going after his ball into the long grass, suddenly uttered a cry, and ran to his father, saying : " There's a man down there — a dead man I" *' All ran towards the place which he pointed out. A miserable object, covered with filthy rags, lay there motionless. It was found, on examination, however, that he had only swooned. Thinking that his weakness mjght proceed from hunger, Mr. d'Olbar tried to make him inhale the smell of a piece of bread taken from the boys' satchel. This remedy is sometimes effectual in such a * 62 IDLENESS ; OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. cases. He had scarcely put the bread near the wretched creature's mouth when he seized it, swaffowed it greedily, and fell back almost chokhig. One of the boys ran to the village and brought a cart. The unhappy man was conveyed to a tavern where all possible care was given him, and he recovered his senses. Mr. d'Olbar then examined him attentively ; the livid features somehow seemed familiar to him. His first impulse was to question the man, but withheld by the fear of fatiguing him, he being so weak, he merely gave him in charge to the landlord, and gave orders to have the doctor sent for, then retired with his sons and Mr. Deville. Next day, word was brought to Mr. d'Olbar that the stranger, who was suffering from more than one incurable disease, had been very ill during the night, and had asked for the priest. He also begged the charitable persons who had assisted him to go and see him once more. - The boys obtained permission to accompany their father and his friend. When they entered the chamber where the dying man lay, the latter raised himself with a painful effort, and fixed his eyes on Mr. d'Olbar. " I see," said he, " that these wasted features, wasted by the most abject misery, and by all the horrors of remorse, awake in your mind but a misty recollection. Besides the worthy man, the happy father, the happy friend, must have long since banished from his memory the wretch who at one time hoped to bring him down to his own level— 1} IDLENESS : OR, THE DOUBLE LESSON. 63 tched ledily, I cart, sre all senses. 3 livid s first 3y the y gave have id Mr. ir that lan one night, ed the nd see ly their Ih amber (If with Here Mr. d'Olbar and his friend uttered a simultaneous exclamation of surprise. ** Ah I you know me now," resumed the dying man, " well, yes, it is I — it is Isidore whom you have gener- ously assisted — Isidore who is about to appear before his Supreme Judge, to render him an account of a life defiled by idleness and all the vices which follow in its train. Alas ! to those miserable vices I have sacrificed my own happiness and that of all connected with me. Ernest ! towards you also I was guilty ! will you, can you forgive me ?" " From my heart I do I" cried the generous soldier, and he pressed between both his own the emaciated hand Oi the dying man*. " Well, then," murmured the latter, in a failing voice, " may Heaven pour down its choicest blessings on you, and preserve your sons, too, from the fatal propensity which was my ruin I" Some moments after, the unfortunate man received the last Sacrament, and that same evening he expired. Alphonse d'Olbar never forgot this double lesson. t n » m wasted :rors ot llection. happy lemory lown to i i 'A h I '. 1 i.;^ THE MEMORARE. One day — it was that of the departure of Edouard de Saint-Kive for the great city of Paris — a worthy priest, an old friend of the young ti1aveller*s family, had accompanied him to the chapel of Our Lady of Fourvieres, that venerable chapel which is visited by the Lyonnese every day in the year, but espe- cially on the Saturday in every week. Edouard de Saint-Rive was setting out for Paris that day to study law. The priest, fearing for his young friend the dangers and seductions of the capital, wished to place him under the special protection of the Blessed Virgin. " Friend," said he as they walked together up the New Koad that leads to the Holy Hill, '^ many storms will rise around you, many tempests will break on your way, many shoals will intercept your progress, may the Blessed Mother of God then assist you, my young friend ! *' Invoke her, my child, in the days of your sad THE MEMORARE. 66 w 4 1 the sad ness, bless her in your joys, so that both may be puri- fied by the holy name of Mary. Believe me, my dear Edouard, the Blessed Virgin never forsakes those who pray to her with faith and seek a refuge in her maternal heart. "Like her goodness, her power is infinite; love her well, then, that tender Mother; love her always. Let the thought of her govern all the actions of your life. With that thought your step will be surer, your road easier, and you will prosper in all you undertake." ^ *' Pray for me," answered Edouard, " pray that God may preserve your holy words in my heart that they may fructify and bear good fruit." When they reached the top of the Holy Hill, a cai'riage with herald ric bearings arrived almost at the same moment, and stopped before the principal entrance. Edouard^s eyes were riveted on it as if drawn by some mysterious charm. In that car- riage there was more for him than a mere feeling of curiosity, there was a lesson, a precept, and what was more, a proof of the truth of his old friend's words, full of hope and faith as they were. He saw alighting from it a man of middle age : white hair, carefully brushed, gave a majestic look to his fine face, furrowed, most probably, by many tears, for it bore the imprint of profound sorrow. His black coat, buttoned to the neck, was decorated with the ribbon of the Legion of Honor. The old man gave his arm to a young lady who walked with I 66 THE MEMORARE. :t I' difficulty : her brow wa8 stamped with the hue of death, yet she had barely reached that age when all is joy and happiness, at that period of life when all is hope, when the future appears a boundless hori- zon. Poor young girl ! she was long doomed to die fair as she was, and rich in all that the privileged of this world call happiness. Hoping to put oif the fatal moment when the cold marble should inclose all his heart held dear, her doating father had vainly taken her to foreign countries — the smiling Swiss valleys of Interlaken and Unterseen — the sunny land of Spain — the orange groves of Italy — the scenes of German story where the beautiful Rhine winds along in the shade of Gothic castles and old cathedrals; vainly had he sought to awaken her sad, dejected heart, (her days that were falling one by one like the flowers of a bouquet shaken by the wind,) to all the seductions of wealth; she was sinking rapidly to the grave, weighed down by the heaviness of death. Having examined with pious attention the nume- rous ex-voto that tapestried the white walls of Our Lady of Fourvieres, and wishing to say the prayer for travellers before the high altar, Edouard de St. Rive found himself kneeling beside the decorated old man. He was praying : tears fell from his eyes, and his voice was choked with sobs. "Lord, my God!" said he, "you took from me in the hour of your mysterious decrees the beloved companion whom you gave me in the hour of your mi n THE MRMORARB. 61 •supreme mercy ! Lord, my God ! you took back the angel whom you gave mo to guide my uncertain steps through the doubts and darkness of this weary life to illumine my soul with a beam of that light which shines for the elect in heaven! Lord, my God ! you claimed her again ; may your name be ever blessed and your holy will be done ! " Since then, Lord, my God, I have shed many tears ; since then, thou knowest, O Sweet Jesus ! I have suffered much, I have passed lovrne my cross; like thee, scourged by misfortune, I have climbed the road to Calvary without a murmur; like thee, I fell broken and exhausted on the way of sorrows, but I invoked thy ihrice holy name, and thou didst raise me up ; I looked round, and lo ! there was at my side another little angel, the angel of love whom thou didst leave in my house of mourning for hope nud consolation. But behold she has scarcely touched the earth when her wing is plumod again for heaven ! Lord, my God, wait yet some days^ ia the name of thy holy and august Mother : lend me still my child, preserve her to me or let me die before her ; pity ! pardon ! mercy ! O my God ! my God !" So said and prayed the old man ; and in his burn- ing hand he clasped the cold clammy hand of the a a 11 If 68 THE MEMORARE. : mM beloved daughter whose days on earth were to all. appearance numbered. When he raised his head and fixed his eyes on the venerated image of the Holy Virgin, his noble face seemed calmer ; there was, as it were, a ray of hope in his look, when, from the holy image, it reverted to the pallid brow of his child and the loving smile that beamed in her eyes. Happy they, yes, very happy, who believe and pray ! They are sheltered from the despair that destroys the body and withers the soul. Edouard descended the hill lost in thought ; young and inexperienced as he was, he could by no means understand how so fair a creature could be destined to die in the early spring of life. Death has no age. Some hours after he was rolling along on the high road to Paris, enjoying those first hours of freedom which appear so fair and so highly-colored, deceit- ful as they are ! when, at seventeen, we cross for the first time the paternal threshold as our own masters, and get out of reach of the anxious parental chidings and admonitions, and are far, far away from a mother's fond caress. > More than once before the sun's last rays had vanished in the west, Edouard turned his head to take another look at the white spire of the holy chapel, and when it disappeared from his eyes, he shuddered at the thought of finding himself alone, then fell asleep and dreamed — he dreamed of the armorial carriage, the young girl and the old man he had met that morning at the gate of Our Lady's *rj Paris TEE MEMORARE. 69 chapel ; he saw them as long as his sleep lasted ; the carriage dismal as a hearse, the old man sad and dejected, and the girl pale and drooping as a half- blown rose bent in the storm. At length he arrived in Paris — Paris, the promised land seen in the fairy dreams of the young and rich and gay — Paris, the abode of egotism and deception — ^the nameless chaos wherein the elements of good and evil clash at every step — Paris was not then what it has now become under the trowel of the imperial restora- tion — where St. Rive thought to find a kingly city, a fairy capital, a Jerusalem of gold and marble, he saw only dark, sooty houses, crowded dens where human beings were huddled together too often in filth and wretchedness. In fact, if you took from the Paris of that day its boulevards, four or five public buildings, ten or twelve private residences, the city would have been but a tribe of people more or less civilized, proverbially decorated with the traditional name of cockneys* By way of compensation, doubtless, Edouard, protected by the Blessed Virgin whom he had in- voked so fervently at Lyons, encountered none of the dangers or seductions the prospect of which had so alarmed his young and inexperienced mind. One day he was expressing his surprise to a comrade whom he had not seen since he left college, the latter, who had been three years studying in Paris, answered * In French badanas, which means Pari csockneys So Paris has its cockneys as well as London. f 1 -I 1 i:M 70 THE MEMORARE. i ( I,. I i him laughing : " The devils are not all in Paris, you will find them at work in the village as well as in the city. So it is with the angels; virtue, I believe, may find shelter anywhere, even in the midst of human joys, and the bustling pleasures of the capital. Come and breakfast with me to-morrow, or rather I will call for you early in the morning to go visit the churches. You will see that people can pray here as well as in the country." According to promise, Leon de St. Julien called for Edouard next morning at seven o'clock. There was a great ceremony that day in the Church of St. Sulpice, that of the first Communion. Edouard could not help expressing his astonishment on seeing a great number of literary and other celebrities piously kneeling in the choir, the nave and the side- chapels. Leon pointed them out, whispering : " All that are here now, come to pray, not to see or be seen^ A moment after, he called his attention to a sol- dier in full dress, a drummer, who was marching up to the altar with perfect recollection. Happiness beamed on his brow and in his eyes. For the first time in his life he was going to assist at GocTs jparade as he called the holy table. Leon had often noticed him at Pere Ravignan's familiar Conferences and private Instructions. The evening before he had shaken hands with the drummer at the house of that worthy priest a moment after he had received abso- lution. Then in the joyous enthusiasm of a con- verted sinner, he had made use of an expression sin- 1 1 THE MEMORARE. tl you 1 the ieve, ;t of pital. ather visit pray called rhere of St. ouard seeing brities side- «All a sol- ing lip miness le first mracle ioticed iS and le had )fthat abso- la con- Ion sin- gularly picturesque : " Father," he exclaimed, mak- ing a motion with his arms as if beating the drum, " father, I have been fifteen years beating the drum for France, you have beat it to-day on my heart for the good God." The same day the two friends visited Notre Dame, St. Germain-des-Pres (St. Germains of the Meadows), St. Eustache, St. Roche and the Magdalen. In all there was the same confluence of faithful believers and the same pious recollection. Some days after, Edouard, on returning to his rooms in the evening, found the following note : "Wait for me to-morrow. I am going to take you to Notre Dame, where an interesting ceremony is to take place. The Archbishop is to preside. " Yours ever, "Leon." Next day, at ten o'clock, the two college friends were crossing the Pont Neuf on their way to the metropolis, when they saw a great crowd of people following a dead body that had just been taken from the Seine. It was that of a young woman. Edouard had never before found himself so near suicide, that great crime of our dissipated, skeptical and corrupt society. This young person had probably thrown herself into the river at the close of a ball, for she sva? attired in full ball-dress, the water streaming from her long curls and the flowers that wreathed her brow. { 1 Ik 'm% iri'.]| 12 THE MEMORARK. All the aristocracy of the faubourg St. Germain Were assembled at the Cathedral to witness the ab- juration of a young Jewish maiden. A crowd of armorial carriages were drawn up in line on the square without ; within a great number of the clergy were collected around the chief pastor of the church of Paris. The Archbishop was to deliver a short address, and every one knew the glowing fervor and the touching piety that ever marked his words, and made them sink into every heart. His eloquence was truly sublime when, addressing the converted Jewess, ho dilated on tlie transcendent charms of Catholicity. Never has the divine beauty of our holy religion been more vividly, more strikingly de- monstrated. This imposing ceremony received a momentary interruption from a melancholy accident. At the moment when the august prelate poured the baptis- mal water on the girPs head, a cry of distress was heard from a side-chapel, and a moment after an old man decorated with orders was seen bearing in his arms the form of a young lady who had fallen senseless, perhaps lifeless, for her brow was pale as that of the dead. It was the fair invalid whom Edouard had seen on the verge of the grave at Lyons, on the threshold of the Virgin's Hospital, before the high altar of Our Lady of Fourvieres. Attracted after the old man by a mysterious THE MEMORARE. [lam ab- iof the ergy urch Iress, I the , and lence erted as of >f our ly de- jntary Lt the >aptis- is was ;er an ng in fallen ale as li seen eshold )f Our eriouB impulse, an instinctive curiosity, the two friends reached the steps of the church in time to see him get into his carriage and drive rapidly away. An old crone was at their side : " Death will arrive before them," muttered she, and she shook her head. " Let us pray for the poor girl," answered Edouard. A year had flown away after that day; De St. Rive had regularly followed the course of the learned Faculty and the pious counsels of his reve- rend friend ; he had preserved himself pure amidst th^ seductions of the capital and the bad example of his companions. Then the time of vacation being come, he left Paris for two months and saw again with delight his dear native Lyons, its beautiful Rhine, the pretty spire of the Fourvieres, the holy chapel, the place where the stately old man and the dying girl had one day prostrated themselves, the one to pray, the other to await the hour of sacrifice, innocent and resigned. By that time, Edouard thought the poor invalid must have ceased to suffer ; for God, doubtless, touched by her sufferings, had sent one of His best loved angels to take her to heaven. II. Edouard de St. Rive loved Our Lady of Fourvieres, he loved her as a child ought to love his good mother; he never failed, therefore, to pay her a visit when he went to Lyons, especially on Saturday which, in his simple faith, he called the Bleued "1 \f f i u THE MEMORARE. ij-i Virgin's reception-day. It was a great happiness for him to see the good Lyonnese prostrate on the marble flags, far from the tumult of the world, and far from the passions of men storming and clash- ing below the hill. He loved to see all those faces lit up with a ray of divine love — all those men and women isolated in the silence of their hearts to hearken to the voice of God. He loved with all his heart the heavenly mother to whom his own on earth had taught his infant lips to pray, before the blessed palm of the household. On a Saturday, then, Edouard, returned to Lyons, as we have said, found himself at the top of the holy hill, on the terrace of Fourvieres, and by his side the venerable priest whom we had the honor of present- ing to you, dear readers, at the beginning of this sketch. The day had been superb, not a cloud was in the sky. At that moment the horizon was all on fire. The setting sun had shed his latest beams on the Alps, which appeared far off in the distance, their bold outline clearly traced on the deep blue sky behind. That lovely chain of mountains reposed in queenly grandeur, crowned with the last rays of the setting sun. From the summit of Mont Blanc, the eye wandered down to the deep valleys at its feet where the Rhone and the Saone like betrothed lovers unite at the end of the Perrache peninsula to roll on together to the ocean, that vast tomb of rivecs and streams. * m A' .■ ;,;, , I ' 'l ■ . I. n THE MEMORARE. who could scarcely murmur : * Lord have mercy on me!'" " The girl has been cured, my son — God has pre- served her to her father's love, because He was ono day touched by his prayers and had mercy on him — because our Holy Mother one day received a peti- tion in this her favorite shrine and was graciously pleased to grant it as she al a.ys does " " What petition ?" " That which the young lady's father pronounced here before Our Lady of Fourvieres — the Mcmorare, Happy are those who believe — happy are those who pray!" # ♦ *;-.#:#■ ♦ " ■ # The fair girl so providentially cured is now the happy wife of the Prince de B . She lives in the great world of Paris, which she graces as much by her virtues as her charms. M 'Mi- rcy on as pre- as one him — a peti- ciously lounced ^morare. 3se who ■ * now the lives in as much THE GODFATHER. Styria, a province of Germany, is one of the here- ditary States of the House of Hapsburg. The arch- duchy of Austria bounds it on the north, Hungary on the east, Lower Carinthia on the south, the same Carinthia and the archdiocese of SaUzburg on the west. It was formerly comprised, part in Pannonia and part in Norica. It was under the dominion of the Dukes of Bavaria till the year 1030, when the Emperor Conrad erected it into a marquisate, which he conferred on Ottocar, Count of Muertzhal and Avelentz, nephew of the young Duke of Carinthia, on condition that the latter would defend that fron- tier of the empire against the ceaseless incursions of the barbarians. The Emperor Henry V. confirmed in 1120 the privileges granted by his predecessors to the Mar- quis of Styria; and the Emperor Frederick I., wish- ing to recognize in a manner worthy of him — their good and loyal services, erected the marquisate into a duchy in favor of Ottocar II. s If '. J 78 THE GODFATHER. Then, by the donation which he made of it to his father-in-law, Leoi)old, Duke of Austria, with the consent of the States of the country, Styria passed into the possession of the House of Austria. Afterwards, when Frederick the Warlike died without issue, Ottocar, King of Bohemia, took pos- session of this duchy, but it was immediately taken from him by the Emperor Rodolph I., who bestowed it on his son Albert. Styria has an extent of twenty- two leagues in length and twenty in breadth ; it is watered by the Drave, the Muer, and several othei rivers of minor importance. Fertile in some places, barren and wild in many others, it is encircled by lofty and picturesque mountains. Its inhabitants have been always distinguished by a boundless devo- tion to the House of Austria, and an unalterable attachment to the person of its sovereigns. Skilfr^ archers, indefotigable hunters, they have taken an active and courageous part in all the wars of the empire. Sincerely attached to the faith of their fathers, they possess all the virtues that character- ize a truly Christian people. Amongst other vir- tues their honesty is proverbial, and they carry it to an extent very rare in other countries. In proof of this we may relate the following anecdote : A mountaineer having once found a purse of gold, brought it immediately to his pastor. The latter, much embarrassed on his side, and at a loss how to act in a case so new to him, assembled the chief men of the place to consult with them on the means THE GODFATHER. 79 to his h the )assed I dieO k pos- taken towed tventy- i ; It is othei places, led by bitants 8 devo- terable Skilfr^ ken an of the f their racter- ler vir- arry it proof |)te: A gold, latter, ow to chief means that ought be taken to find the owner of the lost treasure. " There is but ono " they all agreed, " and that is to take back the purse to the very spot where it was found, for the owner will be sure to return the way he went to look for it." This simple proposition being unanimously adopted, the moun- taineer who had fouiid the purse, set out at once to place it on a fence by the road-side, where the fol- lowing notice was written on a post : '' The purse here placed was found on this spot on the *lthofJidy,mV' The lost treasure, thus placed under the safeguard of public honor, remained a year and a day at the disposal of its owner, who was, doubtless, too far off to return to seek it. From the high road, it passed to the sacristy of the village church, where it still waits to be claimed. We have seen ivith our own eyes^ and couiited with our own hands eleven louis d'or all new and bearing the effigy of King Louis XV. It is evident that the traveller who lost them must have been French. " What do you intend to do with this sum ?" I asked the good vicar who, finding himself its owner, by transmission, showed it to me. " What my predecessor did with it. I will leave it to my successor." " What do you think will be done with it when the time of prescription comes V "Prescription, did you say ?" ^ "Yes, prescription." n fi'..- il'' 80 THE GODFATnr.i " We have no such wore! here." " In Franco, it would be distributed amongst the )) poor " The poor, if we had any, would have nothing to do with, it knowing that no one has a right to give what does not belong to him." I could not make the worthy pastor understand that an object lost and not claimed before a certain time, reverting to the public, becomes the patri- mony of the poor. As it is very unlikely that the heirs of the French traveller will ever present themselves in the moun- tains of Styria to claim a portion of their inheritance, we may reasonably believe that the eleven gold pieces, stamped with the image of Louis XV., will remain long enough in the sacristy where we left them. 11. Not far from this village of phenomenal honesty there lived in 1849, and may live there still for aught we know, a man who might be sixty-five or there- abouts, although his tall erect figure and square shoulders would have given him no more than fifty. Frantz, for such was his name, was a strange mix- ture of the soldier, the monk, the lord and the pea- sant. His life, taken in detail, savored of the bar- rack, the convent, the castle and the cottage. His manner, at all times uneven, .became, according to circumstances, frank and martial, pious and col- li^ J ki 8t the ling to o give rstand certain patri- b^rench moun- itance, 1 gold f., will e left THK GODFAinER. II onesty auglit there- square n fifty, e mix- le pea- le bar- i. His ing to id col- lected, stately and commanding, rustic and simple. As a soldier, ho smoked and drank like a true Ger- man, as he was — as a devotee, ho was sure to say his usual prayers night and morning — and good long prayers, too — though troubled with rheumatism at certain periods of the year he had himself carried to Church rather than miss Mass on Sundays or ho- lidays ; as a proud noble he carried a high head and spoke in a tone of authority; as a simple peasant he spoke the patois of the people, and was hand and glove with them every day of his life, as he was often told by his ancient housekeeper, who had also been his nurse. So you see, dear readers, Frantz bad the knack of assuming a variety of aspects and making himself at home with all, and that, too, without either ostentation or hypocrisy. For the rest, generous as the wine he so freely offered to his friends, with a heart as straight as the shank of his own pipe, he was, in all respects, a most worthy man. He had married rather late in life the young and handsome daughter of a wealthy farmer, who made him an excellent wife, and brought him, at an in- terval of sixteen years, a charming girl already grown to womanhood and a fine boy not yet weaned. Happy in his paternal and conjugal affections, Frantz used to say : *' I would not exchange my lot with the greatest priuce on earth — what is wanting in mine ? Have I not in the person of my wife, Sophia, a queen of virtue and goodness; in that of my i :N" ft; <•',' M' IV ; l;.i# El lip M '^l' ,. I' ^t,j THE GODFATHER. daughter, Elevida, an angel of beauty and innocence, and in my baby boy, the hope, the pride of my life and the staff of my old age. For dominions, I have a property that is aU within range of my eye -for subjects, I have fine horses in my stables, fine cows and heifers in my fields, and a poultry-yard abundantly stocked — these subjects, always faithful, leave me nothing to dread in the shape of revolution, except the changes of the weather. Wife,*' he would add, " we ought to thank God. who has given us a life so smooth and easy." Frantz was the son of a country gentleman, and had passed the early portion of his life in the pur- suit of arms ; the second in field sports on his own grounds. He had for huntsman a brave fellow who served him at once for butler, coachman, steward and valet de ckambre. His days, evenly and regularly divided, flowed on like a stream of music, in the calm delights of affection and the peace of a good conscience. When evening came, seated in regal state — a king in the love of his family — in an old hereditary arm-chair, certainly as ancient as the reign of Frederick the Warlike, he told over his feats of arms and hunting adventures which his hearers all knew by heart, having heard them re- peated times without number. Then when ten o'clock came, as regular as the clock itself, he recited aloud, before all his assembled household, the even- ing prayers, before going to seek, in his night's rest, THE GODFATHER. 83 the under tho divine protection, new strength to begin his life again on the morrow. Amongst his military recollections which he most loved to narrate, there was one which recurred re- gularly fifty-two times in the solar year, once in every eight days, not to speak of the extra occasions, such as the visit of an old companion in arms or a neighbor , it was free to all comers. Frantz had served under the Archduke Charles and borne arms up to 1815. It was at that period, and in consequence of a disappointment, styled in military parlmice a " pass-over," that he tendered his resignation of the captain*s commission he held, and withdrew into private life. A better soldier than he was a courtier, he had seen pass his button-ltole^ as he said himself, and given to those who deserved it less, the cross which the Archduke Charles had promised him on many occasions. This injustice had left a bitter feeling in his mind, and gave to his words, when they touched on that subject, a vindic- tive tone oddly contrasted with his real good- nature. " Talk not to me of the justice of the great and the gratitude of sovereigns," would he then say ; " great people and sovereigns, too, are noth- ing more than great ingrates. Six-and-twenty years did I pay with my blood the debt I owed my country — they might have paid the debt the coun- try owed me^ with a bit of a ribbon aud a cross, but they didn't do it — I saved the life of an aid-de- camp of General Schwarzemberg's, I received seven , *i M»^ 84 THE GODFATHER. wounds, I was twice left for dead on the field of battle, and, by way of reward, I received from the hand of the Archduke Charles but a shqj on the shoul- der and promises that are still to be kept — I say, princes are but ingratcs." " Speak not so, father," said his daughter Elevida, placing her little white hand on her father's lips — " those words which you say over and over in the hearing of all may be misinterpreted *' " And what then ?" " They might make enemies for you " " What care I for enemies ? I saw enough of them in France." " Besides, father dear, we should never despair of anything — I am sure you will get a cross sooner or later." . " Ay, a wooden one — over my grave — Fm sure of that, anyhow." " And it is the best, father !" " I don't deny that, my child ! but then every one has it^ you see, whereas every one cafi't have the other. But never mind! go fetch me my over-coat — the promises of the great are not worth a pipe of good tobacco — the glory that is won in their service is not worth the smoke of a good cigar." Like all good sportsmen, Frantz was exceedingly jealous of his property-rights — he liked no one to hunt on his estate — and a gun-shot fired on his lands was more unwelcome to his ear than a cannon-shot used to be on the field of battle. He had a whole • li r THE GODFATHER. 85 id of a the shoul- I say, evida, lips — in the ithem despair sooner oa sure ery one IV e the er-coat pipe of service edingly ) one to us lands ion-shot 1 whole • som'^ horror of poachers and amateurs who often came a long way to shoot moor-cocks. Now, his property w^as famous twenty leagues round for the quantity and quality of that favorite game, and not a week passed but he had some serious difficulty with sportsmen caught in the act of trespassing on his grounds. One evening as he walked the rounds to protect his lands endangered by the appearance of abundant game (the heath-cock is only hunted by night) he perceived two young men hidden amongst the over- hanging branches of a thicket. He immediately approached them, and asked in a tone indicative of anything but good- will : " Whence come you, gentlemen V " From Vienna," one of them answered. " What brings you here ?" " To see and admire- the beauties of nature." "And botanize, of €(nirse?" "Why not?" " With those guns, to be sure.** " Undoubtedly, we take quite an interest in the heath of these mountains." " And to botanize my heath-cocks — my heath, I mean — pray have you got a license ?" " A botanical license ? we knew not that it was J5 necessary. "You don't know where yon are, then?" u We are in Styria, on the lands of the Emperor of Austria, » lit' Sir' >' ' I 86 THE GODFATHER. t-'l ) " No, gentlemen, you are on my lands. The Em- peror has nothing to do here. I am more master here, perhaps, than he is at home." » " Respect the Emperor's name !" cried the younger of the two strangers, who had hitherto remained silent. " Respect, first of all, the property of others," answered Frantz, more and more annoyed by the cool composure of the poaching sportsmen. " Either," he added, " there is no more law in Aus- tria, or your Emperor is powerless in having it observed, since every vagabond that comes the way may hunt and shoot with impunity on reserved grounds. Who are you, gentlemen ?" "Two employees of the government." " It was not your quality I wanted to know, but your name. What is your name — you, sir?" " Francis Toutcourt.*' '• Toutcourt — it seems to me that your godfather might have chosen you another name, Mr. Francis." " I am not of your opinion — Toutcourt* is a capi- tal name for a sportsman who follows indiscrimi- nately all kinds of game." " Well ! Mr. Toutcourt, I have the honor to inform you that I sliall be imder the necessity of letting his Majesty know that h<^ has in his employment two fellows who make free with other people's property." * To understand this pun some of our readers may require to he told that the French word ToMicouri would be equivalent to the English word Run-all. ' 1. ; THE GODFATHER. 87 e Em- [naster onnger [naiiied .thers" ^ed by rtsmen. in Aus- Lving it the way •eserved low, but todfather rancis." s a capi- iscrimi- :o inform jtting his lent two I'operty." |tiy require jquivalent " We shall return to-morrow to Vienna, and as I will probably have the honor of seeing his Imperial Majesty, I shall be happy to lodge your complaint, if you desire it." *' You are making fun of me, I really think I" " No, I am simply offering my service." "Meanwhile I will simply confiscate your guns as proofs of the delinquency.'* So saying the squire made to seize the fowling-pieces. '' They are too heavy for you, old man," said one of the young sportsmen. " We shall take them ourselves to your dwelling, if it be not too far distant." *' Five hundred paces or so behind yonder hill." " Lead on then — we follow." Five minutes after, the dogs of a farm contiguous to a species of dilapidated castle flanked with a large tower thickly covered with ivy, announced by their joyous barking the return of their master. A lady of some forty years and a tall, beautiful young girl were warming themselves at a fire in the lower hall of the old manor-house. " What's the matter, my dear ?" said the lady, perceiving a cloud of anger on the wrinkled brow of her husband. " It's these rascals that I caught lying in ambush for the purpose of shooting the moor-cocks that I intend for the christening." Hearing this Francis tuined his attention to an m ?11. ■'■■**- 88 THE GODFATHER. osier cradle in which a rosy infant lay, smiling through its sleep. " What a lovely child !" said he. The grateful mother thanked him by a sweet smile, and address- ing her husband, asked him if he would not have the gentlemen sit down.^ " You might as well ask them to sup," he replied in a tone of gruff good-nature. '* We can do that, too, my dear," said the wife ; " Fm glad you thought of it — these gentlemen must be hungry, for the mountain air is sharp and keen." *' Humph ! if the rascals eat nothing but what I offer them, I warrant it won't spoil their digestion to-night." " You speak unthinkingly, husband ! for you your- self have made hospitality the rule of our house. As for me, I am only sorry that I have nothing bet- ter to offer them ; if I had only been apprised of their coming -" " You might have sent them an invitation, eh ?" "Which I should be delighted to have them accept, for they certainly look like real gentlemen." "Ds -r mo ! how ready you are to form an opinion !" " I iim a physio^iiomist, you know." " You are often mistaken, though !" "Never: I tell you those young men carry on their faces the mark of high birth, and their manners are those of well-bred gentlemen." " One of them in particular has a confoundedly noble name so illustrious as" — Frantz could not iy1 THE GODFATHER. 89 miling rateful idress- t have replied t wife; )n must keen." what I Lgestion )u your- ' house, ing bet- L'ised of eh?" e them ilcmen." pmion i !" ?^i'Tj on manners lundedly Mild not finish the sentence — the word Toutcourt was lost in a loud burst of laughter. III. During this dialogue Francis and his companion were sitting quite at their ease beside the lady of the house. The latter, notwithstanding her hus- band's ill-humor, called one of her servants and told her to serve up some cold meat, a venison pie a.id a salad. Francis Toutcourt had quite won her heart by praising her child ; »o small a thing will reach the heart of a mother ! Frantz, on the other hand, making a virt^ie of necessity, went down to the cel- lar, and soon returned with a collection of bottles, whose venerable appearance gave token of a good old age. Ilis wife, in her turn, thanked him with a smile which he translated by these words : " Hospitality is the virtue of the Austrian people." " Mr. Francis Toutcourt," said he, *' take my wife's arm; you, sir, whose name I know not, take my daugliter's, and let us go to supper." Little by little the brow of the surly husband lost its wrinkles ; at every mouthful, unscrewing his before tightly-compressed lips, he threw out a kind word ; every glasi=} of wine filled and duly discussed, softened his stern aspect, and at length he drew over his chair which at first he had intentionally placed as far as possible from his guests. The repast duly honored by the healthy and vi- t:n':\ ^H'l 90 THE GODFATHER. gorous appetite of the young men, soon became gayer and more genial. Frantz had entirely forgot- ten his moor-cocks. " Well ! my dear Mr. Toutcourt," said he, " how do you find that little Weuslau ?" " It is really delicious," replied Francis. " It is almost as old as myself^ — it dates from my father." " Then it is entitled to my respect." " I'll be bound your Emperor drinks none better !" " Better ! — it would be hard for him, I agree with you." '' Gentlemen, your health I" <' Thanks ! permit us to pledge your lady and her children!" ''And we would drink the health of your young Emperor, sir," proposed Madam Frantz, " as it seems you are in his employment ;" and every glass except that of the host met in a general hob-nob. '' Why is it, sir," said the young man whose name was unknown, " why is it that you refuse to join us in drinking the health of our young sovereign ?" " Because sovereigns and great people are noth- ing but in grates." ' •' You think so, sir ?" '' I'm as sure of it as you will be yourself when you have grown old like me in their battle-harness." ** You have served them ?" demanded Francis. *' Only for a matter of twenty-six years, sir, under the Archduke Charles, who is still my debtor for a THE GODFATHER. 91 came rgot- 'how n my tter I" B with nd her young as it glass ob. name oin us 9" noth- "when •ness." icis. under ir for a cross promised in exchange for the blood I shed under the eagles of the House of Austria." " Do you mean to say, sir, that of all your cam- paigns nothing remains to you but their recollection?" " And the rheumatism — my respects to you, dear Mr. Toutcourt.'* " Thanks, good sir ! But why do you not apply directly to the Emperor ? it devolves on him to discharge the country's oMigations." " The Emperor is no better than the rest of them. Sovereigns aad great people are great in grates." " For pity's sake, my dear ! do not speak so of our Emperor ! Only think if he were to hear you !" cried Madam Frantz. *' It wouldn't trouble me much if he did. Indeed I'd be well pleased if he was within hearing, for I'd give him a little more of my mind. However, as these gentlemen belong to the concern, they may do for me what I can't do for myself — ^I give them full power of attorney. Nevertheless," added Frantz, " I don't mind if you tell him when you are about it, that if ever he has need of the old soldier, the old soldier has still a good sword in its scabbard, some good hearty blood in his veins, and a cub of the masculine gender there in the cradle, all very much at his service." " Very good, very good, my dear !" said the vet- eran's wife, " there spoke once more my noble, gen- erous husband !" " It's all the same," resumed Frantz, '' that doesn't l?S^fl^ r"^ " 1 1 - .'! ,' 'IH ■;,'■ { ; /• 09 TIIK UODFATIIKK. hiiidor sovoicigna aiul great pooplo from being ^';v/f iiignitcs. ») "llavo you hooii our young Kovcreign, grntlo- men ?" in<{uircd Madam Krantz, *' Very ofton, madam/* answered Mr. Toutcourt. ** Ih it true that he is as handsome as good, and ^nerous as brave?" ire is yet too young, madam, to hazard an opi- nion in his regard which the i'uture might belie; all that lie authorizes us to believe is that lie loves his people as a good iatlier loves liis children — that their h:ij)piness is liis sole desire — that he hates both injustice and ingratitude, linally, that he is actuated by the best intentions." "Well! since such is his character, why not drink his health again? I am sure, gentlemen, that my hu?>band will not, now refuse to join us." 'Til give Ihis toast myself," said Frantz, and standing up, glass in hand, in that full sonorous voice accustomed to make itself heard over the diu of battle, he said with visible emotion: *' To our young Emperor Francis Joseph ! may the God of armies be his aid, and establisii liim se- curely on his throne now shaken by the storm of Revolution ! May the nations he rules united in one feeling of love and fidelity make him a ram- part of their bosoms and prepare their voices to repeat in the day of danger, if God was pleased to send us new^ trials, the old faithful cry : *' ' Moriamur pro rcgc nostro.^ " * TUB OODFATIIKR. ^ "In our Einpcror^H iijinio I uccopl, the toaHt," jinswcM-od KranciH Toiitt^oiirl touching jrlasHCH with his hoHt, " permit um Ut ^\\v in return: TUa iieuhJi ol" Mr. Krantz and liiH eharrnini^ family, and the din- charg(^ of the sacked debt whieii the Ar(;hduko iJliarleH and the country owe him." ''Thanks, Mr. Touteouit," rejilied Krantz aftcir emptying his j^hiKs and turning it upHide dowri on tlie hoard. " l^Vn-n thin Tn(t merit I abandon my pur|>oHe of eomj)!; ug of you to the Kmjieror." " I thank you a thouHand timers for the favor you do me, Hir: you wouhl Inive a Htiil higher title to my gratitude by granting me another." " What is tliat, HirV" " I think you said that your infant was not yet baptized." " We'll have to wait awhile before his intended godfather comes, for, liaving been unaccountably prevailed upon to take i)art in the Hungarian rebel- lion, he was condemned to two years' imprisonment." •' la he a relative of yours ?" " He is my wife's brother." " You will tell me his name and I will have some powerful friends of mine recommend him to the Emperor's clemency. Meanwhile, do me the favor to let me take his place." " In the fortress ?" cried Frantz laughing. " Not quite that," answered Francis, '' but in the pious office he was to fill, in standing godfather for vour child.'* IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I I us, |2£ 1111118 1.25 1.4 J4 < 6" - ► V] <^ /2 % /a V /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MS 80 (716) 872-4503 % \ iV \\ "% V o^ <^ ^^ ^ w^ %' j^^ L<5> <^ o^ t^ 94 THE GODFATHER. »?'■ .1 ' )■ " I should willingly consent, I am free to ov^n, if your name was only a little " Madam Frantz, suddenly interrupting her hus- band, finished the sentence in her own way, and said : " Sir, we are proud to accept the honor you are pleased to do us." ** When is the affair to come off?" " Ai^ soon as possible." " On Sunday next ?" " His Majesty's service permitting,*' said Frantz. " Oh ! as to that, I will undertake to get leave of absence. By-the-bye, madam, I hope you will give me a pretty gossip ?" " My young sister whom I expect from Prague.'* "If she only resembles you, madam, I shall be quite content." The young mother thanked him a second time by a smile no less gracious than the first ; it takes so little to reach a woman's heart ! Time flies quickly at a good table with good com- pany. Frantz paid another visit to the cellar while his old housekeeper, Susan, brought in the dessert. " My dear Mr. Toutcourt," said he coming up again, " do you like the French wines ?" " I would be hard to please if I did not esteem them according to their merit." "Have you ever drank a red wine they call ' Hermitage ?" " I think I have, but still I am not certain -" " Well, my dear sir, you tvill be certain in a mo- THE GODFATHER. 95 ov^n, if Br hus- ly, and lor you ?rantz. leave of vrill give *rague.'* shall be time by akes so »d com- ir while lessert. ling up esteem |ey call a mo- ment's time, for I am going to have the honor of offering you a glass at which our young monarch himself might not turn up his nose." "My dear, how can you make use of such an expression speaking of the Emperor ?" said his wife. " I brought that word from France with my rheu- matism : pardon — excuse me if this French wine put it in my mouth again." Decidedly the old soldier was beginning to be a little obfuscated ; he was so intent on his glass that he did not notice the. warn- ing glances of liis wife. " My very good sir," said he to his neighbor on the left, " permit me to give you a friendly advice." " I shall be happy to take it if it be good." " You said you had some influence at court." " I say so still." " Well ! since you are to have the honor of stand- ing godfather for my young one, do try and get per- mission to change your name — for decidedly it is not to my liking, I tell you that frankly." " I promise to do your bidding." *' Here's to you, then, Mr. Toutcourt ; you have an awkward name of your own, but you are a good poo — I mean a good fellow." " You must excuse my husband," said the mis- tress of the mansion, " he brought all sorts of stuff from France with him." **Not including that wine, madam? for better could not be had, though it does come from France," observed Oscar, the companion of Francis Toutcourt. 96 THE GODFATHER. m' l: m IV. Just then Madam Frantz, taking Toutcourt's arm without ceremony, gave the signal for retiring, and they all repaired to the drawing-room, where Elcvida soon after did the honors to some excellent Mocha. Whilst Frantz enjoyed by himself what ho called his grace-cup, the two young men made a survey of the apartment, which was simply but tastefully adorned. . , On a handsome piano lay a new piece by Verdi. Two full length portraits of the master and mistress of the mansion hung on opposite sides of the room, the walls of which were covered with white and gold paper; the furniture consisted of a divan, six arm-chairs and twelve chairs in Utrecht velvet, carefully covered over with white. A beautiful flower-vase of Dresden china stood on an elegant gilt stand between two windows that opened on the garden. " What is this charming female portrait ?'* asked Oscar approaching a medallion that hung at one angle of the fireplace. *' That's a story," answered Frantz, delighted to be able to commence without further preamble the everlasting story which he managed to slip in everywhere. - " A story is just the thing to finish this pleasant , evening," said Oscar. " Would you be kind enough to let us hear it, sir ?" THE GODFATHER. 9T Frantz, who only wanted to be asked, imme- diately commenced as follows : "In the worst days of the Republic, when the honor of the French nation, tramj^led down by un- bridled mobocracy, took refuge under the banners of the army, the squadron to which I belonged was manojuvring on the Rhine, combining its move- ments with the army of Conde. Amongst the number of braves who formed that select corps of gentlemen, serving, for the most part, in the ranks, there was a young officer with whom I was united by the closest bonds of friendship. The Marquis de Surcyl was one of the finest types of that chivalric character, which has borne far and wide the glory of the French name. The marquis had been one of the first to emigrate to fight in a foreign land — not a country which he still loved devotedly — but the revolution which, after sweeping away the throne of its kings, had inaugurated the reign of terror. Brave amongst the brave, he signalized himself at every encounter with the Republicans by that bril- liant courage that everywhere distinguishes the French soldier. When a conqueror he cried : * Vive le roil' when conquered, he rejoiced in the depth of his heart that his countrymen had gained the victory, and then he cried ' Vive la France !' A noble and generous heart had the Marquis de Lurcyl ! " On a day of victory dearly purchased by the loss of the flower of the royalist army, the marquis I'"/ k : . m- A. ' w- f 1 ' 1; |1 ' i^ ^ ' m ^ III.; 98 THE GODFATHER. found amongst a number of republican prisoners the denouncer of his father who died on the scaf- fold. The first emotion following on the recogni- tion was terrible. *I find you again, then, base assassin!' cried the marquis darting on the de- nouncer — ^but immediately perceiving that he had no arms to defend himself, he suddenly added in a calmer tone : " * You are unfortunate and a prisoner — I respect your misfortune and your person. I will forgive and forget until such time as, freed again by the chances of war, you are in a condition to give me the satisfaction I have a right to expect from the murderer of my father.' " * I am ready to offer it this very day,' answered the republican oflicer. " * I cannot accept it, for I consider the person of a prisoner as sacred ' , " * You are very generous, citizen- " * And you are i^w-generous to insult me at a moment like this with a title which your butchers, in France have rendered so disgraceful !' * ' Would you rather I should call you aristocrat?^ " ' That name is, at least, unstained with blood — but enough, sir ! no recrimination, for I say again, we two could not meet on equal terms. We shall meet again * " ' When you please.' ^'For many months afler the republican officer, THE OODFATHER. 99 who was brave too, awaited the hour that was to place him sword in hand before his adversary whom withal he could not help esteeming, for never since the conversation I have just repeated had the mar- quis made the slightest allusion to their relative position. He even carried so far the respect due to unsuccessful courage, that he more than once sent sums of money secretly to his countryman whom he knew to be utterly destitute of means. Oh! yes, truly he was as generous as noble that young Marquis de Surcyl ! " One day the marquis received by a secret agent news of his family. He had pressed to his heart and to his lips a letter from his wife, and, as he read it, the tears stood in his eyes. I happened to be in his tent a silent witness of happiness that must be felt in order to be understood. At that moment the republican officer made his appearance with a free and joyous aspect. " ' What brings you here, sir V asked the marquis quickly. "'Three things, citizen — ^I mean, my lord mar- quis!* " * Speak, then, and be brief!' *' * Primo : I come to thank you for a fact that does you honor and which I have only learned this morning, too late, consequently, to refuse what you sent me with admirable generosity.' " * Secundo : I come to pay you back the ten louis you lent me.' / lOO THE GODFATHER. G '■•. t : 1, R! T, m : m^ " ' Tertio : I come to place mysel^ at your disposal, in other words, to offer you the satisfaction you have asked of me.' " * Is it possible that you are free, sir ?' " * Since this morning ' " * I congratulate you, sir, for liberty is a holy thing when it is not impregnated with crime and blood — it is so sweet to see France again.' " * You can see it to-night, if you wish.* " * As a butcher, is it not ?' " * Do not insult me, sir, but read.' So saying the republican officer presented the marquis with a passport conceived as follows : " * In reward for the services rendered the country by citizen Melcour, we accede to his request in fur- nishing the ex-Marquis de Surcyl, now in the camp of the so-called army of Conde, this passport, good for fifteen days — we also request the civil and mili- tary authorities to give him aid and succor in case of need.' . " * Signed : The representatives of the people delegated to the army of the Rhine ^ and the General-in-Chief oj said army? " ' I thank you, sir,' said the marquis, * for having read my thoughts, and anticipated my desire. I shall be indebted to you for the consolation of fall- ing on the soil of France if the fate of arms is against me.' " The frontier line was but a short distance from where Conde's array was encamped. The marquis THE GODFATHER. 101 requested me to act as his second, I accepted the honor, and we both obtained a furlough of 48 hours : five sufficed to take us into France. *' As soon as the marquis stepped on his native soil, he sprang from his horse, and bending towards his country, cried : * Vive la France !' Oh yes ! his was a great soul and a noble heart ! The terms of the combat were speedily arranged. The sword was chosen by both parties with one accord. " Before crossing swords, the marquis, taking me aside, gave me the portrait you have just been ad- miring, together with a letter which I have carefully preserved.'* So saying, Frantz opened a small cab- met of setim wood, and taking out a green mo- rocco pocket-book, he showed a letter sealed with the arms of the Marquis de Surcyl. " I know what it contains," said Frantz, from the conversation I had with the marquis just before the meeting : it contains the farewell of a husband to his wife, for, foreseeing the chances of the affair being fatal to him, he had charged me to send to France with the letter that portrait of the Marchioness, being unwil- ling that the image of the wife he had loved so well should remain after him in a foreign land. You see how firmly rooted was the love of country in that pure and noble heart. " It was eight in the evening — ^but, as it was mid- summer, the setting sun still gave sufficient light to the fatal scene which I was about to witness, the two adversaries, after exchanging a courteous salute 'J f- H '**, M ■ill UK .1 ir.- pii m I [i 102 THE GODFATHER. with the point of their swords, put themselves on the defensive, and crossed steel with great vivacity. They seemed to be equally skilled in arms, and pos- sessed of equal coolness. Wounded slightly in the arm the marquis bound up the wound with his handkerchief and would continue the combat. * We are.no longer equal,' said the republican officer, *let us adjourn till the 15th.' * It is only a scratch,* said the marquis. Some moments after, the repub- lican, struck in the breast, added : ' The chances are now equal,' and instantly crossing steel again with impetuosity, each ra»his sword through the other to the very hilt. . . . The marquis and the republi- can were buried on the same day in the cemetery of a small French village. " Every effort I made since that sad event to fulfil the last wish of the marquis has proved unsuccess- ful. I have never been able to forward the portrait and the letter to their address. I went myself to France for the sole purpose of executing my com- mission, but even in that I was doomed to disap- pointment — I could find no traces Oi" the family of De Surcyl !" * Midnight already ?" cried Francis, replacing the medallion on the gilt nail from which it had been hanging, " permit us, madam ! to thank you for your graceful hospitality and retire." " Not yet, gentlemen," replied Frantz, " you are ours till to-morrow: your apartment is ready — I will conduct you to it — unless — now I think of it — THE GODFATHER. 103 unless you would prefer paying a visit to my heath- cocks." "You anticipate our wish and the request we were about to make, Mr. Frantz." " Well ! be sure you leave us enough for the christening! Anyhow, I wish you good sport, gentlemen !" " You will not denounce us this time to the Em- peror ?" " Unless you fail us on Sunday next." " N"o fear of that — good-bye till then !" The two young men bowed to the ladies, and ex- changing a friendly shake-hands with their host, they took leave of the interesting family who had received them so cordially. . . V. On the following Sunday, from five o'clock in the morning, an unusual bustle took place in the modest dwelling of the Styrian squire. From the kitchen to the parlor all was in festive order. Suzon, the old housekeeper, assisted by several subordinates, placed in array along the walls of the kitchen a goodly row of copper utensils, and watched with vestal care the fire of her furnace and ovens. Madam Frantz and her daughter Elevida, seated at their toilet, did their best to appear to good advantage before the darling baby's godfather. In a neighbor- ing chamber, a young girl as graceful and pretty as her name, Clarissa, having arrived over night from :j. • ;;-5 J f!f j t 1 104 THE GODFATHER. Prague, was preparing bouquets for the ladies in- vited. The old soldier was inspecting the state of his cellar, whistling as he went, and smiling with marked satisfaction at the long file of ancient bottles ranged in battle array. He had donned, for the occasion, his old captain's uniform, minus, alas ! of the cross promised him by the Archduke Charles — busy as the day was, he could not help calling his wife now and then to tell her : " Decidedly sovereigns and great people are but great ingrates." The baptismal ceremony was to take place at ten o'clock within the manor. Clarissa had but to breathe on the little chapel to make it a scene of beauty. At nine o'clock the watch-dogs announced by their loud barking, the arrival by different roads of the company so anxiously expected: on one side, the reverend pastor and the notabilities of the vil- lage ; on the other, Mr. Francis Toutcourt and three friends whom he presented to Madam Frantz. The priest figured in a new soutane and girdle; Francis, and his friends, ajDpeared in plain black frocks. " Well ! dear Mr. Francis," said Frantz after the usual greetings and introductions, " did you succeed with his Majesty ? Did he authorize you to change your name ?" " The very day of my return to Vienna." «' Without diflaculty ?" " Without any difficulty." THE GODFATHER. 105 " That surprises me," said Frrntz, looking down at the vacant place on his uniform, " for the Arch- duke Charles, I mean the great, and sovereigns are neither more nor less than— »> Madam Frantz interrupted the phrase so com- menced by introducing Francis to his pretty gossip. " She is like yourself, charming, madam !'* said Francis bowing. At ten o'clock precisely, all the company assem- bled in the parlor, moved in due order to the chapel. Francis, standing by Clarissa, who was dressed in white, took the child in his armi:., and the priest proceeded immediately to celebrate the baptism. The most religious silence reigned in the chapel, when the priest in a loud, clear voice, addressed these questions to the godfather : " What is your name ?" " Francis Joseph." " I like that better than Toutcourt," said Frantz aside to his wife. " Francis Joseph," added the priest, " of what reli- gion are you ?" " Of the Catholic, Apostolic and Roman religion." " What is your profession ?" "I have none." " What is your style and dignity?" "Emperor of Austria." At these words a murmur of surprise and pleas- ure ran through the auditory. Mr. and Madam Frantz fell on their knees before the youthful mon- Ih. '•J - 1 '41, \ I I liiii 1:' ii^i;:. W'-'i 106 THE GODFATHER. arch, pronouncing in a low voice, through respect for the sacred place, the cry of " God save the Em- peror !" — the priest alone checking the emotion which, nevertheless, made his cheek ashy pale, con- tinued the pious ceremony as if nothing unusual had occurred. Clarissa, the gentle gossip of the Em- peror, was so agitated that her imperial neighbor was obliged to whisper to her the responses to the questions of the priest. " Well ! my brave Frantz," asked Francis Joseph, when, after the ceremony, the company was again assembled in the parlor, " are you satisfied with the name his Majesty permitted me to give your child ?" " A thousand blessings on you. Sire ! this day is the happiest of my life !" *' By-the-bye, my brave!" resumed Francis Joseph, "the Emperor charged me to pay the Archduke Charles' debt with interest — there is what he desired me to give you :" and with his own hand he hung around the neck of the retired captain a major's cross. The effect produced by this scene is easier conceived than described. The emotion became general, when the young Emperor, addressing to all some words of kindness, gave each a token of his munificence : " My pretty little gossip," said he to Clarissa, seating himself at the table between her and the mistress of the house, " accept, in remem- brance of me, this ring for yourself, and that other for your future husband." The ring for Clarissa was en- THE GODFATHER. lOT riched with brilliants, and bore the Emperor's initials; the other was of equal value. " As for you, madam," said he to his neighbor on the other side — handing her at the same time a rich present — '' I have the pleasure of announcing to you a visit for to-morrow." " Who is the visitor, Sire ?" " Your brother, who is to-day to leave the fortress of OUmutz, to take his place again in my army.*' Madam Frantz could only answer with her tears. " Only look, gentlemen, at this beautiful portrait," said one of the young officers of the Emperor's suit, pointing to the medallion hanging over the fireplace. "It is charming indeed," said Oscar. "I have admired it before." , " My God ! what a likeness !" suddenly exclaimed the third officer, a fine young man about eight and twenty, one of the numerous French gentlemen serv- mg in the squares of the Austrian army. Then ap- proaching Frantz, who was just saying to his wife : " Sovereigns and great people are not all great in- grates," he asked in an agitated voice how he came by the portrait in question. " That's a story which I propose to tell you be- tween the coffee and the punch," answered Frantz, delighted to have an excuse, " but I'll willingly tell it to you now, and the other gentlemen can hear it at more length in the evening," and, word for word, he told him the story as I have told it to the reader. He was interrupted, every few moments, by excla- mations of surprise and sympathy from the French .'■)■. 108 THE GODFATHER. U'. I: w Hi*' if lii gentlemen. " This good company will be surprised, no doubt, to hear," said he when the story was brought to a close, "that the Marquis de Surcyl was my father and the original of that portrait my mother !" " I knew it," replied the Emperor, " and it was in order to put our brave Frantz in the way of dis- charging your father's commission, that I requested you to accompany me here to-day." Three months after the baptism of the little Fran- cis Joseph Frantz the principal personages of our little drama were assembled in one of the saloons of the Imperial Castle of Schcennbrun. The ricli gift from the Emperor to his godson was placed on a table, and near it lay a marriage contract which only awaited the signature of the contracting parties and their witnesses. Frantz had got a new uniform made on purpose to do honor to the cross of which he was so justly proud. His face was beaming with joy and he looked full ten years younger. Elevida and Clarissa, robed in white, looked like two blush- ing May roses, but Elevida wore a nuptial veil and a wreath of orange blossoms. Francis Joseph presented both to the Archduchess Sophia, his august mother ; he then afiixed his name to the doc- ument which was to secure the happiness of the fair Elevida and the French marquis. The same day the lovers were united in the sacred bond of marriage. " It is my turn now, my brave Frantz," said the Emperor to the captain, " to ask a favor of you." THE GODFATHER. 109 mrprised, tory was le Surcyl rtrait my [ it was in ly of dis- requested ttle Fran- ces of our le saloons The rich placed on ract which mg parties sw uniform 3 of which .rning with Elevida two blush- al veil and 8 Joseph ophia, his to the doc- of the fair me day the marriage. ," said the of you." " Speak, Sire ! all I possess is at your Majesty's service ! my life, my fortune, my blood, my family, all belong to you." " Even your heath-cocks ?" " Sire ! what does your Majesty deign to wish?** " Permission to shoot on your lands, for my first excursion thither made me very happy." " How so. Sire ?" "By giving me an opportunity of paying the Archduke's debt to you and at the same time re- warding the noble conduct of a brave and loyal soldier." " It must be owned. Sire, that the first piill pro- cured you a famous shot. I have often made a dofuhle shot^ but it is only an Emperor that can make a triple shot,'''* ' You are mistaken, my brave, I could only see one heath-cock to kill." " But under the wings of that bird, sent from heaven, doubtless, there was a godfather, a husband and a decoration — a triple sJiot, Sire !" In exchange for the license grant '^d by Frantz to the Emperor, Frantz received pern don to add a moor-cock to his arms, with the additional device : a triple shot, \ MOTHER MATHUSALEM'S ili EASTER EGG. wt m m ■ J m 'i-is Before the old suburbs of Paris were destroyed, there was, in the nighborhood of the Hotel-de-Yille, a dark five-story house, where lived in retirement and the prac- tice of religion a woman so old and so time-worn, that the boys of the neighborhood called her Mother Mathu- salem. Tliis good woman, renowned for her piety and good works, was a problem of good luck for her neigh- bors, who would have been sometimes tempted to offer her a sou, while on other occasions they would have com- pared her to the widow of Cresus, rather than the heiress of Mathusalem. The fact is, she often found in her inex- haustible charity resources altogether incompatible with the simplicity of her dress and the kind of life she led in the interior of her household. She carried domestic economy so far that she was seen every morning regular- ly, at seven o'clock, going herself to the corner grocery and the fruit-woman's stall, for the milk, butter, and eggs to serve her during the day. The neighbor women used to make a cross on the chimney every time thej saw her MOTHER MATHUSALKM*S EASTER EGG. Ill M'S yed, there le, a dark I the prac- ivorn, that er Mathu- piety and her neigh- i to oifer have com- the heiress 1 her inex- itible with she led in domestic ig regular- er grocery and eggs omen used saw her in a new gown or a new bonnet. One of them, who had known her from childhiod, was in the habit of saying that her black Sunday gown had figured in her marriage- basket ; but it was a positive fact that her venerable umbrella, pieced at every seam, dated from the honey- moon. However that might be, Mother Mathusalem was the comfort of all the afflicted, the providence of all the poor, the counsel, the harmony, the mender of hrohm house- holds, the St. Vincent de Paul, in petticoats, of that neighborhood. She was so ready and so ingenious in guessing at hidden sorrows and mute sufferings and in- terposing between them and despair, that people called her the good witch. How many tears shed in secret were wiped away by her ! and how modestly were all her good works done 1 She was never known to be angry but oncfj, and that was when one of her neighbors got up a petition to present her to the Academy as worthy of the Monthyon prize. In the gratuitous advice she gave and the decisions she rendered, in order to prevent her neighbors from carrying their disputes before a magis- trate, she displayed the wisdom of Solomon. One day, a worthy couple, married five years, pre- sented themselves before her, having chosen her for the umpire in a grave and puzzling question. Having re- solved to separate quietly, in consequence of the first dispute they had had since their marriage, they both claimed the possession of the only child that Providence had given them. Mother Mathusalem could have easily settled the point in the way that Solomon did, but she 112 MOTHER MATHUSALEH'S EASTER EGO. m , U*-- Hi h r: . ^' *1 f V i PL i found a better expedient in her conciliating prndence. " My good friends," said she, ** will you promise to abide by my decision, whatever it may be ?" " We will," answered the spouses. *' Well I before you take the decisive step on which you seem to have agreed, I must beg you to wait ten months or so — till then, live in peace, in good under- standing, carefully avoid all exciting discussion, make mutual concessions, and pray that the good God may grant you a second child — so that you may have one each, in case you persist in your plan of separation." Ten months after, the question was singularly com- plicated : the worthy couple had prayed so well that they got two twin-children. The difficulty, thus increas- ing, was still the same. Mother Mathusalem had little difficulty in making them understand that the only means of arriving at a settlement satisfactory to both parties was a full and perfect reconciliation. In the evil days of 1848, a shoemaker, the father of a family, drawn into the clubs by the political vertigo which then upset all heads, and giving up the positive life of a good workman for the deceitful hopes of social- ism, very soon found misery taking the place of work in his deserted shop. Hunger was not slow in following misery, then the creditors came s in their turn, then threats, then suits, then the sale of furniture by public auction. The unhappy shoemaker would have found himself without a morsel of bread, or a shelter for his family, when a generous and unknown hand, buying all his little effects, gave them back to him and satislied all MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. 113 the demands of his creditors. From that day forward, the tradesman, cured of his erro/s, went to work with right good will and soon got back his customers, with peace, happiness and prosperity. He considers Mother Mathusalem as his benefactress, but the latter places to the score of Providence a good action to whicli she alone w^as instrumental. Another time, a young man supporting, with the pro- duce of his labor, an infirm father and an aged mother, found a substitute ready to his hand, without spending a cent, at the very moment when the law of conscription called him to take his place under the banners of France. This time again Mother Mathusalem would insist on it that she w^as nothing more than the agent of that good Providence who never abandons good sons and honest laborers who love and fear God. But with all her piety and good works, and the bless- ings which she seemed to draw down on herself, Mother Mathusalem, though loved and respected by all, was not happy. A deep-seated sorrow was preying on her health and wearing her life away. She had a son whose impious and disorderly life was a continual source of anx- iety to her maternal heart. Vainly had she tried by tears and supplications to bring him back to the paths of virtue ; turning a deaf ear to her pious and tender ad- monitions, he became every day wilder and more dissi- pated. "Unhappy boy," said she, "you will kill me with grief and despair." "Well I" answered the unnatural son, "I will inherit all the sooner the fortune of which you are every day 114 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGO. 'IV H ■ m i •J. i it if'.;' fv1 ,i^ robbing me to spend it on priests and beggars." Yet still, Ernest, as he was called, really loved his mother ; but the bad advice of the wicked companions he had chosen for himself, had more influence over his weak mind than her good example and wise counsels. Horrid to relate, he looked forward only to the time when, hav- ing his patrimony in his own hands, he could give him- self up without restraint to his wicked instincts and his evil passions. The noble use which Mother Mathusalem made of her income, the infinite resources she every day drew from her exhaustless charity, showed a golden horizon to the eager ambition of Ernest, who expected to find his for- tune in the mattrass of his mother's bed, or the lining of her old clothes. By a wise foresight, the good woman had never made her sou acquainted with the real amount of her money. " Bah 1" said Ernest to the scape-graces who were in the habit of ridiculing Mother Mathusalem's shabby ap- pearance, " laugh as much as you please, but I wouldn't exchange the oldest petticoat my mother has for the velvet robe of the linest lady in Paris !" Every day, as we have said, the good woman, in her search for the hidden sorrows and sufferings of her neigh- bors, climbed, notwithstanding her great age, the garrets where misery had its secret haunts. One evening, as she returned from visiting a poor sick woman, her foot slipped, and she got a fall that nearly killed her. When Ernest came home half drunk in the middle of the night, he found her dying on her bed of pain. His heart sank MOTHER MATHUSALEM S EASTER EGG. 115 within him at the sight ; those sentiments of filial piety which his dissipated life had not altogether effaced, were all at once revived ; he evinced the most sincere sorrow, and tried by his caresses to restore the life that was all but extinct. He was going off in search of a doctor. ** It is useless," said his mother ; "I feel that no human skill can prolong the days for which I shall soon have to account to God ; my hour is come. It is the physician of sr>uls that my case requires — go, then, my son, and bring a priest to bless my death : and bless you when I am no more I" Ernest went out and soon returned with a worthy ecclesiastic, who had little trouble in securing for God the sacrifice of a life which had been so piously conse- crated to His service. Mother Mathusalem received the last helps of religion with that resignation and that serenity of soul which the peace of a good corpr^'^nce can alone give at the hour of death. When the priest was gone, the poor old woman called Ernest to her bedside, and collected all her remaining strength to say to him : " My son, a few hours more, and you will have no mother ; you have grieved me much, and made me shed many tears, but I will not leave you with- out pronouncing my forgiveness, giving you my blessing, and beseeching you to renounce your evil ways. I will die happy, my child, if you promise me to return to God honestly and sincerely — if you promise me to seek in the occupations of a serious life the welfare and happiness you can never find in the criminal pursuit of pleasure and the gratification of your passions. Promise me, my dear m 116 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGO. U- i I. i lit lb m i: son, that you will henceforward live as an honest man and a good Cliristian : promise me that you will resume the practice of those duties which, alas I you have too long neglected : promise me that you will give up the company of those persons who have led you away from the paths of virtue. I know you have a good heart, but you are weak and susceptible of impressions, and, there- fore, easily led astray. Shun, then, courageously, the occa- sions and seductions which tend to destroy virtue and efface every noble sentiment, every generous instinct, from the heart — Ernest, do you promise me ?" There is something in the voice of a dying mother that touches and subdues the heart. Ernest, bursting into tears and regretting the errors of his past life, fell on his knees beside his mother's bed, and taking one of her hands, which he raised to his lips, he exclaimed : *' Mother, I promise you." Then, bending his head, he added: "I know I have been very culpable — I have made your life bitter — I have shut my eyes to your pious example — I hare closed my ears to your virtuous teachings — I have been deaf and blind to the virtue of which your life was a practical example. Mother I for- give me, for I repent — bless me, for I love you I" Seeing the sincere sorrow of her contrite and humbled child, the poor mother raised her eyes to heaven, and, clasping her hands on her breast, she said : *' Blessed be God ! He has given me back my son I I can die now I" The sound of footsteps was heard on the stairs, accom- panied by shouts of laughter, breaking discordantly on the solemn scene. At the same moment, a loud ring at I MOTHER MATHUSALEM^S EASTER EGO. in the door bell made Ernest starl, and hurry to the door. It was some of his companions who, having tired waiting for him at a place of resort in the neighborhood, where they had all appointed to meet, came in search of him, to take him off to new scenes of wickedness. " Well, 7Ve7icA«r," said one of them, (that was the nick-name his comrades had given him), is this the way you keep us dancing attendance, and a fine matelote wait- ing at old Fricoteau's ? Come, take your over-coat and march 1" ^ "Gentlemen," said Ernest, coldly, "an unforeseen occurrence of a fatal nature prevents me from keeping my appointment of yesterday ; so do not count on me." " But we count on your purse, Trencher, for ours is as dry as the palate of a drunken cobbler." " Count no more, then, on my purse or myself, gentle- men, for I have promised even now to begin a new life and break off connections that are, at least, useless." " Ah 1 ha 1 my dear, what grass did you walk on this morning?" "On good grass, gentlemen — what I trod in your company was too slippery for me to walk longer on it." "As you please, my dear ; we'll slip along and trench along without you." " You're at liberty to do so, gentlemen !" " By-the-by, dear friend of my heart, lend us twenty francs." " I have not got it." , "Ask the venerable author of your life — we'll drink Mother Mathusalem's health." ■ I . 118 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EOO. M if P Mr .1' " I forbid you to speak so of ray raotber — my mother who is dying in that room — retire, gentlemen, leave me I" " So the old dame is going to give up the ghost ! what a wedding we'll have after the funeral I" Ernest could hear no more. He shut the door in the face of his M companions, who retired confused and ashamed at getting such a reception from one whose pliable and easy disposition had hitherto placed him entirely at their disposal. Mother Mathusalem had heard all. " It is well, my son,'' said she, drawing her son to her and touching his forehead with her pale lips — ** it is well ; persevere in these good resolutions, and the good God will bless you ; He will support you in the struggle, He will console you in your sorrows, and multiply your joys." Contentment of heart, combined with peace of mind, exercises an influence on the sick and suffering, which, if it does not always cure, is always sure to give relief. So it was that tlje poor mother, happy in the ^.hange which she saw so suddenly effected in her son, was for three days so much better, that, at times, hopes were entertained of her ultimate recovery. Ernest had found again the for- gotten secret of prayer. Night and day he sat by his mother's bed, and only left her once ; — that was to solicit the intercession of our Lady of Victory. His mother's soul was ripe for heaven, where God had her place pre- pared. On the morning of the fourth day after her acci- dent, feeling her last hour approach, she said to her son : " The inheritance I have to leave you, my son, is not as much as I could wish j my whole fortune consists in the MOTHER MATHUSAT.EM*8 EASTER EGO. 110 sum of twenty thousand francs and tliis Easter egg. The twenty thousand trancs will secure you from want, and if misery should come ui)()n you, (which God forbid !) the egg will stand your friend ! It contains a rosary and a medal bearing the sacred image of the mother of God. I bequeath it to you, on the express condition that you do not open it till all other resources have failed you ; then, having first approached the holy communion, you may open your egg. Do you promise mo ?" "I do." "A promise made to a dying mother is a solemn and sacred oath." " I will keep it." " Now, then, my son — for the last time — I forgive and bless you." Two hours after. Mother Mathusalem had ceased to live I :- -v.vv.;^ [,-::-/ Ernest's grief, sincere and heartfelt as it was, was not without consolation. The news of his mother's death, spreading like wild-fire through the neighborhood, excited general sorrow and warm sympathy for the sole surviving relative of Mother Mathusalem. The poor, weeping, said : " We have lost our providence." The afflicted, likewise shedding tears, repeated : " Who will give us back our comforter ?" It was one touching chorus of praise and lamentation. The sorrow of those who re- main behind is the funeral sermon of the departed. Judged by that criterion, never had man or woman a finer panegyric preached over their remains than Mother Mathusalem, wept and lamented by all. * w f'.. w, lin. J ir 120 MOTHER MATHUSALEM'S EASTER EGG. Ernest, as strong in his resolutions as ho had been sincere in his promises to his dying mother, broke off at once and forever all connection with his former bad com- panions. Having experienced in himself the truth of the axiom that Idleness is the mother of all mischief, he found, in the duties of a situation which he obtained as clerk in a bank, tlio peace and satisfaction of mind which he had vainly sought in the vortex of dissipation. A salary of a thou- sand crowns, with the interest of his twenty thousand francs, enabled him to live independently. But, alas ! there is nothing certain in this uncertain world. The commercial panic following on the social convulsion of 1848, quickly prostrated the house where his funds were invested. Rising one morning, he found himself completely ruined : his banker had stopped pay- ment. To make head against the misery which he saw in store for him, he saw but one means, that of enlisting in the Garde Mobile. There, his good conduct, agreeable manners, and handsome figure soon attracted the notice of his superior oflBcers, and procured him an ensign's epaulettes. This good fortune pleased him the more that his present position was more conformable to his taste. Always one of the first to answer the drum when it beat the roll-call, on those evil days when every hour brought a tumult or a manifestation, he distinguished himself amongst all his brothers-in-arms in attacking the barricades put up in the disastrous days of June, and won his first laurels under the eye of General Lamoriciere. Providentially escaping a shot fired at him closo to his i MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EOO. 121 lad been ke off at bad com- 18 axiom id, in the I a bank, id vainly f a thou- tbousand uncertain he social ise where he found •ped pay- ;h he saw enlisting agreeable he notice ensign's nore that taste, n when it ery hour inguished 3king the Fune, and noriciere. )so to his head, he pointed bis sabre at the naked breast of the in- surgent who had thus aimed at his life, but immediately withdrawing the weapon, when ready to strike : " Go," said he, " I am a soldier, and I will not murder you." On another occasidh, being exposed to the fire of a barri- cade that was rigorously defended, he recognized, in the person of the chief who commanded there, one of his for- mer comrades in dissipation, and he was so happy as to save his life at the moment when, the barricade being broken down, its defenders found themselves at the mercy of the victors. Crushed in the principal centres of resistance, the in- surrection was still kept up with an energy worthy of a better cause. The losses sustained by the defenders of order were immense and irreparable. Generals Negrier, Fran9ois, Bourgno'n, Regnault, Damesme, fell in the glorious struggle. Ernest, grievously wounded near General Bedeau, (who was struck himself at the same moment, ) was conveyed in a dying state to the Hotel de Yille, and placed under the care of our friend, M. Menes- sier, adjutant of the army of Africa. Being charged with Dr. Krug to take down the names of the dead and wounded of the Garde Mohik, we there saw Ernest for the first time, calm and resigned, and, notwithstanding his excruciating pain, happy and proud of having shed his blood for his country. ** It is not this that troubles me most," said he, show- ing his leg that was threatened with amputation, "it is not the having received a wound that may send me to the other world." 122 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. " What is it that troubles you, then ?" we asked. " The loss of an Easter eggJ^ ** That is a thing easily replaced." " It is an irreparable loss for me, for that egg was all that remained to me of my motherV inheritance, and it contained a blessed rosary, sanctified by long and pious jy use. *' Where do you think you lost it ?" " I left it in the bottom of a cupboard in a room I had hired, in the house where my mother died." ** Perhaps we shall find it there." " I do not think so, for the house has been occupied by the insurgents." We inquired the name of the street and the number of the house, and going immediately to the room indicated, we were so fortunate as to find, amongst some books of piety that had belonged to Mother Mathusalem, the precious bequest, which we faithfully restored to its owner. It was a red egg, tied with blue ribbon, knotted in the form of a cross, and sealed with Spanish wax. Ernest pressed it to his lips in an ecstacy of joy. " If I die of this wound," said he, "I will leave it to you, and you will divide its contents between you. One of you will keep the rosary in remembrance of me, and the other will keep the egg and the medal it contains. Those relics of a holy woman will bring good luck to both." This legacy, to which, I confess, we attached little im- portance at the time, was not destined to be ours, for Ernest, sustained by a good constitution, was soon after able to rejoin his company, decimated by the fire of the 1 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. 123 insurrection. General Cavaignac, informed of his bravery, gave him the command of the company, its captain hav- ing been left for dead at the foot of a barricade. The disbanding of the Garde Mobile, (which, we can say, as an eye-witness and an actor in the bloody drama of June, had saved Paris and France from a frightful conflagration, ) soon after deprived Ernest of his grade and threw him on the world, with no other resource than the Easter egg, so providentially recovered. He was tempted to open it then, but the promise he had made at his mother's death-bed, restrained his hand from breaking the seal on the blue ribbon that bound his pious inherit- ance. The brave soldier was still far from being a perfect Christian, consequently in no fit state to fulfil the con- ditions which his mother had imposed upon him. Having sought in vain, during several days, for any sort of employment that would secure him a living, he set out as a colonist for Algiers ; but the day of trial was not yet past. Two months after his arrival in Africa, he fell seriously ill, and was taken to the hos- pital in Algiers. There he would probably have died, were it not for the pious care of a sister of charity, who, touched by his youth* and his resignation to the will of God, nursed him with the kindest and most unremitting attention. His illness was long, his convalescence longer and more tedious still. He was but the shadow of him- self when the physicians, deciding that his native air could alone restore him, sent him back to France. Embarked on a vessel belonging to the government, Ti 124 MOTHER MATHUSALEM'S EASTER EGG. R1 ■'• mr %' i ;!!;■•: Rf! ';":i %'i ■? .i-«i and with nothing in the world but his Easter egg, with which he never parted, he arrived at Marseilles in a state of utter destitution. Too proud, however, to solicit pub- lic charity, weak and exhausted as he was, he joined a brigade of laborers employed on the public works. Put- ting his trust in God, he remained three months in the Phocian city, and, at length, succeeded, by the closest economy, in putting enough together to take him to Paris. He courageously undertook it on foot, but by the time he reached Lyons, he could go no farther, his funds being completely exhausted. He had scarcely enough to pay his lodging in a small inn situated at Pen- ache. Poor young man ! he was much to be pitied, for he knew not a soul at Lyons, and, as we have said, he was too high-spirited to ask alms. He would have died twenty times over sooner than solicit charity with a hand which had held the soldier's sword so nobly. His mother had often spoken to him of a little chapel in great veneration in the Lyonnese city, and placed for many ages under the invocation of the Blessed Virgin. ** Since men abandon me," said Ernest, one morning, "I will have recourse to God, and, to reach His divine heart more directly, I will implore the intercession of His august mother." Then addressing the first person he met on the quay of the Saone, where he happened to be, he asked the name of the shrine of whose power his mother had so often told him. It was a woman of respectable appearance ; she pointed out the chapel which overhangs the city, and serves as a beacon in the hour of great MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. 125 egg, with in a state jlicit pub- joined a ks. Pat- hs in the he closest e him to )t, but by arther, his scarcely ed at Pen- ed, for he lid, he was have died nth a hand ittle chapel placed for sed Virgin, lorning, "I livine heart ion of His rson he met d to be, he • his mother respectable li overhangs lur of great ; public calamities. " Our Lady of Fourvieres is not only the protectress of Lyons,^^ said this good woman, " she is the comfort of all the afflicted. If you have a favor to ask of her, go ! young man, ascend that hill with confidence, enter with faith the little church you will find at the top, on that terrace which you can see from here ; lay your petition humbly at her feet, and be assured she will hear your prayer." Ernest, crossing the Palace Bridge, took the new road, and, following the directions he had received, he gained the summit of the holy hill as easily as though a star had guided his steps, like the magi of old. As usual, there was a great concourse of people in the holy chapel. Ernest knelt at the corner of a pillar, and devoutly assisted at the celebration of the divine sacrifice. Never in his life, except, perhaps, at the time of his first communion, did he pray with so much fervor ; but, as he had long since lost the text of the prayers taught him in his childhood by his pious mother, he was obliged to extemporize others. They were doubtless pleasing to God, seeing that, for the first time since the memorable day above-mentioned, he felt within his heart an interior satisfaction, a self-com- placency, which made him forget the trying situation to which he was reduced. In the light of the wax tapers over the grand altar, he saw those rays of hope which Providence sends to cheer the desolate heart that throws itself on the divine mercy. At the moment of the Elevation, he thought he could see his mother^s image in the cloud of incense that sur- rounded that of the Virgin, and he fancied he could hear 126 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. ivy:-. , k a clear familiar voice saying to him : " Fear nothing, my beloved sou, for I am watching over thee from heaven. The good God will not abandon thee ; but it is not enough to invoke Him in the time of affliction, you must return completely to Him that He may return to you. The theory^ without the practice, of religion is a dead letter. Remember my last words, my son I remem- ber thy first promise I The good God, whom I never cease to supplicate for thee, is here awaiting thee. Go to Him, my son ! go and thou wilt be happy 1" An hour after, when Ernest descended the hill again by the new road, he was consoled, and no longer despaired of the future ; he forgot even the cry of hunger that came up from the depths of his inner man. Still, as the day wore on, that cry becoming more urgent, and having nothing to appease it but his Easter egg, he went into a store where odds and ends were kept, to try and dispose of his mother's bequest. He was offered fifty sous. Tlie insignificance of the sum and, still more, a mysterious in- spiration, prevented him from concluding a bargain con- trary to the expressed wish and intention of his mother. He took it back, and was going away, when a tall, hand- some young man entered the shop, to trade off a pair of Arab pistols. At the sound of a voice which was not unknown to him, Ernest examined the new-comer, who, looking at him just as attentively, sudd':niy threw himself into his arms, saying : "It is you, Ernest I how happy I am to see you again I" The tall, handsome young man, a light-hearted son of Paris, was the ex-sergeant-major of the company which Ernest had commanded as captain MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. 12t hing, my heaven, it is not you naust eturn to ^iou is a I remem- I never hee. Go again by despaired nger that ;ill, as the id having int into a id dispose ous. The Lerious in- rgain con- is mother, tall, hand- a pair of h was not imer, who, ew himself w happy I )ung man, 3aut-major as captain in the Garde Mobile. Flambard, as he was called, hastened to finish his bargain, and taking his friend's ann, he said : "My dear captain, manage your affairs as you best can, but for this day you belong to me, and we'll begin by discussing a friendly glass of wine, with a hundred of oysters, which you used to relish well, if my memory serves me 1" " They have always enjoyed my esteem I" answered Ernest ; ** and I am free to admit, major, that I am well disposed, just now, to do them honor !" " Well ! right flank and forward, mar-r-ch! But, by- the-by, do you know of any snug corner hereabouts ?'' " This is the first time for me to stop at Lyons, and the reason — " " You will tell us at the dessert — between the pear and the cheese. Gome to think of it, I'll take you to old Mathieu's, down on the quay ; he'll serve us a little Beaujolais wine that will warm your heart, I think." ** I hope we shall not go too far with it, major — be- cause why — '' "Between the perr and the cheese, I tell you, at the dessert. Meanwhile, make your mind easy, I am the entertainer. For three francs a head, old Mathieu — in my opinion, one of the best restaurateurs in Lyons — will serve us up a regular Balthasar's feast." " By the gods ! what a splendid appetite you have this morning I on my word of honor, it does one good to see you eat I" " Because why, rnajor — " 128 MOTHER MATHUSALEM^S EASTER EGO. ¥■■ ¥' • 11: ■ 1 1 '!;: 1 t- 1 1 i , 1 ' . .' "You will tell us at the dessert, between — but, by- the-by, where do you come from in that trim ?" " From Africa — plenty, plenty I why, my dear fellow, you take me for an ogre !" ** Some fricassee, did you say ? You are thin, captain. Take this other wing ! You are thin, I say, faith you are — as thin as a starved cock on a sand-bank." " Good reason why, major — " " You'll tell all presently — here, waiter I" "Sir." ** The dessert, if you please, and a good bottle of Fleury !" " By my word," said Ernest, sipping the Fleury like a real amateur, "by my word, old Mathieu has famous wine in his cellar. I will recommend it to my friends in Paris — on my honor, I will." " Your health, captain !" " Yours, major !" " And that of our absent friends I" " Poor fellows I some of them are not very well oflF, I fear" — " Because why, my dear — " " All right, we are at the cheese — I hear you now— unbosom yourself 1" ^p ^ *|C ?|C ?|C " Faith, my dear fellow," said Flambard, after hear- ing his captain's sad story, "you were wrong in not applying to the government — it would never have abandoned an officer that played his part so well at the barricades." but, by- r fellow, captaiii. lith you lottle of iry like a s famouB Tiends in veil off, I )u now^ 'ter hear- g in not er have ell at the UOTHRR MATHUSALEm's EASTER EGG. 129 *' I only did ray duty—and you, how has it fared with you since we were disbanded ?" "I went into business. As you see mt, 1 deal in cloths, and I have for captain — I mean patron — a real jolly fellow, a zealous national guardsman, a good father and a good husband." " So you are luckier than I, for you have made your V way " It'S easy done — on a railway — when one has a thou- sand crowns a-year salary, and twelve francs a-day for expenses. Now, captain, I forgot one thing." " What was that ?" " The fifteen francs you lent me on the 24th of June, on the Place de la Bastille." " I never thought of it." " Well I you know what the old proverb says : ' He that pays his debts enriches himself P so here's your fifteen francs — the rest will be for the interest ;" and, taking from his purse a forty-franc piece, he gave it to Ernest, who would only accept the surplus of the sum offered by way of loan. '^ Decidedly, my dear major," said the ex-captain, rising from table, " I did well to refuse the fifty sous offered me for my Easter egg in the store where I met you." II. In the meeting with his former comrade of the Ganle Mohik, transformed into a traveling clerk, Ernest recog- nized the mysterious intervention of the Providence he 130 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGO. Hi' Kit pi;;l 1 ) I. j i , had invoked so fervently, through the powerful inter- cession of our Lady of Fourvieres. Next morning, resolved to continue his journey to Paris, he was pre- paring to take leave of his old companion-in-arms, when a waiter belonging to the hotel brought him the follow- ing letter : " Hotel du Nordf 6 o'clock in the morning. " My dear Captain : ** Being obliged to set out this morning to join my employer at Valencia, where he is to meet me, I regret not being able to shake hands with you at pa-rting. I cannot tell you how deeply I am interested in your affairs. Your too keen sensibility prevented me yester- day from offering you a sum which I can just now spare, without the slightest inconvenience to myself, though, even if such were not the case, I wt^uld still be happy to do as I now do. *' I beg you, then, to accept the bank-bill which you will find enclosed. You will pay me when you can, with- out any other interest than the sincere pleasure I enjoy in being able to oblige a brother-in-arms, who did not refuse to share his purse with me when it was my turn to need a friend's assistance. " Heartily yours, ** Flambard." *' P. S- — Should you be some time yet without finding a situation, do not forget that I am your banker. You may draw freely on my purse ; I shall always be happy to honor your signature." ri MOTHER IfATHUSALEM^S EASTEB Ul al inter- noruing, ^as pre- is, when D foUow- ^rning. join my I regret rting. I in your ic yester- )w spare, though, happy to hich you !an, with- B I enjoy did not y turn to [BARD." it finding 3r. You )e happy " A friend in need is a friend indeed 1" saia Ernes at he placed in his pocket-book a bank-bill of two hundrt^d francs, and he added : " God grant that I may soon be able to pay him I" In the critical circumstances in which he was pi .ced, two hundred and forty francs was to him a little fortune. Grateful to Providence, which had so marvellously come to his aid by sending a generous friend across his path, he would not leave Lyons without offering the homage of his heart at the privileged shrine where he had found hope and comfort. He went accordingly to the chapel of our Lady of Fourvieres. The first person he met there was the good woman who had shown him the way thither. "Madam," said Ernest, "you were right ; the holy Virgin never abandons those who have recourse to her. Yesterday, I implored her assistance, and that very day she extended her protecting hand to help me." ** Continue to love her," answered the old woman, " venerate her in your joys, supplicate her in your afflic- tions, pray to her in your wants, and she will hear you, for her mercy, like her power, knows no bounds." On his return to Paris, Ernest went to Pc.x La-Chaise, to pray at his mother's grave. A bird perched on the branches of an evergreen near by, was singing in the silence of the dead, and it seemed like the voice of a consoling angel. That same day, the ex-captain of the Garde Mobile set about looking for employment, but the revolution, still felt in its effects, paralyzed all sorts of business. Mer- ) 132 MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGO ch had dismissed their clerks. 1^: Hi' I f ! ; , great number of stores and offices were closed, and repeated failures threw a gloom over Paris ; so it happened that his days were spent in lain inquiries and fruitless applications, and every day, as it passed, diminished his slender store, not- withstanding all his care and economy and the privations he at last imposed on himself. , Too proud, as we have already said, to have recourse again to the generosity of his friend Flambard, he soon reached the last sou of his last five-franc piece. That day, he went early in the morning, trembling and blush- ing, to a Mont de Pidtd office, to pawn a portion of his slender wardrobe. He returned with a coat the less, and fifteen francs the more in his purse. Alas ! that re- source could not last long. Great trials come to us from heaven, but they lead us back thither. There is nothing like misfortune for awaking in the mind of suffering man those religious principles too often forgotten in prosperity. Since the death of his mother, and especially since his visit to our Lady of Fourvieres, Ernest, understanding that, apart from God, all was false or chimerical, had moved one step forward on the way that leads to the true and living faith, but the most important step was still to be taken in order to reach the end. He had faith, but he wanted practice. He knelt before the altar, but he passed the confessional by. The repu<^nance, or rather the preju- dice, which he felt in regard U confessing his sins, as ordained by the holy precepts of the church, was the only obstacle that still separated him from grace. MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. 133 iniber of •es threw lays were ons, and tore, not- )rivatioDS recourse , he soon ;e. That ^nd blush- on of his the less, I that re- they lead )rtune for religious Since the isit to our hat, apart loved one and living be taken be wanted passed the the preju- is sins, as s the only When the ruinous Mont de Pidtd had absorbed the last article he could dispose of, and he saw himself re- duced to utter destitution, he formed the resolution of taking service in the ranks of the active force. The minister ot war was just then occupied ..ith the formation of the National Guard. Ernest's military experience made it easy for him to obtain a place in the squares of that select corps. One day, therefore, when he was pre- paring to sign the act of his enrolment, he chanced to meet, in the Rue Castiglione, a worthy priest whom he had known at the Tuilleries, in the worst days of 1848.* As they journeyed in the same direction, they crossed together the garden that lay before them. Solitude still reigned under the fine trees planted by the hand of Le Notre before tlie dwelling of the kings of France. The perpetual wai oling of birds was the only sound that broke c^n the stillness of the shady alleys. It was nine in the morning. The soldier had taken the priest's arm. Between the priest and the soldier — those two great types of devotion and abnegation — intimacy is as rapid as confidence is easy, so Ernest had soon made the Abbe * The Abbd Denys, now almoner of St. Louis' hospital, dis- tinguished himself in 1848 by his admirable zeal and charity. Every day he shut himself up in the Castle of the Tuilleries, to convert, whilst consoling them, the numerous wounded persons brought there after the disastrous affair of February. At the same time he organized a club, which, under his presidency and the title of the Pius IX. Hociety, rendered good service to reli- gion. The author of these sketches remembers with gratitude the honor done him by this society in associating him with the Abbe Denys in the capacity of vice-president. f.. ft M^' 134 MOIHER MATHUSALEM'S EASTER EGG. Denys acquainted with his position and his projects. The latter, on his side, well skilled in the reading of human hearts, had soon discovered the struggle and the hesitsr tion going on in that of the captain's. " Do not enrol yourself to-day," said he ; "he who has orne the sword of command so nobly as you have done must not submit to carry the private's musket, unless as a last resource. Wait until to-morrow." " I cannot do it, my dear Abbe," replied Ernest. " What is a day, more or less ?" " A great deal when one is hungry, and has nothing to satisfy the cravings of appetite except an Easter egg." "It is very little, I confess ; but Providence, who * feeds the birds of the air,' will not desert a being created to His own divine image." " I hope so." " I am sure of it ! Was it not He that sent me to you this morning ? You will see that it was when I tell you that, when you met me, I was just on my way to dis- pose of a sum of an hundred francs, which one of my penitents had given me yesterday for the poor of the parish or some particular case of distress, whichever I chose ; now my choice is made, and I am at liberty to beg your acceptance of it." " Enough, enough, my dear Abbe," cried Ernest, in a tone of noble pride, "you may pity me, but you surely would not insult me." "You do not understand me, my poor friend! pray let me finish. My choice being made, as I said, I beg MOTHER MATHUSALEM's EASTER EGG. 135 ts. The f human he hesita- who has lave done unless as lest. as nothing or of the hichever I liberty to Iniest, in a you surely end ! pray said, I beg you to accept as a loan the sum which a generous hand has placed at my disposal." ** I sincerely beg your pardon, my dear Abbd, I did not understand you." " You accept it ?" " As a loan — yes — but not the entire sum. From this till to-morrow, five francs will be sufficient ; the smaller the sum it will be the easier paid." *' As you will ; but promise me that you will come and see me to-morrow at ten o'clock, precisely. A friend lately spoke to me of a place where a confidential person is wanted. I will go this very moment, and see if we are yet in time." " Thanks, my dear Abb^ ! you might well say that Providence is a rich provider I" •f* *fS ^F ^P ^^ ' At ten o'clock next day, Ernest was at St. Louis' hos- pital. Abbe Denys was waiting for him in the snug little retreat he had made there for himself in the midst of the human sufferings to which he ministered : it was like a nest in a rose-bush. "The place of which I told you is still vacant," said the good Abbe, shaking him warmly by the hand, " I am promised a decisive answer inside of twenty-four hours." " Do you think it will be favorable ?" '* I hope it will ; meanwhile, you know I am your cashier, and have still ninety-five francs at your disposal ; the piece you accepted yesterday must be all gone by now." " Not quite," said Ernest, with a smile : " see, I have four francs yet." 136 MOTHER MATHUSALEM'S EASTER EGG. a'4 B'i'-.; pi ;i I, ii^ ~4 1 1 " You are too economical." " We cannot be too economical in using what is not our own." " You have a noble heart," said the Abbe, " I find you are as honorable as you are brave : the good God will bless you." Naturally, and without any effort on his part, Ernest was led to make his confession — the only obstacle, we have said, that kept him from the practice of religion. Abbe Deuys, speaking with the vigor and earnestness of inspiration and the fervor of apostolic zeal, explained to him the sublimity and the immense advan- tages of a sacrament instituted by God himself, to sup- port frail human nature in its struggle with concupiscence and the powers of evil, to ^rengthen it in its weakness, to confirm it in good, to console it in affliction, to en- lighten it in its doubts, to bring it securely through the ordeal of temptation, and to absolve it at the final hour when, ready to appear before God, its judge, it is strug- gling in the grasp of death. Being long before prepared to receive the word of truth and the light of grace, Ernest listened piously to the eloquent voice of the priest, and, according as the latter developed the magnificence of religion, in its dogmas as in its works, he felt a deep and settled con- viction replacing uncertainty and hesitation in his mind. When the Abb(^ had ceased to speak, Ernest, falling at his feet, exclaimed : "I am ready, father, if you will only hear me," and, in a voice of deep emotion, he com- menced fji general confession of his whole life. He was so well disposed, as we have just said, that he received II-, MOTHER MATHUSALEM'S EASTER EGG. 137 I is not 'I find odGod fort on he only jractice ^or and lie zeal, advan- to sup- Discence Bakness, 1, to en- ugh the lal hour is strug- ivord of ously to as the , in its led con- mind. , falling you will he corn- He was received absolution with a contrite and humble heart, and could have approached the holy table that very day. It was only then that, recalling the last injunctions of his mother and the humble inheritance she had left him on her death-bed, he gave the Easter egg to Abb^ Denys, telling him, at the same time, its touching history. " You may open it to-day," said the Abbd, " and we will say together the first prayers on the rosary it con- tains, to the end thj God may grant you, with the abundance of his favors, the crowning grace of perse- verance. ** Open it yourself," said Ernest ; " you who have opened my soul to the treasures of divine mercy." Then, with a hand trembling with emotion, Abbo Denys broke the sealed bfue ribbon that tied the red Easter egg, and, under a coral rosary and a silver medal, he found a paper, which he glanced over in silence, an ineffable expression of joy stealing over his placid features. " That paper doubtless contains the last solemn wishes of my dear and good mother," said Ernest. " I was right in telling you," said the Abbe, again shaking him by the hand, " that Providence would not abandon you. Now thank God, who sends you from the grave four hundred and sixty thousand francs P^ The paper which the Abbe had just read was the re- ceipt for that sum, deposited in one of the principal banks of Paris. So this was the secret of Mother Mathusalem's Easter Egg, and a good use Ernest made of it, as the poor of the Norman village where he lives can all bear witness. r:-. m ■'^A MALDONATAj OR, THE GRATEFUL LIONESS. The city of Buenos Ayres was founded by the Span- ^iards in 1535. The new colony were soon in want of provisions ; all those who ventured to go in search of them were massacred by the savages, so that at length it became necessary to forbid any one, under pain of death, to quit the limits of the new settlement. A woman to whom hunger had probably given courage to brave death, contrived to elude the vigilance of the sentinels who had been placed around the colony in order to preserve it from the dangers to which famine exposed it. Maldo- uata, (as she was called) after wandering a long while through dreary and unknown paths, went into a cavern to rest herself after so much fatigue. What was her terror, when she beheld a lioness there ; but her surprise was still greater than her terror, when she saw the formidable beast approaching her with a timid air, caressing her and El MALDONATA ; OR, THE GRATEFUL LIONESS. 139 ss. Span- A/^ant of arch of ength it r death, 3maii to e death, i^ho had serve it Maldo- g while ivern to • terror, ise was midablc her and licking her hands, moaning and crying so piteously, at the same time, that she inspired pity rather than fear. The Spaniard soon perceived that the lioness was about to bring forth her young, and compassionately did what she could to assist nature and assuage the poor animal's pain. The lioness, safely delivered, soon goes forth in search of food, and lays an abundant supply at the feet of her bene- factress ; the latter shared it every day with the young cubs, who, growing up around her, seemed to take pleas- ure in frisking about for her amusement. But when advancing age gave them the instinct of seeking their own prey, with the strength to seize and devour it, the family dispersed through the woods ; and the lioness, whom maternal affection no longer detained in the cavern, disappeared herself, and roamed abroad through the wil- derness, which famine was fast depopulating. Maldonata, alone and without subsistence, was forced to quit a cav- ern so much dreaded by her fellow creatures, but in which her own kindness had procured her an asylum. The woman, unhapily deprived of her kind associates, had not been long a wanderer, when she fell into the hands of some savage Indians. A lioness had fed her, and men made her a slave I She was soon after retaken by the Spaniards, who brought her back once more to Buenos Ay res. The commandant, more ferocious than either lions or Indians, considered, doubtless, that she was not yet sufficiently punished for stealing away ; the barbarian ordered her to be tied to a tree, in the midst of the woods, either to die of hunger or be devoured by wild beasts. Two davs after some of the soldiers went 140 MALDONATA J OR, THE GRATEFUL LIONESS. li'^ I iff to see what had become of the unhappy victim. They found her still alive, in the midst of hungry tigers, who, glaring with open mouths on their prey, dared not approach, because of a lioness that lay crouched at her feet with her cubs. The soldiers were struck dumb with amazement at the sight. The lioness, perceiving them, immediately left the tree, as if to leave them at liberty to unbind her benefactress. But when they came to take her away with them, the animal came slowly and deject- edly to confirm b^ her fond caresses and low, pitiful moans, the prodigies of gratitude related by the woman to her deliverers. The lioness and her cubs followed the Spaniard for some time, evincing after their own manner, all the heartfelt sorrow that a human family displays when accompanying to the ship a fiither or a beloved son, who is about leaving his native land forever. The commandant, informed by his soldiers of what had taken place, was at length shamed into humanity by the example of a wild beast, and spared the life of a woman whom Heaven had so visibly protected. What a beautiful moral is contained, my dear children, in this story, so touching in its simplicity. Gratitude, we see, is a feeling implanted by the Creator in the hearts even of savage animals. How odious, then, must ingrat- itude be, the ingratude of beings endowed with reason and intelligence, in the sight of that God who created men to his own image and likeness, and would have them regulate their lives by His holy If w. Gratitude may be called, and truly is, one of the natural virtues, or those implanted in our nature, but in so far as it concerns God, 'M MALDONATA ; OR, THE GRATEFUL LIONESS. 141 They s, who, ed not at her lb with ; them, liberty to take deject- pitiful woman ^ed the nanner, lis plays ed son, lat had by the woman hildren, iide, we hearts ingrat- reason created re them may be r those IS God, the author of all good, it becomes a divine virtue, seeing that its object is Himself, our divine Benefactor, our Cre- ator, our Redeemer, our Father, who is in Heaven. Gratitude to men is a natural virtue, and as such, well pleasing to God. Gratitude to God is a divine virtue, and merits an eternal reward. MS. J. SADLIER'S WOBES Original and Translated. 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