I OE CALIF. UBRAEY, log ALPHONSE DAUDET La Belle- Nivernaise ; by MONTEGUT GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS LONDON, GLASGOW & NEW YORK La Belle Nivernaise and Other Stories Translated iy K. ROUTLEDGE, Author of ' Discoveries and Inventions of the Nineteenth Century" &>., &*c. ALPHONSE DAUDET La Belle Nivernaise The Story of an Old Boat and Her Crew WITH 184 ILLUSTRATIONS LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS BKOADWAY, LUDGATE HILL GLASGOW AND NEW YORK 1887 (Copyright} RICHARD CLAY AND Soxs. LONDON AND BUNCAY. A. D. CONTENTS CONTENTS LA BELLE NIVERNAISE CHAP. PAGE I A RASH ACT i II THE BELLE NIVERNAISE 53 III UNDER WAY 75 IV LIFE is HARD 113 V MAUGENDRE'S AMBITIONS 163 THE FIG AND THE IDLER 233 MY FIRST DRESS COAT 249 THE THREE LOW MASSES 277 THE NEW MASTER 311 LA BELLE NIVERNAISE CHAPTER I A RASH ACT THE street Des Enfants-Rouges is in the Temple quarter a very narrow street, with stagnant gutters and puddles of black mud, with foul water and mouldy smells pouring from its gaping passages. The houses on each side are very lofty, and have barrack- like windows, that show no curtains behind B Belle Nirernaise their dirty panes. These are common lodg- ing-houses, and dwellings of artisans, of day- labourers, and of men who work at their trade in their own rooms. There are shops on the ground floor; many pork-dealers, wine retailers, vendors of chestnuts, bakers of B 2 A Rash Act 5 coarse bread, butchers displaying viands of repulsive tints. In this street you see no carriages, no flounced gowns, no elegant loungers on the pavement : but there are costermongers crying the refuse of the market-places, and a throng of workmen La Belle Nirernaise crowding out of the factories with their blouses rolled up under their arms. This is the eighth of the month, the day when poor people pay their rents, the day when landlords who are tired of waiting any longer turn Want out of doors. On this day you see removal carts going past with piles of iron bedsteads, torn mattresses, kitchen utensils, and lame tables rearing up their legs in the air ; and with not even a handful of straw to pack the wretched things, damaged and worn out as they are by being knocked about on dirty staircases, and tumbled down from attic to basement. It is now getting dark, and one after another the gas-lamps are lighted, and send their reflections from the gutters and the shop windows. The passers-by, however, hasten onwards ; for the fog is chilly. A Rash Act 7 But there, in a warm comfortable wine- shop, is the honest old bargeman, Louveau, leaning against the counter, and taking a friendly glass with the joiner from La Villette. The bargeman's big, weather-beaten face dilates into a hearty laugh, that makes 8 La Belle Nivernaise the copper rings in his ears shake again, as he exclaims : " So it's settled, friend Dubac, that you take my load of timber at the price I have named." "Agreed." " Your good health." " Here's to yours." They clink their glasses together, and Louveau drinks with his head thrown back and his eyes half closed, smacking his lips in order to taste better the flavour of his white wine. It can't be helped, look you, but every one has his failing ; and white wine is the special weakness of our friend Louveau. Not that he is a drunkard. Far from it. Indeed, his wife, who is a woman of sense, would not allow fuddling ; but when one has to live like our bargeman, with his feet in the water, and A Rash Act 9 his pate in the sun, it is quite necessary to quaff off a glass now and then. Louveau is getting more and more elated ; and he smiles at the shinins zinc counter which he now sees rather indistinctly for it brings to his mind the heap of new, bright coins he will pocket to-morrow when he delivers his timber. La Belle Nivernaise After a parting glass, and a shake of the hands, our friends separate. " To-morrow without fail? " " You may depend on me." Louveau, at least, will not fail to keep the appointment. The bargain is too good, and has been too hard driven for him to be behind. So in high glee, our bargeman turns down towards the Seine, rolling his shoulders and elbowing his way along, with the exuberant delight of a school-boy who has a franc piece in his pocket. What will mother Louveau say the wife with a head-piece when she learns that her husband has sold his timber right off, and that at a good profit ? Two or three more bargains like this, and then they can afford to buy a new boat and drop the Belle Nivernaise, for she is beginning to get much too leaky. A Rash Act ii Not that she is to blame for that, for she was a fine boat when she was new; only, you see, everything gets old and goes to decay ; and Louveau himself feels that even he is not now as active as when he used to assist in steering the timber-rafts on the Marne. But what is going on down there ? The La Bdle Ntiernaise gossips are collected before a door, and people are stopping, and engaging in conversation, while the policeman standing in the middle of the gathering is writing something in his note-book. Like everybody else, our barge- man crosses the road to satisfy his curiosity, A Rash Ad 13 and see whether a dog has been run over, or a vehicle has stuck fast, or a tipsy man has fallen into the gutter, or what other equally uninteresting event has occurred. Something different this time ! A small child with disordered hair, and cheeks all over jam, is sitting on a wooden chair, rubbing his eyes with his hands, and crying. The tears that have streamed down his rather dirty face have left upon it fantastically shaped marks. The officer is questioning the little fellow, with a calm and dignified air, as if he were examining a prisoner, and he is taking notes of the answers. " What is your name ? " " Totor." "Victor What?" No answer ; only the poor little brat cried more, and sobbed " Mamma ! Mamma ! " La Belle Nivernaise At this moment, a very plain and untidy woman of the labouring class, was passing by, dragging her two children after her. She advanced through the group, and asked the police-officer to allow her to try what she could do. She knelt down, wiped the little A Rash Act 15 fellow's nose, dried his eyes, and kissed his sticky cheeks. " What is your mammy's name, my dear ? " He did not know. Then the policeman addressed himself to one of the neighbours : " Now you should know something about these people, as you are the door-keeper." No, he had never heard their name, and then there were so many tenants going back- wards and forwards in the house. All that could be ascertained was that they had lived there for a month, that they had never paid a farthing of rent, that the landlord had just turned them out, and that it was a good riddance. " What did they do ? " " Nothing at all." The father and mother used to spend the i 6 La Belle Nivernaise day in drinking, and the evening in fighting. They never agreed together in anything, except in thrashing their other children, two lads that used to beg in the streets, and steal things there exposed for sale. A nice family, as you may believe. A Rash Ad 17 " Do you think they will come to look for their child ? " " I am sure they will not." The removal had, in fact, afforded them an opportunity of abandoning the child. That was not the first time such a thing had happened on the term days. " Did nobody see the parents leaving ? " asked the policeman. Yes ! they went away in the morning, the husband pushing the hand-cart, while his wife carried a package in her apron, and the two lads had nothing, but their hands in their pockets. The passers-by after indignantly exclaim- ing that these people should be caught, continued on their way. The poor little brat had been there since noon, when his mother had set him in the 1 8 La Belle Nivernaise chair and told him to " be good," and all that time he had been waiting. But when he began to cry for hunger, the fruit-woman over the way had given him a slice of bread with jam on it. This had long ago been devoured, and the little wretch was beginning to cry again. The poor innocent loo was nearly dying with fear. He was afraid of the dogs prowling round him afraid of the night that was coming on afraid of the strangers talking to him and his little heart was beating violently in his bosom, like that of an expiring bird. As the crowd round him continued to increase, the police officer, tired of the scene, took the child by the hand to lead him to the station. ''Come now; does anybody claim him?" A Rash Act 19 " Stop a minute ! " Every one turned round, and saw a great . Jr*s ij**^***.'**! ^* ruddy lace wearing a silly smile that extended from one copper-ringed ear to the other. c 2 La Belle Nivernaise " Stop a minute ! if nobody wants him, I will take him myself." Loud exclamations burst from the crowd : "Well done," " That's right," "You are a good fellow." Old Louveau, excited by the white wine, the success of his bargain, and the general approbation, stood with folded arms in the middle of the admiring circle. " Oh, it's a simple matter." Those who were curious went on with him to the police magistrate's, without letting his enthusiasm cool. When he got there he was asked the questions usual in such cases : " Your name ? " " Francis Louveau, your Honour, a married man, and if I may say so, well married, to a wife with a head-piece. And that is lucky for me, your Honour, for you A Rash Act 21 see I am not very clever myself, ha ! ha ! not very clever. I'm not an eagle. ' Francis is not an eagle,' my wife says." He had never before been so eloquent, but now he felt his tongue loosened, and all the assurance of a man who had just concluded a good bargain and who had drunk a bottle of white wine. " Your occupation ? " " Bargeman, your Honour, master of the Belle Nivernaise, rather a rough boat, but manned by a smartish crew. Ah ! now mine is a famous crew. . . Ask the lock- keepers all the way from the Pont Marie to Clamecy. . . has your Honour ever been there, at Clamecy ? " The people about him were smiling, but Louveau went on, spluttering and clipping short his syllables. La Belle Ntvernaise " Well now, Clamecy is a nice place, if you like ! It's wooded from top to bottom ; and with good wood, workable wood ; all the joiners know that. . . It is there I buy my timber. He ! he ! I am famous for my timber. I see a thing at a glance, look you ! Not because I am clever ; as my wife says, I am by no means an eagle : but in fact I do see a thing at a glance. . . For instance, now, I take a tree as thick as you asking your Honour's pardon and I lap a string round it, this way. . ." He had drawn a cord from his pocket, and seizing hold of the officer standing by, had encircled him with it. The officer struggled to disentangle himself : " Please leave me alone." " Yes. . . yes. . . I want to show his Honour how I pass the string round it, and A Rash Act 23 then when I have the girth, I multiply it by. . . I multiply by. . . I forget now what I multiply by. . . My wife does the calcu- lation. She has a good head-piece, has my wife." La Belle Nivernaise The audience was highly amused, and the magistrate himself could not refrain from smiling behind his table. When the laughter had subsided a little, he asked : " What will you make of this child ? " A Rash Ad 25 " Certainly not a gentleman. We have never had a gentleman in our family. But he shall be a bargeman, a smart barge lad, like the rest." 26 La Belle Nivernaise " Have you any children ? " " I should think I have ! I have one able to walk, another at the breast, and there is a third one coming. That's not so bad, is it ? for a man who is not an eagle. With this one there will be four; but pooh ! where there is enough for three, there is enough for four. Packed a little closer, that's all. One must pull one's belt a little tighter and try to get more for one's wood." And his laughter again shook the ear-rings, as he turned a complacent look on those present. A big book was put before him, but as he could not write he had to sign with a cross. The magistrate thereupon gave the lost child up to him. "Take the little fellow away, Francis Louveau, and mind you bring him up well. If any inquiries are made about him, I will let you know. But it is not likely that his 28 La Belle Nivcrnaise parents will ever claim him. As for you, you seem to me an honest man, and I have confidence in you. Always be guided by your wife ; and now good bye, and don't you take too much white wine." A dark night, a cold fog, a lot of uncon- cerned people hurrying away home that all tends to quickly bring a man to his senses. Hardly had our bargeman got into the street by himself, leading by the hand the child he had taken under his care, and carrying his stamped document in his pocket, than he felt his enthusiasm suddenly cool down and he became aware of the serious import of his act. Is he then always to be like this ? Always to be a simpleton and a braggart ? Why could not he go on his way like other '' leading by the hand the child he had taken under h : s care A Rash Act 31 people without meddling in what did not concern him ? Now for the first time, he pictured to himself the wrath of mother Louveau. Just fancy the kind of reception he will meet with ! What a dreadful thing it is for a simple kind-hearted man to have a shrewd wife ! He would never have the courage to go home and yet he dared not go back to the police magistrate's. Whatever should he do? They went on through the fog, Louveau gesticulating and talking to himself. He was getting a speech ready. Victor was dragging his shoes in the mud and letting himself be pulled along like a dead weight. At length, he could go no farther, and then Louveau stepped, lifted him La Belle Nivernaise up and carried him, wrapping his overall round him. The twining of the little arms round his neck caused our bargeman to re- sume his journey with a rather better heart. Faith, bad as it was, he would run the risk. If mother Louveau turned them out, there would still be time to cirry the little brat back to the police office; but if she would keep A Rash Act 33 him only for one night, he would be the gainer by a good meal. They came to the Bridge of Austerlitz where the Belle Nivernaise was moored, and the faint pleasant odour from the loads of newly-cut wood filled the night air. A whole 34 -L a -Belle Nivernaise fleet of boats was rocking in the dark shade of the river's bank, and the movement of the water made the lamps swing and the chains grate together. To get to his boat, Louveau had to pass over two lighters connected by planks. He went on with timid steps and trembling limbs, hampered by the hug of the child's arms about his neck. The night was extremely dark, and the only signs of life about the Belle Nivernaise were the little lamp shining in the cabin window, and the ray of light that found its way beneath the door. Mother Louveau's voice was heard chiding the children, while she was cooking the evening meal : " Be quiet, Clara ! " It was now too late for retreat, and the A Rash Act 37 bargeman pushed the door open. Mother Louveau had her back towards it, and was leaning over her frying-pan, but she knew his footstep, and without turning round, said : La Belle Nivernaise "Is it you, Francis ? How late you are in getting back ! " The frying potatoes were dancing about in the crackling oil ; and as the steam from the pan passed towards the open door, it dimmed the panes of the cabin windows. Francis had put the poor brat on the floor, and the little fellow, impressed by the warmth of the place, and feeling his reddened A Rash Act 39 fingers restored to animation, smiled and said in a rather soft and sweet voice : " Warm here. . ." Mother Louveau turned round, and point- ing to the ragged child standing in the middle of the room, asked her husband in angry tones : 11 What is that ? " But even in the best of households, there are such moments. " A surprise for you, he ! he ! a surprise." The bargeman grinned from ear to ear, in order to keep himself in countenance ; but he very much wished that he was still in the street. However, as his wife was waiting for an explanation, and glaring at him with a dread- ful look, he faltered out his story in a jumbled way, with the supplicating eyes of a dog threatened with the whip. La Belle Nivernaise His parents had abandoned him, and he had found him crying on the pavement. Some one had asked if anybody would take him. He said he would. And the police magistrate had told him he might take him away. "Didn't he, my child?" Then the storm burst upon him : " You are mad, or drunk ! Did ever any one hear tell of such a piece cf A Rash Act 41 folly ! I suppose you want us to die of starvation? Do you think we are too well off? That we have too much to eat? Too much room to lie in ? " Francis contemplated his shoes without answering a word. " Think of yourself, you wretch, and think of us ! Your boat is holed like my skimmer, and yet you must go and amuse yourself by picking up other people's children out of the gutter ! " But the poor fellow knew all that too well already, and did not attempt to deny it. He bowed his head like a criminal listening to the statement of his guilt. " You will do me the favour of taking that child back to the police magistrate, and if any objections are made about receiving him back again, you must say that La Belle Nirernaise your wife won't have him. Do you understand ? " She advanced towards him pan in hand, with a threatening gesture, and the bargeman promised to do all she wished. " Come now, don't get vexed. I thought A Rash Act 43 I was doing right. I have made a mistake. That's enough. Must he be taken back at once ? " Her good-man's submission softened mother Louveau's heart. Perhaps also there arose in her mind the vision of a child of her own, lost and alone at night, stretching out its hands towards the passers-by. 44 La Belle Nivernaise She turned to put her pan on the fire, and said in a testy tone : " It cannot be done to-night, for the office is closed. And now that you have brought him, you cannot set him down again on the A Rash Act 45 pavement. He shall remain to-night ; but to-morrow morning. . ." Mother Louveau was so enraged that she poked the fire first with one hand and then with the other. 46 La Belle. Nivernaise " But I vow that to-morrow you shall rid me of him ! ; ' There was silence. The housewife laid the table savagely, knocking the glasses together, and dashing the forks down. Clara was frightened, and kept very quiet in one corner. The baby was whining on the bed, and the lost child was looking with wonder at the cinders in the stove getting red hot. Perhaps he had never seen a fire in all his life before. There was, however, another pleasure in store for him, when he was put to the table with a napkin round his neck, and a heap of potatoes on his plate. He ate like a robin-redbreast picking crumbs off the snow. Mother Louveau helped him furiously, but at heart she was a little bit touched by the A Rash Act. 47 appetite of the starved child. Little Clara was delighted, and stroked him with her spoon. Louveau was dismayed and dared not lift an eye. When she had removed the table things and put her children to bed, mother Lou- veau seated herself near the fire, and took the child between her knees to give him a little wash. 48- La Belle Nivernaise " We can't put him to bed in that dirty state." I lay he had never before seen either sponge or comb. Under her hands the poor child twirled round like a top. But when .once he had been washed and tidied up, the little lad did not look bad, with his pink poodle-like nose, and hands as plump as rosy apples. Mother Louveau looked upon her work with a certain degree of satisfaction. " I wonder how old he is ? " Francis laid down his pipe, delighted once more to be an actor in the scene. This was the first time he had been spoken to all the evening, and a question addressed to him was almost like a recall to grace. He rose up and drew his cords from his pocket. A Rash Act 49 "How old? He! he! I'll tell you in a minute." He took the little fellow in his arms, and wound lines round him as he did to the tree at Clamecy. Mother Louveau looked on with amaze- ment. 50 La Belle Nivernaise " Whatever are you doing?" "I am taking his dimensions." She snatched the cord from his hands, and flung it to the other end of the apartment. "My good man, how silly you make yourself with these mad tricks ! The child is not a young tree." No chance for you, this evening, poor Francis ! Quite abashed he beats a retreat, whilst mother Louveau puts the little one to bed in Clara's cot. The little girl is sleeping with closed hands and taking up all the room. She is vaguely conscious that something is put beside her, stretches out her arms, pushes her neighbour into a corner, digs her elbows into his eyes, turns over and goes to sleep again. In the meantime the lamp has been blown out, and the Seine rippling round A Rash Act 51 the boat gently rocks the wooden habitation, The poor lost child feels a gentle warmth 5 2 La Belle Nivernaise steal over him, and he falls asleep with the new sensation of something like a caressing hand upon his head, just as his eyes are closing. CHAPTER II THE BELLE NIVERNAISE MADEMOISELLE CLARA used always to awake early, and this morning she was sur- prised at not seeing her mother in the cabin, and at finding another head on the pillow beside her. She rubbed her eyes with her little fingers, then took hold of her bedfellow by the hair and shook him. 54 La Belle Nivcrnaise Poor " Totor " was roused by the strangest sensations, for roguish fingers were teasing him by tickling his neck and seizing hold of his nose. He cast his wondering eyes round about him, and was quite surprised that his dream still continued. Above them there was a creaking of footsteps, and a rumbling sound caused by the unloading of the planks upon the quay. The Belle Nivernaise 57 Mademoiselle Clara seemed greatly per- plexed. She pointed her little finger to the ceiling with a gesture that seemed to ask her friend : " What is that ? " It was the delivery of the wood beginning. Dubac, the joiner from La Villette, had come at six o'clock with his horse and cart, and Louveau had very quickly set to work, with a hitherto unknown ardour. 5 8 La Belle Nivernaise The good fellow had not closed an eye all night for thinking that he would have to take that child, who had been so cold and hungry, back to the police-magistrate. He expected to have a scene in the morning again ; but mother Louveau had some other notions in her head, for she did not mention Victor to him : and Francis The Belle Nivernaise 59 thought that much might be gained by postponing the time for explanations. He was striving to efface himself, and to escape from his wife's view, and he was working with all his might, lest mother Louveau should see him idle, and should call out to him : " Come now, as you have nothing to do, take the little boy back where you found him." And he did work. The pile of planks was visibly diminishing. Dubac had already made three journeys, and mother Louveau, standing on the gangway with her nursling on her arm, had her time fully taken up in counting the lots as they passed. Working with a will, Francis selected for his burdens rafters as long as masts and as thick as walls. If the beam were too 6o La Belle Nivernaise heavy, he called the Crew to help him to load. The Crew was a boatman with a wooden leg, and he alone formed the personal equipment of the Belle Nivernaise. He had been picked up from charity, and retained from habit. This maimed one would prop himself up The Belle Nivernaise 61 on his peg, or raise up the log with great effort, and Louveau, bending beneath the load, with his belt tight round his waist, would pass slowly over the movable bridge. How could a man so busily occupied be interrupted in his work? Mother Louveau 62 La Belle Ntiernaise ccmld not think of it. She w.eni up and down on the gangway, intent only on Mimile who was at her breast. He was always thirsty, that Mimile. Like his father. But Louveau, thirsty ? ... he The Belle Nivernaisc certainly was not so to-day. He had been working since morning, and the question of white wine had never been raised. He had not even taken breathing time, or wiped his brow, or drunk a drop at the edge of a counter. Even when, after a little, Dubac proposed to go and have a glass, Francis heroically replied : " We shall have time later on." 6 4 La Belle Nivernaise Refuse a glass ! the housewife could not understand it at all; this could not be her Louveau, but must be some substitute. Her Clara now seems a changeling also, for eleven o'clock has struck, and the little girl, who would never remain in bed, has not stirred the whole morning. Mother Louveau hastens into the cabin to see what is going on. Francis remains on deck, swinging his arms, and gasping for breath, as if he had just received in his stomach a blow from a joist. The Belle Nivernaise 65 Now for it ! His wife has bethought herself of Victor; she is going to bring him on deck, and he must start for the police office. . . But no ; mother Louveau reappears all alone. She is laughing and she beckons to him : " Just come and look here, it is so funny ! " The good man cannot understand this sudden hilarity, and he follows her like an automaton, the fulness of his emotion almost depriving him of the use of his legs. The two monkeys were sitting on the edge of the bed, in their shirts, and with bare feet. They had possessed themselves of the bowl of soup that the mother left within reach of their little arms when she got up. As there was only one spoon for the two mouths, they were cramming each other in turns, like fledglings in a nest ; and Clara, who used E 66 La Belle Nivernaise always to be averse to taking her soup, was laughing and stretching out her mouth for the spoon. Although some crumbs of bread might have got into eyes or ears, the two babies had broken nothing, had upset nothing, and they were amusing themselves so heartily that it was impossible to find fault with them. Mother Louveau continued to laugh. " As they are agreeing so well as that, we need not trouble ourselves about them." The Belle Nivernaise 67 Francis immediately returned to his work, quite delighted with the turn things were taking. Usually, at the unloading time, he would take a rest during the day ; that is to say, he would go the round of all the bargemen's taverns, from the Point-du-Jour to the Quai de Bercy. So that the unloading used to drag on for a whole week, during which mother Louveau's wrath would continue unappeased. But this time there was no idleness, no white wine, but a passionate desire to do well by ardent and sustained labour. On his part the little fellow, as if he under- stood that his cause must be won, was doing all that he possibly could to amuse Clara. For the first time in her life, this little girl passed a whole day without tears, without 68 La Belle Niveruaise dashing herself about, without making holes in her stockings. Her companion amused her, soothed her. He was always willing to make a sacrifice of his hair to stop Clara's tears on the edges of her eyelids. And she tugged at her big friend's rough poll by handfuls, teasing him like a pug-dog nipping a poodle. Mother Louveau observed all this from a distance, and inwardly remarked that this child was just as useful as a little nurse. So they might keep Victor until the unloading was finished. There would be time to take him back afterwards, just before their departure. For this reason, she did not that evening make any allusion to sending him back, but gorged him with potatoes, and put him to bed as on the night before. One would have thought that Louveau's The Belle Nivernaise 69 little friend was a member of the family, and to see the way Clara put her arm round his neck as she went to sleep, would lead one to suppose that she had taken him under her special protection. The unloading of the Belle Nivernaise lasted three days. Three days of impetuous labour, without any relaxation, without any break. About midday the last cart was laden and the boat was empty. They could not take the tug until the morrow, and Francis passed the whole day between decks, repairing the planks, but still haunted by those words that for three days had been ringing in his ears : " Take him back to the police-magistrate." Ah ! that magistrate ! He was not more dreaded in the house of wicked Mr. Punch than he was in the cabin of the Belle La Belle Nivernaise Nivernaise. He had become a kind of bogle that mother Louveau availed herself of to keep Clara quiet. Every time she pronounced that name of fear, the little fellow fixed upon her the The Belle Nivernaise 71 restless eyes of a child who has too early had experience of suffering. He vaguely understood all that this word meant of dangers to come. The magistrate ! That meant no more Clara, no more caresses, no more warmth, no more potatoes ; but a return to a cheerless life, to days without bread, to slumbers without bed, to awakening in the morning without kisses. How he therefore clung to mother Louveau's skirts on the eve of the boat's departure ! when Francis, in a trembling voice, asked : " Come now, shall we take him back, yes or no ? " Mother Louveau did not answer. You would even fancy she was thinking of some pretext for keeping Victor. As for Clara, she rolled on the floor, J2 La Eelle Nivernaise choking with sobs, and determined to have convulsions if she were separated from her friend. Then the wife with a head-piece spoke seriously : " My good man, you have done a foolish act, as usual. And now you have to pay for it. This child has become attached to us, Clara is fond of him, and every one would be grieved to see him leave. I am going to try and keep him, but I will have each one to bear a part. The first time that Clara works herself up into a fit of passion, or that you get drunk, I shall take him back to the police-magistrate's. " Old Louveau became radiant. It was done. He would drink no more. He smiled right up to his ear-rings and sang away as he coiled his cable on the 77ie Belle Nivernaise 73 deck, whilst the tug towed along the Belle Nivernaise together with quite a fleet of other boats. E 2 CHAPTER III UNDER WAY VICTOR was under way. Under way for the suburban country, where the water minors little houses and green gardens under way for the white land of the chalk hills under way beside the flagged, resound- ing towing-paths under way for the up- lands, for the canal of the Yonne, slumbering within its locks under way for the verdure of winter, and for the woods of Morvan. Francis leant against the tiller of his boat, firm in his resolution not to drink, and 7 6 La Belle Nivernaise turned a deaf ear to the invitations of the lock-keepers, and of the wine-dealers, who were astonished to see him passing free. He Under Way 7 9 was obliged to cling to the tiller to keep the Belle Nivernaise from going alongside of the taverns. The old boat, from the time she had made the same voyage, seemed as if she knew the stations, and wanted to stop at them of her own accord, like an omnibus horse. The Crew was perched on one leg in the prow, where, handling an immense boat-hook in a melancholy way, he pushed back the bushes, rounded the turns, and grappled the locks. It was not much work he used to do, So La Belle Nivernaise although the noise of his wooden leg on the deck might be heard day and night. Resigned and silent, he was one of those for whom everything in life had gone vvTcnrj. A school-fellow had caused him the loss of an eye ; an axe had lamed him at the saw-mill ; a vat had scalded him at the sugar refinery. Under Way Si He would have been a beggar dying of hunger at the edge of a ditch, if Louveau - who always saw a thing at a glance had not. as he was coming out of the hospital, engaged him to help in working the boat. This was, at the time, the occasion of a 82 La Belle Nivernaise great quarrel exactly as for Victor. The wife with a head-piece was vexed, whereupon Louveau gave in. In the end, the Crew remained, and at this time he formed part of the household of the Belle Nivernaise, on the same footing as the cat and the raven. Old Louveau steered so exactly, and the Crew worked the boat so well, that after having ascended the river and the canals, the Belle Nivernaise, twelve days after her departure from Paris, got moored at the bridge of Corbigny, there to rest peacefully in her winter sleep. From December to the end of February, the bargemen make no voyages, but repair their boats, and look through the forests to buy the spring cuttings as they stand. As wood is cheap, they keep good fires in Under Way 83 the cabins ; and if the autumn sale has been successful, this idle time is made into a very- enjoyable holiday. The Belle Nivernaise was laid up for wintering; that is to say, the rudder was detached, the jury-mast was stowed away between decks, and the whole space was clear for playing and running about on the upper deck. What a change in his life for the foundling ! During all the voyage, he had continued in a La Belle Nivernaise state of astonishment and fear. He was like a cage-bird surprised by being sat free, that in the suddenness of the change, forgets its song and its wings. Though too young to enjoy the charms of the landscape spread Under Way 85 before his eyes, he had nevertheless been impressed by the grandeur of that passage up the river betsveen two ever-changing horizons. Mother Louveau, seeing him shy and silent, kept on all day saying : " He is deaf and dumb." But the little Parisian from the Temple district was not dumb ! When he got to understand that he was not dreaming, that he should no more go back to his garret, and that, in spite of mother Louveau's threats, there was really not much to fear from the police-magistrate, his tongue was loosed. It was like the blossoming of a plant grown in a cellar and then put upon a window shelf. He ceased to cower timidly down in corners like a hunted ferret. His eyes, deeply set under his projecting brow, lost their uneasy rest- lessness, and although he remained rather La Belle Nivernaise pale and had a thoughtful look, he learned to laugh with Clara. The little girl passionately loved her play- fellow, as people do love each other at that age for the pleasure of falling out and 'making it up again. Although she was as Under Way 87 self-willed as a little donkey, she had a very tender heart, and the mention of the magistrate was enough to make her do as she was bid. They had hardly arrived at Corbigny, when another sister came into the world. Mimile was just eighteen months old, and that made cots enough in the cabin and work enough likewise ; for, with all the encumbrances they had, they could not afford a servant. Mother Louveau grumbled so much that the Crew's wooden leg quaked with fear. But nobody in the place had any pity for her. Even the peasants did not hesitate to say what they thought about it to the priest, who used to hold up the bargeman as a pattern. "Say what your Reverence likes, there's 88 La Belle Ntiernaise no common sense in a man who has three children of his own picking up those of other people. But the Louveaus have always been like that. They are full of vanity and conceit, and no advice you can give them will alter them." People did not wish them ill, but were not sorry they had got a lesson. The vicar was a kind, well-meaning man, who easily adopted the opinions of others, and always wound up by recollecting some passage of Scripture, or sentence from the Fathers, with which to keep his own mind easy about his sudden turns and changes. " My parishioners are right," said he to himself as he passed his hand under his badly shaven chin, ont. des rayon* i86 La Belle Nivernaise " So intelligent ! " " He cannot be taught anything.' And nobody would understand that the student Maugendre had learnt to read amidst woods looking over Clara's shoulder, and that studying geometry under tbe ferule of a Maugendres Ambitions 189 bearded usher is a very different kind of thing. This is the reason why the student Maugendre goes down from the " middle school " to the "lower " : it is because there is a singular difference between the lessons of the magister at Corbigny, and those of MM. the Professors of the College of Nevers. A 190 La Belle Nivernaise distance as great as between teaching in a rabbit-skin cap and teaching in an ermine hat. Maugendre the elder was in despair. It seemed to him that the Forester in the Maugendre's Ambitions 191 two-cornered hat was taking great strides far into the distance. The father chides, he entreats, he promises. " Do you want lessons ? Would you like to have tutors ? You shall have the best, the most expensive." In the meantime, the student Maugendre is becoming a vexation and the " Quarterly Reports," mercilessly exhibit his faultiness. For his own part, he is conscious of his stupidity, and every day he withdraws more and more into obscurity and sadness. If Clara and the rest could but see what has been done with their Victor ! How they would come and throw wide open the doors of his prison ! How cordially they would offer him a share of their last crust of bread, of their last bit of bedding ! But they also are unhappy, poor people. La Belle Nivcrnaise Things are going from bad to worse. The boat is getting older and older. That Victor knows by Clara's letters, which from time to time come to him with a great, savage " seen," scrawled in red pencil by the Principal, who hates these interfering correspondences. " Ah ! when you used to be here," say these letters of Clara's, always tender, but Maugendre s Ambitions 193 becoming more and more distressful. . . " Ah ! if you were but with us now ! " Was not this as much as to say that all used to go on well in those days, and that all would yet be saved if Victor came back ? Well then, Victor will save all. He will buy a new boat. He will console Clara. He will bring back the trade. He will show them that they have not loved one who is without gratitude, and have not succoured one incapable of helping them. But to do this, he must become a man. Money must be earned, and for that, he must acquire knowledge. So Victor re-opens his books, and turns over a new leaf. Now arrows may fly, the usher may strike on his desk with all his might, and emit his parrot phrase : I 194 La Belle Nivernaise " Silence there, sirs." Victor does not lift his eyes from his books. He draws no more boats. He despises the paper missiles, that strike his face. He works ... he works. . . "A letter for the student Maugendre/' Maugendre's Ambitions 195 This reminder of Clara, redolent of liberty and of affection, was like a blessing un- expectedly coming to encourage him in the midst of his studies. 196 La Bells Nivernaise Victor hid his head in his desk to kiss the zigzag, painfully written address, shaky as if a constant heaving of the boat rocked the table Clara was writing on. Alas ! it was not the heaving of the boat, but the agitation of feeling that had made Clara's hand tremble. " It is all over, my dear Victor ; the Belle Maugendre's Ambitions 197 Nivernaise will never sail more. She has perished, and her destruction is our ruin. There is this ugly notice on her stern : WOOD TO SELL FROM THE BREAKING UP. " People came and calculated the value of everything, from the Crew's boat-hook to the cradle in which my little sister was sleeping. It seems they are going to sell everything, and we have nothing left. "What will become of us? Mamma is nearly dying of grief, and papa v is so changed " Victor did not finish the letter. The words were dancing before his eyes ; his face was flushed, and there was a humming in his ears. io8 La Belle Nticrnaise Ah ! study was now out of the question. Exhausted by work, grief, and fever, he was becomins; delirious. He thought he was drifting on the open Seine, on the beautiful cool river. He wanted to bathe his brow in the stream. Then he heard vaguely the sound of a bell. No doubt, some tug that was passing in the fog. Presently it was like the noise of many waters, and he cried : Mqugendres Ambitions 199 " The flood ! the flood ! " He began to shiver at the thought of the deep shadow under the arch of the bridge ; and amid all these visions he was conscious of the usher's scared, hirsute countenance under the lamp-shade. " Are you ill, Maugendre ? " The student Mauarendre was indeed ill La Belle Nivernaise It is no use the doctor shaking his head, when the poor father, who follows him to the college door, asks him in a voice choked with anxiety : " He is not going to die, is he ? " Mdugendre s Ambitions 201 For it is plain that the doctor is not confident, at least his grey hairs are not, for they say "no" faintly, as if they were afraid of committing themselves. No mention now of green coats or of two- cornered hats. It is solely a matter of saving the student Maugendre's life. The doctor told them frankly that if he should recover, they would do well to restore him to his country freedom. If he should recover ! The idea of losing the child just restored to him annihilated all the ambitious desires of the rich father. It is all over with his dream, he renounces it for ever. He is quite ready to bury the student of the School of Forestry with his own hands. He will nail up the coffin, if desired. He will wear no mourning for him. Only but let the other I 2 La Belle Nivernaise one consent to live ! Let him but speak to him, get up, throw his arms round his neck, and say : " Be comforted, father. I am getting well now." And the wood-merchant leant over Victor's bed. It is done. The old tree is cleft to the core. Maugendre's heart has been softened. " I will let you leave here, my lad. You shall return to them, you shall sail again. Maugendres Ambitions 203 And it will be good enough for me to see you sometimes in passing." At this time, the bell no longer rings the hours for recreation, for study, and for meals. It is the vacation, and the great college is deserted. Not a sound is heard save that of the fountain in the courtyard, and the sparrows chirping on the grassplots. The rattle of an occasional carriage sounds dull 204 La Belle Nivernaise and distant, for they have laid down straw in the street. It is in the midst of this silence and this solitude, that the student Maugendre comes to himself again. He is surprised to find himself in a very white bed, surrounded by large muslin Maugendre's Ambitions 205 curtains that spread about him the seclusion of subdued light and quietude. He would much like to raise himself up on the pillow, and draw them apart a little, to see where he is ; but his strength is unequal to the effort, although he feels himself most delightfully refreshed. So he waits. But there are voices whispering near him. One would fancy there were feet walking on tiptoe over the floor, and even a well-known stumping, something like the promenade of a broom-handle over the boards. Victor had heard that before. Where ? Surely on the deck of the Belle Nivernaise. That's it ! And the patient, collecting all his strength, cries out with a feeble voice, which he how- ever means for a loud one : " Yeho ! Crew ! yeho ! " The curtains are withdrawn, and in the 206 La Belle Nivernaise dazzling burst of light, he sees all the dear ones he has so often called on in his delirium. All ? Yes, all ! They are all there. Clara, Maugendre, Louveau, mother Louveau, Mimile, the little sister ; and the scalded old heron, as thin as his own boat-hook, was smiling immensely his silent smile. And every arm is stretched towards him, every head is bent, there are kisses from everybody, smiles, shakes of the hand, questions. " Where am I ? Why are you here ? " But the doctor's orders are precise, and the grey hairs were in downright earnest when thus prescribing : " He must keep his arms under the bed- clothes, be quiet, and not get excited. " And in order to prevent his child from Maugendre's Ambitions 207 talking, Maugendre goes on speaking all the time. "Would you believe that it is ten days ago the day you fell ill that I had just seen the Principal to speak to him about you ? He told me you were making progress, and that you were working like a machine. . . . You may imagine how pleased I was ! I asked to see you, and you were sent for, when at that moment your master rushed into the Principal's study quite frightened. You had just had an attack of high fever. I ran to the infirmary ; you did not recog- nise me, your eyes were like tapers, you were in delirium! Ah! my dear lad, how ill you were ! I did not leave you for a moment. You kept raving on. You were talking about the Belle Nivernaise, about Clara, about the new boat, and I know not 208 La Belle Nivernaise what else. Then I recollected the letter Clara's letter ; it had been found in your hands, and they had given it to me, and, for the time, I had forgotten all about it, you know ! I drew it from my pocket, I read it, I shook my head, and I said to myself: Maugendre's Ambitions 209 ' Maugendre, your disappointment must not make you forget your friends' trouble.' Then I wrote to all these good people to come and see us. No answer. I took advantage of a day on which you were rather better, to go and find them, and I brought them to my house, where they are now living and where they will live, until some means of settling their affairs has been found. Is it not so, friend Louveau ? " Every one has a tear in his eye, and, on my word ! so much the worse for the doctor's grey hairs, the two arms come out of the bed-clothes, and Maugendre is embraced as as he has never been before, the real kiss of an affectionate child. Then, as it is impossible to take Victor home, they arrange their future life Clara will remain with the patient in order to sweeten La Belle Nivernaise his draughts and chat with him; mother Louveau will go to keep house ; Francis shall go and superintend a building that the timber-merchant has contracted for in the Grande Rue. As for Maugendre, he is going to Clamecy. He is going to see some acquaintances who have a large contract for wood. These Maugendre's Ambitions people will be delighted to engage so clever a bargeman as Louveau. No ! no ! No objections, no opposition. It is an understood thing, quite a simple matter. Certainly it is not for Victor to object. He is now lifted up and rolled in his big arm-chair to the window. La Belle Nivernaise He is alone with Clara, in the silent infirmary. And Victor is delighted. He blesses his illness. He blesses the sale of the Belle Nivernaise. He blesses all the sales and all the illnesses in the world. " Do you remember, Clara, when I used to hold the tiller, and you would come and sit beside me, with your knitting ? " Clara remembered so well that she cast down her eyes, and blushed, and both of them were rather embarrassed. For now, he is no longer the little lad in a red cap, whose feet could not reach to the deck when he climbed up on the tiller, and sat astride it. And she, when she comes in the morning and takes off her little shawl, and throws it on the bed, appears quite a handsome Maugendre's Ambitions 213 young woman; her arms are so round, and her waist is so slender. "Come early, Clara, and stop as long as you can." It is so nice to have breakfast and dinner, the two together, near the window in the shade of the white curtains. They are reminded of their early child- hood, of the pap eaten at the edge of the bed with the same spoon. Ah ! those memories of childhood ! 214 La Belle Nivcrnaise They flit about the college infirmary like birds in an aviary. No doubt they make their nest in every corner of the curtains, for each morning there are fresh ones newly opened for their flight. And truly, if you heard their conversa- tions about the past, you would say that they were a couple of octogenarians looking back only on the distance behind them. Now, is there not a future, which also may have some interest for them ? Yes, there is such a future : and it is often thought of, if it is never mentioned. Besides it is not absolutely necessary to use phrases in conversing. There is a certain way of taking hold of a hand, and of blushing at every turn, which says a great deal more than words. Victor and Clara talk in that language all day long. Maugendres Ambitions 215 That is probably the reason why they are so often silent. And that, too, is why the days pass so quickly that the month glides by noiselessly and imperceptibly. That is the reason why the doctor is obliged 2i6 La Belle Nivernaise. to make his grey hairs bristle up, and to turn his patient out of the infirmary. Just at this time, Maugendre the elder returns from his journey. He finds them all assembled in his house. And he cannot help smiling, when poor Louveau very anxiously asks him : " Well, will they have anything to do with me down there ? " " Will they not, old man ? . . . They wanted a master for a new boat, and they thanked me for the gift I was giving them." Who can these people be ? Old Louveau was so delighted he did not inquire further. And everybody set off for Clamecy without knowing anything more about it. What a pleasure, when they get to the banks of the canal ! There, on the quay, a magnificent boat, Maugendre's Ambitions 217 adorned with flags from top to bottom, and brand new, raises her polished mast amid the green fields. They are giving her the last touch of varnish, and the stern on which the name of the craft is painted, remains covered with grey canvas. 2l8 La Belle Nivernaise A cry breaks from every mouth : " What a fine boat ! " Louveau does not believe his eyes. He has a deuced queer feeling of smarting in the eyelids, of a splitting open of his mouth about a foot wide, and of a shaking of his ear-rings like a couple of salad paniers. Maugendre's Ambitions 219 ' That is too grand ! I would not dare undertake to steer a boat like that. She was never made to sail. She should be put under a glass case." Maugendre had to push him by force on the foot-bridge, where the Crew was making signals to them. La Belle Nivernaise How is this ! Has the Crew himself been repaired ? Yes, repaired, refitted, caulked afresh. He has a boat-hook, and a wooden leg, both quite new. These are the gift of the contractor, a man of intelligence, who has done the thing well. As, for example ; the deck is of waxed wood, and is surrounded by a handrail. There is a seat for resting yourself, and an awning to afford shade from the sun. The hold is big enough to carry a double cargo. And the cabin ! oh, the cabin ! " Three apartments ! " "A kitchen !" " Mirrors ! " Louveau drew Maugendre aside on the deck. He was touched, shaken by his feel- ings as were his ear-rings. He stammered out: Maugendres Ambitions " Dear old Maugendre ..." "What's the matter?" " You have forgotten one thing." "Yes?" "You have not told me the name of the firm on account of whom I am to sail." " You want to know ? " La Belle Nivernaise " Certainly ! " " Well then, on your own account ! " "How?. . . but then . . . the boat . . ." " Is yours ! " What an event, my friends ! What close pressings of breast to breast ! It is fortunate that the contractor who is a man of intelligence had bethought himself of putting a seat upon the deck. Louveau drops upon it like a man felled by a blow. Maugendre's Ambitions 223 " It is impossible. . . we cannot accept." Maugendre has an answer ready for everything : " Come, now, you are forgetting our old debt, the money you have laid out for Victor. Keep your mind easy, Francis ; it is I who owe you the most." 224 La Belle Nivernaise And the two companions kissed each other like brothers. No mistake this time; they wept. Assuredly Maugendre has arranged every- thing to make the surprise complete, for whilst they are embracing each other on the deck, behold his Reverence, the Vicar, issuing from the wood, with a band behind him and a banner floating on the wind. Maugendre 's Ambitions 225 What can this be for? It is for the bene- diction of the boat, most certainly. All Clamecy has come in procession to be present at the celebration. The banner is floating out in the breeze. And the band is playing " Rum, dum dum." Every face looks happy, and over all K 226 La Belle Nivernaise there is a bright sun that makes the silver of the cross and the brass of the musicians' instruments flash again. What a celebration ! They have just taken away the canvas that covered the stern ; Mavgeitdrj s Ambitions 227 and the name of the boat shows up in gold letters on an azure ground : " LA NOUVELLE NlVERNAISE." Hurrah for the Nonvelle Nivernaise ! May she have as long a life as the old one, and a happier old age ! The Vicar steps up to the boat. Behind La Belle Nivernaise him, the singers and the musicians are drawn up in a row, while the banner forms a background. " Benedicat Deus. . " Victor is the godfather, Clara the god- mother. The Vicar asks them to come forward to the edge of the quay close to himself. They hold each other's hand, and are bashful, trembling. They confusedly stammer out the words that the choir-boy whispers to Maugendre's Ambitions 229 them, whilst the Vicar is shaking the holy- water sprinkler over them : " Benedicat Deus. . ." Would you not have taken them for a young couple at the altar? That thought occurs to everybody. Perhaps it occurs to them- selves also, for they dare not look at each other, and they get more and more confused as the ceremony proceeds. At length, it is finished. The crowd retires. 230 La Belle Nivernaise The Nouvelle Nivernaise has received her benediction. But you cannot let the musicians go away like that, without any refreshments. And, whilst Louveau is pouring cut bumpers for _.' the musicians, Maugendre, winking at mother Louveau, takes the Maugendres Ambitions 231 godfather and godmother by the hand and turning towards the Vicar, asks : "Here is the baptism finished, your Reverence ; when will the marriage come off?" Victor and Clara become as red as poppies. Mimile and his little sister clap their hands. And, in the midst of the general enthusiasm, old Louveau, very excited, leans over his daughter's shoulder, and laughing up to his 232 La Belle Nivernaise ears in anticipation of his joke, the honest bargeman says in a bantering tone : " Well now, Clara, now's the time, . . shall we take Victor back to the magistrate's ? " THE FIG AND THE IDLER K 2 '$& &\ THE FIG AND THE IDLER AN ALGERIAN LEGEND IN the indolent, voluptuous little city of Blidah, some years before the invasion of the French, there lived an honest Moor, who from the name of his father was called 236 The Fig and the Idler Sidi-Lakdar, but to whom the people of the city had given the surname of The Idler. You must know that the Moors of Algeria are the most indolent people on the face of the earth, those of Blidah especially ; no doubt because of the scent of oranges and sweet lemons which is diffused throughout the city. But in the matter of indolence and listlessness, Sidi-Lakdar was head and shoulders above the rest of the Blidians. The worthy gentleman had raised his vice to the rank of a profession. Others might be embroid- erers, coffee-house keepers, vendors of spices ; as for Sidi-Lakdar, his particular business was to be an idler. On the death of his father, he had inherited a little garden under the ramparts of the city, with low white walls that were falling into ruin, a bush-choked gate that would The Fig and the Idler 237 not close, some fig trees, a few banana trees and two or three running springs that sparkled in the grass. It was here that he passed his life, stretched out at full length, silent, motionless, with his beard full of red ants. When he was hungry, he would reach out his arm and pick up a fig or a banana that had fallen into the grass near him ; but if it had been necessary to get up and pluck the fruit from the branch, he would rather have died of hunger. So, in his garden the figs used to rot where they grew, and the trees were stripped by the little birds. This unrestrained indolence had made Lakdar very popular in his neighbourhood. He was looked up to as equal to a saint. The ladies of the city, when they passed in front of his little enclosure, after eating their 2 3 8 The Fi? and the Idler sweetmeats in the cemetery, used to make their mules walk slowly by, and spoke in a subdued voice under their white veils. The men would devoutly make an obeisance ; and The Fig and the Idler 239 every day when the schools came out, there would be a flock of little rascals, in striped silk jackets and red caps, on the garden walls, who would try and disturb this beautiful indolence by calling out to Lakdar by his name, kicking up a great row, and throwing orange peel at him. Labour lost ! The idler would not budge. Occasionally they heard him cry out from under the grass: "Look out, look out, pre- sently I shall get up ; " but he never would get up. Now, it happened that one of these rogues, when he was coming to play tricks on the idler, was in some degree recalled to grace ; and, suddenly smitten by a taste for hori- zontal existence, he one morning declared to his father that he was not going to school any more, and that he wanted to become an idler. 240 The fig and the Idler " You an idler . . ? " said his father, an honest turner of pipe-stems, who was as busy as a bee, and was always seated before his lathe by cock-crowing. . . " You an idler ! You are surely joking? " "No, father, I want to be an idler like Sidi-Lakdar. . . ." "By no means, my boy. You shall be a turner like your father, or a registrar of the Cadi's court like your uncle AH; but I will never make an idler of you. . . . Come now, quick, away to school, or I will break this nice piece of new cherry-wood over your back. . . Away, you jackass ! " In view of the cherry-wood the child did not persist, and pretended to be convinced ; but instead of going to school, he went into a Moorish bazaar, crouched down in front of a merchant's stall between two heaps of The Fig and the Idler 241 Smyrna carpets, and remained there all day } lying on his back and looking at the Mores- que lanterns, the blue cloth purses, the bodices with golden breastplates that glittered in the sun, and inhaling the penetrating odours from the phials of attar of roses, and from the robes of warm wool. This was the way he henceforth passed the hours he ought to have been at school. After a few days, his father got wind of the thing ; but it was in vain that he roared and raged, and blasphemed the name of Allah, and belaboured the sides of the little man with all the cherry-trees in his shop. He could do nothing. The child obstinately kept saying, " I want to be an idler .... I want to be an idler," and they always found him lying down in some corner. His father was at length wearied of the 242 The Fig and the Idler conflict, and after having consulted the registrar Ali, he made up his mind what to do : " Listen," said he to his son, " since you are determined to be an idler, I am going to take you to Lakdar's house. He will put you through an examination, and if you The Fig and the Idler 243 really have any capacity for his trade, I will ask him to take you as his apprentice." " That will suit me," replied the child. And no later than the following day, they both went, perfumed with vervain, and with freshly shaven heads, to seek the idler in his little garden. The gate was always open. Our friends went in without knocking; but as the grass had grown very thick and very high, they had some difficulty in discovering the master of the enclosure. At last, however, they got to see him, laid down under the fig-trees at the end, amid a whirl of little birds a mere bundle of yellow rags that received them with a growl. "The Lord be with you, Sidi-Lakdar," said the father with an obeisance, his hand on his breast. "Here is my son, who is 244 The Fig and the Idler resolved to become an idler. I am bringing him to you that you may examine him, and see if he is fitted for it. In that case I beg of you to take him into your house as an apprentice. I will pay what may be necessary." Sidi-Lakdar without answering motioned them to sit down on the grass near him. The Fig and the Idler 245 The father sat down, but the child lay down, and that was a very good sign to begin with. Then all three looked at each other without speaking. It was in the very middle of the day ; the weather was warm and bright. All the little enclosure looked as if asleep. Nothing was audible save the cracking of the wild broom bursting its pods in the sunshine, the fountains murmuring among the grass, and the drowsy birds flying among the leaves with a noise like the opening and shutting of a fan. From time to time an over-ripe fig would become detached and drop from branch to branch. Then Sidi-Lakdar would stretch out his hand, and with wearied air convey the fruit to his mouth. The child for his part did not take even that much trouble. The finest figs were falling beside him, and he did not so much The Fig and the Idler as turn his head. The master observed this magnificent indolence out of the corner of his eye ; but he remained silent, without a whisper. One hour, two hours passed away in this manner. You may imagine that the poor turner of pipe-tubes was beginning to find the sitting rather long. However, he dared not say anything, but remained there motionless, with his eyes fixed and his legs crossed, him- self overcome by the slothful atmosphere, which in the heat of the enclosure was per- vaded by vague odours of bananas and baked oranges. Suddenly a large fig falls from the tree, and flattens itself on the child's cheek. A fine fig, by Allah ! pink, sweet, perfumed like a honey- comb. To make it pass into his mouth, the child had only to push it with his The fig and the Idler 247 finger ; but he found even that was too fatigu- ing, and he remained, without moving, with the fruit scenting his cheek. At length, this temptation became too great ; he glanced his eye towards his father, and called to him with a fretful voice : "Papa," said he, "papa . . . put it in my mouth for me. ..." At these words, Sidi-Lakdar, who was holding a fig in his hand, cast it far away, and addressed the father in anger : " And this is the child you come to offer to me as an apprentice ! On the contrary, it 248 The Fig and the Idler is he who is my master ! It is he who ought to give lessons to me." Then falling on his knees, he touches the ground with his head before the still recum- bent child : " I salute thee," said he, " O thou Father of Indolence ! . , ." MY FIRST DRESS COAT MY FIRST DRESS COAT REMINISCENCES OF YOUTH How did I get it, that dress coat ? What tailor of primitive times, what unhoped-for Monsieur Dimanche was it, who made up his mind to bring it rne one morning, brand-new, and artistically pinned up in a piece of shiny green silk ? It would be hard for me to say. Of the worthy tailor I recollect nothing so 252 My First Dress Coat many tailors have since then crossed my path ! nothing, except that I have a notion, half hazy, half distinct, that he had a thoughtful brow and large moustaches. But as for the coat, why, it is there, before my eyes. After twenty years the picture of it remains engraven on my memory as on ever- lasting bronze. What a collar, my young friends, and what lapels ! But such tails, cut in the shape of the mouthpiece of a whistle ! My coat combined the poetical graces of the Restoration with the Spartan severity of the First Empire. When I put it on, it seemed to me that I was going half a century back, and putting on the doctrinal investment of the famous Benjamin Constant. My brother, who was a man of experience, had told me, " You must have a dress coat if you want to make your way in the world ! " And the dear fellow My First Dress Coat 253 expected much for my fame and fortune from this piece of frippery. Be my coat whatever it might, Augustine Brohan had the handsel of it. The circum- stances under which this occurred deserve to be handed down to posterity, and they are as follows : 254 My First Dress Coat My first book had just made its appearance, maidenly and fresh in rose-tinted cover. Some journals had made mention of my verses. L 'Officiel itself had printed my name. I was a poet no longer unknown, but pub- lished, launched on the world, showing myself in the bookshop windows. I was astonished, that when my eighteen years wandered in the street, people did not turn round to look at me. I actually felt on my brow the pleasant weight of a paper crown made of clipped-out articles. One day, somebody suggested that I should get myself invited to Augustine's soirees. Somebody ! Who ? Why, zounds ! you know him already that eternal somebody who is like everybody else, that amiable fore-seeing individual, who without being anything in himself, and without being well known any- My First Dress Coat 255 where, goes everywhere, takes you everywhere, is your friend for a day, for an hour, but whose name nobody knows an essentially Parisian type. You may imagine how readily I accepted ! To be invited to the house of Augustine ! Augustine the celebrated actress, Augustine who combined Moliere's hearty laugh with something of Mussel's more modern poetic smile : for, if she did play the waiting-maids at the Theatre-Franfais y Musset wrote his comedy of Louison at her house : Augustine Brohan, in short, whose renown for wit filled Paris, whose sayings were quoted, and who was already wearing in her bonnet the blue bird's feather as yet undipped in ink, but quite ready and pointed with a sharp pen- knife with which she was to sign the Lettres de Suzanne. 256 My First Dress Coat " CharKjard," said my brother to me as he was thrusting me into the immense coat, " now your fortune is made." Nine o'clock was striking as I set out. Augustine Brohan then lived in the Rue Lord-Byron, near the top of the Champs Elysdes, in one of those charming little mansions, which, according to the romance writers, poor provincial wretches endowed with poetic imaginations dream about. A railing, a small garden, an outer staircase of four steps leading to the front entrance and covered by an awning, an anti-chamber full of flowers, and close by, the drawing- room a well-lighted drawing-room in green, which I see again so clearly. . . . How I ascended the steps, how I went in, how I presented myself, I now know not. A servant announced my name, but this name, My First Dress Coat 2 57 besides being mumbled, produced no effect on the assembly. I remember only a woman's voice saying : fedTNIHbQ; ~- " So much the better, a dancer ! " It seemed they were short of dancers. What an entry for a poet ! 258 My First Dress Coat Humiliated and timid, I strove to escape notice in the throng. Judge of my dismay, when a minute afterwards, came another adventure ! My strange coat, my long hair, my dark and pensive eyes, excited general curiosity. I heard whispers round me, "Who is it? ... just look ..." and they smiled. At length some one said, " It is the Wallachian prince ! " " The Wallachian prince ? . . . Oh, yes, very likely . . ." We must suppose then, that a Wallachian prince was expected that evening. I had now my rank assigned to me, and they let me alone. But for all that, you could not believe how heavily my usurped crown weighed upon me throughout the whole evening. First a dancer, then a Wallachian prince. Did not then these people see my lyre ? At length the quadrilles began. I danced, My First Dress Coat 259 I could not avoid it ! I danced moreover very badly for a Wallachian prince. When the quadrille was finished, I remained stationary, checked foolishly by my short- sightedness ; for not being bold enough to set up an eye-glass, and being too much a poet to wear spectacles, I was afraid that by the least movement I might dislocate my knee against the corner of some piece of furniture, or run my nose against the lacing of a bodice. Hunger and thirst soon began to play their part ; but for the world I dared not approach the buffet with all the company. I watched for the moment of its being empty, and in the meantime I mixed with the groups of those who were talking politics, preserved a serious demeanour, and affected indiffer- ence to the delights of the little apartment whence issued the sound of laughter, the 260 My First Dress Coat rattle of tea-spoons against the china, and a pleasant odour of steaming tea, Spanish wines, and cakes. At length, when they came back to dance, I made up my rnind. And now, behold me within. I am alone. . . The dazzling lustre of that buffet ! It shone under the lights of the wax-taper with glasses and decanters, a crystal pyramid, My First Dress Coat 261 white, glittering, and cool-looking, like snow in sunshine. I take up a glass, as fragile as a flower, and I am very careful not to hold it tight for fear of snapping its stem. What shall I pour in it ? Come now, courage, for there is nobody looking. Without making a choice, I reach a decanter at random. One would think it must be kirsch-wasser from its diamond clearness. Let me go in then for a glass of kirsch-wasser ; I like its flavour, its bitter and rather wild-wood flavour, which reminds me of the forest odours. And now behold me pouring out the clear liquid, drop by drop, with the air of a connoisseur. I raise the glass to my mouth, I protrude my lips. Horrid ! It is pure water, and I make such a grimace ! Suddenly there resounds a duo of laughter from a black coat and a pink dress, whom I have not before noticed flirting 262 My First Dress Coat in a corner, and who are amused at my mistake. I want to put the glass back, but I am confused ; my hand trembles, and my sleeve catches something or other. A glass falls to the floor, two, three glasses ! I turn round, my coat-tails take part in the operation, and the white pyramid crashes to the ground with all the sparkling, the uproar, and the splintering of an iceberg breaking up. The mistress of the house hastens to the scene of the disturbance. Luckily she is .as short-sighted as the Wallachian prince, and he is able to escape from the buffet without being observed. No matter ! My evening is spoiled. This massacre of glasses and decanters weighs upon me like a crime. I think only of getting away. But Mama Dubois, dazzled by my principality, hooks My First Dress Coat 263 herself on me, and is unwilling to let me go until I have danced with her daughter, nay ! with both her daughters. I excuse myself as best I may; I make my escape, and I am going out, when a grand old man with a shrewd smile, and a head like a bishop or a diplomatist, stops me on the way. This is Dr. Ricord, with whom I have exchanged 264 My First Dress Coat a few words just before, and who, like the rest, takes me for a Wallachian. " But, prince, as you are staying at the Hotel du Se'nat, and we are near neighbours, wait for me. I have a seat for you in my carriage." I would very much like, but I have come without an overcoat. What would Ricord think of a Wallachian prince without furs, and shivering in his dress coat? Let me make my escape quickly, and go back on foot through the snow and fog, rather than allow my poverty to be seen. As short-sighted and more confused than ever, I reach the door and step out, not without getting myself entangled in the hangings. "Is monsieur not taking his overcoat?" exclaims one of the footmen to me. Here am I, at two o'clock in the morning, My First Dress Coat 265 far from home, turned loose into the streets, chilled, hungry, and hard-up in pocket. Inspired by hunger, a bright thought suddenly occurs to me : " Suppose I go to the market- L 2 266 My First Dress Coat place ! " I had often heard of the market- place and of a certain G , open all night, at whose shop you could get excellent cabbage soup for three sous. Yes, confound it, to the market-place I will go. I will sit down at the table there, like any vagabond, any night-prowler. My pride has vanished. The wind is freezingly cold, and my stomach is empty. " ' My kingdom for a horse,' " said the other fellow ; I say, as I jog along " My princedom, my Wallachian princedom for a basin of good soup in a warm place." It looked a very dirty hole, this G 's establishment, a slimy, ill-lighted place thrust back between the pillars of the old market- place. Since then, when night-wandering became the fashion, we have very often spent the whole night there, among great men that were to be, with our elbows resting on the My First Dress Coat 267 table, as we smoked, and talked literature. But this first time, I must confess that in spite of my hunger I was nearly drawing back at the sight of the blackened walls, the smoke, the people seated round the table, some snoring with their backs against the wall, others lapping their soup like dogs, the caps of the Don Juans of the gutter, the enormous white felts of the stalwart market-place men, the market-gardener's sound ample blouse next to the greasy rags of the city-gate prowler. I went in however, and I must say that my coat very soon had companions. Black coats without over-garments in winter, and with a three sous hunger for cabbage soup, are not uncommon in Paris after midnight. The cabbage soup, however, was exquisite ; odorous as a garden, and smoking hot like a crater. I had some twice over, although the 2 68 My First Dress Coat custom, no doubt suggested by a salutary mistrust, of attaching the forks and spoons to the table by little chains, was rather awkward for me. I paid, and with heart invigorated by this substantial mess, I resumed my way to the quartier latin. Imagine my return, the return of the poet, as he trots along the Rue de Tournon, with his coat collar turned up. Fatigue is making his My First Dress Coat 269 eyes heavy and sleepy, and he sees floating before them the elegant shades of the fashion- able soiree mingled with the famished spectres at Thingamy's. He knocks his boots against the curbstone of the Hotel du Senat, in order to loosen the snow from them, while on the opposite side the bright lamps of a carriage are illuminating the front of an old mansion, and Dr. Ricord's coachman asks : " Door, if you please ! " Parisian life is made up of these contrasts. " An evening lost ! " said my brother to me the next day. " You have passed for a Wallachian prince, but you have not got your volume out. But there is nothing to make you despond. You will recover your ground at the ' digestion call.' " The digestion of a glass of water, what irony ! Two months passed before I could 2jo My First Dress Coat make up my mind to that visit. One day however I resolved upon it. Besides her official Wednesdays, Augustine Brohan held matinees on Sundays for her more intimate friends. To one of these I pluckily went. At Paris, a matinee that has any self- respect cannot begin before three or even four o'clock in the afternoon. But I, in my simplicity, took the word matinee literally, and I presented myself at one o'clock precisely, thinking moreover that I was behind time. "How early you come, sir," said to me a fair-haired boy five or six years of age, dressed in a velvet jacket and embroidered trousers, who was passing across the viridescent garden on a mechanical horse. This youth impressed me. I saluted his My First Dress Coat 271 fair hair, the horse, the velvet, the em- broidery; and too bashful to retrace my steps, I entered. As Madame had not yet finished dressing herself, I had to wait quite alone for half an hour. At length, Madame comes down, blinks her eyes, recognises her Wallachian prince, and for the sake of saying something, begins: "Then you 272 My First Dress Coat have not gone to La Marche, prince ? " To La Marche ! I who had never seen either races or jockeys ! This finally abashed me, and a sudden fume shot up from my heart to my head ; but then, that bright spring-tide sun, those scents from the garden entering by the open window, the absence of stiffness, that kind and smiling little woman a thou- sand things gave me courage, and I opened my heart, I told all, I confessed the whole at once : how that I was neither a Wallachian nor a prince, but simply a poet, and the adventure of my glass of kirsch-wasser, and my lamentable return, and my provincial fears, and my shoit-sightedness, and my hopes all that set off by our homely accent. Augustine Brohan laughed very heartily. Suddenly the door-bell rings. " Good ! my cuirassiers," said she. My First Dress Coat 273 " What cuirassiers ? " " Two cuirassiers they are sending me from the camp at Chalons, who have, it seems, a wonderful taste for playing comedy." I wanted to take my leave. " By no means ; do remain. We are going to rehearse the Lait (Fanesse, and you shall be the influential critic. Here, beside me on this sofa ! " 274 My First Dress Coat Two big strapped-up fellows come in bashful and blushing : one of them, I really think, is playing comedy somewhere at the present time. A folding screen is arranged, I take my station, and the representation begins. "They don't do so badly," said Augustine to me in a half-tone, "but what boots. . . Mr. Critic, do you twig the boots ? " This intimacy with the wittiest actress in Paris raised me to the seventh heaven of de- light, I threw myself back on the sofa, tossing my head, and smiling with a knowing air. . . My coat was bursting with the pleasure of it. The smallest of these details still appears to me even now as immense. But notice how differently we see things : I had related to Sarcey the comical story of my coming out in the world, and one day Sarcey repeated it to My First Dress Coat 275 Augustine Brohan. Ah, well ! that ungrateful Augustine whom for the last twenty years I have however not seen again truthfully declared that she knew nothing of me but my books. She had forgotten all ! all of that which has kept so clear a place in my life, the broken glasses, the Wallachian prince, the rehearsal of the Lait tfanesse and the cuirassiers' boots ! THE THREE LOW MASSES THE THREE LOW MASSES A CHRISTMAS STORY " Two truffled turkeys, Garrigou ? " " Yes, your reverence, two magnificent turkeys, stuffed with truffles. I should know something about it, for I myself helped to fill them. One would have said their skin 280 The Three Low Masses would crack as they were roasting, it is that stretched . . . ." " Jesu-Maria ! I who like truffles so much ! . . . Quick, give me my surplice, Garrigou .... And have you seen anything else in the kitchen besides the turkeys ? " " Yes, all kinds of good things. . . Since noon, we have done nothing but pluck pheasants, hoopoes, barn-fowls, and wood- cocks. Feathers were flying about all over. . . Then they have brought eels, gold carp, and trout out of the pond, besides . . . . ." The Three Low Masses 281 " What size were the trout, Garrigou ? " "As big as that, your reverence. . . . Enormous ! " " Oh heavens ! I think I see them. . . Have you put the wine in the vessels? " " Yes, your reverence, I have put the wine in the vessels. . . . But la ! it is not to be compared to what you will drink presently, when the midnight mass is over. If you only saw that in the dining hall of the chateau ! The decanters are all full of wines glowing with every colour ! . . . And the silver plate, the chased epergnes, the flowers, the lustres ! . . . Never will such another midnight repast be seen. The noble marquis has invited all the lords of the neighbourhood. At least forty of you will sit down to table, without reckoning the farm bailiff and the notary. . . . Oh, how lucky is your reverence to be one 282 The Three Low Masses of them ! . . . After a mere sniff of those fine turkeys, the scent of truffles follows me everywhere Yum ! " "Come now, come now, my child. Let us keep from the sin of gluttony, on the night of the Nativity especially. . . Be quick and light the wax-tapers and ring the first bell for the mass ; for it is nearly midnight and we must not be behind time." This conversation took place on a Christ- mas night in the year of grace one thousand six hundred and something, between the Reverend Dom Balaguere (formerly Prior of the Barnabites, now paid chaplain of the Lords of Trinquelague,) and his little clerk Garrigou, or at least him whom he took for his little clerk Garrigou, for you must know that the devil had on that night assumed the round face and soft features ,.of the young The Three Low Masses 28 3 sacristan, in order the more effectually to lead the reverend father into temptation, and make him commit the dreadful sin of gluttony. 284 The Three Low Masses Well then, while the supposed Garrigou (hum !) was with all his might making the bells of the baronial chapel chime out, his reverence was putting on his chasuble in the little sacristry of the chateau ; and with his mind already agitated by all these gastronomic descriptions, he kept saying to himself as he was robing : " Roasted turkeys, . . . golden carp, . . . trout as big as that ! . . ." Out of doors, the soughing night wind was carrying abroad the music of the bells, and with this, lights began to make their appear- ance on the dark sides of Mount Ventoux, on the summit of which rose the ancient towers of Trinquelague. The lights were borne by the families of the tenant farmers, who were coming to hear the midnight mass at the chateau. They were scaling the hill in groups The Three Low Masses 2 8 5 of five or six together, and singing ; the father in front carrying a lantern, and the women wrapped up in large brown cloaks, beneath which their little children snuggled and shel- tered. In spite of the cold and the lateness 286 The Three Low Masses of the hour these good folks were marching blithely along, cheered by the thought that after the mass was over there would be, as always in former years, tables set for them down in the kitchens. Occasionally the glass windows of some lord's carriage, preceded by torch-bearers, would glisten in the moonlight on the rough ascent; or perhaps a mule would jog by with tinkling bells, and by the light of the misty lanterns the tenants would recognise their bailiff and would salute him as he passed with : "Good evening, Master Arnoton." " Good evening, good evening, my friend." The night was clear, and the stars were twinkling with frost; the north wind was nipping, and at times a fine small hail, that slipped off one's garments without wetting them, faithfully maintained the tradition of On the summit of the hill . . . gleamed the chateau," The Three Low Masses 289 Christmas being white with snow. On the summit of the hill, as the goal towards which all were wending, gleimed the chateau, with its enormous mass of towers and gables, and its chapel steeple rising into the blue-black sky. A multitude of little lights were twink- ling, coining, going, and moving about at all the windows; they looked like the sparks one sees running about in the ashes of burnt paper. After you had passed the drawbridge and the postern gate, it was necessary, in order to reach the chapel, to cross the first court, which was full of carriages, footmen and sedan chairs, and was quite illuminated by the blaze of torches and the glare of the kitchen fires. Here were heard the click of turnspits, the rattle of saucepans, the clash of glasses and silver plate in the commotion 11 290 The Three Low Masses attending the preparation of the feast ; while over all rose a warm vapour smelling pleas- antly of roast meat, piquant herbs, and com- plex sauces, and which seemed to say to the farmers, as well as to the chaplain and to the bailiff, and to everybody : " What a good midnight repast we are going to have after the mass ! " II Ting a ring ! a ring ! The midnight mass is beginning in the chapel of the chateau, which is a cathedral in miniature, with groined and vaulted roofs, oak wood-work as high as the walls, expanded draperies, and tapers all aglow. And what a lot of people ! What grand dresses ! First of all, seated in the carved stalls that line the choir, is the Lord of Trinquelague in a coat of salmon-coloured silk, and about him are 292 The Three Low Masses ranged all the noble lords who have been invited. On the opposite side, on velvet-covered praying-stools, the old dowager marchioness in flame-coloured brocade, and the youthful Lady The Three Low Af asses 293 of Trinquelague wearing a lofty head-dress of plaited lace in the newest fashion of the French court, have taken their places. Lower down, dressed in black, with punctilious wigs, and shaven faces, like two grave notes among the gay silks and the figured damasks, are seen the bailiff, Thomas Arnoton, and the notary Master Ambroy. Then come the stout major-domos, the pages, the horsemen, the stewards, Dame Barbara, with all her keys hanging at her side on a real silver ring. At the end, on the forms, are the lower class, the female servants, the cotter farmers and their families ; and lastly, down there, near the door, which they open and shut very carefully, are messieurs the scullions, who enfer in the interval between two sauces, to take a little whiff of mass ; and these bring the smell of the repast with them into the church, which 294 The Three Low Masses now is in high festival and warm from the number of lighted tapers. Is it the sight of their little white caps that so distracts the celebrant ? Is it not rather Garrigou's bell? that mad little bell which is shaken at the altar foot with an infernal impetuosity that seems all the time to be saying : " Come, let us make haste, make haste The sooner we shall have finished, the sooner shall we be at table." The fact is that every time this devil's bell tinkles the chaplain forgets his mass, and thinks of nothing but the midnight repast. He fancies he sees the cooks bustling about, the stoves glowing with forge-like fires, the two magnificent turkeys, filled, crammed, marbled with truffles. . . . Then again he sees, passing along, files of little pages carrying dishes enveloped in tempt- The Three Low Masses 295 ing vapours, and with them he enters the great hall now prepared for the feast. Oh delight ! there is the immense table all laden and luminous, peacocks adorned with their feathers, pheasants spreading out their red- dish-brown wings, ruby-coloured decanters, pyramids of fruit glowing amid green boughs, and those wonderful fish Garrigou (ah well, yes, Garrigou !) had mentioned, laid on a couch of fennel, with their pearly scales gleaming as if they had just come out of the water, and bunches of sweet-smelling herbs in their monstrous snouts. So clear is the vision of these marvels that it seems to Dom Balaguere that all these wondrous dishes are served before him on the embroidered altar-cloth, and two or three times instead of the Dominus vobiscum,\\e finds himself saying ti\&Benedicite. Except these slight mistakes, the worthy man 296 The Three Low Masses pronounces the service very conscientiously, without skipping a line, without omitting a genuflexion ; and all goes tolerably well until the end of the first mass ; for you know that on Christmas Day the same officiating priest must celebrate three consecutive masses. " That's one done ! " says the chaplain to himself with a sigh of relief; then, without losing a moment, he motioned to his clerk, or to him whom he supposed to be his clerk, and " Ting-a-ring . . . Ting-a-ring, a-ring ! " Now the second mass is beginning, and with it begins also Dom Balaguere's sin. " Quick, quick, let us make haste," Garrigou's bell cries out to him in its shrill little voice, and this time the unhappy celebrant, completely given over to the demon of gluttony, fastens upon the missal and devours its pages with The Three Low Masses 297 the eagerness of his over-excited appetite. Frantically he bows down, rises up, merely indicates the sign of the cross and the genu- flexions, and curtails all his gestures in order to get sooner finished. Scarcely has he stretched out his arms at the gospel, before he is striking his breast at the Confiteor. It is a contest between himself and the clerk as to who shall mumble the faster. Versicles and responses are hurried over and run one into another. The words, half pronounced, with- out opening the mouth, which would take up too much time, terminate in unmeaning murmurs. " Oremus ps. . .ps. . . ps. . ." " Mea culpa, . .pa. . .pa. . ." Like vintagers in a hurry pressing grapes in the vat, these two paddle in the mass Latin, sending splashes in every direction. M 2 298 The Three Low Masses " Dom. . . scum!. . ." says Balaguere. ". . . Stutuo ! . . . replies Garrigou ; and all the time the cursed little bell is tinkling there in their ears, like the jingles they put on post-horses to make them gallop fast. You may imagine at that speed a low mass is quickly disposed of. " That makes two," says the chaplain quite panting ; then without taking time to breathe, red and perspiring, he descends the altar steps and . . . " Ting-a-ring ! . . . Ting-a-ring ! . . ." Now the third mass is beginning. There are but a few more steps to be taken to reach the dining-hall; but, alas! the nearer the midnight repast approaches the more does the unfortunate Balaguere feel himself possessed by mad impatience and gluttony. The vision becomes more distinct ; the golden carps, the The Three Low Masses roasted turkeys are there, there ! . . . He touches them, ... he. .. oh heavens ! The dishes are smoking, the wines perfume the air ; and with furiously agitated clapper, the little bell is crying out to him : " Quick, quick, quicker yet ! " But how could he go quicker ? His lips scarcely move. He no longer pronounces the words ; . . unless he were to impose upon Heaven outright and trick it out of its mass. . . And that is precisely what he does, the unfortunate man ! . . . From temptation to temptation ; he begins by skipping a verse, then two. Then the epistle is too long he does not finish it, skims over the gospel, passes before the Credo without going into it, skips the Pater, salutes the Preface from a distance, and by leaps and bounds thus hurls himself into eternal damnation, constantly followed by 302 The Three Low Masses the vile Garrigou (vade retro, Satanas /) who seconds him with wonderful skill, sustains his chasuble, turns over the leaves two at a time, elbows the reading-desks, upsets the vessels, and is continually sounding the little bell louder and louder, quicker and quicker. You should have seen the scared faces of all who were present, as they were obliged to follow this mass by mere mimicry of the priest, without hearing a word; some rise when others kneel, and sit down when the others are standing up, and all the phases of this singular service are mixed up together in the multitude of different attitudes presented by the worshippers on the benches. . . "The abbe goes too fast. . . One can't follow him," murmured the old dowager shaking her head-dress in confusion. Master Arnoton with great steel spectacles on his The Three Low Masses 303 nose is searching in his prayer-book to find where the dickens they are. But at heart all these good folks, who themselves are thinking about feasting, are not sorry that the mass is going on at this post haste ; and when Dom Balaguere with radiant face turns towards those present and cries with all his might : "Ite, mi'ssa est" they all respond to him a " Deo gratias"in but one voice, and that as joyous and enthusiastic, as if they thought themselves already seated at the midnight repast and drinking the first toast. Ill Five minutes afterwards the crowd of nobles were sitting down in the great hall, with the chaplain in the midst of them. The chateau, illuminated from top to bottom, was resounding with songs, with shouts, with laughter, with uproar; and the venerable Dom Balague'e was thrusting his fork into the wing of a fowl, and drowning all remorse for his sin in streams of regal wine and the luscious juices of the viands. He ate and The Three Low Masses 305 drank so much, the dear, holy man, that he died during the night of a terrible attack, without even having had time to repent ; and then in the morning when he got to heaven, I leave you to imagine how he was received. He was told to withdraw on account of his wickedness. His fault was so grievous that it effaced a whole lifetime of virtue. . . He had robbed them of a midnight mass. . . He should have to pay for it with three hundred, and he should not enter into Paradise until he had celebrated in his own chr.pel these three hundred Christmas masses in the presence of all those who had sinned with him and by his fault. . . . . . And now this is the true legend of Dom Balaguere as it is related in the olive country. At the present time the chateau of Trinquelague no longer exists, but the chapel still stands on the top of Mount Ventoux, amid a cluster of green oaks. Its decayed door rattles in the wind, and its threshold is choked up with vegetation ; there are birds' nests at the corners of the altar, and in the recesses of the lofty windows, from which the stained glass has long ago disappeared. It seems, however, that every year at Christmas, a supernatural light wanders amid these ruins, and the peasants, in going to the masses and to the midnight repasts, see this phantom of a chapel illuminated by invisible tapers that burn in the open air, even in snow and wind. You may laugh at it if you like, but a vine-dresser of the place, named Garrigue, doubtless a descendent of Garrigou, declared to me that one Christmas night, when he was a little tipsy, he lost his way on The Three Low Masses 307 the hill of Trinquelague ; and this is what he saw. . . Till eleven o'clock, nothing. All was silent, motionless, inanimate. Suddenly, about midnight, a chime sounded from the top of the steeple, an old, old chime, which seemed as if it were ten leagues off. Very soon Garrigue saw lights flitting about, and uncertain shadows moving in the road that climbs the hill. They passed on beneath the chapel porch, and murmured : " Good evening, Master Arnoton ! " "Good evening, good evening, my friends ! ". . . When all had entered, my vine-dresser, who was very courageous, silently approached, and when he looked through the broken door, a singular spectacle met his gaze. All those he had seen pass were seated round the choir, and in the ruined nave, just as if the old The Three Low Masses seats still existed. P'ine ladies in brocade, with lace head-dresses ; lords adorned from head to foot ; peasants in flowered jackets such as our grandfathers had ; all with an old, faded, dusty, tired look. From time to time the night birds, the usual inhabitants of the chapel, who were aroused by all these lights, would come and flit round the tapers, the flames of which rose straight and ill- defined, as if they were burning behind a veil ; and what amused Garrigue very much was a certain personage with large steel spectacles, who was ever shaking his tall black wig, in which one of these birds was quite entangled, and kept itself upright by noiselessly flapping its wings. . . . At the farther end, a little old man of childish figure was on his knees in the middle of the choir, desperately shaking a clapperless The Three Low Masses 309 and soundless bell, whilst a priest, clad in ancient gold, was coming and going before the altar, reciting prayers of which not a 3 1 o The Three Low Masses word was heard. . . Most certainly this was Dom Balaguere in the act of saying his third low mass. THE NEW MASTER THE NEW MASTER OUR little school has much changed since M. Hamel left. In his time we were always allowed a few minutes' grace on coming in the morning. A ring used to be formed round the stove in order that fingers stiffened by the cold might be warmed a little, and the snow or sleet shaken off one's clothes. We used to chat in an undertone while we showed each other what we had in our baskets. This 314 The New Master gave those who lived at the extremity of the district time to arrive for prayers and the roll- call. . . Now it is quite different. We must arrive exactly at the proper time. Klotz, our new master, is not to be trifled with. As early as five minutes before eight he is standing up at his desk, his big cane beside him, and woe betide the loiterers ! You should hear the wooden shoes hurrying over the little courtyard, and panting voices crying from the very door : The New Master 315 "Present." This dreadful Prussian will not listen to any excuse. It is no use saying, " I was helping my mother to carry linen to the wash-house. . . Father took me with him to the market." M. Klotz will hear nothing of that sort. One would think that in this wretched stranger's view we have neither home nor kindred, and have come into the 316 The New Master world as scholars, with our books under our arms, expressly to learn German and to get flogged. Ah ! I got my full share of that at first. Our saw-mill is so far from the school, and it gets light so late in winter ! At length, as I used always to come back in the evening with red marks on my fingers, on my back, everywhere, my father resolved to place me as a boarder; but I had great difficulty in reconciling myself to this arrangement. This was because the boarders have not only M. Klotz to reckon with, but also Mine. Klot/c, who is still worse than he ; and then there are a lot of little Klotz who run after you on the stairs, calling out to you that the French are all fools, all fools. Luckily on the Sundays when my mother comes to see me she always brings me some eatables, and as schoolboys are very greedy, The Nen> Master 317 I have plenty of companions in the establishment. There is one of them I indeed pity with all my heart, and that is Gaspard Henin. He sleeps in the little room under the roof. It is two years since he became an orphan, and since his uncle the miller, in order to get rid of him, sent him to school altogether. When he came he was a big boy of ten years of age, but looking nearly fifteen. He had been accustomed to run about and play in the open air all day, without having an idea that people learned to read. So at first he did nothing but weep and sob, whining like a chained-up dog. For all that he was a very good lad, and his eyes were as mild as those of a girl. By dint of patience, our old master M. Hamel succeeded in pacifying him, and if he had any little errand to be done in the 318 The New Master neighbourhood he used to send Gaspard, who was delighted to feel himself in the open air, to plash about in the brooks, and to catch great floods of sunshine on his tanned face. With M. Klotz, all was changed. Poor Gaspard, who had had so much diffi- culty in applying himself to French, has never been able to learn a word of German. For hours together he is stumbling over the same declension, and one sees in his knitted eyebrows more of obstinacy and of anger than of attention. At each lesson the same scene is enacted. " Gaspard Hdnin, stand up ! " . . . Henin rises sulkily, sways on his desk, and then sits down without saying a word. Then the master beats him, and Mme. Klotz keeps back his food. But his does not make him learn any faster. Very often in the evening, when I went up to The New Master his little room, I said to him, " Come now, Gaspard, don't cry do as I do. Learn to read German, since these people are the stronger." But he used always to answer me, " No, I will not. . . I want to leave ; I want to go back home." This was his fixed idea. The New Master His first languor had returned to him in a greater degree than before, and when in the mornings at dawn I used to see him seated on his bed, with his eyes fixed, I knew that lie was thinking about the mill, that would be about to start at this hour, and the stream of clear water in which he had dabbled all his child-life. These things attracted him from afar, and the brutalities of the master only had the effect of impelling him still more strongly towards his home, and of making him more churlish. Sometimes, after a flogging, when I saw his blue eyes darken with anger, I would say that if I were in M. Klotz's place I should be afraid of that look. But that devil of a Klotz feared nothing. After blows had been tried, then hunger ; he had also invented a prison, and Gaspard was scarcely ever out of it. How- The New Master 321 ever, last Sunday, as he had not had a walk in the fresh air for two months, he was taken with us into the great common beyond the village. The weather was superb, and we were running with all our might, playing at games N 322 The New Master in great troops, and delighted to feel the cold north wind, which made us think of snow and of slides. As usual, Gaspard kept apart at the edge of the wood, throwing about the leaves, cutting branches, and playing by him- self ! When the time came for taking places to return, no Gaspard ! They looked for him, they called him. He had run away. You should have seen M. Klotz's anger. His big face was purple, and his tongue was bewildered among his German oaths. As for us, we were pleased. Then after having sent the rest back to the village, he took two big boys with him, myself and another, and we set out for Henin's mill. Night was coming on. Everywhere the houses were closed, warm with the good fires and the good Sunday dinners, and as a little stream of light fell upon the road, I thought that at The New Master 3 2 3 that hour we ought to be all snugly seated round the table. At the Henins' the mill was stopped, the N 2 324 The New Master gate of the enclosure was closed, every one within, beasts and persons. When the lad came to open it for us, the horses and the sheep stirred in their straw, and on the roosts of the poultry-yard there were great flap- pings of wings and cries of fear, as if those little folk had recognized M. Klotz. The people of the mill were seated at the table down below in the kitchen, a large kitchen well warmed, well lighted, and all shining from the clock-weight to the kettles. Between He'nin the miller and his wife, Gaspard was seated at the upper end of the table with the beaming look of a child who is happy, petted, and caressed. He had invented, to explain his presence, some story of a Grand Duke's birthday, a Prussian holiday, and they were in the act of celebrating his arrival. Whin he saw M. The New Master 325 Klotz the poor fellow looked round to seek an open door by which he might escape : but the master's big hand was laid upon his shoulder, and his uncle was informed of the running away. Gaspard held his head up, now without the abashed look of a schoolboy caught in a fault. Then he, who generally spoke so seldom, at once found words " Well, yes, I did run away ! I don't want ;26 The New Master to go to school any more. I shall never learn German, that language of thieves a: : assassins. I want to speak French like my father and mother." He was quivering with passion, he was terrible. " Silence, Gaspard . . ." said his uncle to him ; but nothing could stop him. " Good . . . good. . . Let him alone. . . We will come and fetch him with the police. . ." And M. Klotz sneered. There was a large knife on the table ; Gaspard seized it with a terrible gesture that made the master recoil : " Well then ! bring those policemen of yours." Then Uncle He'nin, who was be- ginning to get frightened, rushed up to his nephew, snatched the knife from his hands, and a frightful scene ensued. While Gaspard was still shouting, " I'll not go. . . I'll not go ! " he was laid hold of bodily. The poor The New Master 3 2 7 wretch bit and frothed, and called upon his aunt, who had gone up stairs weeping and trembling. Then while they were putting the horses to the waggonette, the uncle wanted us to take something to eat. As for me I had no appetite, as you may think, but M. Klotz began to devour, and all the time the 328 The New Master miller kept apologizing to him for the abuse that Gaspard had heaped upon him and upon His Majesty the Emperor of Germany. That is what comes of being afraid of policemen ! What a sad return ! Gaspard lay stretched at the bottom of the vehicle on some straw, like a sick sheep, and no longer said a word. I thought he was asleep, worn out by tears and rage, and I knew that he must be cold, being bare-headed and without a cloak, but I dare not say a word for fear of the master. The rain was cold. M. Klotz, with his fur cap drawn well over his ears, hummed a tune while driving the horse. The wind made the stars twinkle as we went along the white and frozen road. We were already far from the mill, and the sound of its sluice was scarcely audible, when a faint, whining, im- The New Master 329 ploring voice came all at once from the bottom of the vehicle, and this voice said in our Alsatian dialect : " Losso mi fort gen, Herr Klotz. . . Let me go away, Monsieur Klotz. . ." This was so sad to hear that tears filled my eyes. As for M. Klotz he smiled maliciously and continued his humming while whipping the horse. After a minute the voice began again, " Losso mi fort gen, Herr Klotz . . ." always in the same low, subdued, almost mechanical tone. Poor Gaspard ! one would have thought he was repeating a prayer. At length the carriage stopped, for we had reached our destination. Mme. Klotz was waiting in front of the school with a hntern ; she was so enraged against Gaspard Henin that she would have struck him. But The Nav Master the Prussian prevented her, saying with an ugly laugh, " We'll settle his account to- morrow. . For this evening he has had enough." Ah! yes, he had indeed had enough, the unhappy child ; his teeth were clattering, he was shivering with fever. They The New Master 331 were obliged to carry him up to his bed. And I also that night really thought that I had fever. All the time I felt the jolting of the carriage, and I heard my poor friend saying with his soft voice : " Let me go, M. Klotz." RICHARD CLAY AN-D SONS, LONDON AND BUNGAY T-Vb