September 15th, eight o'clock.--This morning, while I wasarranging my books, Mother Genevieve came in, and brought me thebasket of fruit I buy of her every Sunday. For nearly twenty yearsthat I have lived in this quarter, I have dealt in her littlefruit-shop. Perhaps I should be better served elsewhere, but MotherGenevieve has but little custom; to leave her would do her harm, andcause her unnecessary pain. It seems to me that the length of ouracquaintance has made me incur a sort of tacit obligation to her; mypatronage has become her property.
She has put the basket upon my table, and as I wanted her husband,who is a joiner, to add some shelves to my bookcase, she has gonedown stairs again immediately to send him to me.
At first I did not notice either her looks or the sound of hervoice; but now, that I recall them, it seems to me that she was notas jovial as usual. Can Mother Genevieve be in trouble aboutanything?
Poor woman! All her best years were subject to such bitter trials,that she might think she had received her full share already. Were Ito live a hundred years, I should never forget the circumstanceswhich first made her known to me, and which obtained her my respect.
It was at the time of my first settling in the faubourg. I hadnoticed her empty fruit-shop, which nobody came into, and beingattracted by its forsaken appearance, made my little purchases init. I have always instinctively preferred the poor shops; there isless choice in them, but it seems to me that my purchase is a signof sympathy with a brother in poverty. These little dealings arealmost always an anchor of hope to those whose very existence is inperil--the only means by which some orphan gains a livelihood. Therethe aim of the tradesman is not to enrich himself, but to live! Thepurchase you make of him is more than exchange--it is a good action.
Mother Genevieve at that time was still young, but had already lostthat fresh bloom of youth, which suffering causes to wither so soonamong the poor. Her husband, a clever joiner, gradually left offworking to become, according to the picturesque expression of theworkshops, a worshipper of Saint Monday. The wages of the week,which was always reduced to two or three working days, werecompletely dedicated by him to the worship of this god of theBarriers,
The cheap wine-shops are outside the Barriers, to avoid theoctroi, or municipal excise.
and Genevieve was obliged herself to provide for all the wants ofthe household.
One evening, when I went to make some trifling purchases of her, Iheard a sound of quarrelling in the back shop. There were the voicesof several women, among which I distinguished that of Genevieve,broken by sobs. On looking further in, I perceived the fruit-woman,with a child in her arms, and kissing it, while a country nurseseemed to be claiming her wages from her. The poor woman, whowithout doubt had exhausted every explanation and every excuse, wascrying in silence, and one of her neighbours was trying in vain toappease the countrywoman. Excited by that love of money which theevils of a hard peasant life but too well excuse, and disappointedby the refusal of her expected wages, the nurse was launching forthin recriminations, threats, and abuse. In spite of myself, Ilistened to the quarrel, not daring to interfere, and not thinkingof going away, when Michael Arout appeared at the shop-door.
The joiner had just come from the Barrier, where he had passed partof the day at the public-house. His blouse, without a belt, anduntied at the throat, showed none of the noble stains of work: inhis hand he held his cap, which he had just picked out of the mud;his hair was in disorder, his eye fixed, and the pallor ofdrunkenness in his face. He came reeling in, looked wildly aroundhim, and called for Genevieve.
She heard his voice, gave a start, and rushed into the shop; but atthe sight of the miserable man, who was trying in vain to steadyhimself, she pressed the child in her arms, and bent over it withtears.
The countrywoman and the neighbour had followed her.
"Come! come! Do you intend to pay me, after all?" cried the former,in a rage.
"Ask the master for the money," ironically answered the woman fromnext door, pointing to the joiner, who had just fallen against thecounter.
The countrywoman looked at him.
"Ah! he is the father," resumed she; "well, what idle beggars! notto have a penny to pay honest people, and get tipsy with wine inthat way."
The drunkard raised his head.
"What! what!" stammered he; "who is it that talks of wine? I've hadnothing but brandy. But I am going back again to get some wine.Wife, give me your money; there are some friends waiting for me atthe Pere la Tuille."
Genevieve did not answer: he went round the counter, opened thetill, and began to rummage in it.
"You see where the money of the house goes!" observed the neighbourto the countrywoman; "how can the poor unhappy woman pay you when hetakes all?"
"Is that my fault, then?" replied the nurse angrily; "they owe itme, and somehow or other they must pay me."
And letting loose her tongue, as those women out of the country do,she began relating at length all the care she had taken of thechild, and all the expense it had been to her. In proportion as sherecalled all she had done, her words seemed to convince her morethan ever of her rights, and to increase her anger. The poor mother,who no doubt feared that her violence would frighten the child,returned into the back shop, and put it into its cradle.
Whether it was that the countrywoman saw in this act a determinationto escape her claims, or that she was blinded by passion, I cannotsay; but she rushed into the next room, where I heard the sounds ofquarrelling, with which the cries of the child were soon mingled.The joiner, who was still rummaging in the till, was startled, andraised his head.
At the same moment Genevieve appeared at the door, holding in herarms the baby that the countrywoman was trying to tear from her. Sheran towards the counter, and, throwing herself behind her husband,cried,
"Michael, defend your son!"
The drunken man quickly stood up erect, like one who awakes with astart.
"My son!" stammered he; "what son?"
His looks fell upon the child; a vague ray of intelligence passedover his features.
"Robert," resumed he; "is it Robert?"
He tried to steady himself on his feet, that he might take the baby,but he tottered. The nurse approached him in a rage.
"My money, or I shall take the child away!" cried she; "it is I whohave fed and brought it up; if you don't pay for what has made itlive, it ought to be the same to you as if it were dead. I shall notgo till I have my due or the baby."
"And what would you do with him?" murmured Genevieve, pressingRobert against her bosom.
"Take it to the Foundling!" replied the countrywoman, harshly; "thehospital is a better mother than you are, for it pays for the foodof its little ones."
At the word "Foundling," Genevieve had exclaimed aloud in horror.With her arms wound round her son, whose head she hid in her bosom,and her two hands spread over him, she had retreated to the wall,and remained with her back against it, like a lioness defending heryoung ones.
The neighbour and I contemplated this scene, without knowing how wecould interfere. As for Michael, he looked at us by turns, making avisible effort to comprehend it all. When his eye rested uponGenevieve and the child, it lit up with a gleam of pleasure; butwhen he turned towards us, he again became stupid and hesitating.
At last, apparently making a prodigious effort, he criedout--"Wait!"
And going to a tub full of water, he plunged his face into itseveral times.
Every eye was turned upon him; the countrywoman herself seemedastonished. At length he raised his dripping head. This ablution hadpartly dispelled his drunkenness; he looked at us for a moment, thenhe turned to Genevieve, and his face brightened up.
"Robert!" cried he, going up to the child, and taking him in hisarms. "Ah! give him me, wife; I must look at him."
The mother seemed to give up his son to him with reluctance, andstayed before him with her arms extended, as if she feared the childwould have a fall. The nurse began again in her turn to speak, andrenewed her claims, this time threatening to appeal to law.
At first Michael listened to her attentively, and when hecomprehended her meaning, he gave the child back to its mother.
"How much do we owe you?" asked he.
The countrywoman began to reckon up the different expenses, whichamounted to nearly thirty francs. The joiner felt to the bottom ofhis pockets, but could find nothing. His forehead became contractedby frowns; low curses began to escape him; all of a sudden herummaged in his breast, drew forth a large watch, and holding it upabove his head--
"Here it is--here's your money!" cried he, with a joyful laugh; "awatch, number one! I always said it would keep for a drink on a dryday; but it is not I who will drink it, but the young one. Ah! ah!ah! go and sell it for me, neighbour; and if that is not enough,have my ear-rings. Eh! Genevieve, take them off for me, theear-rings will square all. They shall not say you have beendisgraced on account of the child. No, not even if I must pledge abit of my flesh! My watch, my ear-rings, and my ring, get rid of allof them for me at the goldsmith's; pay the woman, and let the littlefool go to sleep. Give him me, Genevieve, I will put him to bed."
And, taking the baby from the arms of his mother, he carried himwith a firm step to his cradle.
It was easy to perceive the change which took place in Michael fromthis day. He cut all his old drinking acquaintances. He went earlyevery morning to his work, and returned regularly in the evening tofinish the day with Genevieve and Robert. Very soon he would notleave them at all, and he hired a place near the fruitshop, andworked in it on his own account.
They would soon have been able to live in comfort, had it not beenfor the expenses which the child required. Everything was given upto his education. He had gone through the regular school training,had studied mathematics, drawing, and the carpenter's trade, and hadonly begun to work a few months ago. Till now, they had beenexhausting every resource which their laborious industry couldprovide to push him forward in his business; but, happily, all theseexertions had not proved useless; the seed had brought forth itsfruits, and the days of harvest were close by.
While I was thus recalling these remembrances to my mind, Michaelhad come in, and was occupied in fixing shelves where they werewanted.
During the time I was writing the notes of my journal, I was alsoscrutinizing the joiner.
The excesses of his youth and the labour of his manhood have deeplymarked his face; his hair is thin and gray, his shoulders stooping,his legs shrunken and slightly bent. There seems a sort of weight inhis whole being. His very features have an expression of sorrow anddespondency. He answered my questions by monosyllables, and like aman who wishes to avoid conversation. From whence is this dejection,when one would think he had all he could wish for? I should like toknow!
Ten o'clock.--Michael is just gone down stairs to look for a toolhe has forgotten. I have at last succeeded in drawing from him thesecret of his and Genevieve's sorrow. Their son Robert is the causeof it.
Not that he has turned out ill after all their care--not that he isidle or dissipated; but both were in hopes he would never leave themany more. The presence of the young man was to have renewed and madeglad their lives once more; his mother counted the days, his fatherprepared everything to receive their dear associate in their toils,and at the moment when they were thus about to be repaid for alltheir sacrifices, Robert had suddenly informed them that he had justengaged himself to a contractor at Versailles.
Every remonstrance and every prayer were useless; he brought forwardthe necessity of initiating himself into all the details of animportant contract, the facilities he should have, in his newposition, of improving himself in his trade, and the hopes he had ofturning his knowledge to advantage. At last, when his mother, havingcome to the end of her arguments, began to cry, he hastily kissedher, and went away, that he might avoid any further remonstrances.
He had been absent a year, and there was nothing to give them hopesof his return. His parents hardly saw him once a month, and then heonly stayed a few moments with them.
"I have been punished where I had hoped to be rewarded," Michaelsaid to me just now; "I had wished for a saving and industrious son,and God has given me an ambitious and avaricious one. I had alwayssaid to myself, that, when once he was grown up, we should have himalways with us, to recall our youth and to enliven our hearts; hismother was always thinking of getting him married, and havingchildren again to care for. You know women always will busythemselves about others. As for me, I thought of him working near mybench, and singing his new songs--for he has learnt music, and isone of the best singers at the Orpheon. A dream, sir, truly!Directly the bird was fledged, he took to flight, and remembersneither father nor mother. Yesterday, for instance, was the day weexpected him; he should have come to supper with us. No Robertto-day, either! He has had some plan to finish, or some bargain toarrange, and his old parents are put down last in the accounts,after the customers and the joiner's work. Ah! if I could haveguessed how it would have turned out! Fool! to have sacrificed mylikings and my money, for nearly twenty years, to the education of athankless son! Was it for this I took the trouble to cure myself ofdrinking, to break with my friends, to become an example to theneighbourhood? The jovial good fellow has made a goose of himself.Oh! if I had to begin again! No, no! you see women and children areour bane. They soften our hearts; they lead us a life of hope andaffection; we pass a quarter of our lives in fostering the growth ofa grain of corn which is to be everything to us in our old age, andwhen the harvest-time comes--good-night, the ear is empty!"
Whilt he was speaking, Michael's voice became hoarse, his eyefierce, and his lips quivered. I wished to answer him, but I couldonly think of commonplace consolations, and I remained silent. Thejoiner pretended he wanted a tool, and left me.
Poor father! Ah! I know those moments of temptation when virtue hasfailed to reward us, and we regret having obeyed her! Who has notfelt this weakness in hours of trial, and who has not uttered, atleast once, the mournful exclamation of "Brutus?"
But if virtue is only a word, what is there then in life which istrue and real? No, I will not believe that goodness is in vain! Itdoes not always give the happiness we had hoped for, but it bringssome other. In the world everything is ruled by order, and has itsproper and necessary consequences, and virtue cannot be the soleexception to the general law. If it had been prejudicial to thosewho practise it, experience would have avenged them; but experiencehas, on the contrary, made it more universal and more holy.We only accuse it of being a faithless debtor, because we demand animmediate payment, and one apparent to our senses. We alwaysconsider life as a fairy tale, in which every good action must berewarded by a visible wonder. We do not accept as payment a peacefulconscience, self-content, or a good name among men, treasures thatare more precious than any other, but the value of which we do notfeel till after we have lost them!
Michael is come back, and returned to his work. His son had not yetarrived.
By telling me of his hopes and his grievous disappointments, hebecame excited; he unceasingly went over again the same subject,always adding something to his griefs. He has just wound up hisconfidential discourse by speaking to me of a joiner's business,which he had hoped to buy, and work to good account with Robert'shelp. The present owner had made a fortune by it, and after thirtyyears of business, he was thinking of retiring to one of theornamental cottages in the outskirts of the city, a usual retreatfor the frugal and successful working man. Michael had not indeedthe two thousand francs which must be paid down; but perhaps hecould have persuaded Master Benoit to wait. Robert's presence wouldhave been a security for him; for the young man could not fail toinsure the prosperity of a workshop; besides science and skill, hehad the power of invention and bringing to perfection. His fatherhad discovered among his drawings a new plan for a staircase, whichhad occupied his thoughts for a long time; and he even suspected himof having engaged himself to the Versailles contractor for the verypurpose of executing it. The youth was tormented by this spirit ofinvention, which took possession of all his thoughts, and, whiledevoting his mind to study, he had no time to listen to hisfeelings.
Michael told me all this with a mixed feeling of pride and vexation.I saw he was proud of the son he was abusing, and that his verypride made him more sensible of that son's neglect.
Six o'clock, P. M.--I have just finished a happy day. How manyevents have happened within a few hours, and what a change forGenevieve and Michael!
He had just finished fixing the shelves, and telling me of his son,whilst I laid the cloth for my breakfast.
Suddenly we heard hurried steps in the passage, the door opened, andGenevieve entered with Robert.
The joiner gave a start of joyful surprise, but he repressed itimmediately, as if he wished to keep up the appearance ofdispleasure.
The young man did not appear to notice it, but threw himself intohis arms in an open-hearted manner, which surprised me. Genevieve,whose face shone with happiness, seemed to wish to speak, and torestrain herself with difficulty.
I told Robert I was glad to see him, and he answered me with easeand civility.
"I expected you yesterday," said Michael Arout, rather dryly.
"Forgive me, father," replied the young workman, "but I had businessat St. Germains. I was not able to come back till it was very late,and then the master kept me."
The joiner looked at his son sideways, and then took up his hammeragain.
"It is right," muttered he, in a grumbling tone; "when we are withother people we must do as they wish; but there are some who wouldlike better to eat brown bread with their own knife, than partridgeswith the silver fork of a master."
"And I am one of those, father," replied Robert, merrily; "but, asthe proverb says, you must shell the peas before you can eat them.It was necessary that I should first work in a great workshop"--
"To go on with your plan of the staircase," interrupted Michael,ironically.
"You must now say M. Raymond's plan, father," replied Robert,smiling.
"Why?"
"Because I have sold it to him."
The joiner, who was planing a board, turned round quickly.
"Sold it!" cried he, with sparkling eyes.
"For the reason that I was not rich enough to give it him."
Michael threw down the board and tool.
"There he is again!" resumed he, angrily; "his good genius puts anidea into his head which would have made him known, and he goes andsells it to a rich man, who will take the honour of it himself."
"Well, what harm is there done?" asked Genevieve.
"What harm!" cried the joiner, in a passion; "you understand nothingabout it--you are a woman; but he--he knows well that a true workmannever gives up his own inventions for money, no more than a soldierwould give up his cross. That is his glory; he is bound to keep itfor the honour it does him! Ah! thunder! if I had ever made adiscovery, rather than put it up at auction I would have sold one ofmy eyes! Don't you see, that a new invention is like a child to aworkman! he takes care of it, he brings it up, he makes a way for itin the world, and it is only poor creatures who sell it."
Robert coloured a little.
"You will think differently, father," said he, "when you know why Isold my plan."
"Yes, and you will thank him for it," added Genevieve, who could nolonger keep silence.
"Never!" replied Michael.
"But, wretched man!" cried she, "he only sold it for our sakes!"
The joiner looked at his wife and son with astonishment. It wasnecessary to come to an explanation. The latter related how he hadentered into a negotiation with Master Benoit, who had positivelyrefused to sell his business unless one-half of the two thousandfrancs was first paid down. It was in the hopes of obtaining thissum that he had gone to work with the contractor at Versailles; hehad an opportunity of trying his invention, and of finding apurchaser. Thanks to the money he received for it, he had justconcluded the bargain with Benoit, and had brought his father thekey of the new work-yard.
This explanation was given by the young workman with so much modestyand simplicity, that I was quite affected by it. Genevieve cried;Michael pressed his son to his heart, and in a long embrace heseemed to ask his pardon for having unjustly accused him.
All was now explained with honour to Robert. The conduct which hisparents had ascribed to indifference, really sprang from affection;he had neither obeyed the voice of ambition nor of avarice, nor eventhe nobler inspiration of inventive genius; his whole motive andsingle aim had been the happiness of Genevieve and Michael. The dayfor proving his gratitude had come, and he had returned themsacrifice for sacrifice!
After the explanations and exclamations of joy, were over, all threewere about to leave me; but the cloth being laid, I added three moreplaces, and kept them to breakfast.
The meal was prolonged; the fare was only tolerable; but theoverflowings of affection made it delicious.
Never had I better understood the unspeakable charm of family love.What calm enjoyment in that happiness which is always shared withothers; in that community of interests which unites such variousfeelings; in that association of existences which forms one singlebeing of so many! What is man without those home affections, which,like so many roots, fix him firmly in the earth, and permit him toimbibe all the juices of life? Energy, happiness, does it not allcome from them? Without family life, where would man learn to love,to associate, to deny himself? A community in little, is not itwhich teaches us how to live in the great one? Such is the holinessof home, that to express our relation with God, we have been obligedto borrow the words invented for our family life. Men have namedthemselves the sons of a heavenly Father.
Ah! let us carefully preserve these chains of domestic union; do notlet us unbind the human sheaf, and scatter its ears to all thecaprices of chance, and of the winds; but let us rather enlarge thisholy law; let us carry the principles and the habits of home beyondits bounds; and, if it may be, let us realize the prayer of theApostle of the Gentiles when he exclaimed to the newborn children ofChrist:--"Be ye like-minded, having the same love, being of oneaccord, of one mind."
THE END.
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