IN MADEIRA PLACE 1887 By Heman White Chaplin Turning from the street which follows the line of the wharves, intoMadeira Place, you leave at once an open region of docks and spars forcomparative retirement. Wagons seldom enter Madeira Place: it is toohard to turn them in it; and then the inhabitants, for the most part, have a convenient way of buying their coal by the basket. How muchtrouble it would save, if we would all buy our coal by the basket! A few doors up the place a passageway makes off to the right, through ahigh wooden gate that is usually open; and at the upper corner of thispassage stands a brick house, whose perpetually closed blinds suggestthe owner's absence. But the householders of Madeira Place do not absentthemselves, even in summer; they could hardly get much nearer to thesea. And if you will take the pains to seat yourself, toward the closeof day, upon an opposite doorstep, between two rows of clamorous littlegirls sliding, with screams of painful joy, down the rough hammeredstone, to the improvement of their clothing, you will see that the houseis by-no means untenanted. Every evening it is much the same thing. First, following close upon theheels of sunset, comes a grizzly, tall, and slouching man, in the capand blouse of a Union soldier, bearing down with his left hand upona cane, and dragging his left foot heavily behind him, while with hisright hand he holds by a string a cluster of soaring toy balloons, andalso drags, by its long wooden tongue, a rude child's cart, in which isa small hand-organ. Next will come, most likely, a dark, bent, keen-eyed old woman, with herparchment face shrunk into deep wrinkles. She bears a dangling placard, stating, in letters of white upon a patent-leather background, what youmight not otherwise suspect, --that she was a soldier under the greatNapoleon, and fought with him at Waterloo. She also bears, sincemusic goes with war, a worn accordion. She is the old woman to whoseshrivelled, expectant countenance you sometimes offer up a copper coin, as she kneels by the flagged crossway path of the Park. She is succeeded, perhaps, by a couple of black-haired, short, broad-shouldered men, leading a waddling, unconcerned bear, and talkingearnestly together in a language which you will hardly follow. Then you will see six or eight or ten other sons and daughters of toil, most of them with balloons. All these people will turn, between the high, ball-topped gate-posts, into the alley, and descend at once to the left, by a flight of three orfour steps, to a side basement door. As they begin to flock in, you will see through the alley gate a dark, thick-set man, of middle age, but with very little hair, come and standat the foot of the steps, in the doorway. It is Sorel, the master of thehouse; for this is the _Maison Sorel_. Some of his guests he greetswith a Noachian deluge of swift French words and high-pitched cries ofwelcome. It is thus that he receives those capitalists, the bear-leadersfrom the Pyrenees; it is thus that he greets the grizzled man in theblue cap and blouse, --Fidèle the old soldier, Fidèle the pensioner, towhom a great government, far away, at Washington, doubtless with muchelse on its mind, never forgets to send by mail, each quarter-daymorning, a special, personal communication, marked with Fidèle's ownname, enclosing the preliminaries of a remittance: "Accept" (as itwere) "this slight tribute. " "_Ah! que c'est un gouvernement! Voilà unerépublique!_" Even a Frenchman may be proud to be an American! Most of his guests, however, Sorel receives with a mere pantomimeof wide-opened eyes and extended hands and shrugged-up shoulders, accompanied by a long-drawn "_Eh!_" by which he bodies forth a thousandrefinements of thought which language would fail to express. Does afresh immigrant from the Cévennes bring back at night but one or two ofthe gay balloons with which she was stocked in the morning, or, better, none; or, on the other hand, does a stalwart man just from the rich Briecountry return at sundown in abject despair, bringing back almost allof the red and blue globes which floated like a radiant constellationof hope about his head when he set forth in the early morning, Sorel canexpress, by his "_Eh!_" and some slight movement, with subtle exactnessand with no possibility of being misapprehended, the precise shade offeeling with which the result inspires him. But there he stops. Nothing is said. Sorel is a philosopher: he hasindicated volumes, and he will not dilute with language. One who hasfired a little lead bullet does not need to throw after it a bushel ofmustard-seed. The company, as they come in, one by one, wash their hands and faces, if they see fit, at the kitchen sink, and dry them on a longroller-towel, --a device adopted, probably, from the Americans. Then theyretire to the room behind the kitchen, and seat themselves at a longtable, at which the bear-leaders place themselves only after seeingtheir animal fed, in the coalhole, where he is quartered. At the supper-table all is joy, even with the hopeless. Fidèle beamswith good-humor, and not infrequently is called on to describe, amid ageneral hush, for the benefit of some new-comer from "_la belle France_"the quarterly receipt of the communication from Washington: how he staysat home that day, and shaves, and waits at the door for "_la poste_;"how the gray-uniformed letter-carrier appears, hands out a letter "aslarge as that, " and nods smilingly to Fidèle: he, too, fought at "_laMontagne du Lookout_. " The amount of the sergeant's pension astonishesthem, wonted as they are to the pecuniary treatment of soldiers in theOld World. "_Mais_, it is a fortune! Fidèle is a _vrai rentier!_ Ah!_une république comme ça!_" Generally, however, Fidèle contents himself at the evening meal withsmiling good-humoredly on everybody and rapidly passing in, under hisdrooping mustache, spoonfuls of soup, morsels from the long French loaf, and draughts of lager beer; for only the rich can have wine in thiscountry, and in the matter of drink an exile must needs lower hisstandard, as the prodigal lowered his. While Sorel and his wife and their busy maid fly in and out with_potage_ and _rôti_, "_t-r-r-rès succulent_, " the history of which wemust not pry too deeply into, there is much excited conversation. Yousee at once that many amusing things happen to one who sells balloonsall day upon the Park. And there are varied fortunes to recount. Sucha lady actually wished to buy three for fifty cents! Such a"police-er-mann" is to be highly commended; such another looks with anevil eye upon all: he should truly be removed from office. There is arumor that a license fee is to be required by the city. All this is food for discussion. After supper they all sit about the kitchen or in the alley-way, chatting, smoking. She who has been lucky in her sales basks in Sorel'sfavor. The unfortunate peasant from the Brie country feels the littlebullet in his heart, and nurses a desperate resolution to redeem himselfon the morrow: one must live. Sometimes, if you happen to pass there on a warm evening, you may seea young woman, rather handsome, sitting sidewise on the outer basementsteps, looking absently before her, straight-backed, upright, with herhands clasped about one knee, with her skirt sweeping away: a picture ofAlsace. I have never been able to find out who she is. One evening there is a little flutter among this brood. A gentleman, at the alley door, wishes to see M. Sorel. M. Sorel leads the gentlemanout, through the alley gate, to the front street-door; then, retiringwhence he came, he shortly appears from within at the front door, which opens only after a struggle. A knot of small boys has instantlygathered, apparently impressed with a vague, awful expectation that thegentleman about to enter will never come out. Realizing, however, thatin that case there will be nothing to see, they slowly disperse when thedoor is closed, and resume their play. Sorel ushers the gentleman into the front parlor, which is Sorel'sbedroom, which is also the storehouse of his merchandise, which is alsothe nursery. At this moment an infant is sleeping in a trundle-bed. The gentleman takes a chair. So does Sorel. The gentleman does not talk French. Fortunately, M. Sorel can speak theEnglish: he has learned it in making purchases for his table. "I am an officer of the government, " says Mr. Fox, with a very sharp, distinct utterance, "in the custom-house. You know 'customhouse'?" M. Sorel does not commit himself. He is an importer of toys. One mustbe on his guard. Thereupon, a complicated explanation: this street, and that street, and the other street, and this building, and the market, and the greatbuilding standing here. Ah! yes! M. Sorel identifies the building. Then he is informed that manygovernment officers are there. He knew it very well before. The conversation goes a step farther. Mr. Fox is one of those officers. The government is at present in needof a gentleman absolutely trustworthy, for certain important duties:perhaps to judge of silks; perhaps to oversee the weighing of sugar, ofiron, of diamonds; perhaps to taste of wines. Who can say what servicethis great government may not need from its children! With some labor, since the English is only a translucent, and not atransparent medium to Sorel, this is made clear. Still the horizon isdark. Mr. Fox draws his chair nearer, facing Sorel, who looks uneasy: Sorel'sfeelings, to the thousandth degree of subdivision, are always declaringthemselves in swift succession upon his face. Mr. Fox proceeds. "The great officer of the custom-house, the collector--" "_Le chef?_" interrupts Sorel. --yes, the _chef_ (Mr. Fox seizes upon the word and clings to it), --the_chef_ has been speaking anxiously to Mr. Fox about this vacancy: Mr. Fox is in the _chefs_ confidence. "Ah!" from Sorel, in a tone of utter bewilderment. "We must have, " the _chef_ had said to Mr. Fox, --"we must have forthis place a noble man, a man with a large heart" (the exact requireddimensions Mr. Fox does not give); "a man who loves his government, aman who has showed himself ready to die for her; we must have"--here Mr. Fox bends forward and lays his hand upon Sorel's knee, and looks him inthe eye, --"we must have--_a soldier!_" "Ah!" says Sorel, moving his chair back a little, unconsciously, "_ilfaut un soldat!_ I un-'stan', --_le chef_ 'e boun' to 'ave one sol'ier!" Still no comprehension of the stranger's object. Curiosity, however, prompts Sorel at this point to an inquiry: "'Ow much 'e goin' pay 'im?" Mr. Fox suggests that he guess. M. Sorel guesses, boldly, andhigh, --almost insolently high, --eight dollars a week: she is sogenerous, _la République!_ Higher! "Higher!" Sorel's eyes open. He guesses again, and recklessly: "_Dixdollars par semaine_; you know--ten dol-lar ever-y week. " Try again, --again, --again! He guesses, --madly now, as one risks his goldat Baden: twelve, fourteen, sixteen, eighteen. Yes, eighteen dollars a week, and more--a thousand dollars every year. Sorel wipes his brow. A thousand dollars in one year! It is like atemptation of the devil. Sorel ventures another inquiry. The _chef_ of the customhouse, esteemingthe old sol'iers so highly, is an old sol'ier himself, --is it not so?He has fought for his country? Doubtless he has lost an arm. And Sorelinstinctively lets his right arm hang limp, as if the sleeve were empty. No; the _chef_ was an editor and a statesman in the time of the war. Hehad greatly desired to go to fight, but his duties did not permit it. Still, he loves the old soldier. Another advance in the conversation, this time by Mr. Fox. The government, it seems, has now awakened, with deep distress, to thefact that one class of her soldiers she has hitherto forgotten. Thegovernment--that is, the _chef_ of the customhouse--had this verymorning said to Mr. Fox that this class of old soldiers must be broughtforward, for trust and for honor. "We must choose, for this vacantplace, " the _chef_ had said, --here Mr. Fox brings his face forward inclose proximity to Sorel's astonished countenance, --"we must have, notonly an old soldier, but--_a Frenchman!_" "Ah!" "Such a soldier lives here, " says Mr. Fox; "is it not true? So brave, sohonest, so modest, so faithful! Ready to die for his country; worthy oftrust and worthy of reward!" "_Mais!_" with amazement. Yes, such a sol-'ier lives here. But can it bethat monsieur refers to our Fidèle? Precisely so! Whereupon Sorel, hard, hairless, but French, weeps, and embraces Mr. Fox as the representative of the great government at Washington; and, weeping and laughing, leads him downstairs and presents him to Fidèleand to the bear-leaders, and opens a bottle of weak vinegar. Such an ovation as Fidèle receives! And such a generous government! Tosend a special messenger to seek out the old sergeant in his retirement!So thoughtful! But it is all of a piece with its unfailing care in thepast. Fidèle begins, on the spot, to resume something of his former erectnessand soldierly bearing; to shake off the stoop and slouch which lamenessand the drawing about of his "_musique_" have given him. He wishes totell the story of Lookout Mountain. As Mr. Fox is about to go, he recollects himself. Oh, by the way, onething more. It is not pleasant to mingle sadness with rejoicing. ButMr. Fox is the reluctant bearer of a gentle reproach from the greatgovernment at Washington. Her French children, --are they not just alittle remiss? And when she is so bountiful, so thoughtful! "_Mais_--how you mean?" (with surprise. ) Why, --and there is a certain pathos in Mr. Fox's tone, as he standsfacing Sorel, with the gaze of a loving, reproachful friend, --why, howmany of the Frenchmen of this quarter are ever seen now at the pleasantgatherings of the Republicans, in the wardroom? The Republic, theRepublicans, --it is all one. Is that quite kind to the Republic? Shouldnot her French children, on their part, show filial devotion to the fondgovernment? "_Mais_, " M. Sorel swiftly explains, "they are weary of going; theyunderstand nothing. One sits and smokes a little while, and one talks;then one puts a little ticket into one's hand; one is jammed into along file; one slips his ticket into a box; he knows not for whom he isvoting; it is like a flock of sheep. What is the use of going?" Ah! that is the trouble? Then they are unjustly reproached. Thegovernment has indeed neglected to guide them. But suppose that someofficer of the government--Mr. Fox himself, for instance--will be at themeeting? Then can M. Sorel induce those good French citizens to come? Induce them! They will be only too ready; in fact, at a word from M. Sorel, and particularly when the news of this great honor to Fidèleshall have spread abroad, twenty, thirty, forty will go to everymeeting, --that is, if a friend be there to guide them. At the very nextmeeting, _monsieur_ shall see whether the great government's Frenchchildren are neglectful! Whereupon the great government, in the person of Mr. Fox, then andthere falls in spirit upon the neck of her French citizen-children, represented by Sorel and Fidèle, and full reconciliation is made. Yes, Mr. Fox will come again. M. Sorel must introduce him to those braveFrenchmen, his friends and neighbors; Mr. Fox must grasp them bythe hand, one by one. Sorel must take him to the _Société desFranco-Américains_, where they gather. The government wishes to knowthem better. And (this in a confidential whisper) there may be otherplaces to be filled. What! Suppose, now, that the government should someday demand the services of M. Sorel himself in the custom-house; and, since he is a business man, at a still larger salary than a thousanddollars a year! "Ah, _monsieur_" (in a tone of playful reproach), "_vous êtes unflatteur, n'est ce pas?_ You know, --I guess you giv'n' me taffy. " Such a hero as Fidèle is! No more balloons, no more carting about of"_ma musique_;" a square room upstairs, a bottle of wine at dinner, short hours, distinction, --in fine, all that the heart can wish. I have been speaking in the present: I should have spoken in the past. It was shortly after Fidèle's appointment--in the early autumn--that Ifirst made his and Sorel's acquaintance. I was teaching in an evening school, not far from Madeira Place, andamong my scholars was Sorel's only son, a boy of perhaps fourteen, whomhis father had left behind, for a time, at school in France, and had butlately brought over. He was a shy, modest, intelligent little fellow, utterly out of place in his rude surroundings. From the pleasant villagehome-school, of which he sometimes told me, to the _Maison Sorel_, was agrating change. He was always waiting for me at the schoolroom door, and was always thelast one to speak to me at closing. Perhaps I reminded him of some youngusher whom he had known when life was more pleasant. If, however, the _Maison Sorel_ chafed Auguste, it was not for lack ofaffection on his father's part Sorel often came with him to the door ofthe school-room; and every night, rain or shine, he was there at nine toaccompany him home. It was in this way that I first came to know Sorel;and whether it was from some kindness that Auguste may have thoughtI showed, or because I could talk a little French, Sorel took a greatliking to me. At first, he and Auguste would walk with me a few blocksafter school; then he would look in upon me for a few minutes at thelaw-office where I was studying, where I had a large anteroom to myself;finally, nothing would do but that I should visit him at his house. Ihad always been fond of strolling about the wharves, and I should haveliked very well to stop occasionally at Sorel's, if I could have beenallowed to sit in the kitchen and hear the general conversation. Butthis was not sufficient state for "M. Le maître d'école. " I must bedrawn off upstairs to the bedroom parlor, to hear of Auguste's virtues. Such devotion I have seldom seen. Sorel would have praised Auguste, withtears in his eyes, for hours together, if I would have stayed to listen. He had many things to show in that parlor. He had gyroscopes: and hewould wind them up and set half-a-dozen of those anti-natural topsspinning straight out in the air for my diversion. There were greatsacks of uninflated balloons, and delicate sheet-rubber, from whichSorel made up balloons. There were other curious things in rubber, --atobacco-pouch, for example, in perfect outward imitation of an ironkilogramme-weight, with a ring to lift it by, warranted to create"immense surprise" among those who should lift it for iron;tobacco-pouches, too, in fac-simile of lobsters and crabs and reptiles, colored to nature, which Sorel assured me would cause roars of laughteramong my friends: there was no pleasanter way, he said, of entertainingan evening company than suddenly to display one of these creatures, and make the ladies scream and run about. He presented me, at differenttimes, with a gyroscope, a kilogramme-weight and a lobster with a bluesilk lining. As time ran on, and, in the early winter, I began practice, Sorelbrought me a little business. He had to sue two Graeco-Roman wrestlersfor board and attach their box-office receipts. Some Frenchman had heardof a little legacy left him in the Calvados, and wanted me to look upthe matter. Fidèle, too, came to me every quarter-day, to make oath before me to hispension certificate, and stopped and made a short call. He had little tosay about France. His great romance had been the war, although itseemed to have fused itself into a hazy, high-colored dream of danger, excitement, suffering, and generous devotion. Tears always rose in hiseyes when he spoke of "_la république?_" In those first days of practice, anything by the name of law businesswore a halo, and I used to encourage Sorel's calls, partly for thisreason and partly for practice in talking French with a common man. Ihoped to go to France some day, and I wanted to be able then to talk notonly with the grammatical, but with the dear people who say, "I guesslikely, " and "How be you?" in French. Moreover, Sorel was rather amusing. He was something of a humorist. Oncehe came to tell me, excitedly, that Auguste was learning music: "_Iltouche au violon, --mais_--'e play so _bien!_" And Sorel's eyes opened inwonder at the boy's quickness. "Who teaches him?" I asked. "Some Frenchman who plays in the theatre?" "_Mais_, no, " Sorel replied, with a broad drollery in his eye; "_unprofesseur d'occasion!_" It was a ruined music-teacher, engaged nowin selling balloons from Madeira Place, who was the "_professeurd'occasion_. " One day Sorel appeared with a great story to tell. Auguste, it seemed, had wearied of home, and was determined to go to sea. Nothing coulddeter him. Whereupon M. Sorel had hit upon a stratagem. He had huntedup, somewhere along the wharves, two French sailors with conversationalpowers, and had retained them to stay at his house for two or threedays, as chance comers. It was inevitable that Auguste should ply themwith eager questions, --and they knew their part. As Sorel, entering into the situation now with all his dramatic nature, with his eyes wide open, repeated to me some of the tales of horrorwhich they had palmed off upon innocent Auguste as spontaneous truth, Icould see, myself, the rigging covered with ice an inch thick; sailorsclimbing up ("Ah! _comme ils grimpent, --ils grimpent!_") bare-handed, their hands freezing to the ropes at every touch, and leaving fleshbehind, "_comme_ if you put your tongue to a lam'post in the winter. "I could see the seamen's backs cut up with lashes for the slightestoffences; I tasted the foul, unwholesome food. I think that Sorel halfbelieved it all himself, --his imagination was so powerful, --forgettingthat he had paid in silver coin for every word of it. At any rate, theruse had been successful. Auguste had been thoroughly scared and hadconsented to stay at home, and the most threatening cloud of Sorel'slife had blown over. Usually, however, Sorel and I talked politics; and to our commonpleasure we generally agreed. Sorel knew very little about the detailsof our government, and he would listen to me with the utmost eagernesswhile I practised my French upon him, explaining to his wondering mindthe relations of the States to each other and to the general government, and the system of State and Federal courts. He was very quick, and hetook in the ingenious scheme with great facility. Then he would tell meabout the workings of government in the French villages and departments;and as he read French papers, he had always something in the way of newsor explanation of recent events. I have since come to believe that hewas exceedingly well informed. The most singular thing about him to me was how he could cherish on theone hand such devotion as he plainly did, to France, and on the otherhand such a passionate attachment to the United States. In truth, thatdouble patriotism is one of the characteristic features of our country. I could lead him, in twenty minutes, through the whole gamut of emotion, by talking about Auguste, and then of politics. It was irresistible, the temptation to lead him out. A word about Auguste, and he would wipetears from his eyes. A mention of Gambetta, and the bare idea filledhim with enthusiasm; he was instantly, in imagination, one of a surgingcrowd, throwing his hat in the air, or drawing Gambetta's carriagethrough the streets of Paris. I had only to speak of Alsace to bringhim to a mood of sullen ugliness and hatred. He was, I have no doubt, a pretty good-tempered man; he was certainly warm-hearted; his apparentharshness to his balloon-venders was probably nothing more thannecessary parental severity, and he was always ready to recognize theirsuccesses. But I have never seen a more wicked and desperate expressionthan an allusion to Alsace called up in his face and in his wholebearing. Sometimes he would laugh, when I mentioned the severedprovince; but it was with a hard, metallic, cruel laugh. ' He felt theloss as he would have felt the loss of a limb. The first time I broughtup the topic, I saw the whole bitter story of the dismembering ofFrance. There was another subject which called out that same bitter revengefullook, and that cruel nasal laugh, --the royalist factions and theBonapartists. When we spoke of them, and I watched his face and heardhis soulless laughter, I saw the French Revolution. But he could always be brought back to open childish delight and warmthby a reference to the United States. Our government, in his eyes, embodied all that was good. France was now a "_république_, " to be sure, and he rejoiced in the fact; but he plainly felt the power and settledstability of our republic, and he seemed to have a filial devotiontoward it closely akin to his love for Auguste. How fortunate we were! Here were no _Légitimistes_, no _Orléanistes_, no_Bonapartistes_, for a perpetual menace! Here all citizens, howeverelse their views might differ, believed, at least, in the republic, and desired to stay her hands. There were no factions here continuallyplotting in the darkness. Here the machinery of government was all inview, and open to discussion and improvement Ah, what a proud, happycountry is this!"_Que c'est une république!_" I gathered enthusiasm myself from this stranger's ardor for the countryof his adoption. I think that I appreciated better, through him, thefree openness of our institutions. It is of great advantage to meet anintense man, of associations different from your own, who, by his veryintensity and narrowness, instantly puts you at his standpoint. I viewedthe United States from the shores of a sister republic which hasto contend against strong and organized political forces not fullyrecognized in the laws, working beneath the surface, which neverthelessare facts. One acquaintance leads to another. Through Sorel, whose house was thefinal resort of Frenchmen in distress, and their asylum if they werehelpless, not only Fidèle, but a number of other Frenchmen of thatneighborhood, began to come to me with their small affairs. I was the_avocat_ who "speak French. " I am afraid that they were surprised at my"French" when they heard it. There was a willow-worker from the Pas-de-Calais, a deformed man, walking high and low, and always wanting to rise from his chair and layhis hand upon my shoulder, as he talked, who came to consult me aboutthe recovery of a hundred francs which he had advanced at _Anvers_ toa Belgian tailor upon the pledge of a sewing-machine, on considerationthat the tailor, who was to come in a different steamer, should takecharge of the willow-worker's dog on the voyage: the willow-worker had awife and six children to look after. This was a lofty contest; but Ihad time then. I found a little amusement in the case, and I had theadvantage of two or three hours in all of practical French conversationwith men thoroughly in earnest. Finally, I had the satisfaction ofsettling their dispute, and so keeping them from a quarrel. Then there was a French cook, out of a job, who wanted me to find him aplace. He was gathering mushrooms, meanwhile, for the hotels. One day hesurprised me by coming into my office in a white linen cap, brandishingin his hand a long, gleaming knife. He only desired, however, to tellme that he had found a place at one of the clubs, and to show, in hispride, the shining blade which he had just bought as his equipment. But the man who impressed me most, after Sorel, was Carron. He firstappeared as the friend of the cook, --whom he introduced to me, with manyflourishes and compliments, although he was an utter stranger himself. Carron was a well-built and rather handsome man, of medium height, and was then perhaps fifty years of age. He had a remarkably bright, intelligent face, curling brown hair, and a full, wavy brown beard. Hekept a rival boarding-house, not far from Sorel's, in a gabled woodenhouse two hundred years old, which was anciently the home of an eminentPuritan divine. In the oak-panelled room where the theologian wrote hisfamous tract upon the Carpenter who Profanely undertook to Dispense theWord in the way of Public Ministration, and was Divinely struck Dumb inconsequence, Carron now sold beer from a keg. It was plain at a glance that his present was not of a piece with hispast I could not place him. His manners were easy and agreeable, andyet he was not a gentleman. He was well informed, and evidently of somemental training, and yet he was not quite an educated man. After hisfirst visit to me, with the cook, he, too, occasionally looked in uponme, generally late in the afternoon, when I could call the day's workdone and could talk French for half an hour with him, in place of takinga walk. He was strongly dramatic, like Sorel, but in a differentway. Sorel was intense; Carron was _théâtral_. He was very fond ofdeclamation; and seeing from the first my wish to learn French, --whichSorel would never very definitely recognize, --he often recited to me, for ear practice, and in an exceedingly effective way, passages from theOld Testament. He seemed to know the Psalms by heart. He was a good dealof an actor, and he took the part of a Hebrew prophet with great effect. But his fervor was all stage fire, and he would turn in an instant froma denunciatory Psalm to a humorous story. Even his stories were ofa religious cast, like those which ministers relate when they gathersocially. He told me once about a priest who was strolling along thebank of the Loire, when a drunken sailor accosted him and reviled him asa lazy good-for-nothing, a _fainéant_, and slapped his face. The priestonly turned the other cheek to him. "Strike again, " he said; and thesailor struck. "Now, my friend, " said the priest, "the Scripture tellsus that when one strikes us we are to turn the other cheek. Thereit ends its instruction and leaves us to follow our own judgment. "Whereupon, being a powerful man, he collared the sailor and plunged himinto the water. He told me, too, with great unction, and with a roguishgleam in his eye, a story of a small child who was directed to prepareherself for confession, and, being given a manual for self-examination, found the wrong places, and appeared with this array of sins: "I havebeen unfaithful to my marriage vows. .. . I have not made the tour of mydiocese. " Carron had an Irish wife (_une Irlandaise_), much younger than he, whomhe worshipped. He told me, one day, about his courtship. When he firstmet her, she knew not a word of French, and he not a word of English. He was greatly captivated (épris), and he had to contrive some mode ofcommunication. They were both Catholics. He had a prayer-book with Latinand French in parallel columns; she had a similar prayer-book but inLatin and English. They would seat themselves; Carron would find in hisprayer-book a sentence in French which would suit his turn, on a pinch, and through the medium of the Latin would find the corresponding passagein English in Norah's prayer-book and point it out to her. Norah, inher turn, would select and point out some passage in English which wouldserve as a tribute to Carron's charms, and he would discover in hisprayer-book, in French, what that tribute was. Why should we deem thedead languages no longer a practical study, when Latin can gain for aFrenchman an Irish wife! Carron, as I have said, puzzled me. He had not the pensive air of onewho has seen better days. He was more than cheerful in his present life:he was full of spirits; and yet it was plain that he had been broughtup for something different. I asked him once to tell me, for Frenchlessons, the story of his life. With the most charming complaisance, heat once consented; but he proceeded in such endless detail, the firsttime, in an account of his early boyhood in a strict Benedictinemonastery school, in the south of France, as to suggest that he wastalking against time. And although his spirited and amusing picture ofhis childhood days only awakened my curiosity, I could never persuadehim to resume the history. It was always "the next time. " He seemed to be poor: but he never asked a favor except for others. Onthe contrary, he brought me some little business. A _Belge_ had beencheated out of five hundred dollars; I recovered half of it for him. A Frenchman from _le Midi_ had bought out a little business, and theseller had immediately set up shop next door; I succeeded in shutting upthe rival. I was a prodigy. After a time I was told something further as to Carron's life. He hadbeen a Capuchin monk, in a monastery at or near Paris. The instant thatI heard this statement, I felt in my very soul that it was true. Myeye had always missed something in Carron. I now knew exactly what itwas, --a shaved crown, bare feet, and a cowl. It was the usage for the brethren of his order to go about Parisbarefoot, begging. They were not permitted by the _concierges_ to gointo the great apartment hotels. But "Carron, _il est très fin_, " saidmy informant; "you know, --'e is var' smart. " Carron would learn, bycareful inquiry, the name of a resident on an upper floor; then he wouldappear at the _concierge's_ door, and would mention the name of thisresident with such adroit, demure, and absolute confidence that he wouldbe permitted at once to ascend. Once inside, he would go the rounds ofthe apartments. So he would get five times as much in a day as any ofhis fellows. A certain amount of the receipts he would yield up to thetreasury of the monastery; the rest he kept for himself. After a whilethis came to be suspected, and he quietly withdrew to a new country. There was not the slightest tangible corroboration of this story. Itmight have been the merest gossip or the invention of an enemy. But itfitted Carron so perfectly, that from the day I heard it I could never, somehow, question its substantial truth. If I had questioned it, Ishould have repeated the story to him, to give him an opportunity toanswer. But something warned me not to do so. Fidèle held on well at the custom-house, and I think that he became ageneral favorite. No one who took the old soldier by the hand and lookedhim in the eye could question his absolute honesty; and as for skill inhis duties, --well, it was the custom-house. But he was not saving much money. He was free to give and free to lendto his fellow-countrymen; and, moreover, various ways were pointedout to him by Mr. Fox, from time to time, in which an old soldier, delighting to aid his country, could serve her pecuniarily. Therepublic, --that is, the Republicans, --it was all one. One afternoon, late in summer, Fidèle appeared at my office. He seldomvisited me, except quarterly for his pension affidavit. As he came innow, I saw that something had happened. His grisly face wore the samekindly smile that it had always borne, but the light had gone out of it. His story was short. He had lost his place. He had been notified thathis services would not be needed after Saturday. No reason had beengiven him; he was simply dismissed in humiliation. There must be somemisunderstanding, such as occurs between the warmest friends. And wasnot the great government his friend? Did it not send him his pensionregularly? Had it not sent a special messenger to seek him out, in hisobscurity, for this position; and was he not far better suited to it nowthan at the outset? In reply to questions from me, he told me more about Mr. Fox's firstvisit than I had hitherto known. I asked him, in a casual way, about theward-meetings, and whether the French citizens generally attended them. No, they had been dropping off; they had become envious, perhaps, ofhim; they had formed a club, with Carron for president, and had voted toact in a body (_en solidarité_). Then I told Fidèle that I knew no way to help him, and that I feared hisdismission was final. He could not understand me, but went away, leaningon his cane, dragging his left foot sidewise behind him, with somethingof the air of an old faithful officer who has been deprived of hissword. He had not been gone more than an hour, when the door opened again, andCarron looked in. Seeing that I was alone, he closed the door and walkedvery slowly toward my desk, --erect, demure, impassive, looking straightforward and not at me, with an air as if he were bearing a candle inhigh mass, intoning, as he came, a passage from the Psalms: "_Je meré-jouirai; je partagerai Sichem, et je mesurerai la vallée de Succoth. Galaad sera à moi, Manassé sera à moi. .. . Moab sera le bassin où jeme laverai et je jetterai mon soulier sur Édom. .. . Qui est-ce qui meconduira dans la ville forte? Qui est-ce qui me conduira jusquen Édom?_"(I will rejoice; I will divide Shechem and mete out the valley ofSuccoth. Gilead is mine; Ma-nasseh is mine. .. . Moab is my washpot; overEdom will I cast out my shoe. .. . Who will bring me into the strong city?Who will lead me into Edom?) Carron propounded the closing inquiry with great unction; his mannerexpressed entire confidence that some one would be found to lead himinto the strong city, to lead him into Edom. I had lost something of my interest in Carron since I had heard thestory of his Parisian exploits; but I could not help being amused at hismanner. It portended something. He made no disclosure, however. Whateverhe had to tell, he went away without telling it, contenting himselffor the present with intimating by his triumphal manner that great goodfortune was in the air. On Saturday afternoon, as I was about closing my desk, --a little earlierthan usual, for it was a most tempting late September day, and the wavesof the harbor, which I could just see from my office window, calledloudly to me, --Sorel appeared. I held out my hand, but he affected notto see it, and he sat down without a word. He was plainly disturbed andsomewhat excited. Of course I knew that it was his old friend's misfortune which weighedupon him; he was proud and fond of Fidèle. I seated myself, and waited for him to speak. In a moment he began, witha low, hard laugh: "_Semble que notre bon Fidèle a sa démission_: youknow, --our Fidèle got bounced!" Yes, I said, Fidèle had told me so, and I was very sorry to hear it. "_Evidemment_" (this in a tone of irony) "_il faut un homme plus juste, plus loyale, que le pauvre Fidèle!_ (You know, --they got to 'ave one morehonester man!) _Bien!_ You know who goin' 'ave 'is place?" I shook my head. Sorel laid down his hat, and wiped his brow with his handkerchief. Thenhe went on, no longer speaking in French and then translating, --hisusual concession to my supposed desires, --but mostly now inquasi-English: "_Mais_, you thing this great _gouvernement_ wan' hones'men work for her, _n'est-ce pas?_" "The government ought to have the most honest men, " I said. "_Bien_. Now you thing the _gouvernement_ boun' to 'ave some men w'atmos' know the business, _n'est-ce pas?_" "It ought to have them. " Sorel wiped his brow again. "Now, w'ich you thing the mos' honestes'man, --Fidèle, or-- _Carron?_ W'ich you thing know the businessbes', --Fidèle, w'at been there, or Carron, w'at ain' been there?" "Fidèle, of course. " "Then tell me, w'at for they bounce' our Fidèle, and let Carron got 'isplace?" and he burst into a harsh, resonant, contemptuous laugh. Ina moment he resumed: "Now, " he said, "I only got one more thing to axyou, " and taking his felt hat in his hands, he held it on his knees, before him, and stooping a little forward, eyed me closely: "You knoww'at we talk sometimes, you an' me, 'bout our Frensh _république_--some_Orléanistes_, some _Légitimistes_, some _Bonapartistes?_ You merember'ow we talk, you and me?" I nodded, "We ain' got no _Orléanistes_, no _Bonapartistes' ici_, in this_gouvernement, n'est-ce pas?_" I intimated that I had never met any. "Now, " he proceeded, with an increased bitterness in his tone and hishard smile, "I use' thing you one good frien' to me, _mais_, you beenmakin' fool of me all that time!" "You don't think any such thing, " I said. "You know, " he went on, "who bounce our Fidèle?" "No. " Sorel received my reply with a low, incredulous laugh. Then he laid hishat down on the floor, drew his chair closer, held out his finger, and, with the air of one who shows another that he knows his secret hedemanded:-- "_Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_" I sat silent for a moment, looking at him, not knowing just what to say. "_Mais_, " he went on, "all the _Américains_" (they were chiefly Irish)"roun' my 'ouse been tellin' me, long time, '_Le_ Boss goin' bounceFidèle. ' Me, I laugh w'en they say so. I say, '_Le Boss? C'est uncréature d'imagination, pour nous effrayer, ' you know, make us scart'_C'est un loup-garou, ' you know, --w'at make 'fraid li'l chil'ren. That's w'at I tell them. I thing then you would n't been makin' fool ofme. ' "They don't know what they are talking about, " I said. "How can theyknow why Fidèle is removed?" "_Mais_, you jus' wait; I goin' tell you. I fin they do know. Fidèletake he sol'ier-papers, an' he go see _le chef_" (here Sorel rose, andacted Fidèle). "Fidèle, 'e show 'is papers to _le chef_; 'e say, 'Nowyou boun' tell me why _le bon gouvernement_, w'at 's been my frien', bounce me now. ' 'E say _le chef_ boun' to tell 'im, --_il fautabsolument!_ 'E say 'e won' go, way if _le chef_ don' tell 'im; an' youknow, no man can't scare our Fidèle!" "Very well, " I said; "what did the collector, the _chef_ tell him?Fidèle is too lame, I suppose?" "_Mais, non_, " with a suspicious smile. "_Le chef_, he mos' cry, --yas, sar, --an' 'e say 'e ain' got no trouble 'gainst Fidèle; _la république_, she ain' got no trouble 'gainst Fidèle. 'E say 'e di'n want Fidèle togo; _le gouvernement_, she d'n want 'im to go. _Mais_, 'e say, 'e can'thelp hisself; _le gouvernement_, she can't help herself. Yas, sar. ThenFidèle know w'at evarybody been tellin' us was true, --'e 'Boss, ' 'e make'im go!" And Sorel sat back in his chair. "Now, I ax you one time more, " he resumed: "_qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un'Boss'?_" What could I say! How could I explain, offhand, to this stranger, thebig boss, the little boss, the State boss, the ward boss, the countyboss, all burrowing underneath our theoretical government! How couldI explain to him that Fidèle's department in the custom-house had beenallotted to a Congressman about to run for a second term, who needed itto control a few more ward-meetings, --needed, in the third ward caucus, those very French votes which Carron had been shrewd enough to stealaway and organize! What could I say to Sorel which he, innocent as hewas, would not misconstrue as inconsistent with our past glorificationsof our republic! What did I say! I do not know. I only remember that heinterrupted me, harshly and abruptly, as he rose to go. "You an' me got great _pitié_, ain' we, " he said, "for _notre France, lapauvre France_, 'cause she got so many folks w'at _tourbillonnent sousla surface, --les Orléanistes les Bonapartistes_; don' we say so? _Mais, il n'y en a pas, ici_, --you know, we ain' got none here; don' we sayso? We ain' got no _factionnaires_ here! _Mais non!_" Then, lowering hisvoice to a hoarse whisper: "_Votre bonne république, _" he said, --"_c'estune république du théâtre!_" He had hardly closed the door behind him, when he opened it again, andput in his head, and with his hard, mocking laugh, demanded, "_Qu'est-ceque c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_" And as he walked down the hall, I could stillhear his scornful laughter. He never came to see me again. I sometimes heard of him through Carron, who had succeeded to Fidèle's position and had elevated a considerablepart of his following: for several weeks they were employed at threedollars a day in the navy-yard, where, to their utter mystification, they moved, with a certain planetary regularity, ship-timber from thewest to the east side of the yard, and then back from the east side tothe west. You remember reading about this in the published accounts ofour late congressional contest. Though Sorel never visited me again, I occasionally saw him: once nearthe evening-school, when I went as a guest; once in the long market;once in the post-office; and once he touched me on the shoulder, asI was leaning over the street railing, by the dock, looking down at aSwedish bark. Each time he had but one thing to say; and having said it, he would break into his harsh, ironical laugh, and pass along:-- "_Qu'est-ce que c'est qu'un 'Boss'?_" And Fidèle? Still, if you will go to Madeira Place at sunset, you may see the capand blouse come slowly in. Still the old sergeant sits at the head ofthe table. But his ideal is gone; his idol has clay feet. No longer doeshe describe to new-comers from France the receipt of his pension. Allthe old fond pride in it is gone, and he takes the money now as dollarsand cents. In the conversation, however, around the table the great government atWashington is by no means forgotten. Sometimes Sorel tells his guestsabout the Boss.