INTERNATIONAL SHORT STORIES

COMPILED BYFRANCIS J. REYNOLDS

FRENCH

1910

FRENCH STORIES

A PIECE OF BREAD _By Francois Coppee_

THE ELIXIR OF LIFE _By Honore de Balzac_

THE AGE FOR LOVE _By Paul Bourget_

MATEO FALCONE _By Prosper Merimee_

THE MIRROR _By Catulle Mendes_

MY NEPHEW JOSEPH _By Ludovic Halevy_

A FOREST BETROTHAL _By Erckmann-Chatrian_

ZADIG THE BABYLONIAN _By Francois Marie Arouet de Voltaire_

ABANDONED _By Guy de Maupassant_

THE GUILTY SECRET _By Paul de Kock_

JEAN MONETTE _By Eugene Francois Vidocq_

SOLANGE _By Alexandre Dumas_

THE BIRDS IN THE LETTER-BOX _By Rene Bazin_

JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS _By Emile Zola_

BARON DE TRENCK _By Clemence Robert_

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA _By Henry Murger_

THE WOMAN AND THE CAT _By Marcel Prevost_

GIL BLAS AND DR. SANGRADO _By Alain Rene Le Sage_

A FIGHT WITH A CANNON _By Victor Hugo_

TONTON _By A. Cheneviere_

THE LAST LESSON _By Alphonse Daudet_

CROISILLES _By Alfred de Musset_

THE VASE OF CLAY _By Jean Aicard_

A PIECE OF BREAD

BY FRANCOIS COPPEE

The young Due de Hardimont happened to be at Aix in Savoy, whose waters hehoped would benefit his famous mare, Perichole, who had become wind-brokensince the cold she had caught at the last Derby, --and was finishing hisbreakfast while glancing over the morning paper, when he read the news ofthe disastrous engagement at Reichshoffen. 

He emptied his glass of chartreuse, laid his napkin upon the restauranttable, ordered his valet to pack his trunks, and two hours later took theexpress to Paris; arriving there, he hastened to the recruiting office andenlisted in a regiment of the line. 

In vain had he led the enervating life of a fashionable swell--that wasthe word of the time--and had knocked about race-course stables from theage of nineteen to twenty-five. In circumstances like these, he could notforget that Enguerrand de Hardimont died of the plague at Tunis the sameday as Saint Louis, that Jean de Hardimont commanded the Free Companiesunder Du Guesclin, and that Francois-Henri de Hardimont was killed atFontenoy with "Red" Maison. Upon learning that France had lost a battle onFrench soil, the young duke felt the blood mount to his face, giving him ahorrible feeling of suffocation. 

And so, early in November, 1870, Henri de Hardimont returned to Paris withhis regiment, forming part of Vinoy's corps, and his company being theadvance guard before the redoubt of Hautes Bruyères, a position fortifiedin haste, and which protected the cannon of Fort Bicêtre. 

It was a gloomy place; a road planted with clusters of broom, and brokenup into muddy ruts, traversing the leprous fields of the neighborhood; onthe border stood an abandoned tavern, a tavern with arbors, where thesoldiers had established their post. They had fallen back here a few daysbefore; the grape-shot had broken down some of the young trees, and all ofthem bore upon their bark the white scars of bullet wounds. As for thehouse, its appearance made one shudder; the roof had been torn by a shell, and the walls seemed whitewashed with blood. The torn and shattered arborsunder their network of twigs, the rolling of an upset cask, the high swingwhose wet rope groaned in the damp wind, and the inscriptions over thedoor, furrowed by bullets; "Cabinets de societé--Absinthe--Vermouth--Vin à60 cent. Le litre"--encircling a dead rabbit painted over two billiardcues tied in a cross by a ribbon, --all this recalled with cruel irony thepopular entertainment of former days. And over all, a wretched winter sky, across which rolled heavy leaden clouds, an odious sky, angry and hateful. 

At the door of the tavern stood the young duke, motionless, with his gunin his shoulder-belt, his cap over his eyes, his benumbed hands in thepockets of his red trousers, and shivering in his sheepskin coat. He gavehimself up to his sombre thoughts, this defeated soldier, and looked withsorrowful eyes toward a line of hills, lost in the fog, where could beseen each moment, the flash and smoke of a Krupp gun, followed by areport. 

Suddenly he felt hungry. 

Stooping, he drew from his knapsack, which stood near him leaning againstthe wall, a piece of ammunition bread, and as he had lost his knife, hebit off a morsel and slowly ate it. 

But after a few mouthfuls, he had enough of it; the bread was hard and hada bitter taste. No fresh would be given until the next morning'sdistribution, so the commissary officer had willed it. This was certainlya very hard life sometimes. The remembrance of former breakfasts came tohim, such as he had called "hygienic, " when, the day after too over-heatinga supper, he would seat himself by a window on the ground floor ofthe Café-Anglais, and be served with a cutlet, or buttered eggs withasparagus tips, and the butler, knowing his tastes, would bring him a finebottle of old Léoville, lying in its basket, and which he would pour outwith the greatest care. The deuce take it! That was a good time, all thesame, and he would never become accustomed to this life of wretchedness. 

And, in a moment of impatience, the young man threw the rest of his breadinto the mud. 

At the same moment a soldier of the line came from the tavern, stooped andpicked up the bread, drew back a few steps, wiped it with his sleeve andbegan to devour it eagerly. 

Henri de Hardimont was already ashamed of his action, and now with afeeling of pity, watched the poor devil who gave proof of such a goodappetite. He was a tall, large young fellow, but badly made; with feverisheyes and a hospital beard, and so thin that his shoulder-blades stood outbeneath his well-worn cape. 

"You are very hungry?" he said, approaching the soldier. 

"As you see, " replied the other with his mouth full. 

"Excuse me then. For if I had known that you would like the bread, I wouldnot have thrown it away. "

"It does not harm it, " replied the soldier, "I am not dainty. "

"No matter, " said the gentleman, "it was wrong to do so, and I reproachmyself. But I do not wish you to have a bad opinion of me, and as I havesome old cognac in my can, let us drink a drop together. "

The man had finished eating. The duke and he drank a mouthful of brandy;the acquaintance was made. 

"What is your name?" asked the soldier of the line. 

"Hardimont, " replied the duke, omitting his title. "And yours?"

"Jean-Victor--I have just entered this company--I am just out of theambulance--I was wounded at Châtillon--oh! but it was good in theambulance, and in the infirmary they gave me horse bouillon. But I hadonly a scratch, and the major signed my dismissal. So much the worse forme! Now I am going to commence to be devoured by hunger again--for, believe me, if you will, comrade, but, such as you see me, I have beenhungry all my life. "

The words were startling, especially to a Sybarite who had just beenlonging for the kitchen of the Café-Anglais, and the Duc de Hardimontlooked at his companion in almost terrified amazement. The soldier smiledsadly, showing his hungry, wolf-like teeth, as white as his sickly face, and, as if understanding that the other expected something further in theway of explanation or confidence:

"Come, " said he, suddenly ceasing his familiar way of speaking, doubtlessdivining that his companion belonged to the rich and happy; "let us walkalong the road to warm our feet, and I will tell you things, whichprobably you have never heard of--I am called Jean-Victor, that is all, for I am a foundling, and my only happy remembrance is of my earliestchildhood, at the Asylum. The sheets were white on our little beds in thedormitory; we played in a garden under large trees, and a kind Sister tookcare of us, quite young and as pale as a wax-taper--she died afterwards oflung trouble--I was her favorite, and would rather walk by her than playwith the other children, because she used to draw me to her side and layher warm thin hand on my forehead. But when I was twelve years old, aftermy first communion, there was nothing but poverty. The managers put me asapprentice with a chair mender in Faubourg Saint-Jacques. That is not atrade, you know, it is impossible to earn one's living at it, and as proofof it, the greater part of the time the master was only able to engage thepoor little blind boys from the Blind Asylum. It was there that I began tosuffer with hunger. The master and mistress, two old Limousins--afterwardsmurdered, were terrible misers, and the bread, cut in tiny pieces for eachmeal, was kept under lock and key the rest of the time. You should haveseen the mistress at supper time serving the soup, sighing at eachladleful she dished out. The other apprentices, two blind boys, were lessunhappy; they were not given more than I, but they could not see thereproachful look the wicked woman used to give me as she handed me myplate. And then, unfortunately, I was always so terribly hungry. Was it myfault, do you think? I served there for three years, in a continual fit ofhunger. Three years! And one can learn the work in one month. But themanagers could not know everything, and had no suspicion that the childrenwere abused. Ah! you were astonished just now when you saw me take thebread out of the mud? I am used to that for I have picked up enough of it;and crusts from the dust, and when they were too hard and dry, I wouldsoak them all night in my basin. I had windfalls sometimes, such as piecesof bread nibbled at the ends, which the children would take out of theirbaskets and throw on the sidewalks as they came from school. I used to tryto prowl around there when I went on errands. At last my time was ended atthis trade by which no man can support himself. Well, I did many otherthings, for I was willing enough to work. I served the masons; I have beenshop-boy, floor-polisher, I don't know what all! But, pshaw; to-day, workis lacking, another time I lose my place: Briefly, I never have had enoughto eat. Heavens! how often have I been crazy with hunger as I have passedthe bakeries! Fortunately for me; at these times I have always rememberedthe good Sister at the Asylum, who so often told me to be honest, and Iseemed to feel her warm little hand upon my forehead. At last, when I waseighteen I enlisted; you know as well as I do, that the trooper has onlyjust enough. Now, --I could almost laugh--here is the siege and famine! Yousee, I did not lie, when I told you, just now that I have always, always, been hungry!"

The young duke had a kind heart and was profoundly moved by this terriblestory, told him by a man like himself, by a soldier whose uniform made himhis equal. It was even fortunate for the phlegm of this dandy, that thenight wind dried the tears which dimmed his eyes. 

"Jean-Victor, " said he, ceasing in his turn, by a delicate tact, to speakfamiliarly to the foundling, "if we survive this dreadful war, we willmeet again, and I hope that I may be useful to you. But, in the meantime, as there is no bakery but the commissary, and as my ration of bread istwice too large for my delicate appetite, --it is understood, is itnot?--we will share it like good comrades. "

It was strong and hearty, the hand-clasp which followed: then, harassedand worn by their frequent watches and alarms, as night fell, theyreturned to the tavern, where twelve soldiers were sleeping on the straw;and throwing themselves down side by side, they were soon sleepingsoundly. 

Toward midnight Jean-Victor awoke, being hungry probably. The wind hadscattered the clouds, and a ray of moonlight made its way into the roomthrough a hole in the roof, lighting up the handsome blonde head of theyoung duke, who was sleeping like an Endymion. 

Still touched by the kindness of his comrade, Jean-Victor was gazing athim with admiration, when the sergeant of the platoon opened the door andcalled the five men who were to relieve the sentinels of the out-posts. The duke was of the number, but he did not waken when his name was called. 

"Hardimont, stand up!" repeated the non-commissioned officer. 

"If you are willing, sergeant, " said Jean-Victor rising, "I will take hisduty, he is sleeping so soundly--and he is my comrade. "

"As you please. "

The five men left, and the snoring recommenced. 

But half an hour later the noise of near and rapid firing burst upon thenight. In an instant every man was on his feet, and each with his hand onthe chamber of his gun, stepped cautiously out, looking earnestly alongthe road, lying white in the moonlight. 

"What time is it?" asked the duke. "I was to go on duty to-night. "

"Jean-Victor went in your place. "

At that moment a soldier was seen running toward them along the road. 

"What is it?" they cried as he stopped, out of breath. 

"The Prussians have attacked us, let us fall back to the redoubt. "

"And your comrades?"

"They are coming--all but poor Jean-Victor. "

"Where is he?" cried the duke. 

"Shot through the head with a bullet--died without a word!--ough!"

 * * * * *

One night last winter, the Due de Hardimont left his club about twoo'clock in the morning, with his neighbor, Count de Saulnes; the duke hadlost some hundred louis, and had a slight headache. 

"If you are willing, André, " he said to his companion, "we will go home onfoot--I need the air. "

"Just as you please, I am willing, although the walking may he bad. "

They dismissed their coupés, turned up the collars of their overcoats, andset off toward the Madeleine. Suddenly an object rolled before the dukewhich he had struck with the toe of his boot; it was a large piece ofbread spattered with mud. 

Then to his amazement, Monsieur de Saulnes saw the Due de Hardimont pickup the piece of bread, wipe it carefully with his handkerchief embroideredwith his armorial bearings, and place it on a bench, in full view underthe gaslight. 

"What did you do that for?" asked the count, laughing heartily, "are youcrazy?"

"It is in memory of a poor fellow who died for me, " replied the duke in avoice which trembled slightly, "do not laugh, my friend, it offends me. "

THE ELIXIR OF LIFE

BY HONORE DE BALZAC

In a sumptuous palace of Ferrara, one winter evening, Don Juan Belvidérowas entertaining a prince of the house of Este. In those days a banquetwas a marvelous affair, which demanded princely riches or the power of anobleman. Seven pleasure-loving women chatted gaily around a table lightedby perfumed candles, surrounded by admirable works of art whose whitemarble stood out against the walls of red stucco and contrasted with therich Turkey carpets. Clad in satin, glittering with gold and laden withgems which sparkled only less brilliantly than their eyes, they all toldof passions, intense, but of various styles, like their beauty. Theydiffered neither in their words nor their ideas; but an expression, alook, a motion or an emphasis served as a commentary, unrestrained, licentious, melancholy or bantering, to their words. 

One seemed to say: "My beauty has power to rekindle the frozen heart ofage. " Another: "I love to repose on soft cushions and think with raptureof my adorers. " A third, a novice at these fêtes, was inclined to blush. "At the bottom of my heart I feel compunction, " she seemed to say. "I am aCatholic and I fear hell; but I love you so--ah, so dearly--that I wouldsacrifice eternity to you!" The fourth, emptying a cup of Chian wine, cried: "Hurrah, for pleasure! I begin a new existence with each dawn. Forgetful of the past, still intoxicated with the violence of yesterday'spleasures, I embrace a new life of happiness, a life filled with love. "

The woman sitting next to Belvidéro looked at him with flashing eyes. Shewas silent. "I should have no need to call on a bravo to kill my lover ifhe abandoned me. " Then she had laughed; but a comfit dish of marvelousworkmanship was shattered between her nervous fingers. 

"When are you to be grand duke?" asked the sixth of the prince, with anexpression of murderous glee on her lips and a look of Bacchanalian frenzyin her eyes. 

"And when is your father going to die?" said the seventh, laughing andthrowing her bouquet to Don Juan with maddening coquetry. She was aninnocent young girl who was accustomed to play with sacred things. 

"Oh, don't speak of it!" cried the young and handsome Don Juan. "There isonly one immortal father in the world, and unfortunately he is mine!"

The seven women of Ferrara, the friends of Don Juan, and the princehimself gave an exclamation of horror. Two hundred years later, underLouis XV, well-bred persons would have laughed at this sally. But perhapsat the beginning of an orgy the mind had still an unusual degree oflucidity. Despite the heat of the candles, the intensity of the emotions, the gold and silver vases, the fumes of wine, despite the vision ofravishing women, perhaps there still lurked in the depths of the heart alittle of that respect for things human and divine which struggles untilthe revel has drowned it in floods of sparkling wine. Nevertheless, theflowers were already crushed, the eyes were steeped with drink, andintoxication, to quote Rabelais, had reached even to the sandals. In thepause that followed a door opened, and, as at the feast of Balthazar, Godmanifested himself. He seemed to command recognition now in the person ofan old, white-haired servant with unsteady gait and drawn brows; heentered with gloomy mien and his look seemed to blight the garlands, theruby cups, the pyramids of fruits, the brightness of the feast, the glowof the astonished faces and the colors of the cushions dented by the whitearms of the women; then he cast a pall over this folly by saying, in ahollow voice, the solemn words: "Sir, your father is dying!"

Don Juan rose, making a gesture to his guests, which might be translated:"Excuse me, this does not happen every day. "

Does not the death of a parent often overtake young people thus in thefulness of life, in the wild enjoyment of an orgy? Death is as unexpectedin her caprices as a woman in her fancies, but more faithful--Death hasnever duped any one. 

When Don Juan had closed the door of the banquet hall and walked down thelong corridor, which was both cold and dark, he compelled himself toassume a mask, for, in thinking of his rôle of son, he had cast off hismerriment as he threw down his napkin. The night was black. The silentservant who conducted the young man to the death chamber, lighted the wayso insufficiently that Death, aided by the cold, the silence, the gloom, perhaps by a reaction of intoxication, was able to force some reflectionsinto the soul of the spendthrift; he examined his life, and becamethoughtful, like a man involved in a lawsuit when he sets out for thecourt of justice. 

Bartholomeo Belvidéro, the father of Don Juan, was an old man of ninety, who had devoted the greater part of his life to business. Having traveledmuch in Oriental countries he had acquired there great wealth and learningmore precious, he said, than gold or diamonds, to which he no longer gavemore than a passing thought. "I value a tooth more than a ruby, " he usedto say, smiling, "and power more than knowledge. " This good father lovedto hear Don Juan relate his youthful adventures, and would say, banteringly, as he lavished money upon him: "Only amuse yourself, my dearchild!" Never did an old man find such pleasure in watching a young man. Paternal love robbed age of its terrors in the delight of contemplating sobrilliant a life. 

At the age of sixty, Belvidéro had become enamored of an angel of peaceand beauty. Don Juan was the sole fruit of this late love. For fifteenyears the good man had mourned the loss of his dear Juana. His manyservants and his son attributed the strange habits he had contracted tothis grief. Bartholomeo lodged himself in the most uncomfortable wing ofhis palace and rarely went out, and even Don Juan could not intrude intohis father's apartment without first obtaining permission. If thisvoluntary recluse came or went in the palace or in the streets of Ferrarahe seemed to be searching for something which he could not find. He walkeddreamily, undecidedly, preoccupied like a man battling with an idea orwith a memory. While the young man gave magnificent entertainments and thepalace re-echoed his mirth, while the horses pawed the ground in thecourtyard and the pages quarreled at their game of dice on the stairs, Bartholomeo ate seven ounces of bread a day and drank water. If he askedfor a little poultry it was merely that he might give the bones to a blackspaniel, his faithful companion. He never complained of the noise. Duringhis illness if the blast of horns or the barking of dogs interrupted hissleep, he only said: "Ah, Don Juan has come home. " Never before was sountroublesome and indulgent a father to be found on this earth;consequently young Belvidéro, accustomed to treat him without ceremony, had all the faults of a spoiled child. His attitude toward Bartholomeo waslike that of a capricious woman toward an elderly lover, passing off animpertinence with a smile, selling his good humor and submitting to beloved. In calling up the picture of his youth, Don Juan recognized that itwould be difficult to find an instance in which his father's goodness hadfailed him. He felt a newborn remorse while he traversed the corridor, andhe very nearly forgave his father for having lived so long. He reverted tofeelings of filial piety, as a thief returns to honesty in the prospect ofenjoying a well-stolen million. 

Soon the young man passed into the high, chill rooms of his father'sapartment. After feeling a moist atmosphere and breathing the heavy airand the musty odor which is given forth by old tapestries and furniturecovered with dust, he found himself in the antique room of the old man, infront of a sick bed and near a dying fire. A lamp standing on a table ofGothic shape shed its streams of uneven light sometimes more, sometimesless strongly upon the bed and showed the form of the old man inever-varying aspects. The cold air whistled through the insecure windows, and the snow beat with a dull sound against the panes. 

This scene formed so striking a contrast to the one which Don Juan hadjust left that he could not help shuddering. He felt cold when, onapproaching the bed, a sudden flare of light, caused by a gust of wind, illumined his father's face. The features were distorted; the skin, clinging tightly to the bones, had a greenish tint, which was made themore horrible by the whiteness of the pillows on which the old man rested;drawn with pain, the mouth, gaping and toothless, gave breath to sighswhich the howling of the tempest took Tip and drew out into a dismal wail. In spite of these signs of dissolution an incredible expression of powershone in the face. The eyes, hallowed by disease, retained a singularsteadiness. A superior spirit was fighting there with death. It seemed asif Bartholomeo sought to kill with his dying look some enemy seated at thefoot of his bed. This gaze, fixed and cold, was made the more appalling bythe immobility of the head, which was like a skull standing on a doctor'stable. The body, clearly outlined by the coverlet, showed that the dyingman's limbs preserved the same rigidity. All was dead, except the eyes. There was something mechanical in the sounds which came from the mouth. Don Juan felt a certain shame at having come to the deathbed of his fatherwith a courtesan's bouquet on his breast, bringing with him the odors of abanquet and the fumes of wine. 

"You were enjoying yourself!" cried the old man, on seeing his son. 

At the same moment the pure, high voice of a singer who entertained theguests, strengthened by the chords of the viol by which she wasaccompanied, rose above the roar of the storm and penetrated the chamberof death. Don Juan would gladly have shut out this barbarous confirmationof his father's words. 

Bartholomeo said: "I do not grudge you your pleasure, my child. "

These words, full of tenderness, pained Don Juan, who could not forgivehis father for such goodness. 

"What, sorrow for me, father!" he cried. 

"Poor Juanino, " answered the dying man, "I have always been so gentletoward you that you could not wish for my death?"

"Oh!" cried Don Juan, "if it were possible to preserve your life by givingyou a part of mine!" ("One can always say such things, " thought thespendthrift; "it is as if I offered the world to my mistress. ")

The thought had scarcely passed through his mind when the old spanielwhined. This intelligent voice made Don Juan tremble. He believed that thedog understood him. 

"I knew that I could count on you, my son, " said the dying man. "There, you shall be satisfied. I shall live, but without depriving you of asingle day of your life. "

"He raves, " said Don Juan to himself. 

Then he said, aloud: "Yes, my dearest father, you will indeed live as longas I do, for your image will be always in my heart. "

"It is not a question of that sort of life, " said the old nobleman, gathering all his strength to raise himself to a sitting posture, for hewas stirred by one of those suspicions which are only born at the bedsideof the dying. "Listen, my son, " he continued in a voice weakened by thislast effort. "I have no more desire to die than you have to give up yourlady loves, wine, horses, falcons, hounds and money----"

"I can well believe it, " thought his son, kneeling beside the pillow andkissing one of Bartholomeo's cadaverous hands. "But, father, " he saidaloud, "my dear father, we must submit to the will of God!"

"God! I am also God!" growled the old man. 

"Do not blaspheme!" cried the young man, seeing the menacing expressionwhich was overspreading his father's features. "Be careful what you say, for you have received extreme unction and I should never be consoled ifyou were to die in a state of sin. "

"Are you going to listen to me?" cried the dying man, gnashing histoothless jaws. 

Don Juan held his peace. A horrible silence reigned. Through the dull wailof the snowstorm came again the melody of the viol and the heavenly voice, faint as the dawning day. 

The dying man smiled. 

"I thank you for having brought singers and music! A banquet, young andbeautiful women, with dark locks, all the pleasures of life. Let themremain. I am about to be born again. "

"The delirium is at its height, " said Don Juan to himself. 

"I have discovered a means of resuscitation. There, look in the drawer ofthe table--you open it by pressing a hidden spring near the griffin. "

"I have it, father. "

"Good! Now take out a little flask of rock crystal. "

"Here it is. "

"I have spent twenty years in----"

At this point the old man felt his end approaching, and collected all hisenergy to say:

"As soon as I have drawn my last breath rub me with this water and I shallcome to life again. "

"There is very little of it, " replied the young man. 

Bartholomeo was no longer able to speak, but he could still hear and see. At these words he turned his head toward Don Juan with a violent wrench. His neck remained twisted like that of a marble statue doomed by thesculptor's whim to look forever sideways, his staring eyes assumed ahideous fixity. He was dead, dead in the act of losing his only, his lastillusion. In seeking a shelter in his son's heart he had found a tomb morehollow than those which men dig for their dead. His hair, too, had risenwith horror and his tense gaze seemed still to speak. It was a fatherrising in wrath from his sepulchre to demand vengeance of God. 

"There, the good man is done for!" exclaimed Don Juan. 

Intent upon taking the magic crystal to the light of the lamp, as adrinker examines his bottle at the end of a repast, he had not seen hisfather's eye pale. The cowering dog looked alternately at his dead masterand at the elixir, as Don Juan regarded by turns his father and the phial. The lamp threw out fitful waves of light. The silence was profound, theviol was mute. Belvidéro thought he saw his father move, and he trembled. Frightened by the tense expression of the accusing eyes, he closed them, just as he would have pushed down a window-blind on an autumn night. Hestood motionless, lost in a world of thought. 

Suddenly a sharp creak, like that of a rusty spring, broke the silence. Don Juan, in his surprise, almost dropped the flask. A perspiration, colder than the steel of a dagger, oozed out from his pores. A cock ofpainted wood came forth from a clock and crowed three times. It was one ofthose ingenious inventions by which the savants of that time were awakenedat the hour fixed for their work. Already the daybreak reddened thecasement. The old timepiece was more faithful in its master's service thanDon Juan had been in his duty to Bartholomeo. This instrument was composedof wood, pulleys, cords and wheels, while he had that mechanism peculiarto man, called a heart. 

In order to run no further risk of losing the mysterious liquid theskeptical Don Juan replaced it in the drawer of the little Gothic table. At this solemn moment he heard a tumult in the corridor. There wereconfused voices, stifled laughter, light footsteps, the rustle of silk, inshort, the noise of a merry troop trying to collect itself in some sort oforder. The door opened and the prince, the seven women, the friends of DonJuan and the singers, appeared, in the fantastic disorder of dancersovertaken by the morning, when the sun disputes the paling light of thecandles. They came to offer the young heir the conventional condolences. 

"Oh, oh, is poor Don Juan really taking this death seriously?" said theprince in la Brambilla's ear. 

"Well, his father was a very good man, " she replied. 

Nevertheless, Don Juan's nocturnal meditations had printed so striking anexpression upon his face that it commanded silence. The men stopped, motionless. The women, whose lips had been parched with wine, threwthemselves on their knees and began to pray. Don Juan could not helpshuddering as he saw this splendor, this joy, laughter, song, beauty, lifepersonified, doing homage thus to Death. But in this adorable Italyreligion and revelry were on such good terms that religion was a sort ofdebauch and debauch religion. The prince pressed Don Juan's handaffectionately, then all the figures having given expression to the samelook, half-sympathy, half-indifference, the phantasmagoria disappeared, leaving the chamber empty. It was, indeed, a faithful image of life! Goingdown the stairs the prince said to la Rivabarella:

"Heigho! who would have thought Don Juan a mere boaster of impiety? Heloved his father, after all!"

"Did you notice the black dog?" asked la Brambilla. 

"He is immensely rich now, " sighed Bianca Cavatolini. 

"What is that to me?" cried the proud Veronese, she who had broken thecomfit dish. 

"What is that to you?" exclaimed the duke. "With his ducats he is as much aprince as I am!"

At first Don Juan, swayed by a thousand thoughts, wavered toward manydifferent resolutions. After having ascertained the amount of the wealthamassed by his father, he returned in the evening to the death chamber, his soul puffed up with a horrible egoism. In the apartment he found allthe servants of the household busied in collecting the ornaments for thebed of state on which "feu monseigneur" would lie to-morrow--a curiousspectacle which all Ferrara would come to admire. Don Juan made a sign andthe servants stopped at once, speechless and trembling. 

"Leave me alone, " he said in an altered voice, "and do not return until Igo out again. "

When the steps of the old servant, who was the last to leave, had diedaway on the stone flooring, Don Juan locked the door hastily, and, surethat he was alone, exclaimed:

"Now, let us try!"

The body of Bartholomeo lay on a long table. To hide the revoltingspectacle of a corpse whose extreme decrepitude and thinness made it looklike a skeleton, the embalmers had drawn a sheet over the body, whichcovered all but the head. This mummy-like figure was laid out in themiddle of the room, and the linen, naturally clinging, outlined the formvaguely, but showing its stiff, bony thinness. The face already had largepurple spots, which showed the urgency of completing the embalming. Despite the skepticism with which Don Juan was armed, he trembled as heuncorked the magic phial of crystal. When he stood close to the head heshook so that he was obliged to pause for a moment. But this young man hadallowed himself to be corrupted by the customs of a dissolute court. Anidea worthy of the Duke of Urbino came to him, and gave him a couragewhich was spurred on by lively curiosity. It seemed as if the demon hadwhispered the words which resounded in his heart: "Bathe an eye!" He tooka piece of linen and, after having moistened it sparingly with theprecious liquid, he passed it gently over the right eyelid of the corpse. The eye opened!

"Ah!" said Don Juan, gripping the flask in his hand as we clutch in ourdreams the branch by which we are suspended over a precipice. 

He saw an eye full of life, a child's eye in a death's head, the liquideye of youth, in which the light trembled. Protected by beautiful blacklashes, it scintillated like one of those solitary lights which travelerssee in lonely places on winter evenings. It seemed as if the glowing eyewould pierce Don Juan. It thought, accused, condemned, threatened, judged, spoke--it cried, it snapped at him! There was the most tendersupplication, a royal anger, then the love of a young girl imploring mercyof her executioners. Finally, the awful look that a man casts upon hisfellow-men on his way to the scaffold. So much life shone in this fragmentof life that Don Juan recoiled in terror. He walked up and down the room, not daring to look at the eye, which stared back at him from the ceilingand from the hangings. The room was sown with points full of fire, oflife, of intelligence. Everywhere gleamed eyes which shrieked at him. 

"He might have lived a hundred years longer!" he cried involuntarily when, led in front of his father by some diabolical influence, he contemplatedthe luminous spark. 

Suddenly the intelligent eye closed, and then opened again abruptly, as ifassenting. If a voice had cried, "Yes, " Don Juan could not have been morestartled. 

"What is to be done?" he thought

He had the courage to try to close this white eyelid, but his efforts werein vain. 

"Shall I crush it out? Perhaps that would be parricide?" he asked himself. 

"Yes, " said the eye, by means of an ironical wink. 

"Ah!" cried Don Juan, "there is sorcery in it!"

He approached the eye to crush it. A large tear rolled down the hollowcheek of the corpse and fell on Belvidéro's hand. 

"It is scalding!" he cried, sitting down. 

This struggle had exhausted him, as if, like Jacob, he had battled with anangel. 

At last he arose, saying: "So long as there is no blood--"

Then, collecting all the courage needed for the cowardly act, he crushedout the eye, pressing it in with the linen without looking at it. A deepmoan, startling and terrible, was heard. It was the poor spaniel, who diedwith a howl. 

"Could he have been in the secret?" Don Juan wondered, surveying thefaithful animal. 

Don Juan was considered a dutiful son. He raised a monument of whitemarble over his father's tomb, and employed the most prominent artists ofthe time to carve the figures. He was not altogether at ease until thestatue of his father, kneeling before Religion, imposed its enormousweight on the grave, in which he had buried the only regret that had evertouched his heart, and that only in moments of physical depression. 

On making an inventory of the immense wealth amassed by the oldOrientalist, Don Juan became avaricious. Had he not two human lives inwhich he should need money? His deep, searching gaze penetrated theprinciples of social life, and he understood the world all the betterbecause he viewed it across a tomb. He analyzed men and things that hemight have done at once with the past, represented by history, with thepresent, expressed by the law, and with the future revealed by religion. He took soul and matter, threw them into a crucible, and found nothingthere, and from that time forth he became Don Juan. 

Master of the illusions of life he threw himself--young andbeautiful--into life; despising the world, but seizing the world. Hishappiness could never be of that bourgeois type which is satisfied byboiled beef, by a welcome warming-pan in winter, a lamp at night and newslippers at each quarter. He grasped existence as a monkey seizes a nut, peeling off the coarse shell to enjoy the savory kernel. The poetry andsublime transports of human passion touched no higher than his instep. He never made the mistake of those strong men who, imagining that littleSouls believe in the great, venture to exchange noble thoughts of thefuture for the small coin of our ideas of life. He might, like them, havewalked with his feet on earth and his head among the clouds, but hepreferred to sit at his ease and sear with his kisses the lips of morethan one tender, fresh and sweet woman. Like Death, wherever he passed, he devoured all without scruple, demanding a passionate, Oriental loveand easily won pleasure. Loving only woman in women, his soul found itsnatural trend in irony. 

When his inamoratas mounted to the skies in an ecstasy of bliss, Don Juanfollowed, serious, unreserved, sincere as a German student. But he said"I" while his lady love, in her folly, said "we. " He knew admirably how toyield himself to a woman's influence. He was always clever enough to makeher believe that he trembled like a college youth who asks his firstpartner at a ball: "Do you like dancing?" But he could also be terriblewhen necessary; he could draw his sword and destroy skilled soldiers. There was banter in his simplicity and laughter in his tears, for he couldweep as well as any woman who says to her husband: "Give me a carriage orI shall pine to death. "

For merchants the world means a bale of goods or a quantity of circulatingnotes; for most young men it is a woman; for some women it is a man; forcertain natures it is society, a set of people, a position, a city; forDon Juan the universe was himself! Noble, fascinating and a model ofgrace, he fastened his bark to every bank; but he allowed himself to becarried only where he wished to go. The more he saw the more skeptical hebecame. Probing human nature he soon guessed that courage was rashness;prudence, cowardice; generosity, shrewd calculation; justice, a crime;delicacy, pusillanimity; honesty, policy; and by a singular fatality heperceived that the persons who were really honest, delicate, just, generous, prudent and courageous received no consideration at the hands oftheir fellows. 

"What a cheerless jest!" he cried. "It does not come from a god!"

And then, renouncing a better world, he showed no mark of respect to holythings and regarded the marble saints in the churches merely as works ofart. He understood the mechanism of human society, and never offended toomuch against the current prejudices, for the executioners had more powerthan he; but he bent the social laws to his will with the grace and witthat are so well displayed in his scene with M. Dimanche. He was, inshort, the embodiment of Molière's Don Juan, Goethe's Faust, Byron'sManfred, and Maturin's Melmoth--grand pictures drawn by the greatestgeniuses of Europe, and to which neither the harmonies of Mozart nor thelyric strains of Rossini are lacking. Terrible pictures in which the powerof evil existing in man is immortalized, and which are repeated from onecentury to another, whether the type come to parley with mankind byincarnating itself in Mirabeau, or be content to work in silence, likeBonaparte; or to goad on the universe by sarcasm, like the divineRabelais; or again, to laugh at men instead of insulting things, likeMaréchal de Richelieu; or, still better, perhaps, if it mock both men andthings, like our most celebrated ambassador. 

But the deep genius of Don Juan incorporated in advance all these. Heplayed with everything. His life was a mockery, which embraced men, things, institutions, ideas. As for eternity, he had chatted for half anhour with Pope Julius II. , and at the end of the conversation he said, laughing:

"If it were absolutely necessary to choose, I should rather believe in Godthan in the devil; power combined with goodness has always morepossibilities than the spirit of evil. "

"Yes; but God wants one to do penance in this world. "

"Are you always thinking of your indulgences?" replied Belvidéro. "Well, Ihave a whole existence in reserve to repent the faults of my first life. "

"Oh, if that is your idea of old age, " cried the Pope, "you are in dangerof being canonized. "

"After your elevation to the papacy, one may expect anything. "

And then they went to watch the workmen engaged in building the hugebasilica consecrated to St. Peter. 

"St. Peter is the genius who gave us our double power, " said the Pope toDon Juan, "and he deserves this monument. But sometimes at night I fancythat a deluge will pass a sponge over all this, and it will need to bebegun over again. "

Don Juan and the Pope laughed. They understood each other. A fool wouldhave gone next day to amuse himself with Julius II at Raphael's house orin the delightful Villa Madama; but Belvidéro went to see him officiate inhis pontifical capacity, in order to convince himself of his suspicions. Under the influence of wine della Rovere would have been capable offorgetting himself and criticising the Apocalypse. 

When Don Juan reached the age of sixty he went to live in Spain. There, inhis old age, he married a young and charming Andalusian. But he wasintentionally neither a good father nor a good husband. He had observedthat we are never so tenderly loved as by the women to whom we scarcelygive a thought. Doña Elvira, piously reared by an old aunt in the heart ofAndalusia in a castle several leagues from San Lucas, was all devotion andmeekness. Don Juan saw that this young girl was a woman to make a longfight with a passion before yielding to it, so he hoped to keep from herany love but his until after his death. It was a serious jest, a game ofchess which he had reserved for his old age. 

Warned by his father's mistakes, he determined to make the most triflingacts of his old age contribute to the success of the drama which was totake place at his deathbed. Therefore, the greater part of his wealth layburied in the cellars of his palace at Ferrara, whither he seldom went. The rest of his fortune was invested in a life annuity, so that his wifeand children might be interested in keeping him alive. This was a speciesof cleverness which his father should have practiced; but thisMachiavellian scheme was unnecessary in his case. Young PhilippeBelvidéro, his son, grew up a Spaniard as conscientiously religious as hisfather was impious, on the principle of the proverb: "A miserly father, aspendthrift son. "

The Abbot of San Lucas was selected by Don Juan to direct the consciencesof the Duchess of Belvidéro and of Philippe. This ecclesiastic was a holyman, of fine carriage, well proportioned, with beautiful black eyes and ahead like Tiberius. He was wearied with fasting, pale and worn, andcontinually battling with temptation, like all recluses. The old noblemanstill hoped perhaps to be able to kill a monk before finishing his firstlease of life. But, whether the Abbot was as clever as Don Juan, orwhether Doña Elvira had more prudence or virtue than Spain usually accordsto women, Don Juan was obliged to pass his last days like a countryparson, without scandal. Sometimes he took pleasure in finding his wifeand son remiss in their religious duties, and insisted imperiously thatthey should fulfil all the obligations imposed upon the faithful by thecourt of Rome. He was never so happy as when listening to the gallantAbbot of San Lucas, Doña Elvira and Philippe engaged in arguing a case ofconscience. 

Nevertheless, despite the great care which the lord of Belvidéro bestowedupon his person, the days of decrepitude arrived. With this age of paincame cries of helplessness, cries made the more piteous by the remembranceof his impetuous youth and his ripe maturity. This man, for whom the lastjest in the farce was to make others believe in the laws and principles atwhich he scoffed, was compelled to close his eyes at night upon anuncertainty. This model of good breeding, this duke spirited in an orgy, this brilliant courtier, gracious toward women, whose hearts he had wrungas a peasant bends a willow wand, this man of genius, had an obstinatecough, a troublesome sciatica and a cruel gout. He saw his teeth leavehim, as, at the end of an evening, the fairest, best dressed women departone by one, leaving the ballroom deserted and empty. His bold handstrembled, his graceful limbs tottered, and then one night apoplexy turnedits hooked and icy fingers around his throat. From this fateful day hebecame morose and harsh. He accused his wife and son of being insincere intheir devotion, charging that their touching and gentle care was showeredupon him so tenderly only because his money was all invested. Elvira andPhilippe shed bitter tears, and redoubled their caresses to this maliciousold man, whose broken voice would become affectionate to say:

"My friends, my dear wife, you will forgive me, will you not? I tormentyou sometimes. Ah, great God, how canst Thou make use of me thus to provethese two angelic creatures! I, who should be their joy, am their bane!"

It was thus that he held them at his bedside, making them forget wholemonths of impatience and cruelty by one hour in which he displayed to themthe new treasures of his favor and a false tenderness. It was a paternalsystem which succeeded infinitely better than that which his father hadformerly employed toward him. Finally he reached such a state of illnessthat manoeuvres like those of a small boat entering a dangerous canal werenecessary in order to pus him to bed. 

Then the day of death came. This brilliant and skeptical man, whoseintellect only was left unimpaired by the general decay, lived between adoctor and a confessor, his two antipathies. But he was jovial with them. Was there not a bright light burning for him behind the veil of thefuture? Over this veil, leaden and impenetrable to others, transparent tohim, the delicate and bewitching delights of youth played like shadows. 

It was on a beautiful summer evening that Don Juan felt the approach ofdeath. The Spanish sky was gloriously clear, the orange trees perfumed theair and the stars cast a fresh glowing light. Nature seemed to givepledges of his resurrection. A pious and obedient son regarded him withlove and respect. About eleven o'clock he signified his wish to be leftalone with this sincere being. 

"Philippe, " he began, in a voice so tender and affectionate that the youngman trembled and wept with happiness, for his father had never said"Philippe" like this before. "Listen to me, my son, " continued the dyingman. "I have been a great sinner, and all my life I have thought aboutdeath. Formerly I was the friend of the great Pope Julius II. Thisillustrious pontiff feared that the excessive excitability of my feelingswould cause me to commit some deadly sin at the moment of my death, afterI had received the blessed ointment. He made me a present of a flask ofholy water that gushed forth from a rock in the desert. I kept the secretof the theft of the Church's treasure, but I am authorized to reveal themystery to my son 'in articulo mortis. ' You will find the flask in thedrawer of the Gothic table which always stands at my bedside. The preciouscrystals may be of service to you also, my dearest Philippe. Will youswear to me by your eternal salvation that you will carry out my ordersfaithfully?"

Philippe looked at his father. Don Juan was too well versed in humanexpression not to know that he could die peacefully in perfect faith insuch a look, as his father had died in despair at his own expression. 

"You deserve a different father, " continued Don Juan. "I must acknowledgethat when the estimable Abbot of San Lucas was administering the viaticum'I was thinking of the incompatibility of two so wide-spreading powers asthat of the devil and that of God. "

"Oh, father!"

"And I said to myself that when Satan makes his peace he will be a greatidiot if he does not bargain for the pardon of his followers. This thoughthaunted me. So, my child, I shall go to hell if you do not carry out mywishes. "

"Oh, tell them to me at once, father!"

"As soon as I have closed my eyes, " replied Don Juan, "and that may be ina few minutes, you must take my body, still warm, and lay it on a table inthe middle of the room. Then put out the lamp--the light of the stars willbe sufficient. You must take off my clothes, and while you recite 'Paters'and 'Aves' and uplift your soul to God, you must moisten my eyes, my lips, all my head first, and then my body, with this holy water. But, my dearson, the power of God is great. You must not be astonished at anything. "

At this point Don Juan, feeling the approach of death, added in a terriblevoice: "Be careful of the flask!"

Then he died gently in the arms of his son, whose tears fell upon hisironical and sallow face. 

It was nearly midnight when Don Philippe Belvidéro placed his father'scorpse on the table. After kissing the stern forehead and the gray hair heput out the lamp. The soft rays of the moonlight which cast fantasticreflections over the scenery allowed the pious Philippe to discern hisfather's body dimly, as something white in the midst of the darkness. Theyoung man moistened a cloth in the liquid and then, deep in prayer, hefaithfully anointed the revered head. The silence was intense. Then heheard indescribable rustlings, but he attributed them to the wind amongthe tree-tops. When he had bathed the right arm he felt himself rudelyseized at the back of the neck by an arm, young and vigorous--the arm ofhis father! He gave a piercing cry, and dropped the phial, which fell onthe floor and broke. The liquid flowed out. 

The whole household rushed in, bearing torches. The cry had aroused andfrightened them as if the trumpet of the last judgment had shaken theworld. The room was crowded with people. The trembling throng saw DonPhilippe, fainting, but held up by the powerful arm of his father, whichclutched his neck. Then they saw a supernatural sight, the head of DonJuan, young and beautiful as an Antinoüs, a head with black hair, brilliant eyes and crimson lips, a head that moved in a blood-curdlingmanner without being able to stir the skeleton to which it belonged. 

An old servant cried: "A miracle!"

And all the Spaniards repeated: "A miracle!"

Too pious to admit the possibility of magic, Doña Elvira sent for theAbbot of San Lucas. When the priest saw the miracle with his own eyes heresolved to profit by it, like a man of sense, and like an abbot who askednothing better than to increase his revenues. Declaring that Don Juan mustinevitably be canonized, he appointed his monastery for the ceremony ofthe apotheosis. The monastery, he said, should henceforth be called "SanJuan de Lucas. " At these words the head made a facetious grimace. 

The taste of the Spaniards for this sort of solemnities is so well knownthat it should not be difficult to imagine the religious spectacle withwhich the abbey of San Lucas celebrated the translation of "the blessedDon Juan Belvidéro" in its church. A few days after the death of thisillustrious nobleman, the miracle of his partial resurrection had been sothoroughly spread from village to village throughout a circle of more thanfifty leagues round San Lucas that it was as good as a play to see thecurious people on the road. They came from all sides, drawn by theprospect of a "Te Deum" chanted by the light of burning torches. Theancient mosque of the monastery of San Lucas, a wonderful building, erected by the Moors, which for three hundred years had resounded with thename of Jesus Christ instead of Allah, could not hold the crowd which wasgathered to view the ceremony. Packed together like ants, the hidalgos invelvet mantles and armed with their good swords stood round the pillars, unable to find room to bend their knees, which they never bent elsewhere. Charming peasant women, whose dresses set off the beautiful lines of theirfigures, gave their arms to white-haired old men. Youths with glowing eyesfound themselves beside old women decked out in gala dress. There werecouples trembling with pleasure, curious-fiancées, led thither by theirsweethearts, newly married couples and frightened children, holding oneanother by the hand. All this throng was there, rich in colors, brilliantin contrast, laden with flowers, making a soft tumult in the silence ofthe night. The great doors of the church opened. 

Those who, having come too late, were obliged to stay outside, saw in thedistance, through the three open doors, a scene of which the tawdrydecorations of our modern operas can give but a faint idea. Devotees andsinners, intent upon winning the favor of a new saint, lighted thousandsof candles in his honor inside the vast church, and these scintillatinglights gave a magical aspect to the edifice. The black arcades, thecolumns with their capitals, the recessed chapels glittering with gold andsilver, the galleries, the Moorish fretwork, the most delicate features ofthis delicate carving, were all revealed in the dazzling brightness likethe fantastic figures which are formed in a glowing fire. It was a sea oflight, surmounted at the end of the church by the gilded choir, where thehigh altar rose in glory, which rivaled the rising sun. But themagnificence of the golden lamps, the silver candlesticks, the banners, the tassels, the saints and the "ex voto" paled before the reliquary inwhich Don Juan lay. The body of the blasphemer was resplendent with gems, flowers, crystals, diamonds, gold, and plumes as white as the wings of aseraphim; it replaced a picture of Christ on the altar. Around him burnedwax candles, which threw out waves of light. The good Abbot of San Lucas, clad in his pontifical robes, with his jeweled mitre, his surplice and hisgolden crozier reclined, king of the choir, in a large armchair, amid allhis clergy, who were impassive men with silver hair, and who surroundedhim like the confessing saints whom the painters group round the Lord. Theprecentor and the dignitaries of the order, decorated with the glitteringinsignia of their ecclesiastical vanities, came and went among the cloudsof incense like planets revolving in the firmament. 

When the hour of triumph was come the chimes awoke the echoes of thecountryside, and this immense assembly raised its voice to God in thefirst cry of praise which begins the "Te Deum. "

Sublime exultation! There were voices pure and high, ecstatic women'svoices, blended with the deep sonorous tones of the men, thousands ofvoices so powerful that they drowned the organ in spite of the bellowingof its pipes. The shrill notes of the choir-boys and the powerful rhythmof the basses inspired pretty thoughts of the combination of childhood andstrength in this delightful concert of human voices blended in anoutpouring of love. 

"Te Deum laudamus!"

In the midst of this cathedral, black with kneeling men and women, thechant burst forth like a light which gleams suddenly in the night, and thesilence was broken as by a peal of thunder. The voices rose with theclouds of incense which threw diaphanous, bluish veils over the quaintmarvels of the architecture. All was richness, perfume, light and melody. 

At the moment at which this symphony of love and gratitude rolled towardthe altar, Don Juan, too polite not to express his thanks and too wittynot to appreciate a jest, responded by a frightful laugh, and straightenedup in his reliquary. But, the devil having given him a hint of the dangerhe ran of being taken for an ordinary man, for a saint, a Boniface or aPantaléon, he interrupted this harmony of love by a shriek in which thethousand voices of hell joined. Earth lauded, heaven condemned. The churchtrembled on its ancient foundations. 

"Te Deum laudamus!" sang the crowd. 

"Go to the devil, brute beasts that you are! 'Carajos demonios!' Beasts!what idiots you are with your God!"

And a torrent of curses rolled forth like a stream of burning lava at aneruption of Vesuvius. 

"'Deus sabaoth! sabaoth'!" cried the Christians. 

Then the living arm was thrust out of the reliquary and wavedthreateningly over the assembly with a gesture full of despair and irony. 

"The saint is blessing us!" said the credulous old women, the children andthe young maids. 

It is thus that we are often deceived in our adorations. The superior manmocks those who compliment him, and compliments those whom he mocks in thedepths of his heart. 

When the Abbot, bowing low before the altar, chanted: "'Sancte Johannes, ora pro nobis'!" he heard distinctly: "'O coglione'!"

"What is happening up there?" cried the superior, seeing the reliquarymove. 

"The saint is playing devil!" replied the Abbot. 

At this the living head tore itself violently away from the dead body andfell upon the yellow pate of the priest. 

"Remember, Doña Elvira!" cried the head, fastening its teeth in the headof the Abbot. 

The latter gave a terrible shriek, which threw the crowd into a panic. Thepriests rushed to the assistance of their chief. 

"Imbecile! Now say that there is a God!" cried the voice, just as theAbbot expired. 

THE AGE FOR LOVE

BY PAUL BOURGET

When I submitted the plan of my Inquiry Upon the Age for Love to theeditor-in-chief of the Boulevard, the highest type of French literarypaper, he seemed astonished that an idea so journalistic--that was hisword--should have been evolved from the brain of his most recentacquisition. I had been with him two weeks and it was my firstcontribution. "Give me some details, my dear Labarthe, " he said, in asomewhat less insolent manner than was his wont. After listening to me fora few moments he continued: "That is good. You will go and interviewcertain men and women, first upon the age at which one loves the most, next upon the age when one is most loved? Is that your idea? And now towhom will you go first?"

"I have prepared a list, " I replied, and took from my pocket a sheet ofpaper. I had jotted down the names of a number of celebrities whom Iproposed to interview on this all-important question, and I began to readover my list. It contained two ex-government officials, a general, aDominican father, four actresses, two café-concert singers, four actors, two financiers, two lawyers, a surgeon and a lot of literary celebrities. At some of the names my chief would nod his approval, at others he wouldsay curtly, with an affectation of American manners, "Bad; strike it off, "until I came to the name I had kept for the last, that of Pierre Fauchery, the famous novelist. 

"Strike that off, " he said, shrugging his shoulders. "He is not on goodterms with us. "

"And yet, " I suggested, "is there any one whose opinion would be ofgreater interest to reading men as well as to women? I had even thought ofbeginning with him. "

"The devil you had!" interrupted the editor-in-chief. "It is one ofFauchery's principles not to see any reporters. I have sent him ten if Ihave one, and he has shown them all the door. The Boulevard does notrelish such treatment, so we have given him some pretty hard hits. "

"Nevertheless, I will have an interview with Fauchery for the Boulevard, "was my reply. "I am sure of it. "

"If you succeed, " he replied, "I'll raise your salary. That man makes metired with his scorn of newspaper notoriety. He must take his share of it, like the rest. But you will not succeed. What makes you think you can?"

"Permit me to tell you my reason later. In forty-eight hours you will seewhether I have succeeded or not. "

"Go and do not spare the fellow. "

Decidedly. I had made some progress as a journalist, even in my two weeks'apprenticeship, if I could permit Pascal to speak in this way of the man Imost admired among living writers. Since that not far-distant time when, tired of being poor, I had made up my mind to cast my lot with themultitude in Paris, I had tried to lay aside my old self, as lizards dotheir skins, and I had almost succeeded. In a former time, a former timethat was but yesterday, I knew--for in a drawer full of poems, dramas andhalf-finished tales I had proof of it--that there had once existed acertain Jules Labarthe who had come to Paris with the hope of becoming agreat man. That person believed in Literature with a capital "L;" in theIdeal, another capital; in Glory, a third capital. He was now dead andburied. Would he some day, his position assured, begin to write once morefrom pure love of his art? Possibly, but for the moment I knew only theenergetic, practical Labarthe, who had joined the procession with the ideaof getting into the front rank, and of obtaining as soon as possible anincome of thirty thousand francs a year. What would it matter to thissecond individual if that vile Pascal should boast of having stolen amarch on the most delicate, the most powerful of the heirs of Balzac, since I, the new Labarthe, was capable of looking forward to an operationwhich required about as much delicacy as some of the performances of myeditor-in-chief? I had, as a matter of fact, a sure means of obtaining theinterview. It was this: When I was young and simple I had sent some versesand stories to Pierre Fauchery, the same verses and stories the refusal ofwhich by four editors had finally made me decide to enter the field ofjournalism. The great writer was traveling at this time, but he hadreplied to me. I had responded by a letter to which he again replied, thistime with an invitation to call upon him. I went I did not find him. Iwent again. I did not find him that time. Then a sort of timidityprevented my returning to the charge. So I had never met him. He knew meonly as the young Elia of my two epistles. This is what I counted upon toextort from him the favor of an interview which he certainly would refuseto a mere newspaper man. My plan was simple; to present myself at hishouse, to be received, to conceal my real occupation, to sketch vaguely asubject for a novel in which there should occur a discussion upon the Agefor Love, to make him talk and then when he should discover hisconversation in print--here I began to feel some remorse. But I stifled itwith the terrible phrase, "the struggle for life, " and also by therecollection of numerous examples culled from the firm with which I nowhad the honor of being connected. 

The morning after I had had this very literary conversation with myhonorable director, I rang at the door of the small house in the RueDesbordes-Valmore where Pierre Fauchery lived, in a retired corner ofPassy. Having taken up my pen to tell a plain unvarnished tale I do notsee how I can conceal the wretched feeling of pleasure which, as I rangthe bell, warmed my heart at the thought of the good joke I was about toplay on the owner of this peaceful abode. 

Even after making up one's mind to the sacrifices I had decided upon, there is always left a trace of envy for those who have triumphed in themelancholy struggle for literary supremacy. It was a real disappointmentto me when the servant replied, ill-humoredly, that M. Fauchery was not inParis. I asked when he would return. The servant did not know. I asked forhis address. The servant did not know that. Poor lion, who thought he hadsecured anonymity for his holiday! A half-hour later I had discovered thathe was staying for the present at the Château de Proby, near Nemours. Ihad merely had to make inquiries of his publisher. Two hours later Ibought my ticket at the Gare de Lyon for the little town chosen by Balzacas the scene for his delicious story of Ursule Mirouet. I took a travelingbag and was prepared to spend the night there. In case I failed to see themaster that afternoon I had decided to make sure of him the next morning. Exactly seven hours after the servant, faithful to his trust, had declaredthat he did not know where his master was staying, I was standing in thehall of the château waiting for my card to be sent up. I had taken care towrite on it a reminder of our conversation of the year before, and thistime, after a ten-minute wait in the hall, during which I noticed withsingular curiosity and _malice_ two very elegant and very pretty youngwomen going out for a walk, I was admitted to his presence. "Aha, " I saidto myself, "this then is the secret of his exile; the interview promiseswell!"

The novelist received me in a cosy little room, with a window opening ontothe park, already beginning to turn yellow with the advancing autumn. Awood fire burned in the fireplace and lighted up the walls which were hungwith flowered cretonne and on which could be distinguished several coloredEnglish prints representing cross-country rides and the jumping of hedges. Here was the worldly environment with which Fauchery is so oftenreproached. But the books and papers that littered the table bore witnessthat the present occupant of this charming retreat remained a substantialman of letters. His habit of constant work was still further attested byhis face, which I admit, gave me all at once a feeling of remorse for thetrick I was about to play him. If I had found him the snobbish pretenderwhom the weekly newspapers were in the habit of ridiculing, it would havebeen a delight to outwit his diplomacy. But no! I saw, as he put down hispen to receive me, a man about fifty-seven years old, with a face thatbore the marks of reflection, eyes tired from sleeplessness, a brow heavywith thought, who said as he pointed to an easy chair, "You will excuseme, my dear confrère, for keeping you waiting. " I, his dear confrère! Ah!if he had known! "You see, " and he pointed to the page still wet with ink, "that man cannot be free from the slavery of furnishing copy. One has lessfacility at my age than at yours. Now, let us speak of yourself. How doyou happen to be at Nemours? What have you been doing since the story andthe verses you were kind enough to send me?"

It is vain to try to sacrifice once for all one's youthful ideals. When aman has loved literature as I loved it at twenty, he cannot be satisfiedat twenty-six to give up his early passion, even at the bidding ofimplacable necessity. So Pierre Fauchery remembered my poor verses! He hadactually read my story! His allusion proved it. Could I tell him at such amoment that since the creation of those first works I had despaired ofmyself, and that I had changed my gun to the other shoulder? The image ofthe Boulevard office rose suddenly before me. I heard the voice of theeditor-in-chief saying, "Interview Fauchery? You will never accomplishthat;" so, faithful to my self-imposed rôle, I replied, "I have retired toNemours to work upon a novel called The Age for Love, and it is on thissubject that I wished to consult you, my dear master. "

It seemed to me--it may possibly have been an illusion--that at theannouncement of the so-called title of my so-called novel, a smile and ashadow flitted over Fauchery's eyes and mouth. A vision of the two youngwomen I had met in the hall came back to me. Was the author of so manygreat masterpieces of analysis about to live a new book before writing it?I had no time to answer this question, for, with a glance at an onyx vasecontaining some cigarettes of Turkish tobacco, he offered me one, lightedone himself and began first to question, then to reply to me. I listenedwhile he thought aloud and had almost forgotten my Machiavelliancombination, so keen was my relish of the joyous intimacy of thiscommunion with a mind I had passionately loved in his works. He was thefirst of the great writers of our day whom I had thus approached onsomething like terms of intimacy. As we talked I observed the strangesimilarity between his spoken and his written words. I admired thecharming simplicity with which he abandoned himself to the pleasures ofimagination, his superabundant intelligence, the liveliness of hisimpressions and his total absence of arrogance and of pose. 

"There is no such thing as an age for love, " he said in substance, "because the man capable of loving--in the complex and modern sense oflove as a sort of ideal exaltation--never ceases to love. I will gofurther; he never ceases to love the same person. You know the experimentthat a contemporary physiologist tried with a series of portraits todetermine in what the indefinable resemblances called family likenessconsisted? He took photographs of twenty persons of the same blood, thenhe photographed these photographs on the same plate, one over the other. In this way he discovered the common features which determined the type. Well, I am convinced that if we could try a similar experiment andphotograph one upon another the pictures of the different women whom thesame man has loved or thought he had loved in the course of his life weshould discover that all these women resembled one another. The mostinconsistent have cherished one and the same being through five or six oreven twenty different embodiments. The main point is to find out at whatage they have met the woman who approaches nearest to the one whose imagethey have constantly borne within themselves. For them that would be theage for love. 

"The age for being loved?" he continued. "The deepest of all the passionsI have ever known a man to inspire was in the case of one of my masters, apoet, and he was sixty years old at the time. It is true that he stillheld himself as erect as a young man, he came and went with a step aslight as yours, he conversed like Rivarol, he composed verses as beautifulas De Vigny's. He was besides very poor, very lonely and very unhappy, having lost one after another, his wife and his children. You remember thewords of Shakespeare's Moor: 'She loved me for the dangers I had passed, and I loved her that she did pity them. '

"So it was that this great artist inspired in a beautiful, noble andwealthy young Russian woman, a devotion so passionate that because of himshe never married. She found a way to take care of him, day and night, inspite of his family, during his last illness, and at the present time, having bought from his heirs all of the poet's personal belongings, shekeeps the apartment where he lived just as it was at the time of hisdeath. That was years ago. In her case she found in a man three times herown age the person who corresponded to a certain ideal which she carriedin her heart. Look at Goethe, at Lamartine and at many others! To depictfeelings on this high plane, you must give up the process of minute andinsignificant observation which is the bane of the artists of to-day. Inorder that a sixty-year-old lover should appear neither ridiculous norodious you must apply to him what the elder Corneille so proudly said ofhimself in his lines to the marquise:

 "'Cependant, j'ai quelques charmes Qui sont assez eclatants Pour n'avoir pas trop d'alarmes De ces ravages du temps. '

"Have the courage to analyze great emotions to create characters who shallbe lofty and true. The whole art of the analytical novel lies there. "

As he spoke the master had such a light of intellectual certainty in hiseyes that to me he seemed the embodiment of one of those great charactershe had been urging me to describe. It made me feel that the theory of thisman, himself almost a sexagenarian, that at any age one may inspire love, was not unreasonable! The contrast between the world of ideas in which hemoved and the atmosphere of the literary shop in which for the last fewmonths I had been stifling was too strong. The dreams of my youth wererealized in this man whose gifts remained unimpaired after the productionof thirty volumes and whose face, growing old, was a living illustrationof the beautiful saying: "Since we must wear out, let us wear out nobly. "His slender figure bespoke the austerity of long hours of work; his firmmouth showed his decision of character; his brow, with its deep furrows, had the paleness of the paper over which he so often bent; and yet, therefinement of his hands, so well cared for, the sober elegance of hisdress and an aristocratic air that was natural to him showed that thefiner professional virtues had been cultivated in the midst of a life offrivolous temptations. These temptations had been no more of a disturbanceto his ethical and spiritual nature than the academic honors, thefinancial successes, the numerous editions that had been his. Withal hewas an awfully good fellow, for, after having talked at great length withme, he ended by saying, "Since you are staying in Nemours I hope to seeyou often, and to-day I cannot let you go without presenting you to myhostess. "

What could I say? This was the way in which a mere reporter on theBoulevard found himself installed at a five-o'clock tea-table in the salonof a château, where surely no newspaper man had ever before set foot andwas presented as a young poet and novelist of the future to the oldMarquise de Proby, whose guest the master was. This amiable white-haireddowager questioned me upon my alleged work and I replied equivocally, withblushes, which the good lady must have attributed to bashful timidity. Then, as though some evil genius had conspired to multiply the witnessesof my bad conduct, the two young women whom I had seen going out, returnedin the midst of my unlooked-for visit. Ah, my interview with this studentof femininity upon the Age for Love was about to have a living commentary!How it would illumine his words to hear him conversing with these newarrivals! One was a young girl of possibly twenty--a Russian if I rightlyunderstood the name. She was rather tall, with a long face lighted up bytwo very gentle black eyes, singular in their fire and intensity. She borea striking resemblance to the portrait attributed to Froncia in the SalonCarré of the Louvre which goes by the name of the "Man in Black, " becausethe color of his clothes and his mantle. About her mouth and nostrils wasthat same subdued nervousness, that same restrained feverishness whichgives to the portrait its striking qualities. I had not been there aquarter of an hour before I had guessed from the way she watched andlistened to Fauchery what a passionate interest the old master inspired inher. When he spoke she paid rapt attention. When she spoke to him, I felther voice shiver, if I may use the word, and he, he glorious writer, surfeited with triumphs, exhausted by his labors, seemed, as soon as hefelt the radiance of her glance of ingenuous idolatry, to recover thatvivacity, that elasticity of impression, which is the sovereign grace ofyouthful lovers. 

"I understand now why he cited Goethe and the young girl of Marienbad, "said I to myself with a laugh, as my hired carriage sped on towardNemours. "He was thinking of himself. He is in love with that child, andshe is in love with him. We shall hear of his marrying her. There's awedding that will call forth copy, and when Pascal hears that I witnessedthe courtship--but just now I must think of my interview. Won't Faucherybe surprised to read it day after to-morrow in his paper? But does he readthe papers? It may not be right but what harm will it do him? Besides, it's a part of the struggle for life. " It was by such reasoning, Iremember, the reasoning of a man determined to arrive that I tried to lullto sleep the inward voice that cried, "You have no right to put on paper, to give to the public what this noble writer said to you, supposing thathe was receiving a poet, not a reporter. " But I heard also the voice of mychief saying, "You will never succeed. " And this second voice, I amashamed to confess, triumphed over the other with all the more easebecause I was obliged to do something to kill time. I reached Nemours toolate for the train which would have brought me back to Paris about dinnertime. At the old inn they gave me a room which was clean and quiet, a goodplace to write, so I spent the evening until bedtime composing the firstof the articles which were to form my inquiry. I scribbled away under thevivid impressions of the afternoon, my powers as well as my nerves spurredby a touch of remorse. Yes, I scribbled four pages which would have beenno disgrace to the Journal des Goncourts, that exquisite manual of theperfect reporter. It was all there, my journey, my arrival at the chateau, a sketch of the quaint eighteenth century building, with its fringe oftrees and its well-kept walks, the master's room, the master himself andhis conversation; the tea at the end and the smile of the old novelist inthe midst of a circle of admirers, old and young. It lacked only a fewclosing lines. "I will add these in the morning, " I thought, and went tobed with a feeling of duty performed, such is the nature of a writer. Under the form of an interview I had done, and I knew it, the best work ofmy life. 

What happens while we sleep? Is there, unknown to us, a secret andirresistible ferment of ideas while our senses are closed to theimpressions of the outside world? Certain it is that on awakening I am aptto find myself in a state of mind very different from that in which I wentto sleep. I had not been awake ten minutes before the image of PierreFauchery came up before me, and at the same time the thought that I hadtaken a base advantage of the kindness of his reception of me became quiteunbearable. I felt a passionate longing to see him again, to ask hispardon for my deception. I wished to tell him who I was, with what purposeI had gone to him and that I regretted it. But there was no need of aconfession. It would be enough to destroy the pages I had written thenight before. With this idea I arose. Before tearing them up, I rereadthem. And then--any writer will understand me--and then they seemed to meso brilliant that I did not tear them up. Fauchery is so intelligent, sogenerous, was the thought that crossed my mind. What is there in thisinterview, after all, to offend him? Nothing, absolutely nothing. Even ifI should go to him again this very morning, tell him my story and thatupon the success of my little inquiry my whole future as a journalistmight depend? When he found that I had had five years of poverty and hardwork without accomplishing anything, and that I had had to go onto a paperin order to earn the very bread I ate, he would pardon me, he would pityme and he would say, "Publish your interview. " Yes, but what if he shouldforbid my publishing it? But no, he would not do that. 

I passed the morning in considering my latest plan. A certain shyness madeit very painful to me. But it might at the same time conciliate mydelicate scruples, my "amour-propre" as an ambitious chronicler, and theinterests of my pocket-book. I knew that Pascal had the name of being verygenerous with an interview article if it pleased him. And besides, had henot promised me a reward if I succeeded with Fauchery? In short, I haddecided to try my experiment, when, after a hasty breakfast, I saw, onstepping into the carriage I had had the night before, a victoria withcoat-of-arms drive rapidly past and was stunned at recognizing Faucheryhimself, apparently lost in a gloomy revery that was in singular contrastto his high spirits of the night before. A small trunk on the coachman'sseat was a sufficient indication that he was going to the station. Thetrain for Paris left in twelve minutes, time enough for me to pack mythings pell-mell into my valise and hurriedly to pay my bill. The samecarriage which was to have taken me to the Château de Proby carried me tothe station at full speed, and when the train left I was seated in anempty compartment opposite the famous writer, who was saying to me, "You, too, deserting Nemours? Like me, you work best in Paris. "

The conversation begun in this way, might easily have led to theconfession I had resolved to make. But in the presence of my unexpectedcompanion I was seized with an unconquerable shyness, moreover he inspiredme with a curiosity which was quite equal to my shyness. Any number ofcircumstances, from a telegram from a sick relative to the mostcommonplace matter of business, might have explained his sudden departurefrom the château where I had left him so comfortably installed the nightbefore. But that the expression of his face should have changed as it had, that in eighteen hours he should have become the careworn, discouragedbeing he now seemed, when I had left him so pleased with life, so happy, so assiduous in his attentions to that pretty girl. Mademoiselle deRussaie, who loved him and whom he seemed to love, was a mystery whichtook complete possession of me, this time without any underlyingprofessional motive. He was to give me the key before we reached Paris. Atany rate I shall always believe that part of his conversation was in anindirect way a confidence. He was still unstrung by the unexpectedincident which had caused both his hasty departure and the suddenmetamorphosis in what he himself, if he had been writing, would havecalled his "intimate heaven. " The story he told me was "per sfogarsi, " asBayle loved to say; his idea was that I would not discover the real hero. I shall always believe that it was his own story under another name, and Ilove to believe it because it was so exactly his way of looking at things. It was apropos of the supposed subject of my novel--oh, irony!--apropos ofthe real subject of my interview that he began. 

"I have been thinking about our conversation and about your book, and I amafraid that I expressed myself badly yesterday. When I said that one maylove and be loved at any age I ought to have added that sometimes thislove comes too late. It comes when one no longer has the right to prove tothe loved one how much she is loved, except by love's sacrifice. I shouldlike to share with you a human document, as they say to-day, which is initself a drama with a dénouement. But I must ask you not to use it, forthe secret is not my own. " With the assurance of my discretion he went on:"I had a friend, a companion of my own age, who, when he was twenty, hadloved a young girl. He was poor, she was rich. Her family separated them. The girl married some one else and almost immediately afterward she died. My friend lived. Some day you will know for yourself that it is almost astrue to say that one recovers from all things as that there is nothingwhich does not leave its scar. I had been the confidant of his seriouspassion, and I became the confidant of the various affairs that followedthat first ineffaceable disappointment. He felt, he inspired, other loves. He tasted other joys. He endured other sorrows, and yet when we were aloneand when we touched upon those confidences that come from the heart'sdepths, the girl who was the ideal of his twentieth year reappeared in hiswords. How many times he has said to me, 'In others I have always lookedfor her and as I have never found her, I have never truly loved any onebut her. '"

"And had she loved him?" I interrupted. 

"He did not think so, " replied Fauchery. "At least she had never told himso. Well, you must now imagine my friend at my age or almost there. Youmust picture him growing gray, tired of life and convinced that he had atlast discovered the secret of peace. At this time he met, while visitingsome relatives in a country house, a mere girl of twenty, who was theimage, the haunting image of her whom he had hoped to marry thirty yearsbefore. It was one of those strange resemblances which extend from thecolor of the eyes to the 'timbre' of the voice, from the smile to thethought, from the gestures to the finest feelings of the heart. I couldnot, in a few disjointed phrases describe to you the strange emotions ofmy friend. It would take pages and pages to make you understand thetenderness, both present and at the same time retrospective, for the deadthrough the living; the hypnotic condition of the soul which does not knowwhere dreams and memories end and present feeling begins; the dailycommingling of the most unreal thing in the world, the phantom of a lostlove, with the freshest, the most actual, the most irresistibly naïve andspontaneous thing in it, a young girl. She comes, she goes, she laughs, she sings, you go about with her in the intimacy of country life, and ather side walks one long dead. After two weeks of almost careless abandonto the dangerous delights of this inward agitation imagine my friendentering by chance one morning one of the less frequented rooms of thehouse, a gallery, where, among other pictures, hung a portrait of himself, painted when he was twenty-five. He approaches the portrait abstractedly. There had been a fire in the room, so that a slight moisture dimmed theglass which protected the pastel, and on this glass, because of thismoisture, he sees distinctly the trace of two lips which had been placedupon the eyes of the portrait, two small delicate lips, the sight of whichmakes his heart beat. He leaves the gallery, questions a servant, whotells him that no one but the young woman he has in mind has been in theroom that morning. "

"What then?" I asked, as he paused. 

"My friend returned to the gallery, looked once more at the adorableimprint of the most innocent, the most passionate of caresses. A mirrorhung near by, where he could compare his present with his former face, theman he was with the man he had been. He never told me and I never askedwhat his feelings were at that moment. Did he feel that he was tooculpable to have inspired a passion in a young girl whom he would havebeen a fool, almost a criminal, to marry? Did he comprehend that throughhis age which was so apparent, it was his youth which this child loved?Did he remember, with a keenness that was all too sad, that other, who hadnever given him a kiss like that at a time when he might have returned it?I only know that he left the same day, determined never again to see onewhom he could no longer love as he had loved the other, with the hope, thepurity, the soul of a man of twenty. "

A few hours after this conversation, I found myself once more in theoffice of the Boulevard, seated in Pascal's den, and he was saying, "Already? Have you accomplished your interview with Pierre Fauchery?"

"He would not even receive me, " I replied, boldly. 

"What did I tell you?" he sneered, shrugging his big shoulders. "We'll geteven with him on his next volume. But you know, Labarthe, as long as youcontinue to have that innocent look about you, you can't expect to succeedin newspaper work. "

I bore with the ill-humor of my chief. What would he have said if he hadknown that I had in my pocket an interview and in my head an anecdotewhich were material for a most successful story? And he has never hadeither the interview or the story. Since then I have made my way in theline where he said I should fail. I have lost my innocent look and I earnmy thirty thousand francs a year, and more. I have never had the samepleasure in the printing of the most profitable, the most brilliantarticle that I had in consigning to oblivion the sheets relating my visitto Nemours. I often think that I have not served the cause of letters as Iwanted to, since, with all my laborious work I have never written a book. And yet when I recall the irresistible impulse of respect which preventedme from committing toward a dearly loved master a most profitable butinfamous indiscretion, I say to myself, "If you have not served the causeof letters, you have not betrayed it. " And this is the reason, now thatFauchery is no longer of this world, that it seems to me that the time hascome for me to relate my first interview. There is none of which I am moreproud. 

MATEO FALCONE

BY PROSPER MERIMEE

On leaving Porto-Vecchio from the northwest and directing his stepstowards the interior of the island, the traveller will notice that theland rises rapidly, and after three hours' walking over tortuous pathsobstructed by great masses of rock and sometimes cut by ravines, he willfind himself on the border of a great mâquis. The mâquis is the domain ofthe Corsican shepherds and of those who are at variance with justice. Itmust be known that, in order to save himself the trouble of manuring hisfield, the Corsican husbandman sets fire to a piece of woodland. If theflame spread farther than is necessary, so much the worse! In any case heis certain of a good crop from the land fertilized by the ashes of thetrees which grow upon it. He gathers only the heads of his grain, leavingthe straw, which it would be unnecessary labor to cut. In the followingspring the roots that have remained in the earth without being destroyedsend up their tufts of sprouts, which in a few years reach a height ofseven or eight feet. It is this kind of tangled thicket that is called amâquis. They are made up of different kinds of trees and shrubs, socrowded and mingled together at the caprice of nature that only with anaxe in hand can a man open a passage through them, and mâquis arefrequently seen so thick and bushy that the wild sheep themselves cannotpenetrate them. 

If you have killed a man, go into the mâquis of Porto-Vecchio. With a goodgun and plenty of powder and balls, you can live there in safety. Do notforget a brown cloak furnished with a hood, which will serve you for bothcover and mattress. The shepherds will give you chestnuts, milk andcheese, and you will have nothing to fear from justice nor the relativesof the dead except when it is necessary for you to descend to the city toreplenish your ammunition. 

When I was in Corsica in 18--, Mateo Falcone had his house half a leaguefrom this mâquis. He was rich enough for that country, living in noblestyle--that is to say, doing nothing--on the income from his flocks, whichthe shepherds, who are a kind of nomads, lead to pasture here and there onthe mountains. When I saw him, two years after the event that I am aboutto relate, he appeared to me to be about fifty years old or more. Pictureto yourself a man, small but robust, with curly hair, black as jet, anaquiline nose, thin lips, large, restless eyes, and a complexion the colorof tanned leather. His skill as a marksman was considered extraordinaryeven in his country, where good shots are so common. For example, Mateowould never fire at a sheep with buckshot; but at a hundred and twentypaces, he would drop it with a ball in the head or shoulder, as he chose. He used his arms as easily at night as during the day. I was told thisfeat of his skill, which will, perhaps, seem impossible to those who havenot travelled in Corsica. A lighted candle was placed at eighty paces, behind a paper transparency about the size of a plate. He would take aim, then the candle would be extinguished, and, at the end of a moment, in themost complete darkness, he would fire and hit the paper three times out offour. 

With such a transcendent accomplishment, Mateo Falcone had acquired agreat reputation. He was said to be as good a friend as he was a dangerousenemy; accommodating and charitable, he lived at peace with all the worldin the district of Porto-Vecchio. But it is said of him that in Corte, where he had married his wife, he had disembarrassed himself veryvigorously of a rival who was considered as redoubtable in war as in love;at least, a certain gun-shot which surprised this rival as he was shavingbefore a little mirror hung in his window was attributed to Mateo. Theaffair was smoothed over and Mateo was married. His wife Giuseppa hadgiven him at first three daughters (which infuriated him), and finally ason, whom he named Fortunato, and who became the hope of his family, theinheritor of the name. The daughters were well married: their father couldcount at need on the poignards and carbines of his sons-in-law. The sonwas only ten years old, but he already gave promise of fine attributes. 

On a certain day in autumn, Mateo set out at an early hour with his wifeto visit one of his flocks in a clearing of the mâquis. The littleFortunato wanted to go with them, but the clearing was too far away;moreover, it was necessary some one should stay to watch the house;therefore the father refused: it will be seen whether or not he had reasonto repent. 

He had been gone some hours, and the little Fortunato was tranquillystretched out in the sun, looking at the blue mountains, and thinking thatthe next Sunday he was going to dine in the city with his uncle, theCaporal [Note: Civic Official], when he was suddenly interrupted in hismeditations by the firing of a musket. He got up and turned to that side ofthe plain whence the noise came. Other shots followed, fired at irregularintervals, and each time nearer; at last, in the path which led from theplain to Mateo's house, appeared a man wearing the pointed hat of themountaineers, bearded, covered with rags, and dragging himself along withdifficulty by the support of his gun. He had just received a wound in histhigh. 

This man was an outlaw, who, having gone to the town by night to buypowder, had fallen on the way into an ambuscade of Corsicanlight-infantry. After a vigorous defense he was fortunate in makinghis retreat, closely followed and firing from rock to rock. But hewas only a little in advance of the soldiers, and his wound preventedhim from gaining the mâquis before being overtaken. 

He approached Fortunato and said: "You are the son of MateoFalcone?"--"Yes. "

"I am Gianetto Saupiero. I am followed by the yellow-collars [Note:Slang for Gendarmes. ]. Hide me, for I can go no farther. "

"And what will my father say if I hide you without his permission?"

"He will say that you have done well. "

"How do you know?"

"Hide me quickly; they are coming. "

"Wait till my father gets back. "

"How can I wait? Malediction! They will be here in five minutes. Come, hide me, or I will kill you. "

Fortunato answered him with the utmost coolness:

"Your gun is empty, and there are no more cartridges in your belt. "

"I have my stiletto. "

"But can you run as fast as I can?"

He gave a leap and put himself out of reach. 

"You are not the son of Mateo Falcone! Will you then let me be capturedbefore your house?"

The child appeared moved. 

"What will you give me if I hide you?" said he, coming nearer. 

The outlaw felt in a leather pocket that hung from his belt, and took outa five-franc piece, which he had doubtless saved to buy ammunition with. Fortunato smiled at the sight of the silver piece; he snatched it, andsaid to Gianetto:

"Fear nothing. "

Immediately he made a great hole in a pile of hay that was near the house. Gianetto crouched down in it and the child covered him in such a way thathe could breathe without it being possible to suspect that the hayconcealed a man. He bethought himself further, and, with the subtlety of atolerably ingenious savage, placed a cat and her kittens on the pile, thatit might not appear to have been recently disturbed. Then, noticing thetraces of blood on the path near the house, he covered them carefully withdust, and, that done, he again stretched himself out in the sun with thegreatest tranquillity. 

A few moments afterwards, six men in brown uniforms with yellow collars, and commanded by an Adjutant, were before Mateo's door. This Adjutant wasa distant relative of Falcone's. (In Corsica the degrees of relationshipare followed much further than elsewhere. ) His name was Tiodoro Gamba; hewas an active man, much dreaded by the outlaws, several of whom he hadalready entrapped. 

"Good day, little cousin, " said he, approaching Fortunato; "how tall youhave grown. Have you seen a man go past here just now?"

"Oh! I am not yet so tall as you, my cousin, " replied the child with asimple air. 

"You soon will be. But haven't you seen a man go by here, tell me?"

"If I have seen a man go by?"

"Yes, a man with a pointed hat of black velvet, and a vest embroideredwith red and yellow. "

"A man with a pointed hat, and a vest embroidered with red and yellow?"

"Yes, answer quickly, and don't repeat my questions?"

"This morning the curé passed before our door on his horse, Piero. Heasked me how papa was, and I answered him--"

"Ah, you little scoundrel, you are playing sly! Tell me quickly which wayGianetto went? We are looking for him, and I am sure he took this path. "

"Who knows?"

"Who knows? It is I know that you have seen him. "

"Can any one see who passes when they are asleep?"

"You were not asleep, rascal; the shooting woke you up. "

"Then you believe, cousin, that your guns make so much noise? My father'scarbine has the advantage of them. "

"The devil take you, you cursed little scapegrace! I am certain that youhave seen Gianetto. Perhaps, even, you have hidden him. Come, comrades, gointo the house and see if our man is there. He could only go on one foot, and the knave has too much good sense to try to reach the mâquis limpinglike that. Moreover, the bloody tracks stop here. "

"And what will papa say?" asked Fortunato with a sneer; "what will he sayif he knows that his house has been entered while he was away?"

"You rascal!" said the Adjutant, taking him by the ear, "do you know thatit only remains for me to make you change your tone? Perhaps you willspeak differently after I have given you twenty blows with the flat of mysword. "

Fortunato continued to sneer. 

"My father is Mateo Falcone, " said he with emphasis. 

"You little scamp, you know very well that I can carry you off to Corte orto Bastia. I will make you lie in a dungeon, on straw, with your feet inshackles, and I will have you guillotined if you don't tell me whereGianetto is. "

The child burst out laughing at this ridiculous menace. He repeated:

"My father is Mateo Falcone. "

"Adjutant, " said one of the soldiers in a low voice, "let us have noquarrels with Mateo. "

Gamba appeared evidently embarrassed. He spoke in an undertone with thesoldiers who had already visited the house. This was not a very longoperation, for the cabin of a Corsican consists only of a single squareroom, furnished with a table, some benches, chests, housekeeping utensilsand those of the chase. In the meantime, little Fortunato petted his catand seemed to take a wicked enjoyment in the confusion of the soldiers andof his cousin. 

One of the men approached the pile of hay. He saw the cat, and gave thepile a careless thrust with his bayonet, shrugging his shoulders as if hefelt that his precaution was ridiculous. Nothing moved; the boy's facebetrayed not the slightest emotion. 

The Adjutant and his troop were cursing their luck. Already they werelooking in the direction of the plain, as if disposed to return by the waythey had come, when their chief, convinced that menaces would produce noimpression on Falcone's son, determined to make a last effort, and try theeffect of caresses and presents. 

"My little cousin, " said he, "you are a very wide-awake little fellow. Youwill get along. But you are playing a naughty game with me; and if Iwasn't afraid of making trouble for my cousin, Mateo, the devil take me!but I would carry you off with me. "

"Bah!"

"But when my cousin comes back I shall tell him about this, and he willwhip you till the blood comes for having told such lies. "

"You don't say so!"

"You will see. But hold on!--be a good boy and I will give you something. "

"Cousin, let me give you some advice: if you wait much longer Gianettowill be in the mâquis and it will take a smarter man than you to followhim. "

The Adjutant took from his pocket a silver watch worth about ten crowns, and noticing that Fortunato's eyes sparkled at the sight of it, said, holding the watch by the end; of its steel chain:

"Rascal! you would like to have such a watch as that hung around yourneck, wouldn't you, and to walk in the streets of Porto-Vecchio proud as apeacock? People would ask you what time it was, and you would say: 'Lookat my watch. '"

"When I am grown up, my uncle, the Caporal, will give me a watch. "

"Yes; but your uncle's little boy has one already; not so fine as thiseither. But then, he is younger than you. "

The child sighed. 

"Well! Would you like this watch, little cousin?"

Fortunato, casting sidelong glances at the watch, resembled a cat that hasbeen given a whole chicken. It feels that it is being made sport of, anddoes not dare to use its claws; from time to time it turns its eyes awayso as not to be tempted, licking its jaws all the while, and has theappearance of saying to its master, "How cruel your joke is!"

However, the Adjutant seemed in earnest in offering his watch. Fortunatodid not reach out his hand for it, but said with a bitter smile:

"Why do you make fun of me?"

"Good God! I am not making fun of you. Only tell me where Gianetto is andthe watch is yours. "

Fortunato smiled incredulously, and fixing his black eyes on those of theAdjutant tried to read there the faith he ought to have had in his words. 

"May I lose my epaulettes, " cried the Adjutant, "if I do not give you thewatch on this condition. These comrades are witnesses; I can not deny it. "

While speaking he gradually held the watch nearer till it almost touchedthe child's pale face, which plainly showed the struggle that was going onin his soul between covetousness and respect for hospitality. His breastswelled with emotion; he seemed about to suffocate. Meanwhile the watchwas slowly swaying and turning, sometimes brushing against his cheek. Finally, his right hand was gradually stretched toward it; the ends of hisfingers touched it; then its whole weight was in his hand, the Adjutantstill keeping hold of the chain. The face was light blue; the cases newlyburnished. In the sunlight it seemed to be all on fire. The temptation wastoo great. Fortunato raised his left hand and pointed over his shoulderwith his thumb at the hay against which he was reclining. The Adjutantunderstood him at once. He dropped the end of the chain and Fortunato felthimself the sole possessor of the watch. He sprang up with the agility ofa deer and stood ten feet from the pile, which the soldiers began at onceto overturn. 

There was a movement in the hay, and a bloody man with a poignard in hishand appeared. He tried to rise to his feet, but his stiffened leg wouldnot permit it and he fell. The Adjutant at once grappled with him and tookaway his stiletto. He was immediately secured, notwithstanding hisresistance. 

Gianetto, lying on the earth and bound like a fagot, turned his headtowards Fortunato, who had approached. 

"Son of--!" said he, with more contempt than anger. 

The child threw him the silver piece which he had received, feeling thathe no longer deserved it; but the outlaw paid no attention to themovement, and with great coolness said to the Adjutant:

"My dear Gamba, I cannot walk; you will be obliged to carry me to thecity. "

"Just now you could run faster than a buck, " answered the cruel captor;"but be at rest. I am so pleased to have you that I would carry you aleague on my back without fatigue. Besides, comrade, we are going to makea litter for you with your cloak and some branches, and at the Crespolifarm we shall find horses. "

"Good, " said the prisoner, "You will also put a little straw on yourlitter that I may be more comfortable. "

While some of the soldiers were occupied in making a kind of stretcher outof some chestnut boughs and the rest were dressing Gianetto's wound, MateoFalcone and his wife suddenly appeared at a turn in the path that led tothe mâquis. The woman was staggering under the weight of an enormous sackof chestnuts, while her husband was sauntering along, carrying one gun inhis hands, while another was slung across his shoulders, for it isunworthy of a man to carry other burdens than his arms. 

At the sight of the soldiers Mateo's first thought was that they had cometo arrest him. But why this thought? Had he then some quarrels withjustice? No. He enjoyed a good reputation. He was said to have aparticularly good name, but he was a Corsican and a highlander, and thereare few Corsican highlanders who, in scrutinizing their memory, can notfind some peccadillo, such as a gun-shot, dagger-thrust, or similartrifles. Mateo more than others had a clear conscience; for more than tenyears he had not pointed his carbine at a man, but he was always prudent, and put himself into a position to make a good defense if necessary. "Wife, " said he to Giuseppa, "put down the sack and hold yourself ready. "

She obeyed at once. He gave her the gun that was slung across hisshoulders, which would have bothered him, and, cocking the one he held inhis hands, advanced slowly towards the house, walking among the trees thatbordered the road, ready at the least hostile demonstration, to hidebehind the largest, whence he could fire from under cover. His wifefollowed closely behind, holding his reserve weapon and his cartridge-box. The duty of a good housekeeper, in case of a fight, is to load herhusband's carbines. 

On the other side the Adjutant was greatly troubled to see Mateo advancein this manner, with cautious steps, his carbine raised, and his finger onthe trigger. 

"If by chance, " thought he, "Mateo should be related to Gianetto, or if heshould be his friend and wish to defend him, the contents of his two gunswould arrive amongst us as certainly as a letter in the post; and if heshould see me, notwithstanding the relationship!"

In this perplexity he took a bold step. It was to advance alone towardsMateo and tell him of the affair while accosting him as an oldacquaintance, but the short space that separated him from Mateo seemedterribly long. 

"Hello! old comrade, " cried he. "How do you do, my good fellow? It is I, Gamba, your cousin. "

Without answering a word, Mateo stopped, and in proportion as the otherspoke, slowly raised the muzzle of his gun so that it was pointing upwardwhen the Adjutant joined him. 

"Good-day, brother, " said the Adjutant, holding out his hand. "It is along time since I have seen you. "

"Good-day, brother. "

"I stopped while passing, to say good-day to you and to cousin Pepa here. We have had a long journey to-day, but have no reason to complain, for wehave captured a famous prize. We have just seized Gianetto Saupiero. "

"God be praised!" cried Giuseppa. "He stole a milch goat from us lastweek. "

These words reassured Gamba. 

"Poor devil!" said Mateo, "he was hungry. "

"The villain fought like a lion, " continued the Adjutant, a littlemortified. "He killed one of my soldiers, and not content with that, brokeCaporal Chardon's arm; but that matters little, he is only a Frenchman. Then, too, he was so well hidden that the devil couldn't have found him. Without my little cousin, Fortunato, I should never have discovered him. "

"Fortunato!" cried Mateo. 

"Fortunato!" repeated Giuseppa. 

"Yes, Gianetto was hidden under the hay-pile yonder, but my little cousinshowed me the trick. I shall tell his uncle, the Caporal, that he may sendhim a fine present for his trouble. Both his name and yours will be in thereport that I shall send to the Attorney-general. "

"Malediction!" said Mateo in a low voice. 

They had rejoined the detachment. Gianetto was already lying on the litterready to set out. When he saw Mateo and Gamba in company he smiled astrange smile, then, turning his head towards the door of the house, hespat on the sill, saying:

"House of a traitor. "

Only a man determined to die would dare pronounce the word traitor toFalcone. A good blow with the stiletto, which there would be no need ofrepeating, would have immediately paid the insult. However, Mateo made noother movement than to place his hand on his forehead like a man who isdazed. 

Fortunato had gone into the house when his father arrived, but now hereappeared with a bowl of milk which he handed with downcast eyes toGianetto. 

"Get away from me!" cried the outlaw, in a loud voice. Then, turning toone of the soldiers, he said:

"Comrade, give me a drink. "

The soldier placed his gourd in his hands, and the prisoner drank thewater handed to him by a man with whom he had just exchanged bullets. Hethen asked them to tie his hands across his breast instead of behind hisback. 

"I like, " said he, "to lie at my ease. "

They hastened to satisfy him; then the Adjutant gave the signal to start, said adieu to Mateo, who did not respond, and descended with rapid stepstowards the plain. 

Nearly ten minutes elapsed before Mateo spoke. The child looked withrestless eyes, now at his mother, now at his father, who was leaning onhis gun and gazing at him with an expression of concentrated rage. 

"You begin well, " said Mateo at last with a calm voice, but frightful toone who knew the man. 

"Oh, father!" cried the boy, bursting into tears, and making a forwardmovement as if to throw himself on his knees. But Mateo cried, "Away fromme!"

The little fellow stopped and sobbed, immovable, a few feet from hisfather. 

Giuseppa drew near. She had just discovered the watch-chain, the end ofwhich was hanging out of Fortunato's jacket. 

"Who gave you that watch?" demanded she in a severe tone. 

"My cousin, the Adjutant. "

Falcone seized the watch and smashed it in a thousand pieces against arock. 

"Wife, " said he, "is this my child?"

Giuseppa's cheeks turned a brick-red. 

"What are you saying, Mateo? Do you know to whom you speak?"

"Very well, this child is the first of his race to commit treason. "

Fortunato's sobs and gasps redoubled as Falcone kept his lynx-eyes uponhim. Then he struck the earth with his gun-stock, shouldered the weapon, and turned in the direction of the mâquis, calling to Fortunato to follow. The boy obeyed. Giuseppa hastened after Mateo and seized his arm. 

"He is your son, " said she with a trembling voice, fastening her blackeyes on those of her husband to read what was going on in his heart. 

"Leave me alone, " said Mateo, "I am his father. "

Giuseppa embraced her son, and bursting into tears entered the house. Shethrew herself on her knees before an image of the Virgin and prayedardently. In the meanwhile Falcone walked some two hundred paces along thepath and only stopped when he reached a little ravine which he descended. He tried the earth with the butt-end of his carbine, and found it soft andeasy to dig. The place seemed to be convenient for his design. 

"Fortunato, go close to that big rock there. "

The child did as he was commanded, then he kneeled. 

"Say your prayers. "

"Oh, father, father, do not kill me!"

"Say your prayers!" repeated Mateo in a terrible voice. 

The boy, stammering and sobbing, recited the Pater and the Credo. At theend of each prayer the father loudly answered, "Amen!"

"Are those all the prayers you know?"

"Oh! father, I know the Ave Maria and the litany that my aunt taught me. "

"It is very long, but no matter. "

The child finished the litany in a scarcely audible tone. 

"Are you finished?"

"Oh! my father, have mercy! Pardon me! I will never do so again. I willbeg my cousin, the Caporal, to pardon Gianetto. "

He was still speaking. Mateo raised his gun, and, taking aim, said:

"May God pardon you!"

The boy made a desperate effort to rise and grasp his father's knees, butthere was not time. Mateo fired and Fortunato fell dead. 

Without casting a glance on the body, Mateo returned to the house for aspade with which to bury his son. He had gone but a few steps when he metGiuseppa, who, alarmed by the shot, was hastening hither. 

"What have you done?" cried she. 

"Justice. "

"Where is he?"

"In the ravine. I am going to bury him. He died a Christian. I shall havea mass said for him. Have my son-in-law, Tiodoro Bianchi, sent for to comeand live with us. "

THE MIRROR

BY CATULLE MENDES

There was once a kingdom where mirrors were unknown. They had all beenbroken and reduced to fragments by order of the queen, and if the tiniestbit of looking-glass had been found in any house, she would not havehesitated to put all the inmates to death with the most frightfultortures. 

Now for the secret of this extraordinary caprice. The queen was dreadfullyugly, and she did not wish to be exposed to the risk of meeting her ownimage; and, knowing herself to be hideous, it was a consolation to knowthat other women at least could not see that they were pretty. 

You may imagine that the young girls of the country were not at allsatisfied. What was the use of being beautiful if you could not admireyourself?

They might have used the brooks and lakes for mirrors; but the queen hadforeseen that, and had hidden all of them under closely joined flagstones. Water was drawn from wells so deep that it was impossible to see theliquid surface, and shallow basins must be used instead of buckets, because in the latter there might be reflections. 

Such a dismal state of affairs, especially for the pretty coquettes, whowere no more rare in this country than in others. 

The queen had no compassion, being well content that her subjects shouldsuffer as much annoyance from the lack of a mirror as she felt at thesight of one. 

However, in a suburb of the city there lived a young girl called Jacinta, who was a little better off than the rest, thanks to her sweetheart, Valentin. For if someone thinks you are beautiful, and loses no chance totell you so, he is almost as good as a mirror. 

"Tell me the truth, " she would say; "what is the color of my eyes?"

"They are like dewy forget-me-nots. "

"And my skin is not quite black?"

"You know that your forehead is whiter than freshly fallen snow, and yourcheeks are like blush roses. "

"How about my lips?"

"Cherries are pale beside them. "

"And my teeth, if you please?"

"Grains of rice are not as white. "

"But my ears, should I be ashamed of them?"

"Yes, if you would be ashamed of two little pink shells among your prettycurls. "

And so on endlessly; she delighted, he still more charmed, for his wordscame from the depth of his heart and she had the pleasure of hearingherself praised, he the delight of seeing her. So their love grew moredeep and tender every hour, and the day that he asked her to marry him sheblushed certainly, but it was not with anger. But, unluckily, the news oftheir happiness reached the wicked queen, whose only pleasure was totorment others, and Jacinta more than anyone else, on account of herbeauty. 

A little while before the marriage Jacinta was walking in the orchard oneevening, when an old crone approached, asking for alms, but suddenlyjumped back with a shriek as if she had stepped on a toad, crying:"Heavens, what do I see?"

"What is the matter, my good woman? What is it you see? Tell me. "

"The ugliest creature I ever beheld. "

"Then you are not looking at me, " said Jacinta, with innocent vanity. 

"Alas! yes, my poor child, it is you. I have been a long time on thisearth, but never have I met anyone so hideous as you!"

"What! am I ugly?"

"A hundred times uglier than I can tell you. "

"But my eyes--"

"They are a sort of dirty gray; but that would be nothing if you had notsuch an outrageous squint!"

"My complexion--"

"It looks as if you had rubbed coal-dust on your forehead and cheeks. "

"My mouth--"

"It is pale and withered, like a faded flower. "

"My teeth--"

"If the beauty of teeth is to be large and yellow, I never saw any sobeautiful as yours. "

"But, at least, my ears--"

"They are so big, so red, and so misshapen, under your coarse elf-locks, that they are revolting. I am not pretty myself, but I should die of shameif mine were like them. " After this last blow, the old witch, havingrepeated what the queen had taught her, hobbled off, with a harsh croak oflaughter, leaving poor Jacinta dissolved in tears, prone on the groundbeneath the apple-trees. 

 * * * * *

Nothing could divert her mind from her grief. "I am ugly--I am ugly, " sherepeated constantly. It was in vain that Valentin assured and reassuredher with the most solemn oaths. "Let me alone; you are lying out of pity. I understand it all now; you never loved me; you are only sorry for me. The beggar woman had no interest in deceiving me. It is only too true--Iam ugly. I do not see how you can endure the sight of me. "

To undeceive her, he brought people from far and near; every man declaredthat Jacinta was created to delight the eyes; even the women said as much, though they were less enthusiastic. But the poor child persisted in herconviction that she was a repulsive object, and when Valentin pressed herto name their wedding-day--"I, your wife!" cried she. "Never! I love youtoo dearly to burden you with a being so hideous as I am. " You can fancythe despair of the poor fellow so sincerely in love. He threw himself onhis knees; he prayed; he supplicated; she answered still that she was toougly to marry him. 

What was he to do? The only way to give the lie to the old woman and provethe truth to Jacinta was to put a mirror before her. But there was no suchthing in the kingdom, and so great was the terror inspired by the queenthat no workman dared make one. 

"Well, I shall go to Court, " said the lover, in despair. "Harsh as ourmistress is, she cannot fail to be moved by the tears and the beauty ofJacinta. She will retract, for a few hours at least, this cruel edictwhich has caused our trouble. "

It was not without difficulty that he persuaded the young girl to let himtake her to the palace. She did not like to show herself, and asked ofwhat use would be a mirror, only to impress her more deeply with hermisfortune; but when he wept, her heart was moved, and she consented, toplease him. 

 * * * * *

"What is all this?" said the wicked queen. "Who are these people? and whatdo they want?"

"Your Majesty, you have before you the most unfortunate lover on the faceof the earth. "

"Do you consider that a good reason for coming here to annoy me?"

"Have pity on me. "

"What have I to do with your love affairs?"

"If you would permit a mirror----"

The queen rose to her feet, trembling with rage. "Who dares to speak to meof a mirror?" she said, grinding her teeth. 

"Do not be angry, your Majesty, I beg of you, and deign to hear me. Thisyoung girl whom you see before you, so fresh and pretty, is the victim ofa strange delusion. She imagines that she is ugly. "

"Well, " said the queen, with a malicious grin, "she is right. I never sawa more hideous object. "

Jacinta, at these cruel words, thought she would die of mortification. Doubt was no longer possible, she must be ugly. Her eyes closed, she fellon the steps of the throne in a deadly swoon. 

But Valentin was affected very differently. He cried out loudly that herMajesty must be mad to tell such a lie. He had no time to say more. Theguards seized him, and at a sign from the queen the headsman came forward. He was always beside the throne, for she might need his services at anymoment. 

"Do your duty, " said the queen, pointing out the man who had insulted her. The executioner raised his gleaming axe just as Jacinta came to herselfand opened her eyes. Then two shrieks pierced the air. One was a cry ofjoy, for in the glittering steel Jacinta saw herself, so charminglypretty--and the other a scream of anguish, as the wicked soul of the queentook flight, unable to bear the sight of her face in the impromptu mirror. 

MY NEPHEW JOSEPH

BY LUDOVIC HALEVY

(_Scene passes at Versailles; two old gentlemen are conversing, seated ona bench in the King's garden. _)

Journalism, my dear Monsieur, is the evil of the times. I tell you what, if I had a son, I would hesitate a long while before giving him a literaryeducation. I would have him learn chemistry, mathematics, fencing, cosmography, swimming, drawing, but not composition--no, not composition. Then, at least, he would be prevented from becoming a journalist. It is soeasy, so tempting. They take pen and paper and write, it doesn't matterwhat, apropos to it doesn't matter what, and you have a newspaper article. In order to become a watchmaker, a lawyer, an upholsterer, in short, allthe liberal arts, study, application, and a special kind of knowledge arenecessary; but nothing like that is required for a journalist. "

"You are perfectly right, my dear Monsieur, the profession of journalismshould be restricted by examinations, the issuing of warrants, thegranting of licenses--"

"And they could pay well for their licenses, these gentlemen. Do you knowthat journalism is become very profitable? There are some young men in itwho, all at once, without a fixed salary, and no capital whatever, makefrom ten, twenty to thirty thousand francs a year. "

"Now, that is strange! But how do they become journalists?"

"Ah! It appears they generally commence by being reporters. Reporters slipin everywhere, in official gatherings, and theatres, never missing a firstnight, nor a fire, nor a great ball, nor a murder. "

"How well acquainted you are with all this!"

"Yes, very well acquainted. Ah! Mon Dieu! You are my friend, you will keepmy secret, and if you will not repeat this in Versailles--I will tell youhow it is--we have one in the family. "

"One what?"

"A reporter. "

"A reporter in your family, which always seemed so united! How can thatbe?"

"One can almost say that the devil was at the bottom of it. You know mynephew Joseph--"

"Little Joseph! Is he a reporter?"

"Yes. "

"Little Joseph, I can see him in the park now, rolling a hoop, bare-legged, with a broad white collar, not more than six or sevenyears ago--and now he writes for newspapers!"

"Yes, newspapers! You know my brother keeps a pharmacy in the RueMontorgueil, an old and reliable firm, and naturally my brother said tohimself, 'After me, my son. ' Joseph worked hard at chemistry, followed thecourse of study, and had already passed an examination. The boy was steadyand industrious, and had a taste for the business. On Sundays forrecreation he made tinctures, prepared prescriptions, pasted the labelsand rolled pills. When, as misfortune would have it, a murder wascommitted about twenty feet from my brother's pharmacy--"

"The murder of the Rue Montorgueil--that clerk who killed his sweetheart, a little brewery maid?"

"The very same. Joseph was attracted by the cries, saw the murdererarrested, and after the police were gone stayed there in the street, talking and jabbering. The Saturday before, Joseph had a game of billiardswith the murderer. "

"With the murderer!"

"Oh! accidentally--he knew him by sight, went to the same café, that'sall, and they had played at pool together, Joseph and the murderer--a mannamed Nicot. Joseph told this to the crowd, and you may well imagine howimportant that made him, when suddenly a little blond man seized him. 'Youknow the murderer?' 'A little, not much; I played pool with him. ' 'And doyou know the motive of the crime?' 'It was love, Monsieur, love; Nicot hadmet a girl, named Eugénie--' 'You knew the victim, too?' 'Only by sight, she was there in the café the night we played. ' 'Very well; but don't tellthat to anybody; come, come, quick. ' He took possession of Joseph and madehim get into a cab, which went rolling off at great speed down theBoulevard des Italiens. Ten minutes after, Joseph found himself in a hallwhere there was a big table, around which five or six young men werewriting. 'Here is a fine sensation, ' said the little blond on entering. 'The best kind of a murder! a murder for love, in the Rue Montorgueil, andI have here the murderer's most intimate friend. ' 'No, not at all, ' criedJoseph, 'I scarcely know him. ' 'Be still, ' whispered the little blond toJoseph; then he continued, 'Yes, his most intimate friend. They werebrought up together, and a quarter of an hour before the crime wascommitted were playing billiards. The murderer won, he was perfectlycalm----' 'That's not it, it was last Saturday that I played with----' 'Bestill, will you! A quarter of an hour, it is more to the point. Let's go. Come, come. ' He took Joseph into a small room where they were alone, andsaid to him: 'That affair ought to make about a hundred lines--youtalk--I'll write--there will be twenty francs for you. ' 'Twenty francs!''Yes, and here they are in advance; but be quick, to business!' Joseph toldall he knew to the gentleman--how an old and retired Colonel, who lived inthe house where the murder was committed, was the first to hear thevictim's cries; but he was paralyzed in both limbs, this old Colonel, andcould only ring for the servant, an old cuirassier, who arrested theassassin. In short, with all the information concerning the game ofbilliards, Eugénie and the paralytic old Colonel, the man composed hislittle article, and sent Joseph away with twenty francs. Do you think itended there?"

"I don't think anything--I am amazed! Little Joseph a reporter!"

"Hardly had Joseph stepped outside, when another man seized him--a tall, dark fellow. 'I've been watching for you, ' he said to Joseph. 'You werepresent when the murder was committed in the Rue Montorgueil!' 'Why, no, Iwas not present----' 'That will do. I am well informed, come. ' 'Where to?''To my newspaper office. ' 'What for?' 'To tell me about the murder. ' 'ButI've already told all I know, there, in that house. ' 'Come, you will stillremember a few more little incidents--and I will give you twenty francs. ''Twenty francs!' 'Come, come. ' Another hall, another table, more young menwriting, and again Joseph was interrogated. He recommenced the history ofthe old Colonel. 'Is that what you told them down there?' inquired thetall, dark man of Joseph. 'Yes, Monsieur. ' 'That needs some revision, then. ' And the tall, dark man made up a long story. How this old Colonelhad been paralyzed for fourteen years, but on hearing the victim'sheartrending screams, received such a shock that all at once, as if by amiracle, had recovered the use of his legs; and it was he who had startedout in pursuit of the murderer and had him arrested. 

"While dashing this off with one stroke of his pen, the man exclaimed:'Good! this is perfect! a hundred times better than the other account. ''Yes, ' said Joseph, 'but it is not true. ' 'Not true for you, because youare acquainted with the affair; but for our hundred thousand readers, whodo not know about it, it will be true enough. They were not there, thosehundred thousand readers. What do they want? A striking account--well!they shall have it!' And thereupon he discharged Joseph, who went homewith his forty francs, and who naturally did not boast of his escapade. Itis only of late that he has acknowledged it. However, from that day Josephhas shown less interest in the pharmacy. He bought a number of pennypapers, and shut himself up in his room to write--no one knows what. Atlast he wore a business-like aspect, which was very funny. About sixmonths ago I went to Paris to collect the dividends on my Northern stock. "

"The Northern is doing very well; it went up this week----"

"Oh! it's good stock. Well, I had collected my dividends and had left theNorthern Railway Station. It was beautiful weather, so I walked slowlydown the Rue Lafayette. (I have a habit of strolling a little in Parisafter I have collected my dividends. ) When at the corner of the FaubourgMontmartre, whom should I see but my nephew, Joseph, all alone in avictoria, playing the fine gentleman. I saw very well that he turned hishead away, the vagabond! But I overtook the carriage and stopped thedriver. 'What are you doing there?' 'A little drive, uncle. ' 'Wait, I willgo with you, ' and in I climbed. 'Hurry up, ' said the driver, 'or I'll losethe trail. ' 'What trail?' 'Why, the two cabs we are following. ' The mandrove at a furious rate, and I asked Joseph why he was there in thatvictoria, following two cabs. 'Mon Dieu, uncle, ' he replied, 'there was aforeigner, a Spaniard, who came to our place in the Rue Montorgueil andbought a large amount of drugs, and has not paid us, so I am going afterhim to find out if he has not given us a wrong address. ' 'And thatSpaniard is in both the cabs?' 'No, uncle, he is only in one, the first. ''And who is in the second?' 'I don't know, probably another creditor, likemyself, in pursuit of the Spaniard. ' 'Well, I am going to stay with you; Ihave two hours to myself before the train leaves at five o'clock and Iadore this sort of thing, riding around Paris in an open carriage. Let'sfollow the Spaniard!' And then the chase commenced, down the boulevards, across the squares, through the streets, the three drivers cracking theirwhips and urging their horses on. This man-hunt began to get exciting. Itrecalled to my mind the romances in the Petit Journal. Finally, in alittle street, belonging to the Temple Quarter, the first cab stopped. "

"The Spaniard?"

"Yes. A man got out of it--he had a large hat drawn down over his eyes anda big muffler wrapped about his neck. Presently three gentlemen, who hadjumped from the second cab, rushed upon that man. I wanted to do the same, but Joseph tried to prevent me. 'Don't stir, uncle!' 'Why not? But theyare going to deprive us of the Spaniard!' And I dashed forward. 'Takecare, uncle, don't be mixed up in that affair. ' But I was already gone. When I arrived they were putting the handcuffs on the Spaniard. I brokethrough the crowd which had collected, and cried, 'Wait, Messieurs, wait;I also demand a settlement with this man. ' They made way for me. 'You knowthis man?' asked one of the gentlemen from the second cab, a short, stoutfellow. 'Perfectly; he is a Spaniard. ' 'I a Spaniard!' 'Yes, a Spaniard. ''Good, ' said the short, stout man, 'Here's the witness!' and, addressinghimself to one of the men, 'Take Monsieur to the Prefecture immediately. ''But I have not the time; I live in Versailles; my wife expects me by thefive o'clock train, and we have company to dinner, and I must take home apie. I will come back to-morrow at any hour you wish. ' 'No remarks, ' saidthe short, stout man, 'but be off; I am the Police Commissioner. ' 'But, Monsieur the Commissioner, I know nothing about it; it is my nephew Josephwho will tell you, ' and I called 'Joseph! Joseph!' but no Joseph came. "

"He had decamped?"

"With the victoria. They packed me in one of the two cabs with thedetective, a charming man and very distinguished. Arriving at thePrefecture, they deposited me in a small apartment filled with vagabonds, criminals, and low, ignorant people. An hour after they came for me inorder to bring me up for examination. "

"You were brought up for examination?"

"Yes, my dear Monsieur, I was. A policeman conducted me through the Palaisde Justice, before the magistrate, a lean man, who asked me my name andaddress. I replied that I lived in Versailles, and that I had company todinner; he interrupted me, 'You know the prisoner?' pointing to the manwith the muffler, 'Speak up. ' But he questioned me so threateningly that Ibecame disconcerted, for I felt that he was passing judgment upon me. Thenin my embarrassment the words did not come quickly. I finished, moreover, by telling him that I knew the man without knowing him; then he becamefurious: 'What's that you say? You know a man without knowing him! Atleast explain yourself!' I was all of a tremble, and said that I knew hewas a Spaniard, but the man replied that he was not a Spaniard. 'Well, well, ' said the Judge. 'Denial, always denial; it is your way. ' 'I tellyou that my name is Rigaud, and that I was born in Josey, in Josas; theyare not Spaniards that are born in Josey, in Josas. ' 'Alwayscontradiction; very good, very good!' And the Judge addressed himself tome. 'Then this man is a Spaniard?' 'Yes, Monsieur the Judge, so I havebeen told. ' 'Do you know anything more about him?' 'I know he madepurchases at my brother's pharmacy in the Rue Montorgueil. ' 'At apharmacy! and he bought, did he not, some chlorate of potash, azotite ofpotash, and sulphur powder; in a word, materials to manufactureexplosives. ' 'I don't know what he bought. I only know that he did notpay, that's all. ' 'Parbleau! Anarchists never pay--' 'I did not need topay. I never bought chlorate of potash in the Rue Montorgueil, ' cried theman; but the Judge exclaimed, louder still, 'Yes, it is your audacioushabit of lying, but I will sift this matter to the bottom; sift it, do youunderstand. And now why is that muffler on in the month of May?' 'I have acold, ' replied the other. 'Haven't I the right to have a cold?' 'That isvery suspicious, very suspicious. I am going to send for the druggist inthe Rue Montorgueil!'"

"Then they sent for your brother?"

"Yes; I wanted to leave, tried to explain to the Judge that my wife wasexpecting me in Versailles, that I had already missed the five o'clocktrain, that I had company to dinner, and must bring home a pie. 'You shallnot go, ' replied the Judge, 'and cease to annoy me with your dinner andyour pie; I will need you for a second examination. The affair is of thegravest sort. ' I tried to resist, but they led me away somewhat roughly, and thrust me again into the little apartment with the criminals. Afterwaiting an hour I was brought up for another examination. My brother wasthere. But we could not exchange two words, for he entered the courtroomby one door and I by another. All this was arranged perfectly. The manwith the muffler was again brought out. The Judge addressed my brother. 'Do you recognize the prisoner?' 'No. ' 'Ah! you see he does not know me!''Be silent!' said the Judge, and he continued talking excitedly: 'You knowthe man?' 'Certainly not. ' 'Think well; you ought to know him. ' 'I tellyou, no. ' 'I tell you, yes, and that he bought some chlorate of potashfrom you. ' 'No!' 'Ah!' cried the Judge, in a passion. 'Take care, weighwell your words; you are treading on dangerous ground. ' 'I!' exclaimed mybrother. 'Yes, for there is your brother; you recognize him, I think. ''Yes, I recognize him. ' 'That is fortunate. Well, your brother there saysthat man owes you money for having bought at your establishment--Ispecify--materials to manufacture explosives. ' 'But you did not say that. ''No, I wish to re-establish the facts. ' But that Judge would give no one achance to speak. 'Don't interrupt me. Who is conducting this examination, you or I?' 'You, Monsieur the Judge?' 'Well, at all events, you said theprisoner owed your brother some money. ' 'That I acknowledge. ' 'But whotold you all this?' asked my brother. 'Your son, Joseph!' 'Joseph!' 'Hefollowed the man for the sake of the money, which he owed you for thedrugs. ' 'I understand nothing of all this, ' said my brother; 'Neither doI, ' said the man with the muffler; 'Neither do I, ' I repeated in my turn;'Neither do I any more, ' cried the Judge; 'Or rather, yes, there issomething that I understand very well; we have captured a gang, all thesemen understand one another, and side with one another; they are a band ofAnarchists!' 'That is putting it too strong, ' I protested to the Judge, 'I, a landowner, an Anarchist! Can a man be an Anarchist when he owns ahouse on the Boulevard de la Reine at Versailles and a cottage atHoulgate, Calvados? These are facts. '"

"That was well answered. "

"But this Judge would not listen to anything. He said to my brother, 'Where does your son live?' 'With me in the Rue Montorgueil. ' 'Well, hemust be sent for; and in the meanwhile, these two brothers are to beplaced in separate cells. ' Then, losing patience, I cried that this wasinfamy! But I felt myself seized and dragged through the corridors andlocked in a little box four feet square. In there I passed three hours. "

"Didn't they find your nephew Joseph?"

"No, it was not that. It was the Judge. He went off to his dinner, andtook his time about it! Finally, at midnight, they had anotherexamination. Behold all four of us before the Judge! The man with themuffler, myself, my brother and Joseph. The Judge began, addressing mynephew: 'This man is indeed your father?' 'Yes. ' 'This man is indeed youruncle?' 'Yes. ' 'And that man is indeed the Spaniard who purchased somechlorate of potash from you?' 'No. ' 'What! No?' 'There, ' exclaimed thefellow with the muffler. 'You can see now that these men do not know me. ''Yes, yes, ' answered the Judge, not at all disconcerted. 'Denial again!Let's see, young man, did you not say to your uncle----' 'Yes, Monsieurthe Judge, that is true. ' 'Ah! the truth! Here is the truth!' exclaimedthe Judge, triumphantly. 'Yes, I told my uncle that the man purchaseddrugs from us, but that is not so. ' 'Why isn't it?' 'Wait, I will tellyou. Unknown to my family I am a journalist. ' 'Journalist! My son ajournalist! Don't believe that, Monsieur the Judge, my son is anapprentice in a pharmacy. ' 'Yes, my nephew is an apprentice in apharmacy, ' I echoed. 'These men contradict themselves; this is a gang, decidedly a gang--are you a journalist, young man, or an apprentice in apharmacy?' 'I am both. ' 'That is a lie!' cried my brother, now thoroughlyangry. 'And for what newspaper do you write?' 'For no paper at all, 'replied my brother, 'I know that, for he is not capable. ' 'I do notexactly write, Monsieur the Judge; I procure information; I am areporter. ' 'Reporter! My son a reporter? What's that he says?' 'Will yoube still!' cried the Judge. For what newspaper are you a reporter?' Josephtold the name of the paper. 'Well, ' resumed the Judge, 'we must send forthe chief editor immediately--immediately, he must be awakened and broughthere. I will pass the night at court. I've discovered a great conspiracy. Lead these men away and keep them apart. ' The Judge beamed, for he alreadysaw himself Court Counsellor. They brought us back, and I assure you I nolonger knew where I was. I came and went up and down the staircases andthrough the corridors. If anyone had asked me at the time if I were anaccomplice of Ravachol, I would have answered, 'Probably. '"

"When did all this take place?"

"One o'clock in the morning; and the fourth examination did not take placeuntil two. But, thank Heaven! in five minutes it was all made clear. Theeditor of the newspaper arrived, and burst into a hearty laugh when helearned of the condition of affairs; and this is what he told the Judge. My nephew had given them the particulars of a murder, and had beenrecompensed for it, and then the young man had acquired a taste for thatoccupation, and had come to apply for the situation. They had found himclear-headed, bold, and intelligent, and had sent him to take notes at theexecutions, at fires, etc. , and the morning after the editor had a goodidea. 'The detectives were on the lookout for Anarchists, so I sent myreporters on the heels of each detective, and in this way I would be thefirst to hear of all the arrests. Now, you see, it all explains itself;the detective followed an Anarchist. '"

"And your nephew Joseph followed the detective?"

"Yes, but he dared not tell the truth, so he told me he was one of papa'sdebtors. ' The man with the muffler was triumphant. 'Am I still aSpaniard?' 'No, well and good, ' replied the Judge. 'But an Anarchist isanother thing. ' And in truth he was; but he only held one, that Judge, andwas so vexed because he believed he had caught a whole gang, and wasobliged to discharge us at four o'clock in the morning. I had to take acarriage to return to Versailles--got one for thirty francs. But found mypoor wife in such a state!"

"And your nephew still clings to journalism?"

"Yes, and makes money for nothing but to ride about Paris that way in acab, and to the country in the railway trains. The newspaper men aresatisfied with him. "

"What does your brother say to all this?"

"He began by turning him out of doors. But when he knew that some monthshe made two and three hundred francs, he softened; and then Joseph is ascute as a monkey. You know my brother invented a cough lozenge, 'Dervishes' lozenges'?"

"Yes, you gave me a box of them. "

"Ah! so I did. Well, Joseph found means to introduce into the account of amurderer's arrest an advertisement of his father's lozenges. "--"How did hedo it?"

"He told how the murderer was hidden in a panel, and that he could not befound. But having the influenza, had sneezed, and that had been the meansof his capture. And Joseph added that this would not have happened to himhad he taken the Dervishes Lozenges. You see that pleased my brother somuch that he forgave him. Ah! there is my wife coming to look for me. Nota word of all this! It is not necessary to repeat that there is a reporterin the family, and there is another reason for not telling it. When I wantto sell off to the people of Versailles, I go and find Joseph and tell himof my little plan. He arranges everything for me as it should be, puts itin the paper quietly, and they don't know how it comes there!"

A FOREST BETROTHAL

BY ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN

One day in the month of June, 1845, Master Zacharias' fishing-basket wasso full of salmon-trout, about three o'clock in the afternoon, that thegood man was loath to take any more; for, as Pathfinder says: "We mustleave some for to-morrow!" After having washed his in a stream andcarefully covered them with field-sorrel and rowell, to keep them fresh;after having wound up his line and bathed his hands and face; a sense ofdrowsiness tempted him to take a nap in the heather. The heat was soexcessive that he preferred to wait until the shadows lengthened beforereclimbing the steep ascent of Bigelberg. 

Breaking his crust of bread and wetting his lips with a draught ofRikevir, he climbed down fifteen or twenty steps from the path andstretched himself on the moss-covered ground, under the shade of thepine-trees; his eyelids heavy with sleep. 

A thousand animate creatures had lived their long life of an hour, whenthe judge was wakened by the whistle of a bird, which sounded strange tohim. He sat up to look around, and judge his surprise; the so-called birdwas a young girl of seventeen or eighteen years of age; fresh, with rosycheeks and vermilion lips, brown hair, which hung in two long tressesbehind her. A short poppy-colored skirt, with a tightly-laced bodice, completed her costume. She was a young peasant, who was rapidly descendingthe sandy path down the side of Bigelberg, a basket poised on her head, and her arms a little sunburned, but plump, were gracefully resting on herhips. 

"Oh, what a charming bird; but she whistles well and her pretty chin, round like a peach, is sweet to look upon. "

Mr. Zacharias was all emotion--a rush of hot blood, which made his heartbeat, as it did at twenty, coursed through his veins. Blushing, he aroseto his feet. 

"Good-day, my pretty one!" he said. 

The young girl stopped short--opened her big eyes and recognized him (forwho did not know the dear old Judge Zacharias in that part of thecountry?). 

"Ah!" she said, with a bright smile, "it is Mr. Zacharias Seiler!"

The old man approached her--he tried to speak--but all he could do was tostammer a few unintelligible words, just like a very young man--hisembarrassment was so great that he completely disconcerted the young girl. At last he managed to say:

"Where are you going through the forest at this hour, my dear child?"

She stretched out her hand and showed him, way at the end of the valley, aforester's house. 

"I am returning to my father's house, the Corporal Yeri Foerster. You knowhim, without doubt, Monsieur le Juge. "

"What, are you our brave Yeri's daughter? Ah, do I know him? A very worthyman. Then you are little Charlotte of whom he has often spoken to me whenhe came with his official reports?"

"Yes, Monsieur; I have just come from the town and am returning home. "

"That is a very pretty bunch of Alpine berries you have, '" exclaimed theold man. 

She detached the bouquet from her belt and tendered it to him. 

"If it would please you, Monsieur Seiler. "

Zacharias was touched. 

"Yes, indeed, " he said, "I will accept it, and I will accompany you home. I am anxious to see this brave Foerster again. He must be getting old bynow. "

"He is about your age, Monsieur le Juge, " said Charlotte innocently, "between fifty-five and sixty years of age. "

This simple speech recalled the good man to his senses, and as he walkedbeside her be became pensive. 

What was he thinking of? Nobody could tell; but how many times, how manytimes has it happened that a brave and worthy man, thinking that he hadfulfilled all his duties, finds that he has neglected the greatest, themost sacred, the most beautiful of all--that of love. And what it costshim to think of it when it is too late. 

Soon Mr. Zacharias and Charlotte came to the turn of the valley where thepath spanned a little pond by means of a rustic bridge, and led straightto the corporal's house. They could now see Yeri Foerster, his large felthat decorated with a twig of heather, his calm eyes, his brown cheeks andgrayish hair, seated on the stone bench near his doorway; two beautifulhunting dogs, with reddish-brown coats, lay at his feet, and the high vinearbor behind him rose to the peak of the gable roof. 

The shadows on Romelstein were lengthening and the setting sun spread itspurple fringe behind the high fir-trees on Alpnach. 

The old corporal, whose eyes were as piercing as an eagle's, recognizedMonsieur Zacharias and his daughter from afar. He came toward them, lifting his felt hat respectfully. 

"Welcome, Monsieur le Juge, " he said in the frank and cordial voice of amountaineer; "what happy circumstance has procured me the honor of avisit?"

"Master Yeri, " replied the good man, "I am belated in your mountains. Haveyou a vacant corner at your table and a bed at the disposition of afriend?"

"Ah!" cried the corporal, "if there were but one bed in the house, shouldit not be at the service of the best, the most honored of ourex-magistrates of Stantz? Monsieur Seiler, what an honor you confer onYeri Foerster's humble home. "

"Christine, Christine! Monsieur le Juge Zacharias Seiler wishes to sleepunder our roof to-night. "

Then a little old woman, her face wrinkled like a vine leaf, but stillfresh and laughing, her head crowned by a cap with wide black ribbons, appeared on the threshold and disappeared again, murmuring:

"What? Is it possible? Monsieur le Juge!"

"My good people, " said Mr. Zacharias, "truly you do me too much honor--Ihope--"

"Monsieur le Juge, if you forget the favors you have done to others, theyremember them. "

Charlotte placed her basket on the table, feeling very proud at havingbeen the means of bringing so distinguished a visitor to the house. Shetook out the sugar, the coffee and all the little odds and ends ofhousehold provisions which she had purchased in the town. And Zacharias, gazing at her pretty profile, felt himself agitated once more, his poorold heart beat more quickly in his bosom and seemed to say to him: "Thisis love, Zacharias! This is love! This is love!"

To tell you the truth, my dear friends, Mr. Seiler spent the evening withthe Head Forester, Yeri Foerster, perfectly oblivious to the fact ofTherese's uneasiness, to his promise to return before seven o'clock, toall his old habits of order and submission. 

Picture to yourself the large room, the time-browned rafters of theceiling, the windows opened on the silent valley, the round table in themiddle of the room, covered with a white cloth, with red stripes runningthrough it; the light from the lamp, bringing out more clearly the gravefaces of Zacharias and Yeri, the rosy, laughing features of Charlotte, andDame Christine's little cap, with long fluttering streamers. Picture toyourself the soup-tureen, with gayly-flowered bowl, from which arose anappetising odor, the dish of trout garnished with parsley, the platesfilled with fruits and little meal cakes as yellow as gold; then worthyFather Zacharias, handing first one and then the other of the plates offruit and cakes to Charlotte, who lowered her eyes, frightened at the oldman's compliments and tender speeches. 

Yeri was quite puffed up at his praise, but Dame Christine said: "Ah, Monsieur le Juge! You are too good. You do not know how much trouble thislittle girl gives us, or how headstrong she is when she wants anything. You will spoil her with so many compliments. "

To which speech Mr. Zacharias made reply:

"Dame Christine, you possess a treasure! Mademoiselle Charlotte merits allthe good I have said of her. "

Then Master Yeri, raising his glass, cried out: "Let us drink to thehealth of our good and venerated Judge Zacharias Seiler!"

The toast was drunk with a will. 

Just then the clock, in its hoarse voice, struck the hour of eleven. Outof doors there was the great silence of the forest, the grasshopper's lastcry, the vague murmur of the river. As the hour sounded, they rose, preparatory to retiring. How fresh and agile he felt! With what ardor, hadhe dared, would he not have pressed a kiss upon Charlotte's little hand!Oh, but he must not think of that now! Later on, perhaps!

"Come, Master Yeri, " he said, "it is bedtime. Good-night, and many thanksfor your hospitality. "

"At what hour do you wish to rise, Monsieur?" asked Christine. 

"Oh!" he replied gazing at Charlotte, "I am an early bird. I do not feelmy age, though perhaps you might not think so. I rise at five o'clock. "

"Like me, Monsieur Seiler, " cried the Head Forester. I rise beforedaybreak; but I must confess it is tiresome all the same--we are no longeryoung. Ha! Ha!"

"Bah! I have never had anything ail me, Master Forester; I have never beenmore vigorous or more nimble. "

And suiting his actions to his words, he ran briskly up the steep steps ofthe staircase. Really Mr. Zacharias was no more than twenty; but histwenty years lasted about twenty minutes, and once nestled in the largecanopied bed, with the covers drawn up to his chin and his handkerchieftied around his head, in lieu of a nightcap, he said to himself:

"Sleep Zacharias! Sleep! You have great need of rest; you are very tired. "

And the good man slept until nine o'clock. The forester returning from hisrounds, uneasy at his non-appearance, went up to his room and wished himgood morning. Then seeing the sun high in the heavens, hearing the birdswarbling in the foliage, the Judge, ashamed of his boastfulness of theprevious night, arose, alleging as an excuse for his prolonged slumbers, the fatigue of fishing and the length of the supper of the evening before. 

"Ah, Monsieur Seiler, " said the forester, "it is perfectly natural; Iwould love dearly myself to sleep in the mornings, but I must always be onthe go. What I want is a son-in-law, a strong youth to replace me; I wouldvoluntarily give him my gun and my hunting pouch. "

Zacharias could not restrain a feeling of great uneasiness at these words. Being dressed, he descended in silence. Christine was waiting with hisbreakfast; Charlotte had gone to the hay field. 

The breakfast was short, and Mr. Seiler having thanked these good peoplefor their hospitality, turned his face toward Stantz; he became pensive, as he thought of the worry to which Mademoiselle Therèse had beensubjected; yet he was not able to tear his hopes from his heart, nor thethousand charming illusions, which came to him like a latecomer in a nestof warblers. 

By Autumn he had fallen so into the habit of going to the forester's housethat he was oftener there than at his own; and the Head Forester, notknowing to what love of fishing to attribute these visits, often foundhimself embarrassed at being obliged to refuse the multiplicity ofpresents which the worthy ex-magistrate (he himself being very much athome) begged of him to accept in compensation for his daily hospitality. 

Besides, Mr. Seiler wished to share all his occupations, following him inhis rounds in the Grinderwald and Entilbach. 

Yeri Foerster often shook his head, saying: "I never knew a more honest orbetter judge than Mr. Zacharias Seiler. When I used to bring my reports tohim, formerly, he always praised me, and it is to him that I owe my raiseto the rank of Head Forester. But, " he added to his wife, "I am afraid thepoor man is a little out of his head. Did he not help Charlotte in the hayfield, to the infinite enjoyment of the peasants? Truly, Christine, it isnot right; but then I dare not say so to him, he is so much above us. Nowhe wants me to accept a pension--and such a pension--one hundred florins amonth. And that silk dress he gave Charlotte on her birthday. Do younggirls wear silk dresses in our valley? Is a silk dress the thing for aforester's daughter?"

"Leave him alone, " said the wife. "He is contented with a little milk andmeal. He likes to be with us; it is a change from his lonesome city life, with no one to talk to but his old governess; whilst here the little onelooks after him. He likes to talk to her. Who knows but he may end byadopting her and leave her something in his will?"

The Head Forester, not knowing what to say, shrugged his shoulders; hisgood judgment told him there was some mystery, but he never dreamed ofsuspecting the good man's whole folly. 

One fine morning a wagon slowly wended its way down the sides of Bigelbergloaded with three casks of old Rikevir wine. Of all the presents thatcould be given to him this was the most acceptable, for Yeri Foersterloved, above everything else, a good glass of wine. 

"That warms one up, " he would say, laughing. And when he had tasted thiswine he could not help saying:

"Mr. Zacharias is really the best man in the world. Has he not filled mycellar for me? Charlotte, go and gather the prettiest flowers in thegarden; cut all the roses and the jasmine, make them into a bouquet, andwhen he comes you will present them to him yourself. Charlotte! Charlotte!Hurry up, here he comes with his long pole. "

At this moment the old man appeared descending the hillside in the shadeof the pines with a brisk step. 

As far off as Yeri could make himself heard, he called out, his glass inhis hand:

"Here is to the best man I know! Here is to our benefactor. "

And Zacharias smiled. Dame Christine had already commenced preparationsfor dinner; a rabbit was turning at the spit and the savory odor of thesoup whetted Mr. Seiler's appetite. 

The old Judge's eyes brightened when he saw Charlotte in her shortpoppy-colored skirt, her arms bare to the elbow, running here and therein the garden paths gathering the flowers, and when he saw herapproaching him with her huge bouquet, which she humbly presented tohim with downcast eyes. 

"Monsieur le Juge, will you deign to accept this bouquet from your littlefriend Charlotte?"

A sudden blush overspread his venerable cheeks, and as she stooped to kisshis hand, he said:

"No, no, my dear child; accept rather from your old friend, your bestfriend, a more tender embrace. "

He kissed both her burning cheeks. The Head Forester laughing heartily, cried out:

"Monsieur Seiler, come and sit down under the acacia tree and drink someof your own wine. Ah, my wife is right when she calls you our benefactor. "

Mr. Zacharias seated himself at the little round table, placing his polebehind him; Charlotte sat facing him, Yeri Foerster was on his right; thendinner was served and Mr. Seiler started to speak of his plans for thefuture. 

He was wealthy and had inherited a fine fortune from his parents. Hewished to buy some few hundred acres of forest land in the valley, andbuild in the midst a forester's lodge. "We would always be together, " hesaid turning to Yeri Foerster, "sometimes you at my house, sometimes I atyours. "

Christine gave her advice, and they chatted, planning now one thing, thenanother. Charlotte seemed perfectly contented, and Zacharias imagined thatthese simple people understood him. 

Thus the time passed, and when night had fallen and they had had a surfeitof Rikevir, of rabbit and of Dame Christine's "koechten" sprinkled withcinnamon. Mr. Seiler, happy and contented, full of joyous hope, ascendedto his room, putting off until to-morrow his declaration, not doubting fora moment but that it would be accepted. 

About this time of the year the mountaineers from Harberg, Kusnacht andthe surrounding hamlets descend from their mountains about one o'clock inthe morning and commence to mow the high grass in the valleys. One canhear their monotonous songs in the middle of the night keeping time to thecircular movement of the scythes, the jingle of the cattle bells, and theyoung men's and girls' voices laughing afar in the silence of the night. It is a strange harmony, especially when the night is clear and there is abright moon, and the heavy dew falling makes a pitter-patter on the leavesof the great forest trees. 

Mr. Zacharias heard nothing of all this, for he was sleeping soundly; butthe noise of a handful of peas being thrown against the window waked himsuddenly. He listened and heard outside at the bottom of the wall, a"scit! scit!" so softly whispered that you might almost think it the cryof some bird. Nevertheless, the good man's heart fluttered. 

"What is that?" he cried. 

After a few seconds' silence a soft voice replied:

"Charlotte, Charlotte--it is I!"

Zacharias trembled; and as he listened with ears on the alert for eachsound, the foliage on the trellis struck against the window and a figureclimbed up quietly--oh so quietly--then stopped and stared into the room. 

The old man being indignant at this, rose and opened the window, uponwhich the stranger climbed through noiselessly. 

"Do not be frightened, Charlotte, " he said, "I have come to tell you somegood news. My father will be here tomorrow. "

He received no response, for the reason that Zacharias was trying to lightthe lamp. 

"Where are you, Charlotte?"

"Here I am, " cried the old man turning with a livid face and gazingfiercely at his rival. 

The young man who stood before him was tall and slender, with large, frank, black eyes, brown cheeks, rosy lips, just covered with a littlemoustache, and a large brown, felt hat, tilted a little to one side. 

The apparition of Zacharias stunned him to immovability. But as the Judgewas about to cry out, he exclaimed:

"In the name of Heaven, do not call. I am no robber--I love Charlotte!"

"And--she--she?" stammered Zacharias. 

"She loves me also! Oh, you need have no fear if you are one of herrelations. We were betrothed at the Kusnacht feast. The fiancés of theGrinderwald and the Entilbach have the right to visit in the night. It isa custom of Unterwald. All the Swiss know that. "

"Yeri Foerster--Yeri, Charlotte's father, never told me. "

"No, he does not know of our betrothal yet, " said the other, in a lowertone of voice; "when I asked his permission last year he told me towait--that his daughter was too young yet--we were betrothed secretly. Only as I had not the Forester's consent, I did not come in thenight-time. This is the first time. I saw Charlotte in the town; butthe time seemed so long to us both that I ended by confessing all to myfather, and he has promised to see Yeri tomorrow. Ah, Monsieur, I knewit would give such pleasure to Charlotte that I could not help comingto announce my good news. "

The poor old man fell back in his chair and covered his face with hishands. Oh, how he suffered! What bitter thoughts passed through his brain;what a sad awakening after so many sweet and joyous dreams. 

And the young mountaineer was not a whit more comfortable, as he stoodleaning against a corner of the wall, his arms crossed over his breast, and the following thoughts running through his head:

"If old Foerster, who does not know of our betrothal, finds me here, hewill kill me without listening to one word of explanation. That iscertain. "

And he gazed anxiously at the door, his ear on the alert for the leastsound. 

A few moments afterward, Zacharias lifting his head, as though awakeningfrom a dream, asked him:

"What is your name?"

"Karl Imnant, Monsieur. "

"What is your business?"

"My father hopes to obtain the position of a forester in the Grinderwaldfor me. "

There was a long silence and Zacharias looked at the young man with anenvious eye. 

"And she loves you?" he asked in a broken voice. 

"Oh, yes, Monsieur; we love each other devotedly. "

And Zacharias, letting his eyes fall on his thin legs and his handswrinkled and veined, murmured:

"Yes, she ought to love him; he is young and handsome. "

And his head fell on his breast again. All at once he arose, trembling inevery limb, and opened the window. 

"Young man, you have done very wrong; you will never know how much wrongyou have really done. You must obtain Mr. Foerster's consent--butgo--go--you will hear from me soon. "

The young mountaineer did not wait for a second invitation; with one boundhe jumped to the path below and disappeared behind the grand old trees. 

"Poor, poor Zacharias, " the old Judge murmured, "all your illusions arefled. "

At seven o'clock, having regained his usual calmness of demeanor, hedescended to the room below, where Charlotte, Dame Christine and Yeri werealready waiting breakfast for him. The old man, turning his eyes from theyoung girl, advanced to the Head Forester, saying:

"My friend, I have a favor to ask of you. You know the son of the foresterof the Grinderwald, do you not?"

"Karl Imnant, why yes, sir!"

"He is a worthy young man, and well behaved, I believe. "

"I think so, Monsieur. "

"Is he capable of succeeding his father?"

"Yes, he is twenty-one years old; he knows all about tree-clipping, whichis the most necessary thing of all--he knows how to read and how to write;but that is not all; he must have influence. "

"Well, Master Yeri, I still have some influence in the Department ofForests and Rivers. This day fortnight, or three weeks at the latest, KarlImnant shall be Assistant Forester of the Grinderwald, and I ask the handof your daughter Charlotte for this brave young man. "

At this request, Charlotte, who had blushed and trembled with fear, uttered a cry and fell back into her mother's arms. 

Her father looking at her severely, said: "What is the matter, Charlotte?Do you refuse?"

"Oh, no, no, father--no!"

"That is as it should be! As for myself, I should never have refused anyrequest of Mr. Zacharias Seiler's! Come here and embrace your benefactor. "

Charlotte ran toward him and the old man pressed her to his heart, gazinglong and earnestly at her, with eyes filled with tears. Then pleadingbusiness he started home, with only a crust of bread in his basket forbreakfast. 

Fifteen days afterward, Karl Imnant received the appointment of forester, taking his father's place. Eight days later, he and Charlotte weremarried. 

The guests drank the rich Rikevir wine, so highly esteemed by YeriFoerster, and which seemed to him to have arrived so opportunely for thefeast. 

Mr. Zacharias Seiler was not present that day at the wedding, being ill athome. Since then he rarely goes fishing--and then, always to theBrünnen--toward the lake--on the other side of the mountain. 

ZADIG THE BABYLONIAN

BY FRANCOIS MARIE AROUET DE VOLTAIRE

THE BLIND OF ONE EYE

There lived at Babylon, in the reign of King Moabdar, a young man namedZadig, of a good natural disposition, strengthened and improved byeducation. Though rich and young, he had learned to moderate his passions;he had nothing stiff or affected in his behavior, he did not pretend toexamine every action by the strict rules of reason, but was always readyto make proper allowances for the weakness of mankind. 

It was matter of surprise that, notwithstanding his sprightly wit, henever exposed by his raillery those vague, incoherent, and noisydiscourses, those rash censures, ignorant decisions, coarse jests, and allthat empty jingle of words which at Babylon went by the name ofconversation. He had learned, in the first book of Zoroaster, that selflove is a football swelled with wind, from which, when pierced, the mostterrible tempests issue forth. 

Above all, Zadig never boasted of his conquests among the women, noraffected to entertain a contemptible opinion of the fair sex. He wasgenerous, and was never afraid of obliging the ungrateful; remembering thegrand precept of Zoroaster, "When thou eatest, give to the dogs, shouldthey even bite thee. " He was as wise as it is possible for man to be, forhe sought to live with the wise. 

Instructed in the sciences of the ancient Chaldeans, he understood theprinciples of natural philosophy, such as they were then supposed to be;and knew as much of metaphysics as hath ever been known in any age, thatis, little or nothing at all. He was firmly persuaded, notwithstanding thenew philosophy of the times, that the year consisted of three hundred andsixty-five days and six hours, and that the sun was in the center of theworld. But when the principal magi told him, with a haughty andcontemptuous air, that his sentiments were of a dangerous tendency, andthat it was to be an enemy to the state to believe that the sun revolvedround its own axis, and that the year had twelve months, he held histongue with great modesty and meekness. 

Possessed as he was of great riches, and consequently of many friends, blessed with a good constitution, a handsome figure, a mind just andmoderate, and a heart noble and sincere, he fondly imagined that he mighteasily be happy. He was going to be married to Semira, who, in point ofbeauty, birth, and fortune, was the first match in Babylon. He had a realand virtuous affection for this lady, and she loved him with the mostpassionate fondness. 

The happy moment was almost arrived that was to unite them forever in thebands of wedlock, when happening to take a walk together toward one of thegates of Babylon, under the palm trees that adorn the banks of theEuphrates, they saw some men approaching, armed with sabers and arrows. These were the attendants of young Orcan, the minister's nephew, whom hisuncle's creatures had flattered into an opinion that he might doeverything with impunity. He had none of the graces nor virtues of Zadig;but thinking himself a much more accomplished man, he was enraged to findthat the other was preferred before him. This jealousy, which was merelythe effect of his vanity, made him imagine that he was desperately in lovewith Semira; and accordingly he resolved to carry her off. The ravishersseized her; in the violence of the outrage they wounded her, and made theblood flow from her person, the sight of which would have softened thetigers of Mount Imaus. She pierced the heavens with her complaints. Shecried out, "My dear husband! they tear me from the man I adore. "Regardless of her own danger, she was only concerned for the fate of herdear Zadig, who, in the meantime, defended himself with all the strengththat courage and love could inspire. Assisted only by two slaves, he putthe ravishers to flight and carried home Semira, insensible and bloody asshe was. 

On opening her eyes and beholding her deliverer. "O Zadig!" said she, "Iloved thee formerly as my intended husband; I now love thee as thepreserver of my honor and my life. " Never was heart more deeply affectedthan that of Semira. Never did a more charming mouth express more movingsentiments, in those glowing words inspired by a sense of the greatest ofall favors, and by the most tender transports of a lawful passion. 

Her wound was slight and was soon cured. Zadig was more dangerouslywounded; an arrow had pierced him near his eye, and penetrated to aconsiderable depth. Semira wearied Heaven with her prayers for therecovery of her lover. Her eyes were constantly bathed in tears; sheanxiously awaited the happy moment when those of Zadig should be able tomeet hers; but an abscess growing on the wounded eye gave everything tofear. A messenger was immediately dispatched to Memphis for the greatphysician Hermes, who came with a numerous retinue. He visited the patientand declared that he would lose his eye. He even foretold the day and hourwhen this fatal event would happen. "Had it been the right eye, " said he, "I could easily have cured it; but the wounds of the left eye areincurable. " All Babylon lamented the fate of Zadig, and admired theprofound knowledge of Hermes. 

In two days the abscess broke of its own accord and Zadig was perfectlycured. Hermes wrote a book to prove that it ought not to have been cured. Zadig did not read it; but, as soon as he was able to go abroad, he wentto pay a visit to her in whom all his hopes of happiness were centered, and for whose sake alone he wished to have eyes. Semira had been in thecountry for three days past. He learned on the road that that fine lady, having openly declared that she had an unconquerable aversion to one-eyedmen, had the night before given her hand to Orcan. At this news he fellspeechless to the ground. His sorrow brought him almost to the brink ofthe grave. He was long indisposed; but reason at last got the better ofhis affliction, and the severity of his fate served to console him. 

"Since, " said he, "I have suffered so much from the cruel caprice of awoman educated at court, I must now think of marrying the daughter of acitizen. " He pitched upon Azora, a lady of the greatest prudence, and ofthe best family in town. He married her and lived with her for threemonths in all the delights of the most tender union. He only observed thatshe had a little levity; and was too apt to find that those young men whohad the most handsome persons were likewise possessed of most wit andvirtue. 

THE NOSE

One morning Azora returned from a walk in a terrible passion, and utteringthe most violent exclamations. "What aileth thee, " said he, "my dearspouse? What is it that can thus have discomposed thee?"

"Alas, " said she, "thou wouldst be as much enraged as I am hadst thou seenwhat I have just beheld. I have been to comfort the young widow Cosrou, who, within these two days, hath raised a tomb to her young husband, nearthe rivulet that washes the skirts of this meadow. She vowed to heaven, inthe bitterness of her grief, to remain at this tomb while the water of therivulet should continue to run near it. "--"Well, " said Zadig, "she is anexcellent woman, and loved her husband with the most sincere affection. "

"Ah, " replied Azora, "didst thou but know in what she was employed when Iwent to wait upon her!"

"In what, pray, beautiful Azora? Was she turning the course of therivulet?"

Azora broke out into such long invectives and loaded the young widow withsuch bitter reproaches, that Zadig was far from being pleased with thisostentation of virtue. 

Zadig had a friend named Cador, one of those young men in whom his wifediscovered more probity and merit than in others. He made him hisconfidant, and secured his fidelity as much as possible by a considerablepresent. Azora, having passed two days with a friend in the country, returned home on the third. The servants told her, with tears in theireyes, that her husband died suddenly the night before; that they wereafraid to send her an account of this mournful event; and that they hadjust been depositing his corpse in the tomb of his ancestors, at the endof the garden. 

She wept, she tore her hair, and swore she would follow him to the grave. 

In the evening Cador begged leave to wait upon her, and joined his tearswith hers. Next day they wept less, and dined together. Cador told herthat his friend had left him the greatest part of his estate; and that heshould think himself extremely happy in sharing his fortune with her. Thelady wept, fell into a passion, and at last became more mild and gentle. They sat longer at supper than at dinner. They now talked with greaterconfidence. Azora praised the deceased; but owned that he had manyfailings from which Cador was free. 

During supper Cador complained of a violent pain in his side. The lady, greatly concerned, and eager to serve him, caused all kinds of essences tobe brought, with which she anointed him, to try if some of them might notpossibly ease him of his pain. She lamented that the great Hermes was notstill in Babylon. She even condescended to touch the side in which Cadorfelt such exquisite pain. 

"Art thou subject to this cruel disorder?" said she to him with acompassionate air. 

"It sometimes brings me, " replied Cador, "to the brink of the grave; andthere is but one remedy that can give me relief, and that is to apply tomy side the nose of a man who is lately dead. "

"A strange remedy, indeed!" said Azora. 

"Not more strange, " replied he, "than the sachels of Arnon against theapoplexy. " This reason, added to the great merit of the young man, at lastdetermined the lady. 

"After all, " says she, "when my husband shall cross the bridge Tchinavar, in his journey to the other world, the angel Asrael will not refuse him apassage because his nose is a little shorter in the second life than itwas in the first. " She then took a razor, went to her husband's tomb, bedewed it with her tears, and drew near to cut off the nose of Zadig, whom she found extended at full length in the tomb. Zadig arose, holdinghis nose with one hand, and, putting back the razor with the other, "Madam, " said he, "don't exclaim so violently against young Cosrou; theproject of cutting off my nose is equal to that of turning the course of arivulet. " Zadig found by experience that the first month of marriage, asit is written in the book of Zend, is the moon of honey, and that thesecond is the moon of wormwood. He was some time after obliged torepudiate Azora, who became too difficult to be pleased; and he thensought for happiness in the study of nature. "No man, " said he, "can behappier than a philosopher who reads in this great book which God hathplaced before our eyes. The truths he discovers are his own; he nourishesand exalts his soul; he lives in peace; he fears nothing from men; and histender spouse will not come to cut off his nose. "

Possessed of these ideas he retired to a country house on the banks of theEuphrates. There he did not employ himself in calculating how many inchesof water flow in a second of time under the arches of a bridge, or whetherthere fell a cube line of rain in the month of the Mouse more than in themonth of the Sheep. He never dreamed of making silk of cobwebs, orporcelain of broken bottles; but he chiefly studied the properties ofplants and animals; and soon acquired a sagacity that made him discover athousand differences where other men see nothing but uniformity. 

One day, as he was walking near a little wood, he saw one of the queen'seunuchs running toward him, followed by several officers, who appeared tobe in great perplexity, and who ran to and fro like men distracted, eagerly searching for something they had lost of great value. "Young man, "said the first eunuch, "hast thou seen the queen's dog?" "It is a female, "replied Zadig. "Thou art in the right, " returned the first eunuch. "It isa very small she spaniel, " added Zadig; "she has lately whelped; she limpson the left forefoot, and has very long ears. " "Thou hast seen her, " saidthe first eunuch, quite out of breath. "No, " replied Zadig, "I have notseen her, nor did I so much as know that the queen had a dog. "

Exactly at the same time, by one of the common freaks of fortune, thefinest horse in the king's stable had escaped from the jockey in theplains of Babylon. The principal huntsman and all the other officers ranafter him with as much eagerness and anxiety as the first eunuch had doneafter the spaniel. The principal huntsman addressed himself to Zadig, andasked him if he had not seen the king's horse passing by. "He is thefleetest horse in the king's stable, " replied Zadig; "he is five feethigh, with very small hoofs, and a tail three feet and a half in length;the studs on his bit are gold of twenty-three carats, and his shoes aresilver of eleven pennyweights. " "What way did he take? where is he?"demanded the chief huntsman. "I have not seen him, " replied Zadig, "andnever heard talk of him before. "

The principal huntsman and the first eunuch never doubted but that Zadighad stolen the king's horse and the queen's spaniel. They therefore hadhim conducted before the assembly of the grand desterham, who condemnedhim to the knout, and to spend the rest of his days in Siberia. Hardly wasthe sentence passed when the horse and the spaniel were both found. Thejudges were reduced to the disagreeable necessity of reversing theirsentence; but they condemned Zadig to pay four hundred ounces of gold forhaving said that he had not seen what he had seen. This fine he wasobliged to pay; after which he was permitted to plead his cause before thecounsel of the grand desterham, when he spoke to the following effect:

"Ye stars of justice, abyss of sciences, mirrors of truth, who have theweight of lead, the hardness of iron, the splendor of the diamond, andmany properties of gold: Since I am permitted to speak before this augustassembly, I swear to you by Oramades that I have never seen the queen'srespectable spaniel, nor the sacred horse of the king of kings. The truthof the matter was as follows: I was walking toward the little wood, whereI afterwards met the venerable eunuch, and the most illustrious chiefhuntsman. I observed on the sand the traces of an animal, and could easilyperceive them to be those of a little dog. The light and long furrowsimpressed on little eminences of sand between the marks of the pawsplainly discovered that it was a female, whose dugs were hanging down, andthat therefore she must have whelped a few days before. Other traces of adifferent kind, that always appeared to have gently brushed the surface ofthe sand near the marks of the forefeet, showed me that she had very longears; and as I remarked that there was always a slighter impression madeon the sand by one foot than the other three, I found that the spaniel ofour august queen was a little lame, if I may be allowed the expression. 

"With regard to the horse of the king of kings, you will be pleased toknow that, walking in the lanes of this wood, I observed the marks of ahorse's shoes, all at equal distances. This must be a horse, said I tomyself, that gallops excellently. The dust on the trees in the road thatwas but seven feet wide was a little brushed off, at the distance of threefeet and a half from the middle of the road. This horse, said I, has atail three feet and a half long, which being whisked to the right andleft, has swept away the dust. I observed under the trees that formed anarbor five feet in height, that the leaves of the branches were newlyfallen; from whence I inferred that the horse had touched them, and thathe must therefore be five feet high. As to his bit, it must be gold oftwenty-three carats, for he had rubbed its bosses against a stone which Iknew to be a touchstone, and which I have tried. In a word, from the marksmade by his shoes on flints of another kind, I concluded that he was shodwith silver eleven deniers fine. "

All the judges admired Zadig for his acute and profound discernment. Thenews of this speech was carried even to the king and queen. Nothing wastalked of but Zadig in the antechambers, the chambers, and the cabinet;and though many of the magi were of opinion that he ought to be burned asa sorcerer, the king ordered his officers to restore him the four hundredounces of gold which he had been obliged to pay. The register, theattorneys, and bailiffs went to his house with great formality, to carryhim back his four hundred ounces. They only retained three hundred andninety-eight of them to defray the expenses of justice; and their servantsdemanded their fees. 

Zadig saw how extremely dangerous it sometimes is to appear too knowing, and therefore resolved that on the next occasion of the like nature hewould not tell what he had seen. 

Such an opportunity soon offered. A prisoner of state made his escape, andpassed under the window of Zadig's house. Zadig was examined and made noanswer. But it was proved that he had looked at the prisoner from thiswindow. For this crime he was condemned to pay five hundred ounces ofgold; and, according to the polite custom of Babylon, he thanked hisjudges for their indulgence. 

"Great God!" said he to himself, "what a misfortune it is to walk in awood through which the queen's spaniel or the king's horse has passed! howdangerous to look out at a window! and how difficult to be happy in thislife!"

THE ENVIOUS MAN

Zadig resolved to comfort himself by philosophy and friendship for theevils he had suffered from fortune. He had in the suburbs of Babylon ahouse elegantly furnished, in which he assembled all the arts and all thepleasures worthy the pursuit of a gentleman. In the morning his librarywas open to the learned. In the evening his table was surrounded by goodcompany. But he soon found what very dangerous guests these men of lettersare. A warm dispute arose on one of Zoroaster's laws, which forbids theeating of a griffin. "Why, " said some of them, "prohibit the eating of agriffin, if there is no such an animal in nature?" "There must necessarilybe such an animal, " said the others, "since Zoroaster forbids us to eatit. " Zadig would fain have reconciled them by saying, "If there are nogriffins, we cannot possibly eat them; and thus either way we shall obeyZoroaster. "

A learned man who had composed thirteen volumes on the properties of thegriffin, and was besides the chief theurgite, hastened away to accuseZadig before one of the principal magi, named Yebor, the greatestblockhead and therefore the greatest fanatic among the Chaldeans. This manwould have impaled Zadig to do honors to the sun, and would then haverecited the breviary of Zoroaster with greater satisfaction. The friendCador (a friend is better than a hundred priests) went to Yebor, and saidto him, "Long live the sun and the griffins; beware of punishing Zadig; heis a saint; he has griffins in his inner court and does not eat them; andhis accuser is an heretic, who dares to maintain that rabbits have clovenfeet and are not unclean. "

"Well, " said Yebor, shaking his bald pate, "we must impale Zadig forhaving thought contemptuously of griffins, and the other for having spokendisrespectfully of rabbits. " Cador hushed up the affair by means of a maidof honor with whom he had a love affair, and who had great interest in theCollege of the Magi. Nobody was impaled. 

This levity occasioned a great murmuring among some of the doctors, whofrom thence predicted the fall of Babylon. "Upon what does happinessdepend?" said Zadig. "I am persecuted by everything in the world, even onaccount of beings that have no existence. " He cursed those men oflearning, and resolved for the future to live with none but good company. 

He assembled at his house the most worthy men and the most beautifulladies of Babylon. He gave them delicious suppers, often preceded byconcerts of music, and always animated by polite conversation, from whichhe knew how to banish that affectation of wit which is the surest methodof preventing it entirely, and of spoiling the pleasure of the mostagreeable society. Neither the choice of his friends nor that of thedishes was made by vanity; for in everything he preferred the substance tothe shadow; and by these means he procured that real respect to which hedid not aspire. 

Opposite to his house lived one Arimazes, a man whose deformed countenancewas but a faint picture of his still more deformed mind. His heart was amixture of malice, pride, and envy. Having never been able to succeed inany of his undertakings, he revenged himself on all around him by loadingthem with the blackest calumnies. Rich as he was, he found it difficult toprocure a set of flatterers. The rattling of the chariots that enteredZadig's court in the evening filled him with uneasiness; the sound of hispraises enraged him still more. He sometimes went to Zadig's house, andsat down at table without being desired; where he spoiled all the pleasureof the company, as the harpies are said to infect the viands they touch. It happened that one day he took it in his head to give an entertainmentto a lady, who, instead of accepting it, went to sup with Zadig. Atanother time, as he was talking with Zadig at court, a minister of statecame up to them, and invited Zadig to supper without inviting Arimazes. The most implacable hatred has seldom a more solid foundation. This man, who in Babylon was called the Envious, resolved to ruin Zadig because hewas called the Happy. "The opportunity of doing mischief occurs a hundredtimes in a day, and that of doing good but once a year, " as sayeth thewise Zoroaster. 

The envious man went to see Zadig, who was walking in his garden with twofriends and a lady, to whom he said many gallant things, without any otherintention than that of saying them. The conversation turned upon a warwhich the king had just brought to a happy conclusion against the princeof Hircania, his vassal. Zadig, who had signalized his courage in thisshort war, bestowed great praises on the king, but greater still on thelady. He took out his pocket-book, and wrote four lines extempore, whichhe gave to this amiable person to read. His friends begged they might seethem; but modesty, or rather a well-regulated self love, would not allowhim to grant their request. He knew that extemporary verses are neverapproved of by any but by the person in whose honor they are written. Hetherefore tore in two the leaf on which he had wrote them, and threw boththe pieces into a thicket of rose-bushes, where the rest of the companysought for them in vain. A slight shower falling soon after obliged themto return to the house. The envious man, who stayed in the garden, continued the search till at last he found a piece of the leaf. It hadbeen torn in such a manner that each half of a line formed a completesense, and even a verse of a shorter measure; but what was still moresurprising, these short verses were found to contain the most injuriousreflections on the king. They ran thus:

To flagrant crimesHis crown he owes, To peaceful timesThe worst of foes. 

The envious man was now happy for the first time of his life. He had it inhis power to ruin a person of virtue and merit. Filled with this fiendlikejoy, he found means to convey to the king the satire written by the handof Zadig, who, together with the lady and his two friends, was thrown intoprison. 

His trial was soon finished, without his being permitted to speak forhimself. As he was going to receive his sentence, the envious man threwhimself in his way and told him with a loud voice that his verses weregood for nothing. Zadig did not value himself on being a good poet; but itfilled him with inexpressible concern to find that he was condemned forhigh treason; and that the fair lady and his two friends were confined inprison for a crime of which they were not guilty. He was not allowed tospeak because his writing spoke for him. Such was the law of Babylon. Accordingly he was conducted to the place of execution, through an immensecrowd of spectators, who durst not venture to express their pity for him, but who carefully examined his countenance to see if he died with a goodgrace. His relations alone were inconsolable, for they could not succeedto his estate. Three-fourths of his wealth were confiscated into theking's treasury, and the other fourth was given to the envious man. 

Just as he was preparing for death the king's parrot flew from its cageand alighted on a rosebush in Zadig's garden. A peach had been driventhither by the wind from a neighboring tree, and had fallen on a piece ofthe written leaf of the pocketbook to which it stuck. The bird carried offthe peach and the paper and laid them on the king's knee. The king took upthe paper with great eagerness and read the words, which formed no sense, and seemed to be the endings of verses. He loved poetry; and there isalways some mercy to be expected from a prince of that disposition. Theadventure of the parrot set him a-thinking. 

The queen, who remembered what had been written on the piece of Zadig'spocketbook, caused it to be brought. They compared the two pieces togetherand found them to tally exactly; they then read the verses as Zadig hadwrote them. 

TYRANTS ARE PRONE TO FLAGRANT CRIMES. TO CLEMENCY HIS CROWN HE OWES. TO CONCORD AND TO PEACEFUL TIMES. LOVE ONLY IS THE WORST OF FOES. 

The king gave immediate orders that Zadig should be brought before him, and that his two friends and the lady should be set at liberty. Zadig fellprostrate on the ground before the king and queen; humbly begged theirpardon for having made such bad verses and spoke with so much propriety, wit, and good sense, that their majesties desired they might see himagain. He did himself that honor, and insinuated himself still fartherinto their good graces. They gave him all the wealth of the envious man;but Zadig restored him back the whole of it. And this instance ofgenerosity gave no other pleasure to the envious man than that of havingpreserved his estate. 

The king's esteem for Zadig increased every day. He admitted him into allhis parties of pleasure, and consulted him in all affairs of state. Fromthat time the queen began to regard him with an eye of tenderness thatmight one day prove dangerous to herself, to the king, her august comfort, to Zadig, and to the kingdom in general. Zadig now began to think thathappiness was not so unattainable as he had formerly imagined. 

THE GENEROUS

The time now arrived for celebrating a grand festival, which returnedevery five years. It was a custom in Babylon solemnly to declare at theend of every five years which of the citizens had performed the mostgenerous action. The grandees and the magi were the judges. The firstsatrap, who was charged with the government of the city, published themost noble actions that had passed under his administration. Thecompetition was decided by votes; and the king pronounced the sentence. People came to this solemnity from the extremities of the earth. Theconqueror received from the monarch's hand a golden cup adorned withprecious stones, his majesty at the same time making him this compliment:

"Receive this reward of thy generosity, and may the gods grant me manysubjects like to thee. "

This memorable day being come, the king appeared on his throne, surroundedby the grandees, the magi, and the deputies of all nations that came tothese games, where glory was acquired not by the swiftness of horses, norby strength of body, but by virtue. The first satrap recited, with anaudible voice, such actions as might entitle the authors of them to thisinvaluable prize. He did not mention the greatness of soul with whichZadig had restored the envious man his fortune, because it was not judgedto be an action worthy of disputing the prize. 

He first presented a judge who, having made a citizen lose a considerablecause by a mistake, for which, after all, he was not accountable, hadgiven him the whole of his own estate, which was just equal to what theother had lost. 

He next produced a young man who, being desperately in love with a ladywhom he was going to marry, had yielded her up to his friend, whosepassion for her had almost brought him to the brink of the grave, and atthe same time had given him the lady's fortune. 

He afterwards produced a soldier who, in the wars of Hircania, had given astill more noble instance of generosity. A party of the enemy havingseized his mistress, he fought in her defense with great intrepidity. Atthat very instant he was informed that another party, at the distance of afew paces, were carrying off his mother; he therefore left his mistresswith tears in his eyes and flew to the assistance of his mother. At lasthe returned to the dear object of his love and found her expiring. He wasjust going to plunge his sword in his own bosom; but his motherremonstrating against such a desperate deed, and telling him that he wasthe only support of her life, he had the courage to endure to live. 

The judges were inclined to give the prize to the soldier. But the kingtook up the discourse and said: "The action of the soldier, and those ofthe other two, are doubtless very great, but they have nothing in themsurprising. Yesterday Zadig performed an action that filled me withwonder. I had a few days before disgraced Coreb, my minister and favorite. I complained of him in the most violent and bitter terms; all my courtiersassured me that I was too gentle and seemed to vie with each other inspeaking ill of Coreb. I asked Zadig what he thought of him, and he hadthe courage to commend him. I have read in our histories of many peoplewho have atoned for an error by the surrender of their fortune; who haveresigned a mistress; or preferred a mother to the object of theiraffection; but never before did I hear of a courtier who spoke favorablyof a disgraced minister that labored under the displeasure of hissovereign. I give to each of those whose generous actions have been nowrecited twenty thousand pieces of gold; but the cup I give to Zadig. "

"May it please your majesty, " said Zadig, "thyself alone deservest thecup; thou hast performed an action of all others the most uncommon andmeritorious, since, notwithstanding thy being a powerful king, thou wastnot offended at thy slave when he presumed to oppose thy passion. " Theking and Zadig were equally the object of admiration. The judge, who hadgiven his estate to his client; the lover, who had resigned his mistressto a friend; and the soldier, who had preferred the safety of his motherto that of his mistress, received the king's presents and saw their namesenrolled in the catalogue of generous men. Zadig had the cup, and the kingacquired the reputation of a good prince, which he did not long enjoy. Theday was celebrated by feasts that lasted longer than the law enjoined; andthe memory of it is still preserved in Asia. Zadig said, "Now I am happyat last;" but he found himself fatally deceived. 

THE MINISTER

The king had lost his first minister and chose Zadig to supply his place. All the ladies in Babylon applauded the choice; for since the foundationof the empire there had never been such a young minister. But all thecourtiers were filled with jealousy and vexation. The envious man inparticular was troubled with a spitting of blood and a prodigiousinflammation in his nose. Zadig, having thanked the king and queen fortheir goodness, went likewise to thank the parrot. "Beautiful bird, " saidhe, "'tis thou that hast saved my life and made me first minister. Thequeen's spaniel and the king's horse did me a great deal of mischief; butthou hast done me much good. Upon such slender threads as these do thefates of mortals hang! But, " added he, "this happiness perhaps will vanishvery soon. "

"Soon, " replied the parrot. 

Zadig was somewhat startled at this word. But as he was a good naturalphilosopher and did not believe parrots to be prophets, he quicklyrecovered his spirits and resolved to execute his duty to the best of hispower. 

He made everyone feel the sacred authority of the laws, but no one feltthe weight of his dignity. He never checked the deliberation of the diran;and every vizier might give his opinion without the fear of incurring theminister's displeasure. When he gave judgment, it was not he that gave it, it was the law; the rigor of which, however, whenever it was too severe, he always took care to soften; and when laws were wanting, the equity ofhis decisions was such as might easily have made them pass for those ofZoroaster. It is to him that the nations are indebted for this grandprinciple, to wit, that it is better to run the risk of sparing the guiltythan to condemn the innocent. He imagined that laws were made as well tosecure the people from the suffering of injuries as to restrain them fromthe commission of crimes. His chief talent consisted in discovering thetruth, which all men seek to obscure. 

This great talent he put in practice from the very beginning of hisadministration. A famous merchant of Babylon, who died in the Indies, divided his estate equally between his two sons, after having disposed oftheir sister in marriage, and left a present of thirty thousand pieces ofgold to that son who should be found to have loved him best. The eldestraised a tomb to his memory; the youngest increased his sister's portion, by giving her part of his inheritance. Everyone said that the eldest sonloved his father best, and the youngest his sister; and that the thirtythousand pieces belonged to the eldest. 

Zadig sent for both of them, the one after the other. To the eldest hesaid: "Thy father is not dead; he is recovered of his last illness, and isreturning to Babylon, " "God be praised, " replied the young man; "but histomb cost me a considerable sum. " Zadig afterwards said the same to theyoungest. "God be praised, " said he, "I will go and restore to my fatherall that I have; but I could wish that he would leave my sister what Ihave given her. " "Thou shalt restore nothing, " replied Zadig, "and thoushalt have the thirty thousand pieces, for thou art the son who loves hisfather best. "

THE DISPUTES AND THE AUDIENCES

In this manner he daily discovered the subtilty of his genius and thegoodness of his heart. The people at once admired and loved him. He passedfor the happiest man in the world. The whole empire resounded with hisname. All the ladies ogled him. All the men praised him for his justice. The learned regarded him as an oracle; and even the priests confessed thathe knew more than the old archmage Yebor. They were now so far fromprosecuting him on account of the griffin, that they believed nothing butwhat he thought credible. 

There had reigned in Babylon, for the space of fifteen hundred years, aviolent contest that had divided the empire into two sects. The onepretended that they ought to enter the temple of Mitra with the left footforemost; the other held this custom in detestation and always enteredwith the right foot first. The people waited with great impatience for theday on which the solemn feast of the sacred fire was to be celebrated, tosee which sect Zadig would favor. All the world had their eyes fixed onhis two feet, and the whole city was in the utmost suspense andperturbation. Zadig jumped into the temple with his feet joined together, and afterwards proved, in an eloquent discourse, that the Sovereign ofheaven and earth, who accepted not the persons of men, makes nodistinction between the right and left foot. The envious man and his wifealleged that his discourse was not figurative enough, and that he did notmake the rocks and mountains to dance with sufficient agility. 

"He is dry. " said they, "and void of genius: he does not make the flea tofly, and stars to fall, nor the sun to melt wax; he has not the trueOriental style. " Zadig contented himself with having the style of reason. All the world favored him, not because he was in the right road orfollowed the dictates of reason, or was a man of real merit, but becausehe was prime vizier. 

He terminated with the same happy address the grand difference between thewhite and the black magi. The former maintained that it was the height ofimpiety to pray to God with the face turned toward the east in winter; thelatter asserted that God abhorred the prayers of those who turned towardthe west in summer. Zadig decreed that every man should be allowed to turnas he pleased. 

Thus he found out the happy secret of finishing all affairs, whether of aprivate or a public nature, in the morning. The rest of the day heemployed in superintending and promoting the embellishments of Babylon. Heexhibited tragedies that drew tears from the eyes of the spectators, andcomedies that shook their sides with laughter; a custom which had longbeen disused, and which his good taste now induced him to revive. He neveraffected to be more knowing in the polite arts than the artiststhemselves; he encouraged them by rewards and honors, and was neverjealous of their talents. In the evening the king was highly entertainedwith his conversation, and the queen still more. "Great minister!" saidthe king. "Amiable minister!" said the queen; and both of them added, "Itwould have been a great loss to the state had such a man been hanged. "

Never was a man in power obliged to give so many audiences to the ladies. Most of them came to consult him about no business at all, that so theymight have some business with him. But none of them won his attention. 

Meanwhile Zadig perceived that his thoughts were always distracted, aswell when he gave audience as when he sat in judgment. He did not know towhat to attribute this absence of mind; and that was his only sorrow. 

He had a dream in which he imagined that he laid himself down upon a heapof dry herbs, among which there were many prickly ones that gave him greatuneasiness, and that he afterwards reposed himself on a soft bed of rosesfrom which there sprung a serpent that wounded him to the heart with itssharp and venomed tongue. "Alas, " said he, "I have long lain on these dryand prickly herbs, I am now on the bed of roses; but what shall be theserpent?"

JEALOUSY

Zadig's calamities sprung even from his happiness and especially from hismerit. He every day conversed with the king and Astarte, his augustcomfort. The charms of his conversation were greatly heightened by thatdesire of pleasing, which is to the mind what dress is to beauty. Hisyouth and graceful appearance insensibly made an impression on Astarte, which she did not at first perceive. Her passion grew and flourished inthe bosom of innocence. Without fear or scruple, she indulged the pleasingsatisfaction of seeing and hearing a man who was so dear to her husbandand to the empire in general. She was continually praising him to theking. She talked of him to her women, who were always sure to improve onher praises. And thus everything contributed to pierce her heart with adart, of which she did not seem to be sensible. She made several presentsto Zadig, which discovered a greater spirit of gallantry than sheimagined. She intended to speak to him only as a queen satisfied with hisservices and her expressions were sometimes those of a woman in love. 

Astarte was much more beautiful than that Semira who had such a strongaversion to one-eyed men, or that other woman who had resolved to cut offher husband's nose. Her unreserved familiarity, her tender expressions, atwhich she began to blush; and her eyes, which, though she endeavored todivert them to other objects, were always fixed upon his, inspired Zadigwith a passion that filled him with astonishment. He struggled hard to getthe better of it. He called to his aid the precepts of philosophy, whichhad always stood him in stead; but from thence, though he could derive thelight of knowledge, he could procure no remedy to cure the disorders ofhis lovesick heart. Duty, gratitude, and violated majesty presentedthemselves to his mind as so many avenging gods. He struggled; heconquered; but this victory, which he was obliged to purchase afresh everymoment, cost him many sighs and tears. He no longer dared to speak to thequeen with that sweet and charming familiarity which had been so agreeableto them both. His countenance was covered with a cloud. His conversationwas constrained and incoherent. His eyes were fixed on the ground; andwhen, in spite of all his endeavors to the contrary, they encounteredthose of the queen, they found them bathed in tears and darting arrows offlame. They seemed to say, We adore each other and yet are afraid to love;we both burn with a fire which we both condemn. 

Zadig left the royal presence full of perplexity and despair, and havinghis heart oppressed with a burden which he was no longer able to bear. Inthe violence of his perturbation he involuntarily betrayed the secret tohis friend Cador, in the same manner as a man who, having long supportedthe fits of a cruel disease, discovers his pain by a cry extorted from himby a more severe fit and by the cold sweat that covers his brow. 

"I have already discovered, " said Cador, "the sentiments which thouwouldst fain conceal from thyself. The symptoms by which the passions showthemselves are certain and infallible. Judge, my dear Zadig, since I haveread thy heart, whether the king will not discover something in it thatmay give him offense. He has no other fault but that of being the mostjealous man in the world. Thou canst resist the violence of thy passionwith greater fortitude than the queen because thou art a philosopher, andbecause thou art Zadig. Astarte is a woman: she suffers her eyes to speakwith so much the more imprudence, as she does not as yet think herselfguilty. Conscious of her innocence, she unhappily neglects those externalappearances which are so necessary. I shall tremble for her so long as shehas nothing wherewithal to reproach herself. Were ye both of one mind, yemight easily deceive the whole world. A growing passion, which we endeavorto suppress, discovers itself in spite of all our efforts to the contrary;but love, when gratified, is easily concealed. "

Zadig trembled at the proposal of betraying the king, his benefactor; andnever was he more faithful to his prince than when guilty of aninvoluntary crime against him. 

Meanwhile the queen mentioned the name of Zadig so frequently and withsuch a blushing and downcast look; she was sometimes so lively andsometimes so perplexed when she spoke to him in the king's presence, andwas seized with such deep thoughtfulness at his going away, that the kingbegan to be troubled. He believed all that he saw and imagined all that hedid not see. He particularly remarked that his wife's shoes were blue andthat Zadig's shoes were blue; that his wife's ribbons were yellow and thatZadig's bonnet was yellow; and these were terrible symptoms to a prince ofso much delicacy. In his jealous mind suspicions were turned intocertainty. 

All the slaves of kings and queens are so many spies over their hearts. They soon observed that Astarte was tender and that Moabdar was jealous. The envious man brought false reports to the king. The monarch now thoughtof nothing but in what manner he might best execute his vengeance. He onenight resolved to poison the queen and in the morning to put Zadig todeath by the bowstring. The orders were given to a merciless eunuch, whocommonly executed his acts of vengeance. There happened at that time to bein the king's chamber a little dwarf, who, though dumb, was not deaf. Hewas allowed, on account of his insignificance, to go wherever he pleased, and, as a domestic animal, was a witness of what passed in the mostprofound secrecy. This little mute was strongly attached to the queen andZadig. With equal horror and surprise he heard the cruel orders given. Buthow to prevent the fatal sentence that in a few hours was to be carriedinto execution! He could not write, but he could paint; and excelledparticularly in drawing a striking resemblance. He employed a part of thenight in sketching out with his pencil what he meant to impart to thequeen. The piece represented the king in one corner, boiling with rage, and giving orders to the eunuch; a bowstring, and a bowl on a table; thequeen in the middle of the picture, expiring in the arms of her woman, andZadig strangled at her feet The horizon, represented a rising sun, toexpress that this shocking execution was to be performed in the morning. As soon as he had finished the picture he ran to one of Astarte's women, awakened her, and made her understand that she must immediately carry itto the queen. 

At midnight a messenger knocks at Zadig's door, awakes him, and gives hima note from the queen. He doubts whether it is a dream; and opens theletter with a trembling hand. But how great was his surprise! and who canexpress the consternation and despair into which he was thrown uponreading these words: "Fly this instant, or thou art a dead man. Fly, Zadig, I conjure thee by our mutual love and my yellow ribbons. I have notbeen guilty, but I find I must die like a criminal. "

Zadig was hardly able to speak. He sent for Cador, and, without uttering aword, gave him the note. Cador forced him to obey, and forthwith to takethe road to Memphis. "Shouldst thou dare, " said he, "to go in search ofthe queen, thou wilt hasten her death. Shouldst thou speak to the king, thou wilt infallibly ruin her. I will take upon me the charge of herdestiny; follow thy own. I will spread a report that thou hast taken theroad to India. I will soon follow thee, and inform thee of all that shallhave passed in Babylon. " At that instant, Cador caused two of the swiftestdromedaries to be brought to a private gate of the palace. Upon one ofthese he mounted Zadig, whom he was obliged to carry to the door, and whowas ready to expire with grief. He was accompanied by a single domestic;and Cador, plunged in sorrow and astonishment, soon lost sight of hisfriend. 

This illustrious fugitive arriving on the side of a hill, from whence hecould take a view of Babylon, turned his eyes toward the queen's palace, and fainted away at the sight; nor did he recover his senses but to shed atorrent of tears and to wish for death. At length, after his thoughts hadbeen long engrossed in lamenting the unhappy fate of the loveliest womanand the greatest queen in the world, he for a moment turned his views onhimself and cried: "What then is human life? O virtue, how hast thouserved me! Two women have basely deceived me, and now a third, who isinnocent, and more beautiful than both the others, is going to be put todeath! Whatever good I have done hath been to me a continual source ofcalamity and affliction; and I have only been raised to the height ofgrandeur, to be tumbled down the most horrid precipice of misfortune. "Filled with these gloomy reflections, his eyes overspread with the veil ofgrief, his countenance covered with the paleness of death, and his soulplunged in an abyss of the blackest despair, he continued his journeytoward Egypt. 

THE WOMAN BEATEN

Zadig directed his course by the stars. The constellation of Orion and thesplendid Dog Star guided his steps toward the pole of Cassiopeia. Headmired those vast globes of light, which appear to our eyes but as somany little sparks, while the earth, which in reality is only animperceptible point in nature, appears to our fond imaginations assomething so grand and noble. 

He then represented to himself the human species as it really is, as aparcel of insects devouring one another on a little atom of clay. Thistrue image seemed to annihilate his misfortunes, by making him sensible ofthe nothingness of his own being, and of that of Babylon. His soullaunched out into infinity, and, detached from the senses, contemplatedthe immutable order of the universe. But when afterwards, returning tohimself, and entering into his own heart, he considered that Astarte hadperhaps died for him, the universe vanished from his sight, and he beheldnothing in the whole compass of nature but Astarte; expiring and Zadigunhappy. While he thus alternately gave up his mind to this flux andreflux of sublime philosophy and intolerable grief, he advanced toward thefrontiers of Egypt; and his faithful domestic was already in the firstvillage, in search of a lodging. 

Upon reaching the village Zadig generously took the part of a womanattacked by her jealous lover. The combat grew so fierce that Zadig slewthe lover. The Egyptians were then just and humane. The people conductedZadig to the town house. They first of all ordered his wounds to bedressed and then examined him and his servant apart, in order to discoverthe truth. They found that Zadig was not an assassin; but as he was guiltyof having killed a man, the law condemned him to be a slave. His twocamels were sold for the benefit of the town; all the gold he had broughtwith him was distributed among the inhabitants; and his person, as well asthat of the companion of his journey, was exposed to sale in themarketplace. 

An Arabian merchant, named Setoc, made the purchase; but as the servantwas fitter for labor than the master, he was sold at a higher price. Therewas no comparison between the two men. Thus Zadig became a slavesubordinate to his own servant. They were linked together by a chainfastened to their feet, and in this condition they followed the Arabianmerchant to his house. 

BY the way Zadig comforted his servant, and exhorted him to patience; buthe could not help making, according to his usual custom, some reflectionson human life. "I see, " said he, "that the unhappiness of my fate hath aninfluence on thine. Hitherto everything has turned out to me in a mostunaccountable manner. I have been condemned to pay a fine for having seenthe marks of a spaniel's feet. I thought that I should once have beenimpaled on account of a griffin. I have been sent to execution for havingmade some verses in praise of the king. I have been upon the point ofbeing strangled because the queen had yellow ribbons; and now I am a slavewith thee, because a brutal wretch beat his mistress. Come, let us keep agood heart; all this perhaps will have an end. The Arabian merchants mustnecessarily have slaves; and why not me as well as another, since, as wellas another, I am a man? This merchant will not be cruel; he must treat hisslaves well, if he expects any advantage from them. " But while he spokethus, his heart was entirely engrossed by the fate of the Queen ofBabylon. 

Two days after, the merchant Setoc set out for Arabia Deserta, with hisslaves and his camels. His tribe dwelt near the Desert of Oreb. Thejourney was long and painful. Setoc set a much greater value on theservant than the master, because the former was more expert in loading thecamels; and all the little marks of distinction were shown to him. A camelhaving died within two days' journey of Oreb, his burden was divided andlaid on the backs of the servants; and Zadig had his share among the rest. 

Setoc laughed to see all his slaves walking with their bodies inclined. Zadig took the liberty to explain to him the cause, and inform him of thelaws of the balance. The merchant was astonished, and began to regard himwith other eyes. Zadig, finding he had raised his curiosity, increased itstill further by acquainting him with many things that related tocommerce, the specific gravity of metals, and commodities under an equalbulk; the properties of several useful animals; and the means of renderingthose useful that are not naturally so. At last Setoc began to considerZadig as a sage, and preferred him to his companion, whom he had formerlyso much esteemed. He treated him well and had no cause to repent of hiskindness. 

THE STONE

As soon as Setoc arrived among his own tribe he demanded the payment offive hundred ounces of silver, which he had lent to a Jew in presence oftwo witnesses; but as the witnesses were dead, and the debt could not beproved, the Hebrew appropriated the merchant's money to himself, andpiously thanked God for putting it in his power to cheat an Arabian. Setocimparted this troublesome affair to Zadig, who was now become his counsel. 

"In what place, " said Zadig, "didst thou lend the five hundred ounces tothis infidel?"

"Upon a large stone, " replied the merchant, "that lies near Mount Oreb. "

"What is the character of thy debtor?" said Zadig. "That of a knave, "returned Setoc. 

"But I ask thee whether he is lively or phlegmatic, cautious orimprudent?"

"He is, of all bad payers, " said Setoc, "the most lively fellow I everknew. "

"Well, " resumed Zadig, "allow me to plead thy cause. " In effect Zadig, having summoned the Jew to the tribunal, addressed the judge in thefollowing terms: "Pillar of the throne of equity, I come to demand of thisman, in the name of my master, five hundred ounces of silver, which herefuses to pay. "

"Hast thou any witnesses?" said the judge. 

"No, they are dead; but there remains a large stone upon which the moneywas counted; and if it please thy grandeur to order the stone to be soughtfor, I hope that it will bear witness. The Hebrew and I will tarry heretill the stone arrives; I will send for it at my master's expense. "

"With all my heart, " replied the judge, and immediately applied himself tothe discussion of other affairs. 

When the court was going to break up, the judge said to Zadig. "Well, friend, is not thy stone come yet?"

The Hebrew replied with a smile, "Thy grandeur may stay here till themorrow, and after all not see the stone. It is more than six miles fromhence; and it would require fifteen men to move it. "

"Well, " cried Zadig, "did not I say that the stone would bear witness?Since this man knows where it is, he thereby confesses that it was upon itthat the money was counted. " The Hebrew was disconcerted, and was soonafter obliged to confess the truth. The judge ordered him to be fastenedto the stone, without meat or drink, till he should restore the fivehundred ounces, which were soon after paid. 

The slave Zadig and the stone were held in great repute in Arabia. 

THE FUNERAL PILE

Setoc, charmed with the happy issue of this affair, made his slave hisintimate friend. He had now conceived as great esteem for him as ever theKing of Babylon had done; and Zadig was glad that Setoc had no wife. Hediscovered in his master a good natural disposition, much probity ofheart, and a great share of good sense; but he was sorry to see that, according to the ancient custom of Arabia, he adored the host of heaven;that is, the sun, moon, and stars. He sometimes spoke to him on thissubject with great prudence and discretion. At last he told him that thesebodies were like all other bodies in the universe, and no more deservingof our homage than a tree or a rock. 

"But, " said Setoc, "they are eternal beings; and it is from them we deriveall we enjoy. They animate nature; they regulate the seasons; and, besides, are removed at such an immense distance from us that we cannothelp revering them. "

"Thou receivest more advantage, " replied Zadig, "from the waters of theRed Sea, which carry thy merchandise to the Indies. Why may not it be asancient as the stars? And if thou adorest what is placed at a distancefrom thee, thou oughtest to adore the land of the Gangarides, which liesat the extremity of the earth. "

"No, " said Setoc, "the brightness of the stars commands my adoration. "

At night Zadig lighted up a great number of candles in the tent where hewas to sup with Setoc; and the moment his patron appeared, he fell on hisknees before these lighted tapers, and said, "Eternal and shiningluminaries! be ye always propitious to me. " Having thus said, he sat downat table, without taking the least notice of Setoc. 

"What art thou doing?" said Setoc to him in amaze. 

"I act like thee, " replied Zadig, "I adore these candles, and neglecttheir master and mine. " Setoc comprehended the profound sense of thisapologue. The wisdom of his slave sunk deep into his soul; he no longeroffered incense to the creatures, but adored the eternal Being who madethem. 

There prevailed at that time in Arabia a shocking custom, sprungoriginally from Leythia, and which, being established in the Indies by thecredit of the Brahmans, threatened to overrun all the East. When a marriedman died, and his beloved wife aspired to the character of a saint, sheburned herself publicly on the body of her husband. This was a solemnfeast and was called the Funeral Pile of Widowhood, and that tribe inwhich most women had been burned was the most respected. 

An Arabian of Setoc's tribe being dead, his widow, whose name was Almona, and who was very devout, published the day and hour when she intended tothrow herself into the fire, amidst the sound of drums and trumpets. Zadigremonstrated against this horrible custom; he showed Setoc howinconsistent it was with the happiness of mankind to suffer young widowsto burn themselves every other day, widows who were capable of givingchildren to the state, or at least of educating those they already had;and he convinced him that it was his duty to do all that lay in his powerto abolish such a barbarous practice. 

"The women, " said Setoc, "have possessed the right of burning themselvesfor more than a thousand years; and who shall dare to abrogate a law whichtime hath rendered sacred? Is there anything more respectable than ancientabuses?"

"Reason is more ancient, " replied Zadig; "meanwhile, speak thou to thechiefs of the tribes and I will go to wait on the young widow. "

Accordingly he was introduced to her; and, after having insinuated himselfinto her good graces by some compliments on her beauty and told her what apity it was to commit so many charms to the flames, he at last praised herfor her constancy and courage. "Thou must surely have loved thy husband, "said he to her, "with the most passionate fondness. "

"Who, I?" replied the lady. "I loved him not at all. He was a brutal, jealous, insupportable wretch; but I am firmly resolved to throw myself onhis funeral pile. "

"It would appear then, " said Zadig, "that there must be a very deliciouspleasure in being burned alive. "

"Oh! it makes nature shudder, " replied the lady, "but that must beoverlooked. I am a devotee, and I should lose my reputation and all theworld would despise me if I did not burn myself. "

Zadig having made her acknowledge that she burned herself to gain the goodopinion of others and to gratify her own vanity, entertained her with along discourse, calculated to make her a little in love with life, andeven went so far as to inspire her with some degree of good will for theperson who spoke to her. 

"Alas!" said the lady, "I believe I should desire thee to marry me. "

Zadig's mind was too much engrossed with the idea of Astarte not to eludethis declaration; but he instantly went to the chiefs of the tribes, toldthem what had passed, and advised them to make a law, by which a widowshould not be permitted to burn herself till she had conversed privatelywith a young man for the space of an hour. Since that time not a singlewoman hath burned herself in Arabia. They were indebted to Zadig alone fordestroying in one day a cruel custom that had lasted for so many ages andthus he became the benefactor of Arabia. 

THE SUPPER

Setoc, who could not separate himself from this man, in whom dwelt wisdom, carried him to the great fair of Balzora, whither the richest merchants inthe earth resorted. Zadig was highly pleased to see so many men ofdifferent countries united in the same place. He considered the wholeuniverse as one large family assembled at Balzora. 

Setoc, after having sold his commodities at a very high price, returned tohis own tribe with his friend Zadig; who learned upon his arrival that hehad been tried in his absence and was now going to be burned by a slowfire. Only the friendship of Almona saved his life. Like so many prettywomen she possessed great influence with the priesthood. Zadig thought itbest to leave Arabia. 

Setoc was so charmed with the ingenuity and address of Almona that he madeher his wife. Zadig departed, after having thrown himself at the feet ofhis fair deliverer. Setoc and he took leave of each other with tears intheir eyes, swearing an eternal friendship, and promising that the firstof them that should acquire a large fortune should share it with theother. 

Zadig directed his course along the frontiers of Assyria, still musing onthe unhappy Astarte, and reflecting on the severity of fortune whichseemed determined to make him the sport of her cruelty and the object ofher persecution. 

"What, " said he to himself, "four hundred ounces of gold for having seen aspaniel! condemned to lose my head for four bad verses in praise of theking! ready to be strangled because the queen had shoes of the color of mybonnet! reduced to slavery for having succored a woman who was beat! andon the point of being burned for having saved the lives of all the youngwidows of Arabia!"

THE ROBBER

Arriving on the frontiers which divide Arabia Petraea from Syria, hepassed by a pretty strong castle, from which a party of armed Arabianssallied forth. They instantly surrounded him and cried, "All thou hastbelongs to us, and thy person is the property of our master. " Zadigreplied by drawing his sword; his servant, who was a man of courage, didthe same. They killed the first Arabians that presumed to lay hands onthem; and, though the number was redoubled, they were not dismayed, butresolved to perish in the conflict. Two men defended themselves against amultitude; and such a combat could not last long. 

The master of the castle, whose name was Arbogad, having observed from awindow the prodigies of valor performed by Zadig, conceived a high esteemfor this heroic stranger. He descended in haste and went in person to calloff his men and deliver the two travelers. 

"All that passes over my lands, " said he, "belongs to me, as well as whatI find upon the lands of others; but thou seemest to be a man of suchundaunted courage that I will exempt thee from the common law. " He thenconducted him to his castle, ordering his men to treat him well; and inthe evening Arbogad supped with Zadig. 

The lord of the castle was one of those Arabians who are commonly calledrobbers; but he now and then performed some good actions amid a multitudeof bad ones. He robbed with a furious rapacity, and granted favors withgreat generosity; he was intrepid in action; affable in company; adebauchee at table, but gay in debauchery; and particularly remarkable forhis frank and open behavior. He was highly pleased with Zadig, whoselively conversation lengthened the repast. 

At last Arbogad said to him; "I advise thee to enroll thy name in mycatalogue; thou canst not do better; this is not a bad trade; and thoumayest one day become what I am at present. "

"May I take the liberty of asking thee, " said Zadig, "how long thou hastfollowed this noble profession?"

"From my most tender youth, " replied the lord. "I was a servant to apretty good-natured Arabian, but could not endure the hardships of mysituation. I was vexed to find that fate had given me no share of theearth, which equally belongs to all men. I imparted the cause of myuneasiness to an old Arabian, who said to me: 'My son, do not despair;there was once a grain of sand that lamented that it was no more than aneglected atom in the desert; at the end of a few years it became adiamond; and is now the brightest ornament in the crown of the king of theIndies. ' This discourse made a deep impression on my mind. I was the grainof sand, and I resolved to become the diamond. I began by stealing twohorses; I soon got a party of companions; I put myself in a condition torob small caravans; and thus, by degrees, I destroyed the difference whichhad formerly subsisted between me and other men. I had my share of thegood things of this world; and was even recompensed with usury for thehardships I had suffered. I was greatly respected, and became the captainof a band of robbers. I seized this castle by force. The Satrap of Syriahad a mind to dispossess me of it; but I was too rich to have any thing tofear. I gave the satrap a handsome present, by which means I preserved mycastle and increased my possessions. He even appointed me treasurer of thetributes which Arabia Petraea pays to the king of kings. I perform myoffice of receiver with great punctuality; but take the freedom todispense with that of paymaster. 

"The grand Desterham of Babylon sent hither a pretty satrap in the name ofKing Moabdar, to have me strangled. This man arrived with his orders: Iwas apprised of all; I caused to be strangled in his presence the fourpersons he had brought with him to draw the noose; after which I asked himhow much his commission of strangling me might be worth. He replied, thathis fees would amount to about three hundred pieces of gold. I thenconvinced him that he might gain more by staying with me. I made him aninferior robber; and he is now one of my best and richest officers. Ifthou wilt take my advice thy success may be equal to his; never was therea better season for plunder, since King Moabdar is killed, and all Babylonthrown into confusion. "

"Moabdar killed!" said Zadig, "and what is become of Queen Astarte?"

"I know not, " replied Arbogad. "All I know is, that Moabdar lost hissenses and was killed; that Babylon is a scene of disorder and bloodshed;that all the empire is desolated; that there are some fine strokes to bestruck yet; and that, for my own part, I have struck some that areadmirable. "

"But the queen, " said Zadig; "for heaven's sake, knowest thou nothing ofthe queen's fate?"

"Yes, " replied he, "I have heard something of a prince of Hircania; if shewas not killed in the tumult, she is probably one of his concubines; but Iam much fonder of booty than news. I have taken several women in myexcursions; but I keep none of them. I sell them at a high price, whenthey are beautiful, without inquiring who they are. In commodities of thiskind rank makes no difference, and a queen that is ugly will never find amerchant. Perhaps I may have sold Queen Astarte; perhaps she is dead; but, be it as it will, it is of little consequence to me, and I should imagineof as little to thee. " So saying he drank a large draught which threw allhis ideas into such confusion that Zadig could obtain no furtherinformation. 

Zadig remained for some time without speech, sense, or motion. Arbogadcontinued drinking; told stories; constantly repeated that he was thehappiest man in the world; and exhorted Zadig to put himself in the samecondition. At last the soporiferous fumes of the wine lulled him into agentle repose. 

Zadig passed the night in the most violent perturbation. "What, " said he, "did the king lose his senses? and is he killed? I cannot help lamentinghis fate. The empire is rent in pieces; and this robber is happy. Ofortune! O destiny! A robber is happy, and the most beautiful of nature'sworks hath perhaps perished in a barbarous manner or lives in a stateworse than death. O Astarte! what is become of thee?"

At daybreak he questioned all those he met in the castle; but they wereall busy, and he received no answer. During the night they had made a newcapture, and they were now employed in dividing the spoils. All he couldobtain in this hurry and confusion was an opportunity of departing, whichhe immediately embraced, plunged deeper than ever in the most gloomy andmournful reflections. 

Zadig proceeded on his journey with a mind full of disquiet andperplexity, and wholly employed on the unhappy Astarte, on the King ofBabylon, on his faithful friend Cador, on the happy robber Arbogad; in aword, on all the misfortunes and disappointments he had hitherto suffered. 

THE FISHERMAN

At a few leagues' distance from Arbogad's castle he came to the banks of asmall river, still deploring his fate, and considering himself as the mostwretched of mankind. He saw a fisherman lying on the brink of the river, scarcely holding, in his weak and feeble hand, a net which he seemed readyto drop, and lifting up his eyes to Heaven. 

"I am certainly, " said the fisherman, "the most unhappy man in the world. I was universally allowed to be the most famous dealer in cream cheese inBabylon, and yet I am ruined. I had the most handsome wife that any man inmy station could have; and by her I have been betrayed. I had still left apaltry house, and that I have seen pillaged and destroyed. At last I tookrefuge in this cottage, where I have no other resource than fishing, andyet I cannot catch a single fish. Oh, my net! no more will I throw theeinto the water; I will throw myself in thy place. " So saying, he arose andadvanced forward, in the attitude of a man ready to throw himself into theriver, and thus to finish his life. 

"What!" said Zadig to himself, "are there men as wretched as I?" Hiseagerness to save the fisherman's life was as this reflection. He ran tohim, stopped him, and spoke to him with a tender and compassionate air. Itis commonly supposed that we are less miserable when we have companions inour misery. This, according to Zoroaster, does not proceed from _malice_, but necessity. We feel ourselves insensibly drawn to an unhappy person asto one like ourselves. The joy of the happy would be an insult; but twomen in distress are like two slender trees, which, mutually supportingeach other, fortify themselves against the storm. 

"Why, " said Zadig to the fisherman, "dost thou sink under thymisfortunes?"

"Because, " replied he, "I see no means of relief. I was the mostconsiderable man in the village of Derlback, near Babylon, and with theassistance of my wife I made the best cream cheese in the empire. QueenAstarte and the famous minister Zadig were extremely fond of them. "

Zadig, transported, said, "What, knowest thou nothing of the queen'sfate?"

"No, my lord, " replied the fisherman; "but I know that neither the queennor Zadig has paid me for my cream cheeses; that I have lost my wife, andam now reduced to despair. "

"I flatter myself, " said Zadig, "that thou wilt not lose all thy money. Ihave heard of this Zadig; he is an honest man; and if he returns toBabylon, as he expects, he will give thee more than he owes thee. Believeme, go to Babylon. I shall be there before thee, because I am onhorseback, and thou art on foot. Apply to the illustrious Cador; tell himthou hast met his friend; wait for me at his house; go, perhaps thou wiltnot always be unhappy. "

"Oh, powerful Oromazes!" continued he, "thou employest me to comfort thisman; whom wilt thou employ to give me consolation?" So saying, he gave thefisherman half the money he had brought from Arabia. The fisherman, struckwith surprise and ravished with joy, kissed the feet of the friend ofCador, and said, "Thou art surely an angel sent from Heaven to save me!"

Meanwhile, Zadig continued to make fresh inquiries, and to shed tears. "What, my lord!" cried the fisherman, "art thou then so unhappy, thou whobestowest favors?"

"An hundred times more unhappy than thou art, " replied Zadig. 

"But how is it possible, " said the good man, "that the giver can be morewretched than the receiver?"

"Because, " replied Zadig, "thy greatest misery arose from poverty, andmine is seated in the heart. "

"Did Orcan take thy wife from thee?" said the fisherman. 

This word recalled to Zadig's mind the whole of his adventures. 

He repeated the catalogue of his misfortunes, beginning with the queen'sspaniel, and ending with his arrival at the castle of the robber Arbogad. "Ah!" said he to the fisherman, "Orcan deserves to be punished; but it iscommonly such men as those that are the favorites of fortune. However, gothou to the house of Lord Cador, and there wait my arrival. " They thenparted, the fisherman walked, thanking Heaven for the happiness of hiscondition; and Zadig rode, accusing fortune for the hardness of his lot. 

THE BASILISK

Arriving in a beautiful meadow, he there saw several women, who weresearching for something with great application. He took the liberty toapproach one of them, and to ask if he might have the honor to assist themin their search. "Take care that thou dost not, " replied the Syrian; "whatwe are searching for can be touched only by women. "

"Strange, " said Zadig, "may I presume to ask thee what it is that womenonly are permitted to touch?"

"It is a basilisk, " said she. 

"A basilisk, madam! and for what purpose, pray, dost thou seek for abasilisk?"

"It is for our lord and master Ogul, whose cattle thou seest on the bankof that river at the end of the meadow. We are his most humble slaves. Thelord Ogul is sick. His physician hath ordered him to eat a basilisk, stewed in rose water; and as it is a very rare animal, and can only betaken by women, the lord Ogul hath promised to choose for his well-belovedwife the woman that shall bring him a basilisk; let me go on in my search;for thou seest what I shall lose if I am prevented by my companions. "

Zadig left her and the other Assyrians to search for their basilisk, andcontinued to walk in the meadow; when coming to the brink of a smallrivulet, he found another lady lying on the grass, and who was notsearching for anything. Her person worried to be majestic; but her facewas covered with a veil. She was inclined toward the rivulet, and profoundsighs proceeded from her mouth. In her hand she held a small rod withwhich she was tracing characters on the fine sand that lay between theturf and the brook. Zadig had the curiosity to examine what this woman waswriting. He drew near; he saw the letter Z, then an A; he was astonished;then appeared a D; he started. But never was surprise equal to his when hesaw the last letters of his name. 

He stood for some time immovable. At last, breaking silence with afaltering voice: "O generous lady! pardon a stranger, an unfortunate man, for presuming to ask thee by what surprising adventure I here find the nameof Zadig traced out by thy divine hand!"

At this voice and these words, the lady lifted up the veil with atrembling hand, looked at Zadig, sent forth a cry of tenderness, surpriseand joy, and sinking under the various emotions which at once assaultedher soul, fell speechless into his arms. It was Astarte herself; it wasthe Queen of Babylon; it was she whom Zadig adored, and whom he hadreproached himself for adoring; it was she whose misfortunes he had sodeeply lamented, and for whose fate he had been so anxiously concerned. 

He was for a moment deprived of the use of his senses, when he had fixedhis eyes on those of Astarte, which now began to open again with a languormixed with confusion and tenderness: "O ye immortal powers!" cried he, "who preside over the fates of weak mortals, do ye indeed restore Astarteto me! at what a time, in what a place, and in what a condition do I againbehold her!" He fell on his knees before Astarte and laid his face in thedust at her feet. The Queen of Babylon raised him up, and made him sit byher side on the brink of the rivulet. She frequently wiped her eyes, fromwhich the tears continued to flow afresh. She twenty times resumed herdiscourse, which her sighs as often interrupted; she asked by what strangeaccident they were brought together, and suddenly prevented his answers byother questions; she waived the account of her own misfortunes, anddesired to be informed of those of Zadig. 

At last, both of them having a little composed the tumult of their souls, Zadig acquainted her in a few words by what adventure he was brought intothat meadow. "But, O unhappy and respectable queen! by what means do Ifind thee in this lonely place, clothed in the habit of a slave, andaccompanied by other female slaves, who are searching for a basilisk, which, by order of the physician, is to be stewed in rose water?"

"While they are searching for their basilisk, " said the fair Astarte, "Iwill inform thee of all I have suffered, for which Heaven has sufficientlyrecompensed me by restoring thee to my sight. Thou knowest that the king, my husband, was vexed to see thee the most amiable of mankind; and thatfor this reason he one night resolved to strangle thee and poison me. Thouknowest how Heaven permitted my little mute to inform me of the orders ofhis sublime majesty. Hardly had the faithful Cador advised thee to depart, in obedience to my command, when he ventured to enter my apartment atmidnight by a secret passage. He carried me off and conducted me to thetemple of Oromazes, where the mage his brother shut me up in that hugestatue whose base reaches to the foundation of the temple and whose toprises to the summit of the dome. I was there buried in a manner; but wassaved by the mage; and supplied with all the necessaries of life. At breakof day his majesty's apothecary entered my chamber with a potion composedof a mixture of henbane, opium, hemlock, black hellebore, and aconite; andanother officer went to thine with a bowstring of blue silk. Neither of uswas to be found. Cador, the better to deceive the king, pretended to comeand accuse us both. He said that thou hadst taken the road to the Indies, and I that to Memphis, on which the king's guards were immediatelydispatched in pursuit of us both. 

"The couriers who pursued me did not know me. I had hardly ever shown myface to any but thee, and to thee only in the presence and by the order ofmy husband. They conducted themselves in the pursuit by the descriptionthat had been given them of my person. On the frontiers of Egypt they metwith a woman of the same stature with me, and possessed perhaps of greatercharms. She was weeping and wandering. They made no doubt but that thiswoman was the Queen of Babylon and accordingly brought her to Moabdar. Their mistake at first threw the king into a violent passion; but havingviewed this woman more attentively, he found her extremely handsome andwas comforted. She was called Missouf. I have since been informed thatthis name in the Egyptian language signifies the capricious fair one. Shewas so in reality; but she had as much cunning as caprice. She pleasedMoabdar and gained such an ascendancy over him as to make him choose herfor his wife. Her character then began to appear in its true colors. Shegave herself up, without scruple, to all the freaks of a wantonimagination. She would have obliged the chief of the magi, who was old andgouty, to dance before her; and on his refusal, she persecuted him withthe most unrelenting cruelty. She ordered her master of the horse to makeher a pie of sweetmeats. In vain did he represent that he was not apastry-cook; he was obliged to make it, and lost his place, because it wasbaked a little too hard. The post of master of the horse she gave to herdwarf, and that of chancellor to her page. In this manner did she governBabylon. Everybody regretted the loss of me. The king, who till the momentof his resolving to poison me and strangle thee had been a tolerably goodkind of man, seemed now to have drowned all his virtues in his immoderatefondness for this capricious fair one. He came to the temple on the greatday of the feast held in honor of the sacred fire. I saw him implore thegods in behalf of Missouf, at the feet of the statue in which I wasinclosed. I raised my voice, I cried out, 'The gods reject the prayers ofa king who is now become a tyrant, and who attempted to murder areasonable wife, in order to marry a woman remarkable for nothing but herfolly and extravagance. ' At these words Moabdar was confounded and hishead became disordered. The oracle I had pronounced, and the tyranny ofMissouf, conspired to deprive him of his judgment, and in a few days hisreason entirely forsook him. 

"Moabdar's madness, which seemed to be the judgment of Heaven, was thesignal to a revolt. The people rose and ran to arms; and Babylon, whichhad been so long immersed in idleness and effeminacy, became the theaterof a bloody civil war. I was taken from the heart of my statue and placedat the head of a party. Cador flew to Memphis to bring thee back toBabylon. The Prince of Hircania, informed of these fatal events, returnedwith his army and made a third party in Chaldea. He attacked the king, whofled before him with his capricious Egyptian. Moabdar died pierced withwounds. I myself had the misfortune to be taken by a party of Hircanians, who conducted me to their prince's tent, at the very moment that Missoufwas brought before him. Thou wilt doubtless be pleased to hear that theprince thought me beautiful; but thou wilt be sorry to be informed that hedesigned me for his seraglio. He told me, with a blunt and resolute air, that as soon as he had finished a military expedition, which he was justgoing to undertake, he would come to me. Judge how great must have been mygrief. My ties with Moabdar were already dissolved; I might have been thewife of Zadig; and I was fallen into the hands of a barbarian. I answeredhim with all the pride which my high rank and noble sentiment couldinspire. I had always heard it affirmed that Heaven stamped on persons ofmy condition a mark of grandeur, which, with a single word or glance, could reduce to the lowliness of the most profound respect those rash andforward persons who presume to deviate from the rules of politeness. Ispoke like a queen, but was treated like a maidservant. The Hircanian, without even deigning to speak to me, told his black eunuch that I wasimpertinent, but that he thought me handsome. He ordered him to take careof me, and to put me under the regimen of favorites, that so my complexionbeing improved, I might be the more worthy of his favors when he should beat leisure to honor me with them, I told him that rather than submit tohis desires I would put an end to my life. He replied, with a smile, thatwomen, he believed, were not, so bloodthirsty, and that he was accustomedto such violent expressions; and then left me with the air of a man whohad just put another parrot into his aviary. What a state for the firstqueen of the universe, and, what is more, for a heart devoted to Zadig!"

At these words Zadig threw himself at her feet and bathed them with histears. Astarte raised him with great tenderness and thus continued herstory: "I now saw myself in the power of a barbarian and rival to thefoolish woman with whom I was confined. She gave me an account of heradventures in Egypt. From the description she gave me of your person, fromthe time, from the dromedary on which you were mounted, and from everyother circumstance, I inferred that Zadig was the man who had fought forher. I doubted not but that you were at Memphis, and, therefore, resolvedto repair thither. Beautiful Missouf, said I, thou art more handsome thanI, and will please the Prince of Hircania much better. Assist me incontriving the means of my escape; thou wilt then reign alone; thou wiltat once make me happy and rid thyself of a rival. Missouf concerted withme the means of my flight; and I departed secretly with a female Egyptianslave. 

"As I approached the frontiers of Arabia, a famous robber, named Arbogad, seized me and sold me to some merchants, who brought me to this castle, where Lord Ogul resides. He bought me without knowing who I was. He is avoluptuary, ambitious of nothing but good living, and thinks that God senthim into the world for no other purpose than to sit at table. He is soextremely corpulent that he is always in danger of suffocation. Hisphysician, who has but little credit with him when he has a gooddigestion, governs him with a despotic sway when he has eaten too much. Hehas persuaded him that a basilisk stewed in rose water will effect acomplete cure. The Lord Ogul hath promised his hand to the female slavethat brings him a basilisk. Thou seest that I leave them to vie with eachother in meriting this honor; and never was I less desirous of finding thebasilisk than since Heaven hath restored thee to my sight. "

This account was succeeded by a long conversation between Astarte andZadig, consisting of everything that their long-suppressed sentiments, their great sufferings, and their mutual love could inspire in hearts themost noble and tender; and the genii who preside over love carried theirwords to the sphere of Venus. 

The woman returned to Ogul without having found the basilisk. Zadig wasintroduced to this mighty lord and spoke to him in the following terms:"May immortal health descend from heaven to bless all thy days! I am aphysician; at the first report of thy indisposition I flew to thy castleand have now brought thee a basilisk stewed in rose water. Not that Ipretend to marry thee. All I ask is the liberty of a Babylonian slave, whohath been in thy possession for a few days; and, if I should not be sohappy as to cure thee, magnificent Lord Ogul, I consent to remain a slavein her place. "

The proposal was accepted. Astarte set out for Babylon with Zadig'sservant, promising, immediately upon her arrival, to send a courier toinform him of all that had happened. Their parting was as tender as theirmeeting. The moment of meeting and that of parting are the two greatestepochs of life, as sayeth the great book of Zend. Zadig loved the queenwith as much ardor as he professed; and the queen loved him more than shethought proper to acknowledge. 

Meanwhile Zadig spoke thus to Ogul: "My lord, my basilisk is not to beeaten; all its virtues must enter through thy pores. I have inclosed it ina little ball, blown up and covered with a fine skin. Thou must strikethis ball with all thy might and I must strike it back for a considerabletime; and by observing this regimen for a few days thou wilt see theeffects of my art. " The first day Ogul was out of breath and thought heshould have died with fatigue. The second he was less fatigued, sleptbetter. In eight days he recovered all the strength, all the health, allthe agility and cheerfulness of his most agreeable years. 

"Thou hast played at ball, and thou hast been temperate, " said Zadig;"know that there is no such thing in nature as a basilisk; that temperanceand exercise are the two great preservatives of health; and that the artof reconciling intemperance and health is as chimerical as thephilosopher's stone, judicial astrology, or the theology of the magi. "

Ogul's first physician, observing how dangerous this man might prove tothe medical art, formed a design, in conjunction with the apothecary, tosend Zadig to search for a basilisk in the other world. Thus, havingsuffered such a long train of calamities on account of his good actions, he was now upon the point of losing his life for curing a gluttonous lord. He was invited to an excellent dinner and was to have been poisoned in thesecond course, but, during the first, he happily received a courier fromthe fair Astarte. "When one is beloved by a beautiful woman, " says thegreat Zoroaster, "he hath always the good fortune to extricate himself outof every kind of difficulty and danger. "

THE COMBATS

The queen was received at Babylon with all those transports of joy whichare ever felt on the return of a beautiful princess who hath been involvedin calamities. Babylon was now in greater tranquillity. The Prince ofHircania had been killed in battle. The victorious Babylonians declaredthat the queen should marry the man whom they should choose for theirsovereign. They were resolved that the first place in the world, that ofbeing husband to Astarte and King of Babylon, should not depend on cabalsand intrigues. They swore to acknowledge for king the man who, upon trial, should be found to be possessed of the greatest valor and the greatestwisdom. Accordingly, at the distance of a few leagues from the city, aspacious place was marked out for the list, surrounded with magnificentamphitheaters. Thither the combatants were to repair in complete armor. Each of them had a separate apartment behind the amphitheaters, where theywere neither to be seen nor known by anyone. Each was to encounter fourknights, and those that were so happy as to conquer four were then toengage with one another; so that he who remained the last master of thefield would be proclaimed conqueror at the games. 

Four days after he was to return with the same arms and to explain theenigmas proposed by the magi. If he did not explain the enigmas he was notking; and the running at the lances was to be begun afresh till a manwould be found who was conqueror in both these combats; for they wereabsolutely determined to have a king possessed of the greatest wisdom andthe most invincible courage. The queen was all the while to be strictlyguarded: she was only allowed to be present at the games, and even thereshe was to be covered with a veil; but was not permitted to speak to anyof the competitors, that so they might neither receive favor, nor sufferinjustice. 

These particulars Astarte communicated to her lover, hoping that in orderto obtain her he would show himself possessed of greater courage andwisdom than any other person. Zadig set out on his journey, beseechingVenus to fortify his courage and enlighten his understanding. He arrivedon the banks of the Euphrates on the eve of this great day. He caused hisdevice to be inscribed among those of the combatants, concealing his faceand his name, as the law ordained; and then went to repose himself in theapartment that fell to him by lot. His friend Cador, who, after thefruitless search he had made for him in Egypt, was now returned toBabylon, sent to his tent a complete suit of armor, which was a presentfrom the queen; as also, from himself, one of the finest horses in Persia. Zadig presently perceived that these presents were sent by Astarte; andfrom thence his courage derived fresh strength, and his love the mostanimating hopes. 

Next day, the queen being seated under a canopy of jewels, and theamphitheaters filled with all the gentlemen and ladies of rank in Babylon, the combatants appeared in the circus. Each of them came and laid hisdevice at the feet of the grand magi. They drew their devices by lot; andthat of Zadig was the last. The first who advanced was a certain lord, named Itobad, very rich and very vain, but possessed of little courage, ofless address, and hardly of any judgment at all. His servants hadpersuaded him that such a man as he ought to be king; he had said inreply, "Such a man as I ought to reign"; and thus they had armed himcap-à-pie. He wore an armor of gold enameled with green, a plume of greenfeathers, and a lance adorned with green ribbons. It was instantlyperceived by the manner in which Itobad managed his horse, that it was notfor such a man as he that Heaven reserved the scepter of Babylon. Thefirst knight that ran against him threw him out of his saddle; the secondlaid him flat on his horse's buttocks, with his legs in the air, and hisarms extended. Itobad recovered himself, but with so bad a grace that thewhole amphitheater burst out a-laughing. The third knight disdained tomake use of his lance; but, making a pass at him, took him by the rightleg and, wheeling him half round, laid him prostrate on the sand. Thesquires of the game ran to him laughing, and replaced him in his saddle. The fourth combatant took him by the left leg, and tumbled him down on theother side. He was conducted back with scornful shouts to his tent, where, according to the law, he was to pass the night; and as he climbed alongwith great difficulty he said, "What an adventure for such a man as I!"

The other knights acquitted themselves with greater ability and success. Some of them conquered two combatants; a few of them vanquished three; butnone but Prince Otamus conquered four. At last Zadig fought him in histurn. He successively threw four knights off their saddles with all thegrace imaginable. It then remained to be seen who should be conqueror, Otamus or Zadig. The arms of the first were gold and blue, with a plume ofthe same color; those of the last were white. The wishes of all thespectators were divided between the knight in blue and the knight inwhite. The queen, whose heart was in a violent palpitation, offeredprayers to Heaven for the success of the white color. 

The two champions made their passes and vaults with so much agility, theymutually gave and received such dexterous blows with their lances, and satso firmly in their saddles, that everybody but the queen wished theremight be two kings in Babylon. At length, their horses being tired andtheir lances broken, Zadig had recourse to this stratagem: He passesbehind the blue prince; springs upon the buttocks of his horse; seizes himby the middle; throws him on the earth; places himself in the saddle; andwheels around Otamus as he lay extended on the ground. All theamphitheater cried out, "Victory to the white knight!"

Otamus rises in a violent passion, and draws his sword; Zadig leaps fromhis horse with his saber in his hand. Both of them are now on the ground, engaged in a new combat, where strength and agility triumph by turns. Theplumes of their helmets, the studs of their bracelets, the rings of theirarmor, are driven to a great distance by the violence of a thousandfurious blows. They strike with the point and the edge; to the right, tothe left, on the head, on the breast; they retreat; they advance; theymeasure swords; they close; they seize each other; they bend likeserpents; they attack like lions; and the fire every moment flashes fromtheir blows. 

At last Zadig, having recovered his spirits, stops; makes a feint; leapsupon Otamus; throws him on the ground and disarms him; and Otamus criesout, "It is thou alone, O white knight, that oughtest to reign overBabylon!" The queen was now at the height of her joy. The knight in bluearmor and the knight in white were conducted each to his own apartment, aswell as all the others, according to the intention of the law. Mutes cameto wait upon them and to serve them at table. It may be easily supposedthat the queen's little mute waited upon Zadig. They were then left tothemselves to enjoy the sweets of repose till next morning, at which timethe conqueror was to bring his device to the grand magi, to compare itwith that which he had left, and make himself known. 

Zadig though deeply in love, was so much fatigued that he could not helpsleeping. Itobad, who lay near him, never closed his eyes. He arose in thenight, entered his apartment, took the white arms and the device of Zadig, and put his green armor in their place. At break of day he went boldly tothe grand magi to declare that so great a man as he was conqueror. Thiswas little expected; however, he was proclaimed while Zadig was stillasleep. Astarte, surprised and filled with despair, returned to Babylon. The amphitheater was almost empty when Zadig awoke; he sought for hisarms, but could find none but the green armor. With this he was obliged tocover himself, having nothing else near him. Astonished and enraged, heput it on in a furious passion, and advanced in this equipage. 

The people that still remained in the amphitheater and the circus receivedhim with hoots and hisses. They surrounded him and insulted him to hisface. Never did man suffer such cruel mortifications. He lost hispatience; with his saber he dispersed such of the populace as dared toaffront him; but he knew not what course to take. He could not see thequeen; he could not claim the white armor she had sent him withoutexposing her; and thus, while she was plunged in grief, he was filled withfury and distraction. He walked on the banks of the Euphrates, fullypersuaded that his star had destined him to inevitable misery, andresolving in his own mind all his misfortunes, from the adventure of thewoman who hated one-eyed men to that of his armor. "This, " said he, "isthe consequence of my having slept too long. Had I slept less, I shouldnow have been King of Babylon and in possession of Astarte. Knowledge, virtue, and courage have hitherto served only to make me miserable. " Hethen let fall some secret murmurings against Providence, and was temptedto believe that the world was governed by a cruel destiny, which oppressedthe good and prospered knights in green armor. One of his greatestmortifications was his being obliged to wear that green armor which hadexposed him to such contumelious treatment. A merchant happening to passby, he sold it to him for a trifle and bought a gown and a long bonnet. Inthis garb he proceeded along the banks of the Euphrates, filled withdespair, and secretly accusing Providence, which thus continued topersecute him with unremitting severity. 

THE HERMIT

While he was thus sauntering he met a hermit, whose white and venerablebeard hung down to his girdle. He held a book in his hand, which he readwith great attention. Zadig stopped, and made him a profound obeisance. The hermit returned the compliment with such a noble and engaging air, that Zadig had the curiosity to enter into conversation with him. He askedhim what book it was that he had been reading? "It is the Book ofDestinies, " said the hermit; "wouldst thou choose to look into it?" He putthe book into the hands of Zadig, who, thoroughly versed as he was inseveral languages, could not decipher a single character of it. This onlyredoubled his curiosity. 

"Thou seemest, " said this good father, "to be in great distress. "

"Alas, " replied Zadig, "I have but too much reason. "

"If thou wilt permit me to accompany thee, " resumed the old man, "perhapsI may be of some service to thee. I have often poured the balm ofconsolation into the bleeding heart of the unhappy. "

Zadig felt himself inspired with respect for the air, the beard, and thebook of the hermit. He found, in the course of the conversation, that hewas possessed of superior degrees of knowledge. The hermit talked of fate, of justice, of morals, of the chief good, of human weakness, and of virtueand vice, with such a spirited and moving eloquence, that Zadig felthimself drawn toward him by an irresistible charm. He earnestly entreatedthe favor of his company till their return to Babylon. 

"I ask the same favor of thee, " said the old man; "swear to me byOromazes, that whatever I do, thou wilt not leave me for some days. " Zadigswore, and they set out together. 

In the evening the two travelers arrived in a superb castle. The hermitentreated a hospitable reception for himself and the young man whoaccompanied him. The porter, whom one might have easily mistaken for agreat lord, introduced them with a kind of disdainful civility. Hepresented them to a principal domestic, who showed them his master'smagnificent apartments. They were admitted to the lower end of the table, without being honored with the least mark of regard by the lord of thecastle; but they were served, like the rest, with delicacy and profusion. They were then presented with water to wash their hands, in a golden basinadorned with emeralds and rubies. At last they were conducted to bed in abeautiful apartment; and in the morning a domestic brought each of them apiece of gold, after which they took their leave and departed. 

"The master of the house, " said Zadig, as they were proceeding on thejourney, "appears to be a generous man, though somewhat too proud; henobly performs the duties of hospitality. " At that instant he observedthat a kind of large pocket, which the hermit had, was filled anddistended; and upon looking more narrowly he found that it contained thegolden basin adorned with precious stones, which the hermit had stolen. Hedurst not take any notice of it, but he was filled with a strangesurprise. 

About noon, the hermit came to the door of a paltry house inhabited by arich miser, and begged the favor of an hospitable reception for a fewhours. An old servant, in a tattered garb, received them with a blunt andrude air, and led them into the stable, where he gave them some rottenolives, moldy bread, and sour beer. The hermit ate and drank with as muchseeming satisfaction as he had done the evening before; and thenaddressing himself to the old servant, who watched them both, to preventtheir stealing anything, and rudely pressed them to depart, he gave himthe two pieces of gold he had received in the morning, and thanked him forhis great civility. 

"Pray, " added he, "allow me to speak to thy master. " The servant, filledwith astonishment, introduced the two travelers. "Magnificent lord, " saidthe hermit, "I cannot but return thee my most humble thanks for the noblemanner in which thou hast entertained us. Be pleased to accept this goldenbasin as a small mark of my gratitude. " The miser started, and was readyto fall backward; but the hermit, without giving him time to recover fromhis surprise, instantly departed with his young fellow traveler. 

"Father, " said Zadig, "what is the meaning of all this? Thou seemest to meto be entirely different from other men; thou stealest a golden basinadorned with precious stones from a lord who received thee magnificently, and givest it to a miser who treats thee with indignity. "

"Son, " replied the old man, "this magnificent lord, who receives strangersonly from vanity and ostentation, will hereby be rendered more wise; andthe miser will learn to practice the duties of hospitality. Be surprisedat nothing, but follow me. "

Zadig knew not as yet whether he was in company with the most foolish orthe most prudent of mankind; but the hermit spoke with such an ascendancy, that Zadig, who was moreover bound by his oath, could not refuse to followhim. 

In the evening they arrived at a house built with equal elegance andsimplicity, where nothing savored either of prodigality or avarice. Themaster of it was a philosopher, who had retired from the world, and whocultivated in peace the study of virtue and wisdom, without any of thatrigid and morose severity so commonly to be found in men of his character. He had chosen to build this country house, in which he received strangerswith a generosity free from ostentation. He went himself to meet the twotravelers, whom he led into a commodious apartment, where he desired themto repose themselves a little. Soon after he came and invited them to adecent and well-ordered repast during which he spoke with great judgmentof the last revolutions in Babylon. He seemed to be strongly attached tothe queen, and wished that Zadig had appeared in the lists to dispute thecrown. "But the people, " added he, "do not deserve to have such a king asZadig. "

Zadig blushed, and felt his griefs redoubled. They agreed, in the courseof the conversation, that the things of this world did not always answerthe wishes of the wise. The hermit still maintained that the ways ofProvidence were inscrutable; and that men were in the wrong to judge of awhole, of which they understood but the smallest part. 

They talked of passions. "Ah, " said Zadig, "how fatal are their effects!"

"They are in the winds, " replied the hermit, "that swell the sails of theship; it is true, they sometimes sink her, but without them she could notsail at all. The bile makes us sick and choleric; but without bile wecould not live. Everything in this world is dangerous, and yet everythingis necessary. "

The conversation turned on pleasure; and the hermit proved that it was apresent bestowed by the Deity. "For, " said he, "man cannot give himselfeither sensations or ideas; he receives all; and pain and pleasure proceedfrom a foreign cause as well as his being. "

Zadig was surprised to see a man, who had been guilty of such extravagantactions, capable of reasoning with so much judgment and propriety. Atlast, after a conversation equally entertaining and instructive, the hostled back his two guests to their apartment, blessing Heaven for havingsent him two men possessed of so much wisdom and virtue. He offered themmoney with such an easy and noble air as could not possibly give anyoffense. The hermit refused it, and said that he must now take his leaveof him, as he set out for Babylon before it was light. Their parting Wastender; Zadig especially felt himself filled with esteem and affection fora man of such an amiable character. 

When he and the hermit were alone in their apartment, they spent a longtime praising their host. At break of day the old man awakened hiscompanion. "We must now depart, " said he, "but while all the family arestill asleep, I will leave this man a mark of my esteem and affection. " Sosaying, he took a candle and set fire to the house. 

Zadig, struck with horror, cried aloud, and endeavored to hinder him fromcommitting such a barbarous action; but the hermit drew him away by asuperior force, and the house was soon in flames. The hermit, who, withhis companion, was already at a considerable distance, looked back to theconflagration with great tranquillity. 

"Thanks be to God, " said he, "the house of my dear host is entirelydestroyed! Happy man!"

At these words Zadig was at once tempted to burst out a-laughing, toreproach the reverend father, to beat him, and to run away. But he didnone of all of these, for still subdued by the powerful ascendancy of thehermit, he followed him, in spite of himself, to the next stage. 

This was at the house of a charitable and virtuous widow, who had a nephewfourteen years of age, a handsome and promising youth, and her only hope. She performed the honors of her house as well as she could. Next day, sheordered her nephew to accompany the strangers to a bridge, which beinglately broken down, was become extremely dangerous in passing. The youngman walked before them with great alacrity. As they were crossing thebridge, "Come" said the hermit to the youth, "I must show my gratitude tothy aunt. " He then took him by the hair and plunged him into the river. The boy sunk, appeared again on the surface of the water, and wasswallowed up by the current. 

"O monster! O thou most wicked of mankind!" cried Zadig. 

"Thou promisedst to behave with greater patience, " said the hermit, interrupting him. "Know that under the ruins of that house whichProvidence hath set on fire the master hath found an immense treasure. Know that this young, man, whose life Providence hath shortened, wouldhave assassinated his aunt in the space of a year, and thee in that oftwo. "

"Who told thee so, barbarian?" cried Zadig; "and though thou hadst readthis event in thy Book of Destinies, art thou permitted to drown a youthwho never did thee any harm?"

While the Babylonian was thus exclaiming, he observed that the old man hadno longer a beard, and that his countenance assumed the features andcomplexion of youth. The hermit's habit disappeared, and four beautifulwings covered a majestic body resplendent with light. 

"O sent of heaven! O divine angel!" cried Zadig, humbly prostratinghimself on the ground, "hast thou then descended from the Empyrean toteach a weak mortal to submit to the eternal decrees of Providence?"

"Men, " said the angel Jesrad, "judge of all without knowing anything; and, of all men, thou best deservest to be enlightened. "

Zadig begged to be permitted to speak. "I distrust myself, " said he, "butmay I presume to ask the favor of thee to clear up one doubt that stillremains in my mind? Would it not have been better to have corrected thisyouth, and made him virtuous, than to have drowned him?"

"Had he been virtuous, " replied Jesrad, "and enjoyed a longer life, itwould have been his fate to be assassinated himself, together with thewife he would have married, and the child he would have had by her. "

"But why, " said Zadig, "is it necessary that there should be crimes andmisfortunes, and that these misfortunes should fall on the good?"

"The wicked, " replied Jesrad, "are always unhappy; they serve to prove andtry the small number of the just that are scattered through the earth; andthere is no evil that is not productive of some good. "

"But, " said Zadig, "suppose there were nothing but good and no evil atall. "

"Then, " replied Jesrad, "this earth would be another earth. The chain ofevents would be ranged in another order and directed by wisdom; but thisother order, which would be perfect, can exist only in the eternal abodeof the Supreme Being, to which no evil can approach. The Deity hathcreated millions of worlds among which there is not one that resemblesanother. This immense variety is the effect of His immense power. Thereare not two leaves among the trees of the earth, nor two globes in theunlimited expanse of heaven that are exactly similar; and all that thouseest on the little atom in which thou art born, ought to be in its propertime and place, according to the immutable decree of Him who comprehendsall. Men think that this child who hath just perished is fallen into thewater by chance; and that it is by the same chance that this house isburned; but there is no such thing as chance; all is either a trial, or apunishment, or a reward, or a foresight. Remember the fisherman whothought himself the most wretched of mankind. Oromazes sent thee to changehis fate. Cease, then, frail mortal, to dispute against what thou oughtestto adore. "

"But, " said Zadig--as he pronounced the word "But, " the angel took hisflight toward the tenth sphere. Zadig on his knees adored Providence, andsubmitted. The angel cried to him from on high, "Direct thy course towardBabylon. "

THE ENIGMAS

Zadig, entranced, as it were, and like a man about whose head the thunderhad burst, walked at random. He entered Babylon on the very day when thosewho had fought at the tournaments were assembled in the grand vestibule ofthe palace to explain the enigmas and to answer the questions of the grandmagi. All the knights were already arrived, except the knight in greenarmor. As soon as Zadig appeared in the city the people crowded round him;every eye was fixed on him; every mouth blessed him, and every heartwished him the empire. The envious man saw him pass; he frowned and turnedaside. The people conducted him to the place where the assembly was held. The queen, who was informed of his arrival, became a prey to the mostviolent agitations of hope and fear. She was filled with anxiety andapprehension. She could not comprehend why Zadig was without arms, nor whyItobad wore the white armor. A confused murmur arose at the sight ofZadig. They were equally surprised and charmed to see him; but none butthe knights who had fought were permitted to appear in the assembly. 

"I have fought as well as the other knights, " said Zadig, "but anotherhere wears my arms; and while I wait for the honor of proving the truth ofmy assertion, I demand the liberty of presenting myself to explain theenigmas. " The question was put to the vote, and his reputation for probitywas still so deeply impressed in their minds, that they admitted himwithout scruple. 

The first question proposed by the grand magi was: "What, of all things inthe world, is the longest and the shortest, the swiftest and the slowest, the most divisible and the most extended the most neglected and the mostregretted, without which nothing can be done, which devours all that islittle, and enlivens all that is great?"

Itobad was to speak. He replied that so great a man as he did notunderstand enigmas, and that it was sufficient for him to have conqueredby his strength and valor. Some said that the meaning of the enigma wasFortune; some, the Earth; and others the Light. Zadig said that it wasTime. "Nothing, " added he, "is longer, since it is the measure ofeternity; nothing is shorter, since it is insufficient for theaccomplishment of our projects; nothing more slow to him that expects, nothing more rapid to him that enjoys; in greatness, it extends toinfinity; in smallness, it is infinitely divisible; all men neglect it;all regret the loss of it; nothing can be done without it; it consigns tooblivion whatever is unworthy of being transmitted to posterity, and itimmortalizes such actions as are truly great. " The assembly acknowledgedthat Zadig was in the right. 

The next question was: "What is the thing which we receive without thanks, which we enjoy without knowing how, which we give to others when we knownot where we are, and which we lose without perceiving it?"

Everyone gave his own explanation. Zadig alone guessed that it was Life, and explained all the other enigmas with the same facility. Itobad alwayssaid that nothing was more easy, and that he could have answered them withthe same readiness had he chosen to have given himself the trouble. Questions were then proposed on justice, on the sovereign good, and on theart of government. Zadig's answers were judged to be the most solid. "Whata pity is it, " said they, "that such a great genius should be so bad aknight!"

"Illustrious lords, " said Zadig, "I have had the honor of conquering inthe tournaments. It is to me that the white armor belongs. Lord Itobadtook possession of it during my sleep. He probably thought that it wouldfit him better than the green. I am now ready to prove in your presence, with my gown and sword, against all that beautiful white armor which hetook from me, that it is I who have had the honor of conquering the braveOtamus. "

Itobad accepted the challenge with the greatest confidence. He neverdoubted but that, armed as he was, with a helmet, a cuirass, andbrassarts, he would obtain an easy victory over a champion in a cap andnightgown. Zadig drew his sword, saluting the queen, who looked at himwith a mixture of fear and joy. Itobad drew his without saluting anyone. He rushed upon Zadig, like a man who had nothing to fear; he was ready tocleave him in two. Zadig knew how to ward off his blows, by opposing thestrongest part of his sword to the weakest of that of his adversary, insuch a manner that Itobad's sword was broken. Upon which Zadig, seizinghis enemy by the waist, threw him on the ground; and firing the point ofhis sword at the breastplate, "Suffer thyself to be disarmed, " said he, "or thou art a dead man. "

Itobad, always surprised at the disgraces that happened to such a man ashe, was obliged to yield to Zadig, who took from him with great composurehis magnificent helmet, his superb cuirass, his fine brassarts, hisshining cuishes; clothed himself with them, and in this dress ran to throwhimself at the feet of Astarte. Cador easily proved that the armorbelonged to Zadig. He was acknowledged king by the unanimous consent ofthe whole nation, and especially by that of Astarte, who, after so manycalamities, now tasted the exquisite pleasure of seeing her lover worthy, in the eyes of all the world, to be her husband. Itobad went home to becalled lord in his own house. Zadig was king, and was happy. The queen andZadig adored Providence. He sent in search of the robber Arbogad, to whomhe gave an honorable post in his army, promising to advance him to thefirst dignities if he behaved like a true warrior, and threatening to hanghim if he followed the profession of a robber. 

Setoc, with the fair Almona, was called from the heart of Arabia andplaced at the head of the commerce of Babylon. Cador was preferred anddistinguished according to his great services. He was the friend of theking; and the king was then the only monarch on earth that had a friend. The little mute was not forgotten. 

But neither could the beautiful Semira be comforted for having believedthat Zadig would be blind of an eye; nor did Azora cease to lament herhaving attempted to cut off his nose. Their griefs, however, he softenedby his presents. The envious man died of rage and shame. The empireenjoyed peace, glory, and plenty. This was the happiest age of the earth;it was governed by love and justice. The people blessed Zadig, and Zadigblessed Heaven. 

ABANDONED

BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT

"I really think you must be mad, my dear, to go for a country walk in suchweather as this. You have had some very strange notions for the last twomonths. You drag me to the seaside in spite of myself, when you have neveronce had such a whim during all the forty-four years that we have beenmarried. You chose Fécamp, which is a very dull town, without consultingme in the matter, and now you are seized with such a rage for walking, youwho hardly ever stir out on foot, that you want to take a country walk onthe hottest day of the year. Ask d'Apreval to go with you, as he is readyto gratify all your whims. As for me, I am going back to have a nap. "

Madame de Cadour turned to her old friend and said:

"Will you come with me, Monsieur d'Apreval?"

He bowed with a smile, and with all the gallantry of former years:

"I will go wherever you go, " he replied. 

"Very well, then, go and get a sunstroke, " Monsieur de Cadour said; and hewent back to the Hôtel des Bains to lie down for an hour or two. 

As soon as they were alone, the old lady and her old companion set off, and she said to him in a low voice, squeezing his hand:

"At last! at last!"

"You are mad, " he said in a whisper. "I assure you that you are mad. Thinkof the risk you are running. If that man--"

She started. 

"Oh! Henri, do not say that man, when you are speaking of him. "

"Very well, " he said abruptly, "if our son guesses anything, if he has anysuspicions, he will have you, he will have us both in his power. You havegot on without seeing him for the last forty years. What is the matterwith you to-day?"

They had been going up the long street that leads from the sea to thetown, and now they turned to the right, to go to Etretat. The white roadstretched in front of them under a blaze of brilliant sunshine, so theywent on slowly in the burning heat. She had taken her old friend's arm, and was looking straight in front of her, with a fixed and haunted gaze, and at last she said:

"And so you have not seen him again, either?"

"No, never. "

"Is it possible?"

"My dear friend, do not let us begin that discussion again. I have a wifeand children and you have a husband, so we both of us have much to fearfrom other people's opinion. "

She did not reply; she was thinking of her long past youth and of many sadthings that had occurred. How well she recalled all the details of theirearly friendship, his smiles, the way he used to linger, in order to watchher until she was indoors. What happy days they were, the only reallydelicious days she had ever enjoyed, and how quickly they were over!

And then--her discovery--of the penalty she paid! What anguish!

Of that journey to the South, that long journey, her sufferings, herconstant terror, that secluded life in the small, solitary house on theshores of the Mediterranean, at the bottom of a garden, which she did notventure to leave. How well she remembered those long days which she spentlying under an orange tree, looking up at the round, red fruit, amid thegreen leaves. How she used to long to go out, as far as the sea, whosefresh breezes came to her over the wall, and whose small waves she couldhear lapping on the beach. She dreamed of its immense blue expansesparkling under the sun, with the white sails of the small vessels, and amountain on the horizon. But she did not dare to go outside the gate. Suppose anybody had recognized her!

And those days of waiting, those last days of misery and expectation! Theimpending suffering, and then that terrible night! What misery she hadendured, and what a night it was! How she had groaned and screamed! Shecould still see the pale face of her lover, who kissed her hand everymoment, and the clean-shaven face of the doctor and the nurse's white cap. 

And what she felt when she heard the child's feeble cries, that wail, thatfirst effort of a human's voice!

And the next day! the next day! the only day of her life on which she hadseen and kissed her son; for, from that time, she had never even caught aglimpse of him. 

And what a long, void existence hers had been since then, with the thoughtof that child always, always floating before her. She had never seen herson, that little creature that had been part of herself, even once sincethen; they had taken him from her, carried him away, and had hidden him. All she knew was that he had been brought up by some peasants in Normandy, that he had become a peasant himself, had married well, and that hisfather, whose name he did not know, had settled a handsome sum of money onhim. 

How often during the last forty years had she wished to go and see him andto embrace him! She could not imagine to herself that he had grown! Shealways thought of that small human atom which she had held in her arms andpressed to her bosom for a day. 

How often she had said to M. D'Apreval: "I cannot bear it any longer; Imust go and see him. "

But he had always stopped her and kept her from going. She would be unableto restrain and to master herself; their son would guess it and takeadvantage of her, blackmail her; she would be lost. 

"What is he like?" she said. 

"I do not know. I have not seen him again, either. "

"Is it possible? To have a son and not to know him; to be afraid of himand to reject him as if he were a disgrace! It is horrible. "

They went along the dusty road, overcome by the scorching sun, andcontinually ascending that interminable hill. 

"One might take it for a punishment, " she continued; "I have never hadanother child, and I could no longer resist the longing to see him, whichhas possessed me for forty years. You men cannot understand that. You mustremember that I shall not live much longer, and suppose I should never seehim, never have seen him! . . . Is it possible? How could I wait so long? Ihave thought about him every day since, and what a terrible existence minehas been! I have never awakened, never, do you understand, without myfirst thoughts being of him, of my child. How is he? Oh, how guilty I feeltoward him! Ought one to fear what the world may say in a case like this?I ought to have left everything to go after him, to bring him up and toshow my love for him. I should certainly have been much happier, but I didnot dare, I was a coward. How I have suffered! Oh, how those poor, abandoned children must hate their mothers!"

She stopped suddenly, for she was choked by her sobs. The whole valley wasdeserted and silent in the dazzling light and the overwhelming heat, andonly the grasshoppers uttered their shrill, continuous chirp among thesparse yellow grass on both sides of the road. 

"Sit down a little, " he said. 

She allowed herself to be led to the side of the ditch and sank down withher face in her hands. Her white hair, which hung in curls on both sidesof her face, had become tangled. She wept, overcome by profound grief, while he stood facing her, uneasy and not knowing what to say, and hemerely murmured: "Come, take courage. "

She got up. 

"I will, " she said, and wiping her eyes, she began to walk again with theuncertain step of an elderly woman. 

A little farther on the road passed beneath a clump of trees, which hid afew houses, and they could distinguish the vibrating and regular blows ofa blacksmith's hammer on the anvil; and presently they saw a wagonstanding on the right side of the road in front of a low cottage, and twomen shoeing a horse under a shed. 

Monsieur d'Apreval went up to them. 

"Where is Pierre Benedict's farm?" he asked. 

"Take the road to the left, close to the inn, and then go straight on; itis the third house past Poret's. There is a small spruce fir close to thegate; you cannot make a mistake. "

They turned to the left. She was walking very slowly now, her legsthreatened to give way, and her heart was beating so violently that shefelt as if she should suffocate, while at every step she murmured, as ifin prayer:

"Oh! Heaven! Heaven!"

Monsieur d'Apreval, who was also nervous and rather pale, said to hersomewhat gruffly:

"If you cannot manage to control your feelings, you will betray yourselfat once. Do try and restrain yourself. "

"How can I?" she replied. "My child! When I think that I am going to seemy child. "

They were going along one of those narrow country lanes between farmyards, that are concealed beneath a double row of beech trees at either side ofthe ditches, and suddenly they found themselves in front of a gate, besidewhich there was a young spruce fir. 

"This is it, " he said. 

She stopped suddenly and looked about her. The courtyard, which wasplanted with apple trees, was large and extended as far as the smallthatched dwelling house. On the opposite side were the stable, the barn, the cow house and the poultry house, while the gig, the wagon and themanure cart were under a slated outhouse. Four calves were grazing underthe shade of the trees and black hens were wandering all about theenclosure. 

All was perfectly still; the house door was open, but nobody was to beseen, and so they went in, when immediately a large black dog came out ofa barrel that was standing under a pear tree, and began to bark furiously. 

There were four bee-hives on boards against the wall of the house. 

Monsieur d'Apreval stood outside and called out:

"Is anybody at home?"

Then a child appeared, a little girl of about ten, dressed in a chemiseand a linen petticoat, with dirty, bare legs and a timid and cunning look. She remained standing in the doorway, as if to prevent any one going in. 

"What do you want?" she asked. 

"Is your father in?"

"No. "

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. "

"And your mother?"

"Gone after the cows. "

"Will she be back soon?"

"I don't know. "

Then suddenly the lady, as if she feared that her companion might forceher to return, said quickly:

"I shall not go without having seen him. "

"We will wait for him, my dear friend. "

As they turned away, they saw a peasant woman coming toward the house, carrying two tin pails, which appeared to be heavy and which glistenedbrightly in the sunlight. 

She limped with her right leg, and in her brown knitted jacket, that wasfaded by the sun and washed out by the rain, she looked like a poor, wretched, dirty servant. 

"Here is mamma. " the child said. 

When she got close to the house, she looked at the strangers angrily andsuspiciously, and then she went in, as if she had not seen them. Shelooked old and had a hard, yellow, wrinkled face, one of those woodenfaces that country people so often have. 

Monsieur d'Apreval called her back. 

"I beg your pardon, madame, but we came in to know whether you could sellus two glasses of milk. "

She was grumbling when she reappeared in the door, after putting down herpails. 

"I don't sell milk, " she replied. 

"We are very thirsty, " he said, "and madame is very tired. Can we not getsomething to drink?"

The peasant woman gave them an uneasy and cunning glance and then she madeup her mind. 

"As you are here, I will give you some, " she said, going into the house, and almost immediately the child came out and brought two chairs, whichshe placed under an apple tree, and then the mother, in turn brought outtwo bowls of foaming milk, which she gave to the visitors. She did notreturn to the house, however, but remained standing near them, as if towatch them and to find out for what purpose they had come there. 

"You have come from Fécamp?" she said. 

"Yes, " Monsieur d'Apreval replied, "we are staying at Fécamp for thesummer. "

And then, after a short silence he continued:

"Have you any fowls you could sell us every week?"

The woman hesitated for a moment and then replied:

"Yes, I think I have. I suppose you want young ones?"

"Yes, of course. "

"What do you pay for them in the market?"

D'Apreval, who had not the least idea, turned to his companion:

"What are you paying for poultry in Fécamp, my dear lady?"

"Four francs and four francs fifty centimes, " she said, her eyes full oftears, while the farmer's wife, who was looking at her askance, asked inmuch surprise:

"Is the lady ill, as she is crying?"

He did not know what to say, and replied with some hesitation:

"No--no--but she lost her watch as we came along, a very handsome watch, and that troubles her. If anybody should find it, please let us know. "

Mother Benedict did not reply, as she thought it a very equivocal sort ofanswer, but suddenly she exclaimed:

"Oh, here is my husband!"

She was the only one who had seen him, as she was facing the gate. D'Apreval started and Madame de Cadour nearly fell as she turned roundsuddenly on her chair. 

A man bent nearly double, and out of breath, stood there, ten yards fromthem, dragging a cow at the end of a rope. Without taking any notice ofthe visitors, he said:

"Confound it! What a brute!"

And he went past them and disappeared in the cow house. 

Her tears had dried quickly as she sat there startled, without a word andwith the one thought in her mind, that this was her son, and D'Apreval, whom the same thought had struck very unpleasantly, said in an agitatedvoice:

"Is this Monsieur Benedict?"

"Who told you his name?" the wife asked, still rather suspiciously. 

"The blacksmith at the corner of the highroad, " he replied, and then theywere all silent, with their eyes fixed on the door of the cow house, whichformed a sort of black hole in the wall of the building. Nothing could beseen inside, but they heard a vague noise, movements and footsteps and thesound of hoofs, which were deadened by the straw on the floor, and soonthe man reappeared in the door, wiping his forehead, and came toward thehouse with long, slow strides. He passed the strangers without seeming tonotice them and said to his wife:

"Go and draw me a jug of cider; I am very thirsty. "

Then he went back into the house, while his wife went into the cellar andleft the two Parisians alone. 

"Let us go, let us go, Henri, " Madame de Cadour said, nearly distractedwith grief, and so d'Apreval took her by the arm, helped her to rise, andsustaining her with all his strength, for he felt that she was nearlyfainting, he led her out, after throwing five francs on one of the chairs. 

As soon as they were outside the gate, she began to sob and said, shakingwith grief:

"Oh! oh! is that what you have made of him?"

He was very pale and replied coldly:

"I did what I could. His farm is worth eighty thousand francs, and that ismore than most of the sons of the middle classes have. "

They returned slowly, without speaking a word. She was still crying; thetears ran down her cheeks continually for a time, but by degrees theystopped, and they went back to Fécamp, where they found Monsieur de Cadourwaiting dinner for them. As soon as he saw them, he began to laugh andexclaimed:

"So my wife has had a sunstroke, and I am very glad of it. I really thinkshe has lost her head for some time past!"

Neither of them replied, and when the husband asked them, rubbing hishands:

"Well, I hope that, at least, you have had a pleasant walk?"

Monsieur d'Apreval replied:

"A delightful walk, I assure you; perfectly delightful. "

THE GUILTY SECRET

BY PAUL DE KOCK

Nathalie De Hauteville was twenty-two years old, and had been a widow forthree years. She was one of the prettiest women in Paris; her large darkeyes shone with remarkable brilliancy, and she united the sparklingvivacity of an Italian and the depth of feeling of a Spaniard to the gracewhich always distinguishes a Parisian born and bred. Considering herselftoo young to be entirely alone, she had long ago invited M. D'Ablaincourt, an old uncle of hers, to come and live with her. 

M. D'Ablaincourt was an old bachelor; he had never loved anything in thisworld but himself. He was an egotist, too lazy to do any one an ill turn, but at the same time too selfish to do any one a kindness, unless it wouldtend directly to his own advantage. And yet, with an air of complaisance, as if he desired nothing so much as the comfort of those around him, heconsented to his niece's proposal, in the hope that she would do manylittle kind offices for him, which would add materially to his comfort. 

M. D'Ablaincourt accompanied his niece when she resumed her place insociety; but sometimes, when he felt inclined to stay at home, he wouldsay to her: "My dear Nathalie, I am afraid you will not be much amusedthis evening. They will only play cards; besides, I don't think any ofyour friends will be there. Of course, I am ready to take you, if you wishto go. "

And Nathalie, who had great confidence in all her uncle said, would stayat home. 

In the same manner, M. D'Ablaincourt, who was a great gourmand, said tohis niece: "My dear, you know that I am not at all fond of eating, and amsatisfied with the simplest fare; but I must tell you that your cook putstoo much salt in everything! It is very unwholesome. "

So they changed the cook. 

Again, the garden was out of order; the trees before the old gentleman'swindow must be cut down, because their shade would doubtless cause adampness in the house prejudicial to Nathalie's health; or the surrey wasto be changed for a landau. 

Nathalie was a coquette. Accustomed to charm, she listened with smiles tothe numerous protestations of admiration which she received. She sent allwho aspired to her hand to her uncle, saying: "Before I give you any hope, I must know my uncle's opinion. "

It is likely that Nathalie would have answered differently if she had everfelt a real preference for any one; but heretofore she seemed to havepreferred her liberty. 

The old uncle, for his part, being now master in his niece's house, wasvery anxious for her to remain as she was. A nephew might be somewhat lesssubmissive than Nathalie. Therefore, he never failed to discover somegreat fault in each of those who sought an alliance with the pretty widow. 

Besides his egotism and his epicureanism, the dear uncle had anotherpassion--to play backgammon. The game amused him very much; but thedifficulty was to find any one to play with. If, by accident, any ofNathalie's visitors understood it, there was no escape from a long siegewith the old gentleman; but most people preferred cards. 

In order to please her uncle, Nathalie tried to learn this game; but itwas almost impossible. She could not give her attention to one thing forso long a time. Her uncle scolded. Nathalie gave up in despair. 

"It was only for your own amusement that I wished to teach it to you, "said the good M. D'Ablaincourt. 

Things were at this crisis when, at a ball one evening, Nathalie wasintroduced to a M. D'Apremont, a captain in the navy. 

Nathalie raised her eyes, expecting to see a great sailor, with a woodenleg and a bandage over one eye; when to her great surprise, she beheld aman of about thirty, tall and finely formed, with two sound legs and twogood eyes. 

Armand d'Apremont had entered the navy at a very early age, and hadarrived, although very young, to the dignity of a captain. He had amasseda large fortune, in addition to his patrimonial estates, and he had nowcome home to rest after his labors. As yet, however, he was a single man, and, moreover, had always laughed at love. 

But when he saw Nathalie, his opinions underwent a change. For the firsttime in his life he regretted that he had never learned to dance, and hekept his eyes fixed on her constantly. 

His attentions to the young widow soon became a subject of generalconversation, and, at last, the report reached the ears of M. D'Ablaincourt. When Nathalie mentioned, one evening, that she expected thecaptain to spend the evening with her, the old man grew almost angry. 

"Nathalie, " said he, "you act entirely without consulting me. I have heardthat the captain is very rude and unpolished in his manners. To be sure, Ihave only seen him standing behind your chair; but he has never even askedafter my health. I only speak for your interest, as you are so giddy. "

Nathalie begged her uncle's pardon, and even offered not to receive thecaptain's visit; but this he forbore to require--secretly resolving not toallow these visits to become too frequent. 

But how frail are all human resolutions--overturned by the merest trifle!In this case, the game of backgammon was the unconscious cause ofNathalie's becoming Mme. D'Apremont. The captain was an excellent hand atbackgammon. When the uncle heard this, he proposed a game; and thecaptain, who understood that it was important to gain the uncle's favor, readily acceded. 

This did not please Nathalie. She preferred that he should be occupiedwith herself. When all the company were gone, she turned to her uncle, saying: "You were right, uncle, after all. I do not admire the captain'smanners; I see now that I should not have invited him. "

"On the contrary, niece, he is a very well-behaved man. I have invited himto come here very often, and play backgammon with me--that is, to pay hisaddresses to you. "

Nathalie saw that the captain had gained her uncle's heart, and sheforgave him for having been less attentive to her. He soon came again, and, thanks to the backgammon, increased in favor with the uncle. 

He soon captivated the heart of the pretty widow, also. One morning, Nathalie came blushing to her uncle. 

"The captain has asked me to marry him. What do you advise me to do?"

He reflected for a few moments. "If she refuses him, D'Apremont will comehere no longer, and then no more backgammon. But if she marries him, hewill be here always, and I shall have my games. " And the answer was: "Youhad better marry him. "

Nathalie loved Armand; but she would not yield too easily. She sent forthe captain. 

"If you really love me--"

"Ah, can you doubt it?"

"Hush! do not interrupt me. If you really love me, you will give me oneproof of it. "

"Anything you ask. I swear--"

"No, you must never swear any more; and, one thing more, you must neversmoke. I detest the smell of tobacco, and I will not have a husband whosmokes. "

Armand sighed, and promised. 

The first months of their marriage passed smoothly, but sometimes Armandbecame thoughtful, restless, and grave. After some time, these fits ofsadness became more frequent. 

"What is the matter?" asked Nathalie one day, on seeing him stamp withimpatience. "Why are you so irritable?"

"Nothing--nothing at all!" replied the captain, as if ashamed of his illhumor. 

"Tell me, " Nathalie insisted, "have I displeased you in anything?"

The captain assured her that he had no reason to be anything but delightedwith her conduct on all occasions, and for a time he was all right. Thensoon he was worse than before. 

Nathalie was distressed beyond measure. She imparted her anxiety to heruncle, who replied: "Yes, my dear, I know what you mean; I have oftenremarked it myself, at backgammon. He is very inattentive, and oftenpasses his hand over his forehead, and starts up as if something agitatedhim. "

And one day, when his old habits of impatience and irritabilityreappeared, more marked than ever, the captain said to his wife: "My dear, an evening walk will do me a world of good; an old sailor like myselfcannot bear to sit around the house after dinner. Nevertheless, if youhave any objection--"

"Oh, no! What objection can I have?"

He went out, and continued to do so, day after day, at the same hour. Invariably he returned in the best of good humor. 

Nathalie was now unhappy indeed. "He loves some other woman, perhaps, " shethought, "and he must see her every day. Oh, how wretched I am! But I mustlet him know that his perfidy is discovered. No, I will wait until I shallhave some certain proof wherewith to confront him. "

And she went to seek her uncle. "Ah, I am the most unhappy creature in theworld!" she sobbed. 

"What is the matter?" cried the old man, leaning back in his armchair. 

"Armand leaves the house for two hours every evening, after dinner, andcomes back in high spirits and as anxious to please me as on the day ofour marriage. Oh, uncle, I cannot bear it any longer! If you do not assistme to discover where he goes, I will seek a separation. "

"But, my dear niece--"

"My dear uncle, you who are so good and obliging, grant me this one favor. I am sure there is some woman in the secret. "

M. D'Ablaincourt wished to prevent a rupture between his niece and nephew, which would interfere very much with the quiet, peaceable life which heled at their house. He pretended to follow Armand; but came back verysoon, saying he had lost sight of him. 

"But in what direction does he go?"

"Sometimes one way, and sometimes another, but always alone; so yoursuspicions are unfounded. Be assured, he only walks for exercise. "

But Nathalie was not to be duped in this way. She sent for a little errandboy, of whose intelligence she had heard a great deal. 

"M. D'Apremont goes out every evening. "

"Yes, madame. "

"To-morrow, you will follow him; observe where he goes, and come and tellme privately. Do you understand?"

"Yes, madame. "

Nathalie waited impatiently for the next day, and for the hour of herhusband's departure. At last, the time came--the pursuit is goingon--Nathalie counted the moments. After three-quarters of an hour, the messenger arrived, covered with dust. 

"Well, " exclaimed Nathalie, "speak! Tell me everything that you haveseen!"

"Madame, I followed M. D'Apremont, at a distance, as far as the RueVieille du Temple, where he entered a small house, in an alley. There wasno servant to let him in. "

"An alley! No servant! Dreadful!"

"I went in directly after him, and heard him go up-stairs and unlock adoor. "

"Open the door himself, without knocking! Are you sure of that?"

"Yes, madame. "

"The wretch! So he has a key! But, go on. "

"When the door shut after him, I stole softly up-stairs, and peepedthrough the keyhole. "

"You shall have twenty francs more. "

"I peeped through the keyhole, and saw him drag a trunk along the floor. "

"A trunk?"

"Then he undressed himself, and--"

"Undressed himself!"

"Then, for a few seconds, I could not see him, and directly he appearedagain, in a sort of gray blouse, and a cap on his Lead. "

"A blouse! What in the world does he want with a blouse? What next?"

"I came away, then, madame, and made haste to tell you; but he is therestill. "

"Well, now run to the corner and get me a cab, and direct the coachman tothe house where you have been. "

While the messenger went for the cab, Nathalie hurried on her hat andcloak, and ran into her uncle's room. 

"I have found him out--he loves another. He's at her house now, in a grayblouse. But I will go and confront him, and then you will see me no more. "

The old man had no time to reply. She was gone, with her messenger, in thecab. They stopped at last. 

"Here is the house. "

Nathalie got out, pale and trembling. 

"Shall I go up-stairs with you, madame?" asked the boy. 

"No, I will go alone. The third story, isn't it?"

"Yes, madame; the left-hand door, at the head of the stairs. "

It seemed that now, indeed, the end of all things was at hand. 

Nathalie mounted the dark, narrow stairs, and arrived at the door, and, almost fainting, she cried: "Open the door, or I shall die!"

The door was opened, and Nathalie fell into her husband's arms. He wasalone in the room, clad in a gray blouse, and--smoking a Turkish pipe. 

"My wife!" exclaimed Armand, in surprise. 

"Your wife--who, suspecting your perfidy, has followed you, to discoverthe cause of your mysterious conduct!"

"How, Nathalie, my mysterious conduct? Look, here it is!" (Showing hispipe. ) "Before our marriage, you forbade me to smoke, and I promised toobey you. For some months I kept my promise; but you know what it cost me;you remember how irritable and sad I became. It was my pipe, my belovedpipe, that I regretted. One day, in the country, I discovered a littlecottage, where a peasant was smoking. I asked him if he could lend me ablouse and cap; for I should like to smoke with him, but it was necessaryto conceal it from you, as the smell of smoke, remaining in my clothes, would have betrayed me. It was soon settled between us. I returned thitherevery afternoon, to indulge in my favorite occupation; and, with theprecaution of a cap to keep the smoke from remaining in my hair, Icontrived to deceive you. This is all the mystery. Forgive me. "

Nathalie kissed him, crying: "I might have known it could not be! I amhappy now, and you shall smoke as much as you please, at home. "

And Nathalie returned to her uncle, saying: "Uncle, he loves me! He wasonly smoking, but hereafter he is to smoke at home. "

"I can arrange it all, " said D'Ablaincourt; "he shall smoke while he playsbackgammon. "

"In that way, " thought the old man, "I shall be sure of my game. "

JEAN MONETTE

BY EUGENE FRANCOIS VIDOCQ

At the time when I first became commissary of police, my arrondissementwas in that part of Paris which includes the Rue St. Antoine--a streetwhich has a great number of courts, alleys, and culs-de-sac issuing fromit in all directions. The houses in these alleys and courts are, for themost part, inhabited by wretches wavering betwixt the last shade ofpoverty and actual starvation, ready to take part in any disturbance, orassist in any act of rapine or violence. 

In one of these alleys, there lived at that time a man named Jean Monette, who was tolerably well stricken in years, but still a hearty man. He was awidower, and, with an only daughter, occupied a floor, au quatrième, inone of the courts; people said he had been in business and grown rich, butthat he had not the heart to spend his money, which year after yearaccumulated, and would make a splendid fortune for his daughter at hisdeath. With this advantage, Emma, who was really a handsome girl, did notwant for suitors, and thought that, being an heiress, she might wait tillshe really felt a reciprocal passion for some one, and not throw herselfaway upon the first tolerable match that presented itself. It was on aSunday, the first in the month of June, that Emma had, as an especialtreat, obtained sufficient money from her father for an excursion withsome friends to see the fountains of Versailles. 

It was a beautiful day, and the basin was thronged around with thousandsand thousands of persons, looking, from the variety of their dresses, morelike the colors of a splendid rainbow than aught besides; and when, atfour o'clock, Triton and his satellites threw up their immense volumes ofwater, all was wonder, astonishment, and delight; but none were moredelighted than Emma, to whom the scene was quite new. 

And, then, it was so pleasant to have found a gentleman who could explaineverything and everybody; point out the duke of this, and the count that, and the other lions of Paris; besides, such an agreeable and well-dressedman; it was really quite condescending in him to notice them! And then, toward evening, he would insist they should all go home together in afiacre, and that he alone should pay all the expenses, and when, with agentle pressure of the hand and a low whisper, he begged her to say wherehe might come and throw himself at her feet, she thought her feelings weredifferent to what they had ever been before. But how could she give heraddress--tell so dashing a man that she lived in such a place? No, shecould not do that, but she would meet him at the Jardin d'Eté next Sundayevening, and dance with no one else all night. 

She met him on the Sunday, and again and again, until her father began tosuspect, from her frequent absence of an evening--which was formerly anunusual circumstance with her--that something must be wrong. The old manloved his money, but he loved his daughter more. She was the only link inlife that kept together the chain of his affections. He had beenpassionately fond of his wife, and when she died, Emma had filled up thevoid in his heart. They were all, save his money, that he had ever loved. The world had cried out against him as a hard-hearted, rapacious man, andhe, in return, despised the world. 

He was, therefore, much grieved at her conduct, and questioned Emma as towhere her frequent visits led her, but could only obtain for answer thatshe was not aware she had been absent so much as to give him uneasiness. This was unsatisfactory, and so confirmed the old man in his suspicionsthat he determined to have his daughter watched. 

This he effected through the means of an ancien ami, then in theprofession of what he called an "inspector, " though his enemies (and allmen have such) called him a mouchard, or spy. However, by whatever name hecalled himself, or others called him, he understood his business, and soeffectually watched the young lady that he discovered her frequentabsences to be for the purpose of meeting a man who, after walking somedistance with her, managed, despite the inspector's boasted abilities, togive him the slip. 

This naturally puzzled him, and so it would any man in his situation. Fancy the feelings of one of the government's employees in the argus lineof business, a man renowned for his success in almost all the arduous andintricate affairs that had been committed to his care, to find himselfbaffled in a paltry private intrigue, and one which he had merelyundertaken for the sake of friendship!

For a second time, he tried the plan of fancying himself to be well paid, thinking this would stimulate his dormant energies, knowing well that athing done for friendship's sake is always badly done; but even here hefailed. He watched them to a certain corner, but, before he could getaround it, they were nowhere to be seen. This was not to be borne. It wassetting him at defiance. Should he call in the assistance of a brother inthe line? No, that would be to acknowledge himself beaten, and thedisgrace he could not bear--his honor was concerned, and he would achieveit single handed; but, then, it was very perplexing. 

The man, to his experienced eye, seemed not, as he had done to Emma, adashing gentleman, but more like a foul bird in fine feathers. Somethingmust be wrong, and he must find it out--but, then, again came thatconfounded question, how?

He would go and consult old Monette--he could, perhaps, suggest something;and, musing on the strangeness of the adventure, he walked slowly towardthe house of the old man to hold a council with him on the situation. 

On the road, his attention was attracted by a disturbance in the street, and mingling with the crowd, in hope of seizing some of his enemiesexercising their illegal functions on whom the whole weight of hisofficial vengeance might fall, he for the time forgot his adventure. Thecrowd had been drawn together by a difference of opinion between twogentlemen of the vehicular profession, respecting some right of way, and, after all the usual expressions of esteem common on such occasions hadbeen exhausted, one of them drove off, leaving the other at least masterof the field, if he had not got the expected job. 

The crowd began to disperse, and with them also was going our friend, thedetective, when, on turning round, he came in contact with Mlle. Monette, leaning on the arm of her mysterious lover. The light from a lamp abovehis head shone immediately on the face of Emma and her admirer, showingthem both as clear as noonday, so that when his glance turned from thelady to the gentleman, and he obtained a full view of his face, heexpressed his joy at the discovery by a loud "Whew!" which, though a shortsound and soon pronounced, meant a great deal. 

For first, it meant that he had made a great discovery; secondly, that hewas not now astonished because he had not succeeded before in hiswatchfulness; thirdly--but perhaps the two mentioned may be sufficient;for, turning sharply round, he made the greatest haste to reach Monetteand inform him, this time, of the result of his espionage. 

After a long prelude, stating how fortunate Monette was to have such afriend as himself, a man who knew everybody and everything, he proceededto inform him of the pleasing intelligence that his daughter was in thehabit of meeting, and going to some place (he forgot to say where) withthe most desperate and abandoned character in Paris--one who was soextremely dexterous in all his schemes that the police, though perfectlyaware of his intentions, had not been able to fix upon him the commissionof any one of his criminal acts, for he changed his appearance so often asto set at naught all the assiduous exertions of the Corps des Espions. 

The unhappy father received from his friend at parting the assurance thatthey would catch him yet, and give him an invitation to pass the rest ofhis days in the seclusion of a prison. 

On Emma's return, he told her the information he had received, wiselywithholding the means from which his knowledge came, saying that he knewshe had that moment parted from a man who would lead her to the brink ofdestruction, and then cast her off like a child's broken play-thing. Hebegged, nay, he besought her, with tears in his eyes, to promise she wouldnever again see him. Emma was thunderstruck, not only at the accuracy ofher father's information, but at hearing such a character of one whom shehad painted as perfection's self; and, calling to her aid thosenever-failing woman's arguments, a copious flood of tears, fell on herfather's neck and promised never again to see her admirer and, if possible, to banish all thoughts of him from her mind. 

"My child, " said the old man, "I believe you from my heart--I believe you. I love you, but the world says I am rich--why, I know not. You know I livein a dangerous neighborhood, and all my care will be necessary to preventmy losing either my child or my reputed wealth; therefore, to avoid allaccidents, I will take care you do not leave this house for the next sixmonths to come, and in that time your lover will have forgotten you, orwhat will amount to the same thing, you will have forgotten him; but I ammuch mistaken if the man's intentions are not to rob me of my money, rather than my child. "

The old man kept his word, and Emma was not allowed for several days toleave the rooms on the fourth floor. 

She tried, during the time, if it were possible to forget the object ofher affections, and thought if she could but see him once more, to bid hima long and last farewell, she might in time wear out his remembrance fromher heart; but in order to do that, she must see him once more; and havingmade up her mind that this interview would be an essential requisite tothe desired end, she took counsel with herself how it was to beaccomplished. There was only one great obstacle presenting itself to herview, which was that "she couldn't get out. "

Now women's invention never fails them, when they have set their heartsupon any desired object; and it occurred to her, that although she couldnot get out, yet it was not quite so apparent that he could not get in;and this point being settled, it was no very difficult matter to persuadethe old woman who occasionally assisted her in the household arrangements, to be the bearer of a short note, purporting to say that her father havingbeen unwell for the last few days, usually retired early to rest, and thatif her dear Despreau would come about eleven o'clock on the followingevening, her father would be asleep, and she would be on the watch for asignal, which was to be three gentle taps on the door. 

The old woman executed her commission so well that she brought back ananswer vowing eternal fidelity, and promising a punctual attendance at therendezvous. Nor was it likely that he meant to fail--seeing it was theobject he had had for months in view, and he reasoned with himself that ifhe once got there, he would make such good use of his time as to render asecond visit perfectly unnecessary. 

Therefore it would be a pity to disappoint any one, and he immediatelycommunicated his plans to two of his confederates, promising them a goodshare of the booty, and also the girl herself, if either of them felt thatway inclined, as a reward for their assistance. 

His plans were very well managed, and would have gone on exceedingly well, but for one small accident which happened through the officiousinterference of the inspector, who, the moment he had discovered who theLothario was, had taken all the steps he could to catch him, and gain thehonor of having caught so accomplished a gentleman. He rightly judged thatit would not be long before he would pay a visit to Monette's rooms, andthe letters, before their delivery by the old woman, had been read by him, and met with his full approbation. 

I was much pleased on being informed by the inspector that he wanted myassistance, one evening, to apprehend the celebrated Despreau, who hadplanned a robbery near the Rue St. Antoine, and make me acquainted withnearly all the circumstances. So, about half past ten o'clock, I postedmyself with the inspector and four men where I could see Despreau pass, and at eleven o'clock, punctual to the moment, he and his two associatesbegan to ascend the stairs. 

The two confederates were to wait some time, when he was to come to thedoor on some pretext and let them in. 

After the lapse of half an hour they were let in, when we ascended afterthem, and the inspector, having a duplicate key, we let ourselves gentlyin, standing in the passage, so as to prevent our being seen; in a fewminutes we heard a loud shriek from Emma, and old Monette's voice mostvociferously crying "Murder!" and "Thieves!" On entering the rooms, weperceived that the poor girl was lying on the ground, while one of the menwas endeavoring to stifle her cries by either gagging or suffocating her, though in the way he was doing it, the latter would have soon been thecase. 

The old man had been dragged from his bed, and Despreau stood over himwith a knife, swearing that unless he showed him the place where his moneyand valuables were deposited, it should be the last hour of his existence. 

Despreau, on seeing us, seemed inclined to make a most desperateresistance, but not being seconded by his associates, submitted to bepinioned, expressing his regret that we had not come half an hour later, when we might have been saved the trouble. 

Despreau was shortly after tried for the offense, which was too clearlyproved to admit of any doubt. He was sentenced to the galleys for life, and is now at Brest, undergoing his sentence. Emma, soon afterward, married a respectable man, and old Monette behaved on the occasion muchmore liberally than was expected. 

SOLANGE

DR. LEDRU'S STORY OF THE REIGN OF TERROR

BY ALEXANDRE DUMAS

Leaving l'Abbaye, I walked straight across the Place Turenne to the RueTournon, where I had lodgings, when I heard a woman scream for help. 

It could not be an assault to commit robbery, for it was hardly teno'clock in the evening. I ran to the corner of the place whence the soundsproceeded, and by the light of the moon, just then breaking through theclouds, I beheld a woman in the midst of a patrol of sans-culottes. 

The lady observed me at the same instant, and seeing, by the character ofmy dress, that I did not belong to the common order of people, she rantoward me, exclaiming:

"There is M. Albert! He knows me! He will tell you that I am the daughterof Mme. Ledieu, the laundress. "

With these words the poor creature, pale and trembling with excitement, seized my arm and clung to me as a shipwrecked sailor to a spar. 

"No matter whether you are the daughter of Mme. Ledieu or some one else, as you have no pass, you must go with us to the guard-house. "

The young girl pressed my arm. I perceived in this pressure the expressionof her great distress of mind. I understood it. 

"So it is you, my poor Solange?" I said. "What are you doing here?"

"There, messieurs!" she exclaimed in tones of deep anxiety; "do youbelieve me now?"

"You might at least say 'citizens!'"

"Ah, sergeant, do not blame me for speaking that way, " said the prettyyoung girl; "my mother has many customers among the great people, andtaught me to be polite. That's how I acquired this bad habit--the habit ofthe aristocrats; and, you know, sergeant, it's so hard to shake off oldhabits!"

This answer, delivered in trembling accents, concealed a delicate ironythat was lost on all save me. I asked myself, who is this young woman? Themystery seemed complete. This alone was clear; she was not the daughter ofa laundress. 

"How did I come here, Citizen Albert?" she asked. "Well, I will tell you. I went to deliver some washing. The lady was not at home, and so I waited;for in these hard times every one needs what little money is coming tohim. In that way it grew dark, and so I fell among these gentlemen--begpardon, I would say citizens. They asked for my pass. As I did not have itwith me, they were going to take me to the guard-house. I cried out interror, which brought you to the scene; and as luck would have it, you area friend. I said to myself, as M. Albert knows my name to be SolangeLedieu, he will vouch for me; and that you will, will you not, M. Albert?"

"Certainly, I will vouch for you. "

"Very well, " said the leader of the patrol; "and who, pray, will vouch foryou, my friend?"

"Danton! Do you know him? Is he a good patriot?"

"Oh, if Danton will vouch for you, I have nothing to say. "

"Well, there is a session of the Cordeliers to-day. Let us go there. "

"Good, " said the leader. "Citizens, let us go to the Cordeliers. "

The club of the Cordeliers met at the old Cordelier monastery in the Ruel'Observance. We arrived there after scarce a minute's walk. At the door Itore a page from my note-book, wrote a few words upon it with a leadpencil, gave it to the sergeant, and requested him to hand it to Danton, while I waited outside with the men. 

The sergeant entered the clubhouse and returned with Danton. 

"What!" said he to me; "they have arrested you, my friend? You, the friendof Camilles--you, one of the most loyal republicans? Citizens, " hecontinued, addressing the sergeant, "I vouch for him. Is that sufficient?"

"You vouch for him. Do you also vouch for her?" asked the stubbornsergeant. 

"For her? To whom do you refer?"

"This girl. "

"For everything; for everybody who may be in his company. Does thatsatisfy you?"

"Yes, " said the man; "especially since I have had the privilege of seeingyou. "

With a cheer for Danton, the patrol marched away. I was about to thankDanton, when his name was called repeatedly within. 

"Pardon me, my friend, " he said; "you hear? There is my hand; I must leaveyou--the left. I gave my right to the sergeant. Who knows, the goodpatriot may have scrofula?"

"I'm coming!" he exclaimed, addressing those within in his mighty voicewith which he could pacify or arouse the masses. He hastened into thehouse. 

I remained standing at the door, alone with my unknown. 

"And now, my lady, " I said, "whither would you have me escort you? I am atyour disposal. "

"Why, to Mme. Ledieu, " she said with a laugh. "I told you she was mymother. "

"And where does Mme. Ledieu reside?"

"Rue Ferou, 24. "

"Then, let us proceed to Rue Ferou, 24. "

On the way neither of us spoke a word. But by the light of the moon, enthroned in serene glory in the sky, I was able to observe her at myleisure. She was a charming girl of twenty or twenty-two--brunette, withlarge blue eyes, more expressive of intelligence than melancholy--a finelychiseled nose, mocking lips, teeth of pearl, hands like a queen's, andfeet like a child's; and all these, in spite of her costume of alaundress, betokened an aristocratic air that had aroused the sergeant'ssuspicions not without justice. 

Arrived at the door of the house, we looked at each other a moment insilence. 

"Well, my dear M. Albert, what do you wish?" my fair unknown asked with asmile. 

"I was about to say, my dear Mlle. Solange, that it was hardly worth whileto meet if we are to part so soon. "

"Oh, I beg ten thousand pardons! I find it was well worth the while; forif I had not met you, I should have been dragged to the guard-house, andthere it would have been discovered that I am not the daughter of Mme. Ledieu--in fact, it would have developed that I am an aristocrat, and inall likelihood they would have cut off my head. "

"You admit, then, that you are an aristocrat?"

"I admit nothing. "

"At least you might tell me your name. "

"Solange. "

"I know very well that this name, which I gave you on the inspiration ofthe moment, is not your right name. "

"No matter; I like it, and I am going to keep it--at least for you. "

"Why should you keep it for me? if we are not to meet again?"

"I did not say that. I only said that if we should meet again it will notbe necessary for you to know my name any more than that I should knowyours. To me you will be known as Albert, and to you I shall always beSolange. "

"So be it, then; but I say, Solange, " I began. 

"I am listening, Albert, " she replied. 

"You are an aristocrat--that you admit. "

"If I did not admit it, you would surmise it, and so my admission would bedivested of half its merit. "

"And you were pursued because you were suspected of being an aristocrat?"

"I fear so. "

"And you are hiding to escape persecution?"

"In the Rue Ferou, No. 24, with Mme. Ledieu, whose husband was my father'scoachman. You see, I have no secret from you. "

"And your father?"

"I shall make no concealment, my dear Albert, of anything that relates tome. But my fathers secrets are not my own. My father is in hiding, hopingto make his escape. That is all I can tell you. "

"And what are you going to do?"

"Go with my father, if that be possible. If not, allow him to departwithout me until the opportunity offers itself to me to join him. "

"Were you coming from your father when the guard arrested you to-night?"

"Yes. "

"Listen, dearest Solange. "

"I am all attention. "

"You observed all that took place to-night?"

"Yes. I saw that you had powerful influence. "

"I regret my power is not very great. However, I have friends. "

"I made the acquaintance of one of them. "

"And you know he is not one of the least powerful men of the times. "

"Do you intend to enlist his influence to enable my father to escape?"

"No, I reserve him for you. "

"But my father?"

"I have other ways of helping your father. "

"Other ways?" exclaimed Solange, seizing my hands and studying me with ananxious expression. 

"If I serve your father, will you then sometimes think kindly of me?"

"Oh, I shall all my life hold you in grateful remembrance!"

She uttered these words with an enchanting expression of devotion. Thenshe looked at me beseechingly and said:

"But will that satisfy you?"

"Yes, " I said. 

"Ah, I was not mistaken. You are kind, generous. I thank you for my fatherand myself. Even if you should fail, I shall be grateful for what you havealready done!"

"When shall we meet again, Solange?"

"When do you think it necessary to see me again?"

"To-morrow, when I hope to have good news for you. "

"Well, then, to-morrow. "

"Where?"

"Here. "

"Here in the street?"

"Well, mon Dieu!" she exclaimed. "You see, it is the safest place. Forthirty minutes, while we have been talking here, not a soul has passed. "

"Why may I not go to you, or you come to me?"

"Because it would compromise the good people if you should come to me, andyou would incur serious risk if I should go to you. "

"Oh, I would give you the pass of one of my relatives. "

"And send your relative to the guillotine if I should be accidentallyarrested!"

"True. I will bring you a pass made out in the name of Solange. "

"Charming! You observe Solange is my real name. "

"And the hour?"

"The same at which we met to-night--ten o'clock, if you please. "

"All right; ten o'clock. And how shall we meet?"

"That is very simple. Be at the door at five minutes of ten, and at ten Iwill come down. "

"Then, at ten to-morrow, dear Solange. "

"To-morrow at ten, dear Albert. "

I wanted to kiss her hand; she offered me her brow. 

The next day I was in the street at half past nine. At a quarter of tenSolange opened the door. We were both ahead of time. 

With one leap I was by her side. 

"I see you have good news, " she said. 

"Excellent! First, here is a pass for you. "

"First my father!"

She repelled my hand. 

"Your father is saved, if he wishes. "

"Wishes, you say? What is required of him?"

"He must trust me. "

"That is assured. "

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes. "

"You have discussed the situation with him?"

"It was unavoidable. Heaven will help us. "

"Did you tell your father all?"

"I told him you had saved my life yesterday, and that you would perhapssave his to-morrow. "

"To-morrow! Yes, quite right; to-morrow I shall save his life, if it ishis will. "

"How? What? Speak! Speak! If that were possible, how fortunately allthings have come to pass!"

"However--" I began hesitatingly. 

"Well?"

"It will be impossible for you to accompany him. "

"I told you I was resolute. "

"I am quite confident, however, that I shall be able later to procure apassport for you. "

"First tell me about my father; my own distress is less important. "

"Well, I told you I had friends, did I not?"

"Yes. "

"To-day I sought out one of them. "

"Proceed. "

"A man whose name is familiar to you; whose name is a guarantee of courageand honor. "

"And this man is?"

"Marceau. "

"General Marceau?"

"Yes. "

"True, he will keep a promise. "

"Well, he has promised. "

"Mon Dieu! How happy you make me! What has he promised? Tell me all. "

"He has promised to help us. "

"In what manner?"

"In a very simple manner. Kléber has just had him promoted to the commandof the western army. He departs to-morrow night. "

"To-morrow night! We shall have no time to make the smallest preparation. "

"There are no preparations to make. "

"I do not understand. "

"He will take your father with him. "

"My father?"

"Yes, as his secretary. Arrived in the Vendée, your father will pledge hisword to the general to undertake nothing against France. From there hewill escape to Brittany, and from Brittany to England. When he arrives inLondon, he will inform you; I shall obtain a passport for you, and youwill join him in London. "

"To-morrow, " exclaimed Solange; "my father departs tomorrow!"

"There is no time to waste. "

"My father has not been informed. "

"Inform him. "

"To-night?"

"To-night. "

"But how, at this hour?"

"You have a pass and my arm. "

"True. My pass. "

I gave it to her. She thrust it into her bosom. 

"Now? your arm?"

I gave her my arm, and we walked away. When we arrived at the PlaceTurenne--that is, the spot where we had met the night before--she said:"Await me here. "

I bowed and waited. 

She disappeared around the corner of what was formerly the Hôtel Malignon. After a lapse of fifteen minutes she returned. 

"Come, " she said, "my father wishes to receive and thank you. "

She took my arm and led me up to the Rue St. Guillaume, opposite the HôtelMortemart. Arrived here, she took a bunch of keys from her pocket, openeda small, concealed door, took me by the hand, conducted me up two flightsof steps, and knocked in a peculiar manner. 

A man of forty-eight or fifty years opened the door. He was dressed as aworking man and appeared to be a bookbinder. But at the first utterancethat burst from his lips, the evidence of the seigneur was unmistakable. 

"Monsieur, " he said, "Providence has sent you to us. I regard you anemissary of fate. Is it true that you can save me, or, what is more, thatyou wish to save me?"

I admitted him completely to my confidence. I informed him that Marceauwould take him as his secretary, and would exact no promise other thanthat he would not take up arms against France. 

"I cheerfully promise it now, and will repeat it to him. "

"I thank you in his name as well as in my own. "

"But when does Marceau depart?"

"To-morrow. "

"Shall I go to him to-night?"

"Whenever you please; he expects you. "

Father and daughter looked at each other. 

"I think it would be wise to go this very night, " said Solange. 

"I am ready; but if I should be arrested, seeing that I have no permit?"

"Here is mine. "

"But you?"

"Oh, I am known. "

"Where does Marceau reside?"

"Rue de l'Université, 40, with his sister, Mlle. Dégraviers-Marceau. "

"Will you accompany me?"

"I shall follow you at a distance, to accompany mademoiselle home when youare gone. "

"How will Marceau know that I am the man of whom you spoke to him?"

"You will hand him this tri-colored cockade; that is the sign ofidentification. "

"And how shall I reward my liberator?"

"By allowing him to save your daughter also. "

"Very well. "

He put on his hat and extinguished the lights, and we descended by thegleam of the moon which penetrated the stair-windows. 

At the foot of the steps he took his daughter's arm, and by way of the Ruedes Saints Pères we reached Rue de l'Université. I followed them at adistance of ten paces. We arrived at No. 40 without having met any one. Irejoined them there. 

"That is a good omen, " I said; "do you wish me to go up with you?"

"No. Do not compromise yourself any further. Await my daughter here. "

I bowed. 

"And now, once more, thanks and farewell, " he said, giving me his hand. "Language has no words to express my gratitude. I pray that heaven maysome day grant me the opportunity of giving fuller expression to myfeelings. "

I answered him with a pressure of the hand. 

He entered the house. Solange followed him; but she, too, pressed my handbefore she entered. 

In ten minutes the door was reopened. 

"Well?" I asked. 

"Your friend, " she said, "is worthy of his name; he is as kind andconsiderate as yourself. He knows that it will contribute to my happinessto remain with my father until the moment of departure. His sister hasordered a bed placed in her room. To-morrow at three o'clock my fatherwill be out of danger. To-morrow evening at ten I shall expect you in theRue Ferou, if the gratitude of a daughter who owes her father's life toyou is worth the trouble. "

"Oh, be sure I shall come. Did your father charge you with any message forme?"

"He thanks you for your pass, which he returns to you, and begs you tojoin him as soon as possible. "

"Whenever it may be your desire to go, " I said, with a strange sensationat my heart. 

"At least, I must know where I am to join him, " she said. "Ah, you are notyet rid of me!"

I seized her hand and pressed it against my heart, but she offered me herbrow, as on the previous evening, and said: "Until to-morrow. "

I kissed her on the brow; but now I no longer strained her hand against mybreast, but her heaving bosom, her throbbing heart. 

I went home in a state of delirious ecstasy such as I had neverexperienced. Was it the consciousness of a generous action, or was it lovefor this adorable creature? I know not whether I slept or woke. I onlyknow that all the harmonies of nature were singing within me; that thenight seemed endless, and the day eternal; I know that though I wished tospeed the time, I did not wish to lose a moment of the days still to come. 

The next day I was in the Rue Ferou at nine o'clock. At half-past nineSolange made her appearance. 

She approached me and threw her arms around my neck. 

"Saved!" she said; "my father is saved! And this I owe you. Oh, how I loveyou!"

Two weeks later Solange received a letter announcing her father's safearrival in England. 

The next day I brought her a passport. 

When Solange received it she burst into tears. 

"You do not love me!" she exclaimed. 

"I love you better than my life, " I replied; "but I pledged your father myword, and I must keep it. "

"Then, I will break mine, " she said. "Yes, Albert; if you have the heartto let me go, I have not the courage to leave you. "

Alas, she remained!

Three months had passed since that night on which we talked of her escape, and in all that time not a word of parting had passed her lips. 

Solange had taken lodgings in the Rue Turenne. I had rented them in hername. I knew no other, while she always addressed me as Albert. I hadfound her a place as teacher in a young ladies' seminary solely towithdraw her from the espionage of the revolutionary police, which hadbecome more scrutinizing than ever. 

Sundays we passed together in the small dwelling, from the bedroom ofwhich we could see the spot where we had first met. We exchanged lettersdaily, she writing to me under the name of Solange, and I to her underthat of Albert. 

Those three months were the happiest of my life. 

In the meantime I was making some interesting experiments suggested by oneof the guillotiniers. I had obtained permission to make certain scientifictests with the bodies and heads of those who perished on the scaffold. Sadto say, available subjects were not wanting. Not a day passed but thirtyor forty persons were guillotined, and blood flowed so copiously on thePlace de la Révolution that it became necessary to dig a trench three feetdeep around the scaffolding. This trench was covered with deals. One ofthem loosened under the feet of an eight-year-old lad, who fell into theabominable pit and was drowned. 

For self-evident reasons I said nothing to Solange of the studies thatoccupied my attention during the day. In the beginning my occupation hadinspired me with pity and loathing, but as time wore on I said: "Thesestudies are for the good of humanity, " for I hoped to convince thelawmakers of the wisdom of abolishing capital punishment. 

The Cemetery of Clamart had been assigned to me, and all the heads andtrunks of the victims of the executioner had been placed at my disposal. Asmall chapel in one corner of the cemetery had been converted into a kindof laboratory for my benefit. You know, when the queens were driven fromthe palaces, God was banished from the churches. 

Every day at six the horrible procession filed in. The bodies were heapedtogether in a wagon, the heads in a sack. I chose some bodies and headsin a haphazard fashion, while the remainder were thrown into a commongrave. 

In the midst of this occupation with the dead, my love for Solangeincreased from day to day; while the poor child reciprocated my affectionwith the whole power of her pure soul. 

Often I had thought of making her my wife; often we had mutually picturedto ourselves the happiness of such a union. But in order to become mywife, it would be necessary for Solange to reveal her name; and this name, which was that of an emigrant, an aristocrat, meant death. 

Her father had repeatedly urged her by letter to hasten her departure, butshe had informed him of our engagement. She had requested his consent, andhe had given it, so that all had gone well to this extent. 

The trial and execution of the queen, Marie Antoinette, had plunged me, too, into deepest sadness. Solange was all tears, and we could not ridourselves of a strange feeling of despondency, a presentiment ofapproaching danger, that compressed our hearts. In vain I tried to whispercourage to Solange. Weeping, she reclined in my arms, and I could notcomfort her, because my own words lacked the ring of confidence. 

We passed the night together as usual, but the night was even moredepressing than the day. I recall now that a dog, locked up in a roombelow us, howled till two o'clock in the morning. The next day we weretold that the dog's master had gone away with the key in his pocket, hadbeen arrested on the way, tried at three, and executed at four. 

The time had come for us to part. Solange's duties at the school began atnine o'clock in the morning. Her school was in the vicinity of the BotanicGardens. I hesitated long to let her go; she, too, was loath to part fromme. But it must be. Solange was prone to be an object of unpleasantinquiries. 

I called a conveyance and Accompanied her as far as the Rue desFosses-Saint-Bernard, where I got out and left her to pursue her wayalone. All the way we lay mutely wrapped in each other's arms, minglingtears with our kisses. 

After leaving the carriage, I stood as if rooted to the ground. I heardSolange call me, but I dared not go to her, because her face, moist withtears, and her hysterical manner were calculated to attract attention. 

Utterly wretched, I returned home, passing the entire day in writing toSolange. In the evening I sent her an entire volume of love-pledges. 

My letter had hardly gone to the post when I received one from her. 

She had been sharply reprimanded for coming late; had been subjected to asevere cross-examination, and threatened with forfeiture of her nextholiday. But she vowed to join me even at the cost of her place. I thoughtI should go mad at the prospect of being parted from her a whole week. Iwas more depressed because a letter which had arrived from her fatherappeared to have been tampered with. 

I passed a wretched night and a still more miserable day. 

The next day the weather was appalling. Nature seemed to be dissolving ina cold, ceaseless rain--a rain like that which announces the approach ofwinter. All the way to the laboratory my ears were tortured with thecriers announcing the names of the condemned, a large number of men, women, and children. The bloody harvest was over-rich. I should not lacksubjects for my investigations that day. 

The day ended early. At four o'clock I arrived at Clamart; it was almostnight. 

The view of the cemetery, with its large, new-made graves; the sparse, leafless trees that swayed in the wind, was desolate, almost appalling. 

A large, open pit yawned before me. It was to receive to-day's harvestfrom the Place de la Révolution. An exceedingly large number of victimswas expected, for the pit was deeper than usual. 

Mechanically I approached the grave. At the bottom the water had gatheredin a pool; my feet slipped; I came within an inch of falling in. My hairstood on end. The rain had drenched me to the skin. I shuddered andhastened into the laboratory. 

It was, as I have said, an abandoned chapel. My eyes searched--I know notwhy--to discover if some traces of the holy purpose to which the edificehad once been devoted did not still adhere to the walls or to the altar;but the walls were bare, the altar empty. 

I struck a light and deposited the candle on the operating-table on whichlay scattered a miscellaneous assortment of the strange instruments Iemployed. I sat down and fell into a reverie. I thought of the poor queen, whom I had seen in her beauty, glory, and happiness, yesterday carted tothe scaffold, pursued by the execrations of a people, to-day lyingheadless on the common sinners' bier--she who had slept beneath the gildedcanopy of the throne of the Tuileries and St. Cloud. 

As I sat thus, absorbed in gloomy meditation, wind and rain withoutredoubled in fury. The rain-drops dashed against the window-panes, thestorm swept with melancholy moaning through the branches of the trees. Anon there mingled with the violence of the elements the sound of wheels. 

It was the executioner's red hearse with its ghastly freight from thePlace de la Révolution. 

The door of the little chapel was pushed ajar, and two men, drenched withrain, entered, carrying a sack between them. 

"There, M. Ledru, " said the guillotinier; "there is what your heart longsfor! Be in no hurry this night! We'll leave you to enjoy their societyalone. Orders are not to cover them up till to-morrow, and so they'll nottake cold. "

With a horrible laugh, the two executioners deposited the sack in acorner, near the former altar, right in front of me. Thereupon theysauntered out, leaving open the door, which swung furiously on its hingestill my candle flashed and flared in the fierce draft. 

I heard them unharness the horse, lock the cemetery, and go away. 

I was strangely impelled to go with them, but an indefinable powerfettered me in my place. I could not repress a shudder. I had no fear; butthe violence of the storm, the splashing of the rain, the whistling soundsof the lashing branches, the shrill vibration of the atmosphere, whichmade my candle tremble--all this filled me with a vague terror that beganat the roots of my hair and communicated itself to every part of my body. 

Suddenly I fancied I heard a voice! A voice at once soft and plaintive; avoice within the chapel, pronouncing the name of "Albert!"

I was startled. 

"Albert!"

But one person in all the world addressed me by that name!

Slowly I directed my weeping eyes around the chapel, which, though small, was not completely lighted by the feeble rays of the candle, leaving thenooks and angles in darkness, and my look remained fixed on theblood-soaked sack near the altar with its hideous contents. 

At this moment the same voice repeated the same name, only it soundedfainter and more plaintive. 

"Albert!"

I bolted out of my chair, frozen with horror. 

The voice seemed to proceed from the sack!

I touched myself to make sure that I was awake; then I walked toward thesack with my arms extended before me, but stark and staring with horror. Ithrust my hand into it. Then it seemed to me as if two lips, still warm, pressed a kiss upon my fingers!

I had reached that stage of boundless terror where the excess of fearturns into the audacity of despair. I seized the head and collapsing in mychair, placed it in front of me. 

Then I gave vent to a fearful scream. This head, with its lips still warm, with the eyes half closed, was the head of Solange!

I thought I should go mad. 

Three times I called:

"Solange! Solange! Solange!"

At the third time she opened her eyes and looked at me. Tears trickleddown her cheeks; then a moist glow darted from her eyes, as if the soulwere passing, and the eyes closed, never to open again. 

I sprang to my feet a raving maniac, I wanted to fly; I knocked againstthe table; it fell. The candle was extinguished; the head rolled upon thefloor, and I fell prostrate, as if a terrible fever had stricken medown--an icy-shudder convulsed me, and, with a deep sigh, I swooned. 

The following morning at six the grave-diggers found me, cold as theflagstones on which I lay. 

Solange, betrayed by her father's letter, had been arrested the same day, condemned, and executed. 

The head that had called me, the eyes that had looked at me, were thehead, the eyes, of Solange!

THE BIRDS IN THE LETTER-BOX

BY RENE BAZIN

Nothing can describe the peace that surrounded the country parsonage. Theparish was small, moderately honest, prosperous, and was used to the oldpriest, who had ruled it for thirty years. The town ended at theparsonage, and there began meadows which sloped down to the river and werefilled in summer with the perfume of flowers and all the music of theearth. Behind the great house a kitchen-garden encroached on the meadow. The first ray of the sun was for it, and so was the last. Here thecherries ripened in May, and the currants often earlier, and a week beforeAssumption, usually, you could not pass within a hundred feet withoutbreathing among the hedges the heavy odor of the melons. 

But you must not think that the abbé of St. Philémon was a gourmand. Hehad reached the age when appetite is only a memory. His shoulders werebent, his face was wrinkled, he had two little gray eyes, one of whichcould not see any longer, and he was so deaf in one ear that if youhappened to be on that side you just had to get round on the other. 

Mercy, no! he did not eat all the fruits in his orchard. The boys gottheir share--and a big share--but the biggest share, by all odds, waseaten by the birds--the blackbirds, who lived there very comfortably allthe year, and sang in return the best they could; the orioles, prettybirds of passage, who helped them in summer, and the sparrows, and thewarblers of every variety; and the tomtits, swarms of them, with feathersas thick as your fingers, and they hung on the branches and pecked at agrape or scratched a pear--veritable little beasts of prey, whose only"thank you" was a shrill cry like a saw. 

Even to them, old age had made the abbé of St. Philémon indulgent. "Thebeasts cannot correct their faults, " he used to say; "if I got angry atthem for not changing I'd have to get angry with a good many of myparishioners!"

And he contented himself with clapping his hands together loud when hewent into his orchard, so he should not see too much stealing. 

Then there was a spreading of wings, as if all the silly flowers cut offby a great wind were flying away; gray, and white, and yellow, andmottled, a short flight, a rustling of leaves, and then quiet for fiveminutes. But what minutes! Fancy, if you can, that there was not onefactory in the village, not a weaver or a blacksmith, and that the noiseof men with their horses and cattle, spreading over the wide, distantplains, melted into the whispering of the breeze and was lost. Mills wereunknown, the roads were little frequented, the railroads were very faraway. Indeed, if the ravagers of his garden had repented for long the abbéwould have fallen asleep of the silence over his breviary. 

Fortunately, their return was prompt; a sparrow led the way, a jayfollowed, and then the whole swarm was back at work. And the abbé couldwalk up and down, close his book or open it, and murmur: "They'll notleave me a berry this year!"

It made no difference; not a bird left his prey, any more than if the goodabbé had been a cone-shaped pear-tree, with thick leaves, balancinghimself on the gravel of the walk. 

The birds know that those who complain take no action. Every year theybuilt their nests around the parsonage of St. Philémon in greater numbersthan anywhere else. The best places were quickly taken, the hollows in thetrees, the holes in the walls, the forks of the apple-trees and the elms, and you could see a brown beak, like the point of a sword, sticking out ofa wisp of straw between all the rafters of the roof. One year, when allthe places were taken, I suppose, a tomtit, in her embarrassment, spiedthe slit of the letter-box protected by its little roof, at the right ofthe parsonage gate. She slipped in, was satisfied with the result of herexplorations, and brought the materials to build a nest. There was nothingshe neglected that would make it warm, neither the feathers, nor thehorsehair, nor the wool, nor even the scales of lichens that cover oldwood. 

One morning the housekeeper came in perfectly furious, carrying a paper. She had found it under the laurel bush, at the foot of the garden. 

"Look, sir, a paper, and dirty, too! They are up to fine doings!"

"Who, Philomène?"

"Your miserable birds; all the birds that you let stay here! Pretty soonthey'll be building their nests in your soup-tureens!"

"I haven't but one. "

"Haven't they got the idea of laying their eggs in your letter-box! Iopened it because the postman rang and that doesn't happen every day. Itwas full of straw and horsehair and spiders' webs, with enough feathers tomake a quilt, and, in the midst of all that, a beast that I didn't seehissed at me like a viper!"

The abbé of St. Philémon began to laugh like a grandfather when he hearsof a baby's pranks. 

"That must be a tomtit, " said he, "they are the only birds clever enoughto think of it. Be careful not to touch it, Philomène. "

"No fear of that; it is not nice enough!"

The abbé went hastily through the garden, the house, the court plantedwith asparagus, till he came to the wall which separated the parsonagefrom the public road, and there he carefully opened the letter-box, inwhich there would have been room enough for all the mail received in ayear by all the inhabitants of the village. 

Sure enough, he was not mistaken. The shape of the nest, like a pine-cone, its color and texture, and the lining, which showed through, made himsmile. He heard the hiss of the brooding bird inside and replied:

"Rest easy, little one, I know you. Twenty-one days to hatch your eggs andthree weeks to raise your family; that is what you want? You shall haveit. I'll take away the key. "

He did take away the key, and when he had finished the morning'sduties--visits to his parishioners who were ill or in trouble;instructions to a boy who was to pick him out some fruit at the village:a climb up the steeple because a storm had loosened some stones, heremembered the tomtit and began to be afraid she would be troubled by thearrival of a letter while she was hatching her eggs. 

The fear was almost groundless, because the people of St. Philémon did notreceive any more letters than they sent. The postman had little to do onhis rounds but to eat soup at one house, to have a drink at another and, once in a long while, to leave a letter from some conscript, or a bill fortaxes at some distant farm. Nevertheless, since St. Robert's Day was near, which, as you know, conies on the 29th of April, the abbé thought it wiseto write to the only three friends worthy of that name, whom death hadleft him, a layman and two priests: "My friend, do not congratulate me onmy saint's day this year, if you please. It would inconvenience me toreceive a letter at this time. Later I shall explain, and you willappreciate my reasons. "

They thought that his eye was worse and did not write. 

The abbé of St. Philémon was delighted. For three weeks he never enteredhis gate one time without thinking of the eggs, speckled with pink, thatwere lying in the letter-box, and when the twenty-first day came round hebent down and listened with his ear close to the slit of the box. Then hestood up beaming:

"I hear them chirp, Philomène; I hear them chirp. They owe their lives tome, sure enough, and they'll not be the ones to regret it any more thanI. "

He had in his bosom the heart of a child that had never grown old. 

Now, at the same time, in the green room of the palace, at the chief townof the department, the bishop was deliberating over the appointments to bemade with his regular councillors, his two grand vicars, the dean of thechapter, the secretary-general of the palace, and the director of thegreat academy. After he had appointed several vicars and priests he madethis suggestion:

"Gentlemen of the council, I have in mind a candidate suitable in allrespects for the parish of X------; but I think it would be well, atleast, to offer that charge and that honor to one of our oldest priests, the abbé of St. Philémon. He will undoubtedly refuse it, and his modesty, no less than his age, will be the cause; but we shall have shown, as faras we could, our appreciation of his virtues. "

The five councilors approved unanimously, and that very evening a letterwas sent from the palace, signed by the bishop, and which contained in apostscript: "Answer at once, my dear abbé; or, better, come to see me, because I must submit my appointments to the government within threedays. "

The letter arrived at St. Philémon the very day the tomtits were hatched. The postman had difficulty in slipping it into the slit of the box, but itdisappeared inside and lay touching the base of the nest, like a whitepavement at the bottom of the dark chamber. 

The time came when the tiny points on the wings of the little tomtitsbegan to be covered with down. There were fourteen of them, and theytwittered and staggered on their little feet, with their beaks open up totheir eyes, never ceasing, from morning till night, to wait for food, eatit, digest it, and demand more. That was the first period, when the babybirds hadn't any sense. But in birds it doesn't last long. Very soon theyquarrelled in the nest, which began to break with the fluttering of theirwings, then they tumbled out of it and walked along the side of the box, peeped through the slit at the big world outside, and at last theyventured out. 

The abbé of St. Philémon, with a neighboring priest, attended thispleasant garden party. When the little ones appeared beneath the roof ofthe box--two, three--together and took their flight, came back, startedagain, like bees at the door of a hive, he said:

"Behold, a babyhood ended and a good work accomplished. They are hardy andstrong, every one. "

The next day, during his hour of leisure after dinner, the abbé came tothe box with the key in his hand. "Tap, tap, " he went. There was noanswer. "I thought so, " said he. Then he opened the box and, mingled withthe débris of the nest, the letter fell into his hands. 

"Good Heavens!" said he, recognizing the writing. "A letter from thebishop; and in what a state! How long has it been here?"

His cheek grew pale as he read. 

"Philomène, harness Robin quickly. "

She came to see what was the matter before obeying. 

"What have you there, sir?"

"The bishop has been waiting for me three weeks!"

"You've missed your chance, " said the old woman. 

The abbé was away until the next evening. When he came back he had apeaceful air, but sometimes peace is not attained without effort and wehave to struggle to keep it. When he had helped to unharness Robin and hadgiven him some hay, had changed his cassock and unpacked his box, fromwhich he took a dozen little packages of things bought on his visit to thecity, it was the very time that the birds assembled in the branches totell each other about the day. There had been a shower and the drops stillfell from the leaves as they were shaken by these bohemian couples lookingfor a good place to spend the night. 

Recognizing their friend and master as he walked up and down the gravelpath, they came down, fluttered about him, making an unusually loud noise, and the tomtits, the fourteen of the nest, whose feathers were still notquite grown, essayed their first spirals about the pear-trees and theirfirst cries in the open air. 

The abbé of St. Philémon watched them with a fatherly eye, but histenderness was sad, as we look at things that have cost us dear. 

"Well, my little ones, without me you would not be here, and without you Iwould be dead. I do not regret it at all, but don't insist. Your thanksare too noisy. "

He clapped his hands impatiently. 

He had never been ambitious, that is very sure, and, even at that moment, he told the truth. Nevertheless, the next day, after a night spent intalking to Philomène, he said to her:

"Next year, Philomène, if the tomtit comes back, let me know. It isdecidedly inconvenient. "

But the tomtit never came again--and neither did the letter from thebishop!

JEAN GOURDON'S FOUR DAYS

BY EMILE ZOLA

SPRING

On that particular day, at about five o'clock in the morning, the sunentered with delightful abruptness into the little room I occupied at thehouse of my uncle Lazare, parish priest of the hamlet of Dourgues. A broadyellow ray fell upon ray closed eyelids, and I awoke in light. 

My room, which was whitewashed, and had deal furniture, was full ofattractive gaiety. I went to the window and gazed at the Durance, whichtraced its broad course amidst the dark green verdure of the valley. Freshpuffs of wind caressed my face, and the murmur of the trees and riverseemed to call me to them. 

I gently opened my door. To get out I had to pass through my uncle's room. I proceeded on tip-toe, fearing the creaking of my thick boots mightawaken the worthy man, who was still slumbering with a smilingcountenance. And I trembled at the sound of the church bell tolling theAngelus. For some days past my uncle Lazare had been following me abouteverywhere, looking sad and annoyed. He would perhaps have prevented megoing over there to the edge of the river, and hiding myself among thewillows on the bank, so as to watch for Babet passing, that tall dark girlwho had come with the spring. 

But my uncle was sleeping soundly. I felt something like remorse indeceiving him and running away in this manner. I stayed for an instant andgazed on his calm countenance, with its gentle expression enhanced byrest, and I recalled to mind with feeling the day when he had come tofetch me in the chilly and deserted home which my mother's funeral wasleaving. Since that day, what tenderness, what devotedness, what goodadvice he had bestowed on me! He had given me his knowledge and hiskindness, all his intelligence and all his heart. 

I was tempted for a moment to cry out to him:

"Get up, uncle Lazare! let us go for a walk together along that path youare so fond of beside the Durance. You will enjoy the fresh air andmorning sun. You will see what an appetite you will have on your return!"

And Babet, who was going down to the river in her light morning gown, andwhom I should not be able to see! My uncle would be there, and I wouldhave to lower my eyes. It must be so nice under the willows, lying flat onone's stomach, in the fine grass! I felt a languid feeling creeping overme, and, slowly, taking short steps, holding my breath, I reached thedoor. I went downstairs, and began running like a madcap in thedelightful, warm May morning air. 

The sky was quite white on the horizon, with exquisitely delicate blue andpink tints. The pale sun seemed like a great silver lamp, casting a showerof bright rays into the Durance. And the broad, sluggish river, expandinglazily over the red sand, extended from one end of the valley to theother, like a stream of liquid metal. To the west, a line of low ruggedhills threw slight violet streaks on the pale sky. 

I had been living in this out-of-the-way corner for ten years. How oftenhad I kept my uncle Lazare waiting to give me my Latin lesson! The worthyman wanted to make me learned. But I was on the other side of the Durance, ferreting out magpies, discovering a hill which I had not yet climbed. Then, on my return, there were remonstrances: the Latin was forgotten, mypoor uncle scolded me for having torn my trousers, and he shuddered whenhe noticed sometimes that the skin underneath was cut. The valley wasmine, really mine; I had conquered it with my legs, and I was the reallandlord by right of friendship. And that bit of river, those two leaguesof the Durance, how I loved them, how well we understood one another whentogether! I knew all the whims of my dear stream, its anger, its charmingways, its different features at each hour of the day. 

When I reached the water's edge on that particular morning, I feltsomething like giddiness at seeing it so gentle and so white. It had neverlooked so gay. I slipped rapidly beneath the willows, to an open spacewhere a broad patch of sunlight fell on the dark grass. There I laid medown on my stomach, listening, watching the pathway by which Babet wouldcome, through the branches. 

"Oh! how sound uncle Lazare must be sleeping!" I thought. 

And I extended myself at full length on the moss. The sun struck gentleheat into my back, whilst my breast, buried in the grass, was quite cool. 

Have you never examined the turf, at close quarters, with your eyes on theblades of grass? Whilst I was waiting for Babet, I pried indiscreetly intoa tuft which was really a whole world. In my bunch of grass there werestreets, cross roads, public squares, entire cities. At the bottom of it, I distinguished a great dark patch where the shoots of the previous springwere decaying sadly, then slender stalks were growing up, stretching out, bending into a multitude of elegant forms, and producing frail colonnades, churches, virgin forests. I saw two lean insects wandering in the midst ofthis immensity; the poor children were certainly lost, for they went fromcolonnade to colonnade, from street to street, in an affrighted, anxiousway. 

It was just at this moment that, on raising my eyes, I saw Babet's whiteskirts standing out against the dark ground at the top of the pathway. Irecognized her printed calico gown, which was grey, with small blueflowers. I sunk down deeper in the grass, I heard my heart thumpingagainst the earth and almost raising me with slight jerks. My breast wasburning now, I no longer felt the freshness of the dew. 

The young girl came nimbly down the pathway, her skirts skimming theground with a swinging motion that charmed me, I saw her at full length, quite erect, in her proud and happy gracefulness. She had no idea I wasthere behind the willows; she walked with a light step, she ran withoutgiving a thought to the wind, which slightly raised her gown. I coulddistinguish her feet, trotting along quickly, quickly, and a piece of herwhite stockings, which was perhaps as large as one's hand, and which mademe blush in a manner that was alike sweet and painful. 

Oh! then, I saw nothing else, neither the Durance, nor the willows, northe whiteness of the sky. What cared I for the valley! It was no longer mysweetheart; I was quite indifferent to its joy and its sadness. What caredI for my friends, the stories, and the trees on the hills! The river couldrun away all at once if it liked; I would not have regretted it. 

And the spring, I did not care a bit about the spring! Had it borne awaythe sun that warmed my back, its leaves, its rays, all its May morning, Ishould have remained there, in ecstasy, gazing at Babet, running along thepathway, and swinging her skirts deliciously. For Babet had taken thevalley's place in my heart, Babet was the spring, I had never spoken toher. Both of us blushed when we met one another in my uncle Lazare'schurch. I could have vowed she detested me. 

She talked on that particular day for a few minutes with the women whowere washing. The sound of her pearly laughter reached as far as me, mingled with the loud voice of the Durance. Then she stooped down to takea little water in the hollow of her hand; but the bank was high, andBabet, who was on the point of slipping, saved herself by clutching thegrass. I gave a frightful shudder, which made my blood run cold. I rosehastily, and, without feeling ashamed, without reddening, ran to the younggirl. She cast a startled look at me; then she began to smile. I bentdown, at the risk of falling. I succeeded in filling my right hand withwater by keeping my fingers close together. And I presented this new sortof cup to Babet' asking her to drink. 

The women who were washing laughed. Babet, confused, did not dare accept;she hesitated, and half turned her head away. At last she made up hermind, and delicately pressed her lips to the tips of my fingers; but shehad waited too long, all the water had run away. Then she burst outlaughing, she became a child again, and I saw very well that she wasmaking fun of me. 

I was very silly. I bent forward again. This time I took the water in bothhands and hastened to put them to Babet's lips. She drank, and I felt thewarm kiss from her mouth run up my arms to my breast, which it filled withheat. 

"Oh! how my uncle must sleep!" I murmured to myself. 

Just as I said that, I perceived a dark shadow beside me, and, havingturned round, I saw my uncle Lazare, in person, a few paces away, watchingBabet and me as if offended. His cassock appeared quite white in the sun;in his look I saw reproaches which made me feel inclined to cry. 

Babet was very much afraid. She turned quite red, and hurried offstammering:

"Thanks, Monsieur Jean, I thank you very much. "

As for me, wiping my wet hands, I stood motionless and confused before myuncle Lazare. 

The worthy man, with folded arms, and bringing back a corner of hiscassock, watched Babet, who was running up the pathway without turning herhead. Then, when she had disappeared behind the hedges, he lowered hiseyes to me, and I saw his pleasant countenance smile sadly. 

"Jean, " he said to me, "come into the broad walk. Breakfast is not ready. We have half an hour to spare. "

He set out with his rather heavy tread, avoiding the tufts of grass wetwith dew. A part of the bottom of his cassock that was dragging along theground, made a dull crackling sound. He held his breviary under his arm;but he had forgotten his morning lecture, and he advanced dreamily, withbowed head, and without uttering a word. 

His silence tormented me. He was generally so talkative. My anxietyincreased at each step. He had certainly seen me giving Babet water todrink. What a sight, O Lord! The young girl, laughing and blushing, kissedthe tips of my fingers, whilst I, standing on tip-toe, stretching out myarms, was leaning forward as if to kiss her. My action now seemed to mefrightfully audacious. And all my timidity returned. I inquired of myselfhow I could have dared to have my fingers kissed so sweetly. 

And my uncle Lazare, who said nothing, who continued walking with shortsteps in front of me, without giving a single glance at the old trees heloved! He was assuredly preparing a sermon. He was only taking me into thebroad walk to scold me at his ease. It would occupy at least an hour:breakfast would get cold, and I would be unable to return to the water'sedge and dream of the warm burns that Babet's lips had left on my hands. 

We were in the broad walk. This walk, which was wide and short, ran besidethe river; it was shaded by enormous oak trees, with trunks lacerated byseams, stretching out their great, tall branches. The fine grass spreadlike a carpet beneath the trees, and the sun, riddling the foliage, embroidered this carpet with a rosaceous pattern in gold. In the distance, all around, extended raw green meadows. 

My uncle went to the bottom of the walk, without altering his step andwithout turning round. Once there, he stopped, and I kept beside him, understanding that the terrible moment had arrived. 

The river made a sharp curve; a low parapet at the end of the walk formeda sort of terrace. This vault of shade opened on a valley of light. Thecountry expanded wide before us, for several leagues. The sun was risingin the heavens, where the silvery rays of morning had become transformedinto a stream of gold; blinding floods of light ran from the horizon, along the hills, and spread out into the plain with the glare of fire. 

After a moment's silence, my uncle Lazare turned towards me. 

"Good heavens, the sermon!" I thought, and I bowed my head. My unclepointed out the valley to me, with an expansive gesture; then, drawinghimself up, he said, slowly:

"Look, Jean, there is the spring. The earth is full of joy, my boy, and Ihave brought you here, opposite this plain of light, to show you the firstsmiles of the young season. Observe what brilliancy and sweetness! Warmperfumes rise from the country and pass across our faces like puffs oflife. "

He was silent and seemed dreaming. I had raised my head, astonished, breathing at ease. My uncle was not preaching. 

"It is a beautiful morning, " he continued, "a morning of youth. Youreighteen summers find full enjoyment amidst this verdure which is at mosteighteen days old. All is great brightness and perfume, is it not? Thebroad valley seems to you a delightful place: the river is there to giveyou its freshness, the trees to lend you their shade, the whole country tospeak to you of tenderness, the heavens themselves to kiss those horizonsthat you are searching with hope and desire. The spring belongs to fellowsof your age. It is it that teaches the boys how to give young girls todrink--"

I hung my head again. My uncle Lazare had certainly seen me. 

"An old fellow like me, " he continued, "unfortunately knows what trust toplace in the charms of spring. I, my poor Jean, I love the Durance becauseit waters these meadows and gives life to all the valley; I love thisyoung foliage because it proclaims to me the coming of the fruits ofsummer and autumn; I love this sky because it is good to us, because itswarmth hastens the fecundity of the earth. I should have had to tell youthis one day or other; I prefer telling it you now, at this early hour. Itis spring itself that is giving you the lesson. The earth is a vastworkshop wherein there is never a slack season. Observe this flower at ourfeet; to you it is perfume; to me it is labour, it accomplishes its taskby producing its share of life, a little black seed which will work in itsturn, next spring. And, now, search the vast horizon. All this joy is butthe act of generation. If the country be smiling, it is because it isbeginning the everlasting task again. Do you hear it now, breathing hard, full of activity and haste? The leaves sigh, the flowers are in a hurry, the corn grows without pausing; all the plants, all the herbs arequarrelling as to which shall spring up the quickest; and the runningwater, the river comes to assist in the common labour, and the young sunwhich rises in the heavens is entrusted with the duty of enlivening theeverlasting task of the labourers. "

At this point my uncle made me look him straight in the face. He concludedin these terms:

"Jean, you hear what your friend the spring says to you. He is youth, buthe is preparing ripe age; his bright smile is but the gaiety of labour. Summer will be powerful, autumn bountiful, for the spring is singing atthis moment, while courageously performing its work. "

I looked very stupid. I understood my uncle Lazare. He was positivelypreaching me a sermon, in which he told me I was an idle fellow and thatthe time had come to work. 

My uncle appeared as much embarrassed as myself. After having hesitatedfor some instants he said, slightly stammering:

"Jean, you were wrong not to have come and told me all--as you love Babetand Babet loves you--"

"Babet loves me!" I exclaimed. 

My uncle made me an ill-humoured gesture. 

"Eh! allow me to speak. I don't want another avowal. She owned it to meherself. "

"She owned that to you, she owned that to you!"

And I suddenly threw my arms round my uncle Lazare's neck. 

"Oh! how nice that is!" I added. "I had never spoken to her, truly. Shetold you that at the confessional, didn't she? I would never have daredask her if she loved me, and I would never have known anything. Oh! how Ithank you!"

My uncle Lazare was quite red. He felt that he had just committed ablunder. He had imagined that this was not my first meeting with the younggirl, and here he gave me a certainty, when as yet I only dared dream of ahope. He held his tongue now; it was I who spoke with volubility. 

"I understand all, " I continued. "You are right, I must work to win Babet. But you will see how courageous I shall be. Ah! how good you are, my uncleLazare, and how well you speak! I understand what the spring says: I, also, will have a powerful summer and an autumn of abundance. One is wellplaced here, one sees all the valley; I am young like it, I feel youthwithin me demanding to accomplish its task--"

My uncle calmed me. 

"Very good, Jean, " he said to me. "I had long hoped to make a priest ofyou, and I imparted to you my knowledge with that sole aim. But what I sawthis morning at the waterside compels me to definitely give up my fondesthope. It is Heaven that disposes of us. You will love the Almighty inanother way. You cannot now remain in this village, and I only wish you toreturn when ripened by age and work. I have chosen the trade of printerfor you; your education will serve you. One of my friends, who is aprinter at Grenoble, is expecting you next Monday. "

I felt anxious. 

"And I shall come back and marry Babet?" I inquired. 

My uncle smiled imperceptibly; and, without answering in a direct manner, said:

"The remainder is the will of Heaven. "

"You are heaven, and I have faith in your kindness. Oh! uncle, see thatBabet does not forget me. I will work for her. "

Then my uncle Lazare again pointed out to me the valley which the warmgolden light was overspreading more and more. 

"There is hope, " he said to me. "Do not be as old as I am, Jean. Forget mysermon, be as ignorant as this land. It does not trouble about the autumn;it is all engrossed with the joy of its smile; it labours, courageouslyand without a care. It hopes. "

And we returned to the parsonage, strolling along slowly in the grass, which was scorched by the sun, and chatting with concern of ourapproaching separation. 

Breakfast was cold, as I had foreseen; but that did not trouble me much. Ihad tears in my eyes each time I looked at my uncle Lazare. And, at thethought of Babet, my heart beat fit to choke me. 

I do not remember what I did during the remainder of the day. I think Iwent and lay down under the willows at the riverside. My uncle was right, the earth was at work. On placing my ear to the grass I seemed to hearcontinual sounds. Then I dreamed of what my life would be. Buried in thegrass until nightfall, I arranged an existence full of labour dividedbetween Babet and my uncle Lazare. The energetic youthfulness of the soilhad penetrated my breast, which I pressed with force against the commonmother, and at times I imagined myself to be one of the strong willowsthat lived around me. In the evening I could not dine. My uncle, no doubt, understood the thoughts that were choking me, for he feigned not to noticemy want of appetite. As soon as I was able to rise from table, I hastenedto return and breathe the open air outside. 

A fresh breeze rose from the river, the dull splashing of which I heard inthe distance. A soft light fell from the sky. The valley expanded, peaceful and transparent, like a dark shoreless ocean. There were vaguesounds in the air, a sort of impassioned tremor, like a great flapping ofwings passing above my head. Penetrating perfumes rose with the cool airfrom the grass. 

I had gone out to see Babet; I knew she came to the parsonage every night, and I went and placed myself in ambush behind a hedge. I had got rid of mytimidness of the morning; I considered it quite natural to be waiting forher there, because she loved me and I had to tell her of my departure. 

"When I perceived her skirts in the limpid night, I advanced noiselessly. Then I murmured in a low voice:

"Babet, Babet, I am here. "

She did not recognise me, at first, and started with fright. When shediscovered who it was, she seemed still more frightened, which very muchsurprised me. 

"It's you, Monsieur Jean, " she said to me. "What are you doing there? Whatdo you want?"

I was beside her and took her hand. 

"You love me fondly, do you not?"

"I! who told you that?"

"My uncle Lazare. "

She stood there in confusion. Her hand began to tremble in mine. As shewas on the point of running away, I took her other hand. We were face toface, in a sort of hollow in the hedge, and I felt Babet's panting breathrunning all warm over my face. The freshness of the air, the rustlingsilence of the night, hung around us. 

"I don't know, " stammered the young girl, "I never said that--hisreverence the curé misunderstood--For mercy's sake, let me be, I am in ahurry. "

"No, no, " I continued, "I want you to know that I am going away to-morrow, and to promise to love me always. "

"You are leaving to-morrow!"

Oh! that sweet cry, and how tenderly Babet uttered it! I seem still tohear her apprehensive voice full of affliction and love. 

"You see, " I exclaimed in my turn, "that my uncle Lazare said the truth. Besides, he never tells fibs. You love me, you love me, Babet! Your lipsthis morning confided the secret very softly to my fingers. "

And I made her sit down at the foot of the hedge. My memory has retainedmy first chat of love in its absolute innocence. Babet listened to me likea little sister. She was no longer afraid, she told me the story of herlove. And there were solemn sermons, ingenious avowals, projects withoutend. She vowed she would marry no one but me, I vowed to deserve her handby labour and tenderness. There was a cricket behind the hedge, whoaccompanied our chat with his chaunt of hope, and all the valley, whispering in the dark, took pleasure in hearing us talk so softly. 

On separating we forgot to kiss each other. 

When I returned to my little room, it appeared to me that I had left itfor at least a year. That day which was so short, seemed an eternity ofhappiness. It was the warmest and most sweetly-scented spring-day of mylife, and the remembrance of it is now like the distant, faltering voiceof my youth. 

II

SUMMER

When I awoke at about three o'clock in the morning on that particular day, I was lying on the hard ground tired out, and with my face bathed inperspiration. The hot heavy atmosphere of a July night weighed me down. 

My companions were sleeping around me, wrapped in their hooded cloaks;they speckled the grey ground with black, and the obscure plain panted; Ifancied I heard the heavy breathing of a slumbering multitude. Indistinctsounds, the neighing of horses, the clash of arms rang out amidst therustling silence. 

The army had halted at about midnight, and we had received orders to liedown and sleep. We had been marching for three days, scorched by the sunand blinded by dust. The enemy were at length in front of us, over there, on those hills on the horizon. At daybreak a decisive battle would befought. 

I had been a victim to despondency. For three days I had been as iftrampled on, without energy and without thought for the future. It was theexcessive fatigue, indeed, that had just awakened me. Now, lying on myback, with my eyes wide open, I was thinking whilst gazing into the night, I thought of this battle, this butchery, which the sun was about to lightup. For more than six years, at the first shot in each fight, I had beensaying good-bye to those I loved the most fondly, Babet and uncle Lazare. And now, barely a month before my discharge, I had to say good-bye again, and this time perhaps for ever. 

Then my thoughts softened. With closed eyelids I saw Babet and my uncleLazare. How long it was since I had kissed them! I remembered the day ofour separation; my uncle weeping because he was poor, and allowing me toleave like that, and Babet, in the evening, had vowed she would wait forme, and that she would never love another. I had had to quit all, mymaster at Grenoble, my friends at Dourgues. A few letters had come fromtime to time to tell me they always loved me, and that happiness wasawaiting me in my well-beloved valley. And I, I was going to fight, I wasgoing to get killed. 

I began dreaming of my return. I saw my poor old uncle on the threshold ofthe parsonage extending his trembling arms; and behind him was Babet, quite red, smiling through her tears. I fell into their arms and kissedthem, seeking for expressions--

Suddenly the beating of drums recalled me to stern reality. Daybreak hadcome, the grey plain expanded in the morning mist. The ground became fullof life, indistinct forms appeared on all sides; a sound that becamelouder and louder filled the air; it was the call of bugles, the gallopingof horses, the rumble of artillery, the shouting out of orders. War camethreatening, amidst my dream of tenderness. I rose with difficulty; itseemed to me that my bones were broken, and that my head was about tosplit. I hastily got my men together; for I must tell you that I had wonthe rank of sergeant. We soon received orders to bear to the left andoccupy a hillock above the plain. 

As we were about to move, the sergeant-major came running along andshouting:

"A letter for Sergeant Gourdon!"

And he handed me a dirty crumpled letter, which had been lying perhaps fora week in the leather bags of the post-office. I had only just time torecognise the writing of my uncle Lazare. 

"Forward, march!" shouted the major. 

I had to march. For a few seconds I held the poor letter in my hand, devouring it with my eyes; it burnt my fingers; I would have giveneverything in the world to have sat down and wept at ease whilst readingit. I had to content myself with slipping it under my tunic against myheart. 

I have never experienced such agony. By way of consolation I said tomyself what my uncle had so often repeated to me: I was in the summer ofmy life, at the moment of the fierce struggle, and it was essential that Ishould perform my duty bravely, if I would have a peaceful and bountifulautumn. But these reasons exasperated me the more: this letter, which hadcome to speak to me of happiness, burnt my heart, which had revoltedagainst the folly of war. And I could not even read it! I was perhapsgoing to die without knowing what it contained, without perusing my uncleLazare's affectionate remarks for the last time. 

We had reached the top of the hill. We were to await orders there toadvance. The battle-field had been marvellously chosen to slaughter oneanother at ease. The immense plain expanded for several leagues, and wasquite bare, without a house or tree. Hedges and bushes made slight spotson the whiteness of the ground. I have never since seen such a country, anocean of dust, a chalky soil, bursting open here and there, and displayingits tawny bowels. And never either have I since witnessed a sky of suchintense purity, a July day so lovely and so warm; at eight o'clock thesultry heat was already scorching our faces. O the splendid morning, andwhat a sterile plain to kill and die in!

Firing had broken out with irregular crackling sounds, a long time since, supported by the solemn growl of the cannon. The enemy, Austrians dressedin white, had quitted the heights, and the plain was studded with longfiles of men, who looked to me about as big as insects. One might havethought it was an ant-hill in insurrection. Clouds of smoke hung over thebattle-field. At times, when these clouds broke asunder, I perceivedsoldiers in flight, smitten with terrified panic. Thus there were currentsof fright which bore men away, and outbursts of shame and courage whichbrought them back under fire. 

I could neither hear the cries of the wounded, nor see the blood flow. Icould only distinguish the dead which the battalions left behind them, andwhich resembled black patches. I began to watch the movements of thetroops with curiosity, irritated at the smoke which hid a good half of theshow, experiencing a sort of egotistic pleasure at the knowledge that Iwas in security, whilst others were dying. 

At about nine o'clock we were ordered to advance. We went down the hill atthe double and proceeded towards the centre which was giving way. Theregular beat of our footsteps appeared to me funeral-like. The bravestamong us panting, pale and with haggard features. 

I have made up my mind to tell the truth. At the first whistle of thebullets, the battalion suddenly came to a halt, tempted to fly. 

"Forward, forward!" shouted the chiefs. 

But we were riveted to the ground, bowing our heads when a bullet whistledby our ears. This movement is instinctive; if shame had not restrained me, I would have thrown myself flat on my stomach in the dust. 

"Before us was a huge veil of smoke which we dared not penetrate. Redflashes passed through this smoke. And, shuddering, we still stood still. But the bullets reached us; soldiers fell with yells. The chiefs shoutedlouder:

"Forward, forward!"

The rear ranks, which they pushed on, compelled us to march. Then, closingour eyes, we made a fresh dash and entered the smoke. 

We were seized with furious rage. When the cry of "Halt!" resounded, weexperienced difficulty in coming to a standstill. As soon as one ismotionless, fear returns and one feels a wish to run away. Firingcommenced. We shot in front of us, without aiming, finding some relief indischarging bullets into the smoke. I remember I pulled my triggermechanically, with lips firmly set together and eyes wide open; I was nolonger afraid, for, to tell the truth, I no longer knew if I existed. Theonly idea I had in my head, was that I would continue firing until all wasover. My companion on the left received a bullet full in the face and fellon me; I brutally pushed him away, wiping my cheek which he had drenchedwith blood. And I resumed firing. 

I still remember having seen our colonel, M. De Montrevert, firm and erectupon his horse, gazing quietly towards the enemy. That man appeared to meimmense. He had no rifle to amuse himself with, and his breast wasexpanded to its full breadth above us. From time to time, he looked down, and exclaimed in a dry voice:

"Close the ranks, close the ranks!"

We closed our ranks like sheep, treading on the dead, stupefied, andcontinuing firing. Until then, the enemy had only sent us bullets; a dullexplosion was heard and a shell carried off five of our men. A batterywhich must have been opposite us and which we could not see, had justopened fire. The shells struck into the middle of us, almost at one spot, making a sanguinary gap which we closed unceasingly with the obstinacy offerocious brutes. 

"Close the ranks, close the ranks!" the colonel coldly repeated. 

We were giving the cannon human flesh. Each time a soldier was struckdown, I was taking a step nearer death, I was approaching the spot wherethe shells were falling heavily, crushing the men whose turn had come todie. The corpses were forming heaps in that place, and soon the shellswould strike into nothing more than a mound of mangled flesh; shreds oflimbs flew about at each fresh discharge. We could no longer close theranks. 

The soldiers yelled, the chiefs themselves were moved. 

"With the bayonet, with the bayonet!"

And amidst a shower of bullets the battalion rushed in fury towards theshells. The veil of smoke was torn asunder; we perceived the enemy'sbattery flaming red, which was firing at us from the mouths of all itspieces, on the summit of a hillock. But the dash forward had commenced, the shells stopped the dead only. 

I ran beside Colonel Montrevert, whose horse had just been killed, and whowas fighting like a simple soldier. Suddenly I was struck down; it seemedto me as if my breast opened and my shoulder was taken away. A frightfulwind passed over my face. 

And I fell. The colonel fell beside me. I felt myself dying. I thought ofthose I loved, and fainted whilst searching with a withering hand for myuncle Lazare's letter. 

When I came to myself again I was lying on my side in the dust. I wasannihilated by profound stupor. I gazed before me with my eyes wide openwithout seeing anything; it seemed to me that I had lost my limbs, andthat my brain was empty. I did not suffer, for life seemed to havedeparted from my flesh. 

The rays of a hot implacable sun fell upon my face like molten lead. I didnot feel it. Life returned to me little by little; my limbs becamelighter, my shoulder alone remained crushed beneath an enormous weight. Then, with the instinct of a wounded animal, I wanted to sit up. I uttereda cry of pain, and fell back upon the ground. 

But I lived now, I saw, I understood. The plain spread out naked anddeserted, all white in the broad sunlight. It exhibited its desolationbeneath the intense serenity of heaven; heaps of corpses were sleeping inthe warmth, and the trees that had been brought down, seemed to be otherdead who were dying. There was not a breath of air. A frightful silencecame from those piles of inanimate bodies; then, at times, there weredismal groans which broke this silence, and conveyed a long tremor to it. Slender clouds of grey smoke hanging over the low hills on the horizon, was all that broke the bright blue of the sky. The butchery was continuingon the heights. 

I imagined we were conquerors, and I experienced selfish pleasure inthinking I could die in peace on this deserted plain. Around me the earthwas black. On raising my head I saw the enemy's battery on which we hadcharged, a few feet away from me. The struggle must have been horrible:the mound was covered with hacked and disfigured bodies; blood had flowedso abundantly that the dust seemed like a large red carpet. The cannonstretched out their dark muzzles above the corpses. I shuddered when Iobserved the silence of those guns. 

Then gently, with a multitude of precautions, I succeeded in turning on mystomach. I rested my head on a large stone all splashed with gore, anddrew my uncle Lazare's letter from my breast. I placed it before my eyes;but my tears prevented my reading it. 

And whilst the sun was roasting me in the back, the acrid smell of bloodwas choking me. I could form an idea of the woeful plain around me, andwas as if stiffened with the rigidness of the dead. My poor heart wasweeping in the warm and loathsome silence of murder. 

Uncle Lazare wrote to me:

"My Dear Boy, --I hear war has been declared; but I still hope you will getyour discharge before the campaign opens. Every morning I beseech theAlmighty to spare you new dangers; He will grant my prayer; He will, oneof these days, let you close my eyes. 

"Ah! my poor Jean, I am becoming old, I have great need of your arm. Sinceyour departure I no more feel your youthfulness beside me, which gave meback my twenty summers. Do you remember our strolls in the morning alongthe oak-tree walk? Now I no longer dare to go beneath those trees; I amalone, I am afraid. The Durance weeps. Come quickly and console me, assuage my anxiety----"

The tears were choking me, I could not continue. At that moment aheartrending cry was uttered a few steps away from me; I saw a soldiersuddenly rise, with the muscles of his face contracted; he extended hisarms in agony, and fell to the ground, where he writhed in frightfulconvulsions; then he ceased moving. 

"I have placed my hope in the Almighty, " continued my uncle, "He willbring you back safe and sound to Dourgues, and we will resume our peacefulexistence. Let me dream out loud and tell you my plans for the future. 

"You will go no more to Grenoble, you will remain with me; I will make mychild a son of the soil, a peasant who shall live gaily whilst tilling thefields. 

"And I will retire to your farm. In a short time my trembling hands willno longer be able to hold the Host. I only ask Heaven for two years ofsuch an existence. That will be my reward for the few good deeds I mayhave done. Then you will sometimes lead me along the paths of our dearvalley, where every rock, every hedge will remind me of your youth which Iso greatly loved----"

I had to stop again. I felt such a sharp pain In my shoulder, that Ialmost fainted a second time. A terrible anxiety had just taken possessionof me; it, seemed as if the sound of the fusillade was approaching, and Ithought with terror that our army was perhaps retreating, and that in itsflight it would descend to the plain and pass over my body. But I stillsaw nothing but the slight cloud, of smoke hanging over the low hills. 

My uncle Lazare added:

"And we shall be three to love one another. Ah! my well-beloved Jean, howright you were to give her to drink that morning beside the Durance. I wasafraid of Babet, I was ill-humoured, and now I am jealous, for I can seevery well that I shall never be able to love you as much as she does, 'Tell him, ' she repeated to me yesterday, blushing, 'that if he getskilled, I shall go and throw myself into the river at the spot where hegave me to drink. '

"For the love of God! be careful of your life. There are things that Icannot understand, but I feel that happiness awaits you here. I alreadycall Babet my daughter; I can see her on your arm, in the church, when Ishall bless your union. I wish that to be my last mass. 

"Babet is a fine, tall girl now. She will, assist you in your work----"

The sound of the fusillade had gone farther away. I was weeping sweettears. There were dismal moans among soldiers who were in their lastagonies between the cannon wheels. I perceived one who was endeavoring toget rid of a comrade, wounded as he was, whose body was crushing hischest; and, as this wounded man struggled and complained, the soldierpushed him brutally away, and made him roll down the slope of the mound, whilst the wretched creature yelled with pain. At that cry a murmur camefrom the heap of corpses. The sun, which was sinking, shed rays of a lightfallow colour. The blue of the sky was softer. 

I finished reading my uncle Lazare's letter. 

"I simply wished, " he continued, "to give you news of ourselves, and tobeg you to come as soon as possible and make us happy. And here I amweeping and gossiping like an old child. Hope, my poor Jean, I pray, andGod is good. 

"Answer me quickly, and give me, if possible, the date of your return. Babet and I are counting the weeks. We trust to see you soon; be hopeful. "

The date of my return!--I kissed the letter, sobbing, and fancied for amoment that I was kissing Babet and my uncle. No doubt I should never seethem again. I would die like a dog in the dust, beneath the leaden sun. And it was on that desolated plain, amidst the death-rattle of the dying, that those whom I loved dearly were saying good-bye. A buzzing silencefilled my ears; I gazed at the pale earth spotted with blood, whichextended, deserted, to the grey lines of the horizon. I repeated: "I mustdie. " Then, I closed my eyes, and thought of Babet and my uncle Lazare. 

I know not how long I remained in a sort of painful drowsiness. My heartsuffered as much as my flesh. Warm tears ran slowly down my cheeks. Amidstthe nightmare that accompanied the fever, I heard a moan similar to thecontinuous plaintive cry of a child in suffering. At times, I awoke andstared at the sky in astonishment. 

At last I understood that it was M. De Montrevert, lying a few paces off, who was moaning in this manner. I had thought him dead. He was stretchedout with his face to the ground and his arms extended. This man had beengood to me; I said to myself that I could not allow him to die thus, withhis face to the ground, and I began crawling slowly towards him. 

Two corpses separated us. For a moment I thought of passing over thestomachs of these dead men to shorten the distance; for, my shoulder mademe suffer frightfully at every movement. But I did not dare. I proceededon my knees, assisting myself with one hand. When I reached the colonel, Igave a sigh of relief; it seemed to me that I was less alone; we would dietogether, and this death shared by both of us no longer terrified me. 

I wanted him to see the sun, and I turned him over as gently as possible. When the rays fell upon his face, he breathed hard; he opened his eyes. Leaning over his body, I tried to smile at him. He closed his eyelidsagain; I understood by his trembling lips that he was conscious of hissufferings. 

"It's you, Gourdon, " he said to me at last, in a feeble voice; "is thebattle won?"

"I think so, colonel, " I answered him. 

There was a moment of silence. Then, opening his eyes and looking at me, he inquired--

"Where are you wounded?"

"In the shoulder--and you, colonel?"

"My elbow must be smashed. I remember; it was the same bullet thatarranged us both like this, my boy. "

He made an effort to sit up. 

"But come, " he said with sudden gaiety, "we are not going to sleep here?"

You cannot believe how much this courageous display of jovialitycontributed towards giving me strength and hope. I felt quite differentsince we were two to struggle against death. 

"Wait, " I exclaimed, "I will bandage up your arm with my handkerchief, andwe will try and support one another as far as the nearest ambulance. "

"That's it, my boy. Don't make it too tight. Now, let us take each otherby the good hand and try to get up. "

We rose staggering. We had lost a great deal of blood; our heads wereswimming and our legs failed us. Any one would have mistaken us fordrunkards, stumbling, supporting, pushing one another, and making zigzagsto avoid the dead. The sun was setting with a rosy blush, and our giganticshadows danced in a strange way over the field of battle. It was the endof a fine day. 

The colonel joked; his lips were crisped by shudders, his laughterresembled sobs. I could see that we were going to fall down in some cornernever to rise again. At times we were seized with giddiness, and wereobliged to stop and close our eyes. The ambulances formed small greypatches on the dark ground at the extremity of the plain. 

We knocked up against a large stone, and were thrown down one on theother. The colonel swore like a pagan. We tried to walk on all-fours, catching hold of the briars. In this way we did a hundred yards on ourknees. But our knees were bleeding. 

"I have had enough of it, " said the colonel, lying down; "they may comeand fetch me if they will. Let us sleep. "

I still had the strength to sit half up, and shout with all the breaththat remained within me. Men were passing along in the distance picking upthe wounded; they ran to us and placed us side by side on a stretcher. 

"Comrade, " the colonel said to me during the journey, "Death will not haveus. I owe you my life; I will pay my debt, whenever you have need of me. Give me your hand. "

I placed my hand in his, and it was thus that we reached the ambulances. They had lighted torches; the surgeons were cutting and sawing, amidstfrightful yells; a sickly smell came from the blood-stained linen, whilstthe torches cast dark rosy flakes into the basins. 

The colonel bore the amputation of his arm with courage; I only saw hislips turn pale and a film come over his eyes. When it was my turn, asurgeon examined my shoulder. 

"A shell did that for you, " he said; "an inch lower and your shoulderwould have been carried away. The flesh, only, has suffered. "

And when I asked the assistant, who was dressing my wound, whether it wasserious, he answered me with a laugh:

"Serious! you will have to keep to your bed for three weeks, and make newblood. "

I turned my face to the wall, not wishing to show my tears. And with myheart's eyes I perceived Babet and my uncle Lazare stretching out theirarms towards me. I had finished with the sanguinary struggles of my summerday. 

III

AUTUMN

It was nearly fifteen years since I had married Babet In my uncle Lazare'slittle church. We had sought happiness in our dear valley. I had mademyself a farmer; the Durance, my first sweetheart, was now a good motherto me, who seemed to take pleasure in making my fields rich and fertile. Little by little, by following the new methods of agriculture, I becameone of the wealthiest landowners in the neighbourhood. 

We had purchased the oak-tree walk and the meadows bordering on the river, at the death of my wife's parents. I had had a modest house built on thisland, but we were soon obliged to enlarge it; each year I found a means ofrounding off our property by the addition of some neighbouring field, andour granaries were too small for our harvests. 

Those first fifteen years were uneventful and happy. They passed away inserene joy, and all they have left within me is the remembrance of calmand continued happiness. My uncle Lazare, on retiring to our home, hadrealised his dream; his advanced age did not permit of his reading hisbreviary of a morning; he sometimes regretted his dear church, butconsoled himself by visiting the young vicar who had succeeded him. Hecame down from the little room he occupied at sunrise, and oftenaccompanied me to the fields, enjoying himself in the open air, andfinding a second youth amidst the healthy atmosphere of the country. 

One sadness alone made us sometimes sigh. Amidst the fruitfulness by whichwe were surrounded, Babet remained childless. Although we were three tolove one another we sometimes found ourselves too much alone; we wouldhave liked to have had a little fair head running about amongst us, whowould have tormented and caressed us. 

Uncle Lazare had a frightful dread of dying before he was a great-uncle. He had become a child again, and felt sorrowful that Babet did not givehim a comrade who would have played with him. On the day when my wifeconfided to us with hesitation, that we would no doubt soon be four, I sawmy uncle turn quite pale, and make efforts not to cry. He kissed us, thinking already of the christening, and speaking of the child as if itwere already three or four years old. 

And the months passed in concentrated tenderness. We talked together insubdued voices, awaiting some one. I no longer loved Babet: I worshippedher with joined hands; I worshipped her for two, for herself and thelittle one. 

The great day was drawing nigh. I had brought a midwife from Grenoble whonever moved from the farm. My uncle was in a dreadful fright; heunderstood nothing about such things; he went so far as to tell me that hehad done wrong in taking holy orders, and that he was very sorry he wasnot a doctor. 

One morning in September, at about six o'clock, I went into the room of mydear Babet, who was still asleep. Her smiling face was peacefully reposingon the white linen pillow-case. I bent over her, holding my breath. Heavenhad blessed me with the good things of this world. I all at once thoughtof that summer day when I was moaning in the dust, and at the same time Ifelt around me the comfort due to labour and the quietude that comes fromhappiness. My good wife was asleep, all rosy, in the middle of her greatbed; whilst the whole room recalled to me our fifteen years of tenderaffection. 

I kissed Babet softly on the lips. She opened her eyes and smiled at mewithout speaking. I felt an almost uncontrollable desire to take her in myarms, and clasp her to my heart; but, latterly, I had hardly dared pressher hand, she seemed so fragile and sacred to me. 

I seated myself at the edge of the bed, and asked her in a low voice:

"Is it for to-day?"

"No, I don't think so, " she replied. "I dreamt I had a boy: he was alreadyvery tall and wore adorable little black moustachios. Uncle Lazare told meyesterday that he also had seen him in a dream. "

I acted very stupidly. 

"I know the child better than you do, " I said. "I see it every night. It'sa girl----"

And as Babet turned her face to the wall, ready to cry, I realised howfoolish I had been, and hastened to add:

"When I say a girl--I am not quite sure. I see a very small child with along white gown. --it's certainly a boy. "

Babet kissed me for that pleasing remark. 

"Go and look after the vintage, " she continued, "I feel calm thismorning. "

"You will send for me if anything happens?"

"Yes, yes, I am very tired: I shall go to sleep again. You'll not be angrywith me for my laziness?"

And Babet closed her eyes, looking languid and affected. I remainedleaning over her, receiving the warm breath from her lips in my face. Shegradually went off to sleep, without ceasing to smile. Then I disengagedmy hand from hers with a multitude of precautions. I had to manoeuvre forfive minutes to bring this delicate task to a happy issue. After that Igave her a kiss on her forehead, which she did not feel, and withdrew witha palpitating heart, overflowing with love. 

In the courtyard below, I found my uncle Lazare, who was gazing anxiouslyat the window of Babet's room. So soon as he perceived me he inquired:

"Well, is it for to-day?"

He had been putting this question to me regularly every morning for thepast month. 

"It appears not, " I answered him. "Will you come with me and see thempicking the grapes?"

He fetched his stick, and we went down the oak-tree walk. When we were atthe end of it, on that terrace which overlooks the Durance, both of usstopped, gazing at the valley. 

Small white clouds floated in the pale sky. The sun was shedding softrays, which cast a sort of gold dust over the country, the yellow expanseof which spread out all ripe. One saw neither the brilliant light nor thedark shadows of summer. The foliage gilded the black earth in largepatches. The river ran more slowly, weary at the task of having renderedthe fields fruitful for a season. And the valley remained calm and strong. It already wore the first furrows of winter, but it preserved within itthe warmth of its last labour, displaying its robust charms, free from theweeds of spring, more majestically beautiful, like that second youth, ofwoman who has given birth to life. 

My uncle Lazare remained silent; then, turning towards me, said:

"Do you remember, Jean? It is more than twenty years ago since I broughtyou here early one May morning. On that particular day I showed you thevalley full of feverish activity, labouring for the fruits of autumn. Look; the valley has just performed its task again. "

"I remember, dear uncle, " I replied. "I was quaking with fear on that day;but you were good, and your lesson was convincing. I owe you all myhappiness. "

"Yes, you have reached the autumn. You have laboured and are gathering inthe harvest. Man, my boy, was created after the way of the earth. And we, like the common mother, are eternal: the green leaves are born again eachyear from dry leaves; I am born again in you, and you will be born againin your children. I am telling you this so that old age may not alarm you, so that you may know how to die in peace, as dies this verdure, which willshoot out again from its own germs next spring. "

I listened to my uncle and thought of Babet, who was sleeping in her greatbed spread with white linen. The dear creature was about to give birth toa child after the manner of this fertile soil which had given us fortune. She also had reached the autumn: she had the beaming smile and serenerobustness of the valley. I seemed to see her beneath the yellow sun, tired and happy, experiencing noble delight at being a mother. And I nolonger knew whether my uncle Lazare was talking to me of my dear valley, or of my dear Babet. 

We slowly ascended the hills. Below, along the Durance, were the meadows, broad, raw green swards; next came the yellow fields, intersected here andthere by greyish olive and slender almond trees, planted wide apart inrows; then, right up above, were the vines, great stumps with shootstrailing along the ground. 

The vine is treated in the south of France like a hardy housewife, and notlike a delicate young lady, as in the north. It grows somewhat as itlikes, according to the good will of rain and sun. The stumps, which areplanted in double rows, and form long lines, throw sprays of dark verdurearound them. Wheat or oats are sown between. A vineyard resembles animmense piece of striped material, made of the green bands formed by thevine leaves, and of yellow ribbon represented by the stubble. 

Men and women stooping down among the vines, were cutting the bunches ofgrapes, which they then threw to the bottom of large baskets. My uncle andI walked slowly through the stubble. As we passed along, the vintagersturned their heads and greeted us. My uncle sometimes stopped to speak tosome of the oldest of the labourers. 

"Heh! Father André, " he said, "are the grapes thoroughly ripe? Will thewine be good this year?"

And the countryfolk, raising their bare arms, displayed the long bunches, which were as black as ink, in the sun; and when the grapes were pressedthey seemed to burst with abundance and strength. 

"Look, Mr. Curé, " they exclaimed, "these are small ones. There are someweighing several pounds. We have not had such a task these ten years. "

Then they returned among the leaves. Their brown jackets formed patches inthe verdure. And the women, bareheaded, with small blue handkerchiefsround their necks, were stooping down singing. There were children rollingin the sun, in the stubble, giving utterance to shrill laughter andenlivening this open-air workshop with their turbulency. Large cartsremained motionless at the edge of the field waiting for the grapes; theystood out prominently against the clear sky, whilst men went and cameunceasingly, carrying away full baskets, and bringing back empty ones. 

I confess that in the centre of this field, I had feelings of pride. Iheard the ground producing beneath my feet; ripe age ran all powerful inthe veins of the vine, and loaded the air with great puffs of it. Hotblood coursed in my flesh, I was as if elevated by the fecundityoverflowing from the soil and ascending within me. The labour of thisswarm of work-people was my doing, these vines were my children; thisentire farm became my large and obedient family. I experienced pleasure infeeling my feet sink into the heavy land. 

Then, at a glance, I took in the fields that sloped down to the Durance, and I was the possessor of those vines, those meadows, that stubble, thoseolive-trees. The house stood all white beside the oak-tree walk; the riverseemed like a fringe of silver placed at the edge of the great greenmantle of my pasture-land. I fancied, for a moment, that my frame wasincreasing in size, that by stretching out my arms, I would be able toembrace the entire property, and press it to my breast, trees, meadows, house, and ploughed land. 

And as I looked, I saw one of our servant-girls racing, out of breath, upthe narrow pathway that ascended the hill. Confused by the speed at whichshe was travelling, she stumbled over the stones, agitating both her arms, and hailing us with gestures of bewilderment. I felt choking withinexpressible emotion. 

"Uncle, uncle, " I shouted, "look how Marguerite's running. I think it mustbe for to-day. "

My uncle Lazare turned quite pale. The servant had at length reached theplateau; she came towards us jumping over the vines. When she reached me, she was out of breath; she was stifling and pressing her hands to herbosom. 

"Speak!" I said to her. "What has happened?"

She heaved a heavy sigh, agitated her hands, and finally was able topronounce this single word:

"Madame----"

I waited for no more. 

"Come! come quick, uncle Lazare! Ah! my poor dear Babet!"

And I bounded down the pathway at a pace fit to break my bones. Thevintagers, who had stood up, smiled as they saw me running. Uncle Lazare, who could not overtake me, shook his walking stick in despair. 

"Heh! Jean, the deuce!" he shouted, "wait for me. I don't want to be thelast. "

But I no longer heard Uncle Lazare, and continued running. 

I reached the farm panting for breath, full of hope and terror. I rushedupstairs and knocked with my fist at Babet's door, laughing, crying, andhalf crazy. The midwife set the door ajar, to tell me in an angry voicenot to make so much noise. I stood there abashed and in despair. 

"You can't come in, " she added. "Go and wait in the courtyard. "

And as I did not move, she continued: "All is going on very well. I willcall you. "

The door was closed. I remained standing before it, unable to make up mymind to go away. I heard Babet complaining in a broken voice. And, while Iwas there, she gave utterance to a heartrending scream that struck meright in the breast like a bullet. I felt an almost irresistible desire tobreak the door open with my shoulder. So as not to give way to it, Iplaced my hands to my ears, and dashed downstairs. 

In the courtyard I found my uncle Lazare, who had just arrived out ofbreath. The worthy man was obliged to seat himself on the brink of thewell. 

"Hallo! where is the child?" he inquired of me. 

"I don't know, " I answered; "they shut the door in my face--Babet is inpain and in tears. " We gazed at one another, not daring to utter a word. We listened in agony, without taking our eyes off Babet's window, endeavouring to see through the little white curtains. My uncle, who wastrembling, stood still, with both his hands resting heavily on hiswalking-stick; I, feeling very feverish, walked up and down before him, taking long strides. At times we exchanged anxious smiles. 

The carts of the vintagers arrived one by one. The baskets of grapes wereplaced against a wall of the courtyard, and bare-legged men trampled thebunches under foot in wooden troughs. The mules neighed, the cartersswore, whilst the wine fell with a dull sound to the bottom of the vat. Acrid smells pervaded the warm air. 

And I continued pacing up and down, as if made tipsy by those perfumes. Mypoor head was breaking, and as I watched the red juice run from the grapesI thought of Babet. I said to myself with manly joy, that my child wasborn at the prolific time of vintage, amidst the perfume of new wine. 

I was tormented by impatience, I went upstairs again. But I did not dareknock, I pressed my ear against the door, and heard Babet's low moans andsobs. Then my heart failed me, and I cursed suffering. Uncle Lazare, whohad crept up behind me, had to lead me back into the courtyard. He wishedto divert me, and told me the wine would be excellent; but he spokewithout attending to what he said. And at times we were both silent, listening anxiously to one of Babet's more prolonged moans. 

Little by little the cries subsided, and became nothing more than apainful murmur, like the voice of a child falling off to sleep in tears. Then there was absolute silence. This soon caused me unutterable terror. The house seemed empty, now that Babet had ceased sobbing. I was justgoing upstairs, when the midwife opened the window noiselessly. She leantout and beckoned me with her hand:

"Come, " she said to me. 

I went slowly upstairs, feeling additional delight at each step I took. Myuncle Lazare was already knocking at the door, whilst I was only half wayup to the landing, experiencing a sort of strange delight in delaying themoment when I would kiss my wife. 

I stopped on the threshold, my heart was beating double. My uncle hadleant over the cradle. Babet, quite pale, with closed eyelids, seemedasleep. I forgot all about the child, and going straight to Babet, tookher dear hand between mine. The tears had not dried on her checks, and herquivering lips were dripping with them. She raised her eyelids wearily. She did not speak to me, but I understood her to say: "I have suffered agreat deal, my dear Jean, but I was so happy to suffer! I felt you withinme. "

Then I bent down, I kissed Babet's eyes and drank her tears. She laughedwith much sweetness; she resigned herself with caressing languidness. Thefatigue had made her all aches and pains. She slowly moved her hands fromthe sheet, and taking me by the neck placed her lips to my ear:

"It's a boy, " she murmured in a weak voice, but with an air of triumph. 

Those were the first words she uttered after the terrible shock she hadundergone. 

"I knew it would be a boy, " she continued, "I saw the child every night. Give him me, put him beside me. "

I turned round and saw the midwife and my uncle quarrelling. 

The midwife had all the trouble in the world to prevent uncle Lazaretaking the little one in his arms. He wanted to nurse it. 

I looked at the child whom the mother had made me forget. He was all rosy. Babet said with conviction that he was like me; the midwife discoveredthat he had his mother's eyes; I, for my part, could not say, I was almostcrying, I smothered the dear little thing with kisses, imagining I wasstill kissing Babet. 

I placed the child on the bed. He kept on crying, but this sounded to uslike celestial music. I sat on the edge of the bed, my uncle took a largearm-chair, and Babet, weary and serene, covered up to her chin, remainedwith open eyelids and smiling eyes. 

The window was wide open. The smell of grapes came in along with thewarmth of the mild autumn afternoon. One heard the trampling of thevintagers, the shocks of the carts, the cracking of whips; at times theshrill song of a servant working in the courtyard reached us. All thisnoise was softened in the serenity of that room, which still resoundedwith Babet's sobs. And the window-frame enclosed a large strip oflandscape, carved out of the heavens and open country. We could see theoak-tree walk in its entire length; then the Durance, looking like a whitesatin ribbon, passed amidst the gold and purple leaves; whilst above thissquare of ground were the limpid depths of a pale sky with blue and rosytints. 

It was amidst the calm of this horizon, amidst the exhalations of the vatand the joys attendant upon labour and reproduction, that we three talkedtogether, Babet, uncle Lazare, and myself, whilst gazing at the dearlittle new-born babe. 

"Uncle Lazare, " said Babet, "what name will you give the child?"

"Jean's mother was named Jacqueline, " answered my uncle. "I shall call thechild Jacques. "

"Jacques, Jacques, " repeated Babet. "Yes, it's a pretty name. And, tellme, what shall we make the little man: parson or soldier, gentleman orpeasant?"

I began to laugh. 

"We shall have time to think of that, " I said. 

"But no, " continued Babet almost angry, "he will grow rapidly. See howstrong he is. He already speaks with his eyes. "

My uncle Lazare was exactly of my wife's opinion. He answered in a verygrave tone:

"Make him neither priest nor soldier, unless he have an irresistibleinclination for one of those callings--to make him a gentleman would be aserious----"

Babet looked at me anxiously. The dear creature had not a bit of pride forherself; but, like all mothers, she would have liked to be humble andproud before her son. I could have sworn that she already saw him a notaryor a doctor. I kissed her and gently said to her:

"I wish our son to live in our dear valley. One day, he will find a Babetof sixteen, on the banks of the Durance, to whom he will give some water. Do you remember, my dear----? The country has brought us peace: our sonshall be a peasant as we are, and happy as we are. "

Babet, who was quite touched, kissed me in her turn. She gazed at thefoliage and the river, the meadows and the sky, through the window; thenshe said to me, smiling:

"You are right, Jean. This place has been good to us, it will be the sameto our little Jacques. Uncle Lazare, you will be the godfather of afarmer. "

Uncle Lazare made a languid, affectionate sign of approval with the head. I had been examining him for a moment, and saw his eyes becoming filmy, and his lips turning pale. Leaning back in the arm-chair, opposite thewindow, he had placed his white hands on his knees, and was watching theheavens fixedly with an expression of thoughtful ecstasy. 

I felt very anxious. 

"Are you in pain, uncle Lazare?" I inquired of him, "What is the matterwith you? Answer, for mercy's sake. "

He gently raised one of his hands, as if to beg me to speak lower; then helet it fall again, and said in a weak voice:

"I am broken down, " he said. "Happiness, at my age, is mortal. Don't makea noise. It seems as if my flesh were becoming quite light: I can nolonger feel my legs or arms. "

Babet raised herself in alarm, with her eyes on uncle Lazare. I knelt downbefore him, watching him anxiously. He smiled. 

"Don't be frightened, " he resumed. "I am in no pain; a feeling of calmnessis gaining possession of me; I believe I am going off into a good and justsleep. It came over me all at once, and I thank the Almighty. Ah! my poorJean, I ran too fast down, the pathway on the hillside; the child causedme too great joy. "

And as we understood, we burst out into tears. Uncle Lazare continued, without ceasing to watch the sky:

"Do not spoil my joy, I beg of you. If you only knew how happy it makesme, to fall asleep for ever in this armchair! I have never dared expectsuch a consoling death. All I love is here, beside me--and see what a bluesky! The Almighty has sent a lovely evening. "

The sun was sinking behind the oak-tree walk. Its slanting rays castsheets of gold beneath the trees, which took the tones of old copper. Theverdant fields melted into vague serenity in the distance. Uncle Lazarebecame weaker and weaker amidst the touching silence of this peacefulsunset, entering by the open window. He slowly passed away, like thoseslight gleams that were dying out on the lofty branches. 

"Ah! my good valley, " he murmured, "you are sending me a tender farewell. I was afraid of coming to my end in the winter, when you would be allblack. "

We restrained our tears, not wishing to trouble this saintly death. Babetprayed in an undertone. The child continued uttering smothered cries. 

My uncle Lazare heard its wail in the dreaminess of his agony. Heendeavoured to turn towards Babet, and, still smiling, said:

"I have seen the child and die very happy. "

Then he gazed at the pale sky and yellow fields, and, throwing back hishead, heaved a gentle sigh. 

No tremor agitated uncle Lazare's body; he died as one falls asleep. 

We had become so calm that we remained silent and with dry eyes. In thepresence of such great simplicity in death, all we experienced was afeeling of serene sadness. Twilight had set in, uncle Lazare's farewellhad left us confident, like the farewell of the sun which dies at night tobe born again in the morning. 

Such was my autumn day, which gave me a son, and carried off my uncleLazare in the peacefulness of the twilight. 

IV

WINTER

There are dreadful mornings in January that chill one's heart. I awoke onthis particular day with a vague feeling of anxiety. It had thawed duringthe night, and when I cast my eyes over the country from the threshold, itlooked to me like an immense dirty grey rag, soiled with mud and rent totatters. 

The horizon was shrouded in a curtain of fog, in which the oak-trees alongthe walk lugubriously extended their dark arms, like a row of spectresguarding the vast mass of vapour spreading out behind them. The fields hadsunk, and were covered with great sheets of water, at the edge of whichhung the remnants of dirty snow. The loud roar of the Durance wasincreasing in the distance. 

Winter imparts health and strength to one's frame when the sun is clearand the ground dry. The air makes the tips of your ears tingle, you walkmerrily along the frozen pathways, which ring with a silvery sound beneathyour tread. But I know of nothing more saddening than dull, thawingweather: I hate the damp fogs which weigh one's shoulders down. 

I shivered in the presence of that copper-like sky, and hastened to retireindoors, making up my mind that I would not go out into the fields thatday. There was plenty of work in and around the farm-buildings. 

Jacques had been up a long time. I heard him whistling in a shed, where hewas helping some men remove sacks of corn. The boy was already eighteenyears old; he was a tall fellow, with strong arms. He had not had an uncleLazare to spoil him and teach him Latin, and he did not go and dreambeneath the willows at the riverside. Jacques had become a real peasant, an untiring worker, who got angry when I touched anything, telling me Iwas getting old and ought to rest. 

And as I was watching him from a distance, a sweet lithe creature, leapingon my shoulders, clapped her little hands to my eyes, inquiring:

"Who is it?"

I laughed and answered:

"It's little Marie, who has just been dressed by her mamma. "

The dear little girl was completing her tenth year, and for ten years shehad been the delight of the farm. Having come the last, at a time when wecould no longer hope to have any more children, she was doubly loved. Herprecarious health made her particularly dear to us. She was treated as ayoung lady; her mother absolutely wanted to make a lady of her, and I hadnot the heart to oppose her wish, so little Marie was a pet, in lovelysilk skirts trimmed with ribbons. 

Marie was still seated on my shoulders. 

"Mamma, mamma, " she cried, "come and look; I'm playing at horses. "

Babet, who was entering, smiled. Ah! my poor Babet, how old we were! Iremember we were shivering with weariness, on that day, gazing sadly atone another when alone. 

Our children brought back our youth. 

Lunch was eaten in silence. We had been compelled to light the lamp. Thereddish glimmer that hung round the room was sad enough to drive onecrazy. 

"Bah!" said Jacques, "this tepid rainy weather is better than intense coldthat would freeze our vines and olives. "

And he tried to joke. But he was as anxious as we were, without knowingwhy. Babet had had bad dreams. We listened to the account of hernightmare, laughing with our lips but sad at heart. 

"This weather quite upsets one, " I said to cheer us all up. 

"Yes, yes, it's the weather, " Jacques hastened to add. "I'll put some vinebranches on the fire. "

There was a bright flame which cast large sheets of light upon the walls. The branches burnt with a cracking sound, leaving rosy ashes. We hadseated ourselves in front of the chimney; the air, outside, was tepid; butgreat drops of icy cold damp fell from the ceilings inside the farmhouse. Babet had taken little Marie on her knees; she was talking to her in anundertone, amused at her childish chatter. 

"Are you coming, father?" Jacques inquired of me. "We are going to look atthe cellars and lofts. "

I went out with him. The harvests had been getting bad for some yearspast. We were suffering great losses: our vines and trees were caught byfrost, whilst hail had chopped up our wheat and oats. And I sometimes saidthat I was growing old, and that fortune, who is a woman, does not carefor old men. Jacques laughed, answering that he was young, and was goingto court fortune. 

I had reached the winter, the cold season. I felt distinctly that all waswithering around me. At each pleasure that departed, I thought of uncleLazare, who had died so calmly; and with fond remembrances of him, askedfor strength. 

Daylight had completely disappeared at three o'clock. We went down intothe common room. Babet was sewing in the chimney corner, with her headbent over her work; and little Marie was seated on the ground, in front ofthe fire, gravely dressing a doll. Jacques and I had placed ourselves at amahogany writing-table, which had come to us from uncle Lazare, and wereengaged in checking our accounts. 

The window was as if blocked up; the fog, sticking to the panes of glass, formed a perfect wall of gloom. Behind this wall stretched emptiness, theunknown. A great noise, a loud roar, alone arose in the silence and spreadthrough the obscurity. 

We had dismissed the workpeople, keeping only our old woman-servant, Marguerite, with us. When I raised my head and listened, it seemed to methat the farmhouse hung suspended in the middle of a chasm. No human soundcame from the outside. I heard naught but the riot of the abyss. Then Igazed at my wife and children, and experienced the cowardice of those oldpeople who feel themselves too weak to protect those surrounding themagainst unknown peril. 

The noise became harsher, and it seemed to us that there was a knocking atthe door. At the same instant, the horses in the stable began to neighfuriously, whilst the cattle lowed as if choking. We had all risen, palewith anxiety, Jacques dashed to the door and threw it wide open. 

A wave of muddy water burst into the room. 

The Durance was overflowing. It was it that had been making the noise, that had been increasing in the distance since morning. The snow meltingon the mountains had transformed each hillside into a torrent which hadswelled the river. The curtain of fog had hidden from us this sudden riseof water. 

It had often advanced thus to the gates of the farm, when the thaw cameafter severe winters. But the flood had never increased so rapidly. Wecould see through the open door that the courtyard was transformed into alake. The water already reached our ankles. 

Babet had caught up little Marie, who was crying and clasping her doll toher. Jacques wanted to run and open the doors of the stables andcowhouses; but his mother held him back by his clothes, begging him not togo out. The water continued rising. I pushed Babet towards the staircase. 

"Quick, quick, let us go up into the bedrooms, " I cried. 

And I obliged Jacques to pass before me. I left the ground-floor the last. 

Marguerite came down in terror from the loft where she happened to findherself. I made her sit down at the end of the room beside Babet, whoremained silent, pale, and with beseeching eyes. We put little Marie intobed; she had insisted on keeping her doll, and went quietly to sleeppressing it in her arms. This child's sleep relieved me; when I turnedround and saw Babet, listening to the little girl's regular breathing, Iforgot the danger, all I heard was the water beating against the walls. 

But Jacques and I could not help looking the peril in the face. Anxietymade us endeavour to discover the progress of the inundation. We hadthrown the window wide open, we leant out at the risk of falling, searching into the darkness. The fog, which was thicker, hung above theflood, throwing out fine rain which gave us the shivers. Vague steel-likeflashes were all that showed the moving sheet of water, amidst theprofound obscurity. Below, it was splashing in the courtyard, rising alongthe walls in gentle undulations. And we still heard naught but the angerof the Durance, and the affrighted cattle and horses. 

The neighing and lowing of these poor beasts pierced me to the heart. Jacques questioned me with his eyes; he would have liked to try anddeliver them. Their agonising moans soon became lamentable, and a greatcracking sound was heard. The oxen had just broken down the stable doors. We saw them pass before us, borne away by the flood, rolled over and overin the current. And they disappeared amid the roar of the river. 

Then I felt choking with anger. I became as one possessed, I shook my fistat the Durance. Erect, facing the window, I insulted it. 

"Wicked thing!" I shouted amidst the tumult of the waters, "I loved youfondly, you were my first sweetheart, and now you are plundering me. Youcome and disturb my farm, and carry off my cattle. Ah! cursed, cursedthing. ----Then you gave me Babet, you ran gently at the edge of mymeadows. I took you for a good mother. I remembered uncle Lazare feltaffection for your limpid stream, and I thought I owed you gratitude. Youare a barbarous mother, I only owe you my hatred----"

But the Durance stifled my cries with its thundering voice; and, broad andindifferent, expanded and drove its flood onward with tranquil obstinacy. 

I turned back to the room and went and kissed Babet, who was weeping. Little Marie was smiling in her sleep. 

"Don't be afraid, " I said to my wife. "The water cannot always rise. Itwill certainly go down. There is no danger. "

"No, there is no danger, " Jacques repeated feverishly. "The house issolid. "

At that moment Marguerite, who had approached the window, tormented bythat feeling of curiosity which is the outcome of fear, leant forward likea mad thing and fell, uttering a cry. I threw myself before the window, but could not prevent Jacques plunging into the water. Marguerite hadnursed him, and he felt the tenderness of a son for the poor old woman. Babet had risen in terror, with joined hands, at the sound of the twosplashes. She remained there, erect, with open mouth and distended eyes, watching the window. 

I had seated myself on the wooden handrail, and my ears were ringing withthe roar of the flood. I do not know how long it was that Babet and I werein this painful state of stupor, when a voice called to me. It was Jacqueswho was holding on to the wall beneath the window. I stretched out my handto him, and he clambered up. 

Babet clasped him in her arms. She could sob now; and she relievedherself. 

No reference was made to Marguerite. Jacques did not dare say he had beenunable to find her, and we did not dare question him anent his search. 

He took me apart and brought me back to the window. 

"Father, " he said to me in an undertone, "there are more than seven feetof water in the courtyard, and the river is still rising. We cannot remainhere any longer. "

Jacques was right. The house was falling to pieces, the planks of theoutbuildings were going away one by one. Then this death of Margueriteweighed upon us. Babet, bewildered, was beseeching us. Marie aloneremained peaceful in the big bed? with her doll between her arms, andslumbering with the happy smile of an angel. 

The peril increased at every minute. The water was on the point ofreaching the handrail of the window and pouring into the room. Any onewould have said that it was an engine of war making the farmhouse totterwith regular, dull, hard blows. The current must be running right againstthe facade, and we could not hope for any human assistance. 

"Every minute is precious, " said Jacques in agony. "We shall be crushedbeneath the ruins. Let us look for boards, let us make a raft. "

He said that in his excitement. I would naturally have preferred athousand times to be in the middle of the river, on a few beams lashedtogether, than beneath the roof of this house which was about to fall in. But where could we lay hands on the beams we required? In a rage I torethe planks from the cupboards, Jacques broke the furniture, we took awaythe shutters, every piece of wood we could reach. And feeling it wasimpossible to utilise these fragments, we cast them into the middle of theroom in a fury, and continued searching. 

Our last hope was departing, we understood our misery and want of power. The water was rising; the harsh voice of the Durance was calling to us inanger. Then, I burst out sobbing, I took Babet in my trembling arms, Ibegged Jacques to come near us. I wished us all to die in the sameembrace. 

Jacques had returned to the window. And, suddenly, he exclaimed:

"Father, we are saved!--Come and see. "

The sky was clear. The roof of a shed, torn away by the current, had cometo a standstill beneath our window. This roof, which was several yardsbroad, was formed of light beams and thatch; it floated, and would make acapital raft, I joined my hands together and would have worshipped thiswood and straw. 

Jacques jumped on the roof, after having firmly secured it. He walked onthe thatch, making sure it was everywhere strong. The thatch resisted;therefore we could adventure on it without fear. 

"Oh! it will carry us all very well, " said Jacques joyfully. "See howlittle it sinks into the water! The difficulty will be to steer it. "

He looked around him and seized two poles drifting along in the current, as they passed by. 

"Ah! here are oars, " he continued. "You will go to the stern, father, andI forward, and we will manoeuvre the raft easily. There are not twelvefeet of water. Quick, quick! get on board, we must not lose a minute. "

My poor Babet tried to smile. She wrapped little Marie carefully up in hershawl; the child had just woke up, and, quite alarmed, maintained asilence which was broken by deep sobs. I placed a chair before the windowand made Babet get on the raft. As I held her in my arms I kissed her withpoignant emotion, feeling this kiss was the last. 

The water was beginning to pour into the room. Our feet were soaking. Iwas the last to embark; then I undid the cord. The current hurled usagainst the wall; it required precautions and many efforts to quit thefarmhouse. 

The fog had little by little dispersed. It was about midnight when weleft. The stars were still buried in mist; the moon which was almost atthe edge of the horizon, lit up the night with a sort of wan daylight. 

The inundation then appeared to us in all its grandiose horror. The valleyhad become a river. The Durance, swollen to enormous proportions andwashing the two hillsides, passed between dark masses of cultivated land, and was the sole thing displaying life in the inanimate space bounded bythe horizon. It thundered with a sovereign voice, maintaining in its angerthe majesty of its colossal wave. Clumps of trees emerged in places, staining the sheet of pale water with black streaks. Opposite us Irecognised the tops of the oaks along the walk; the current carried ustowards these branches, which for us were so many reefs. Around the raftfloated various kinds of remains, pieces of wood, empty barrels, bundlesof grass; the river was bearing along the ruins it had made in its anger. 

To the left we perceived the lights of Dourgues--flashes of lanternsmoving about in the darkness. The water could not have risen as high asthe village; only the low land had been submerged. No doubt assistancewould come. We searched the patches of light hanging over the water; itseemed to us at every instant that we heard the sound of oars. 

We had started at random. As soon as the raft was in the middle of thecurrent, lost amidst the whirlpools of the river, anguish of mind overtookus again; we almost regretted having left the farm. I sometimes turnedround and gazed at the house, which still remained standing, presenting agrey aspect on the white water. Babet, crouching down in the centre of theraft, in the thatch of the roof, was holding little Marie on her knees, the child's head against her breast, to hide the horror of the river fromher. Both were bent double, leaning forward in an embrace, as if reducedin stature by fear. Jacques, standing upright in the front, was leaning onhis pole with all his weight; from time to time he cast a rapid glancetowards us, and then silently resumed his task. I seconded him as well asI could, but our efforts to reach the bank remained fruitless. Little bylittle, notwithstanding our poles, which we buried into the mud until wenearly broke them, we drifted into the open; a force that seemed to comefrom the depths of the water drove us away. The Durance was slowly takingpossession of us. 

Struggling, bathed in perspiration, we had worked ourselves into apassion; we were fighting with the river as with a living being, seekingto vanquish, wound, kill it. It strained us in its giant-like arms, andour poles in our hands became weapons which we thrust into its breast. Itroared, flung its slaver into our faces, wriggled beneath our strokes. Weresisted its victory with clenched teeth. We would not be conquered. Andwe had mad impulses to fell the monster, to calm it with blows from ourfists. 

We went slowly towards the offing. We were already at the entrance to theoak-tree walk. The dark branches pierced through the water, which theytore with a lamentable sound. Death, perhaps, awaited us there in acollision. I cried out to Jacques to follow the walk by clinging close tothe branches. And it was thus that I passed for the last time in themiddle of this oak-tree alley, where I had walked in my youth and ripeage. In the terrible darkness, above the howling depth, I thought of uncleLazare, and saw the happy days of my youth smiling at me sadly. 

The Durance triumphed at the end of the alley. Our poles no longer touchedthe bottom. The water bore us along in its impetuous bound of victory. Andnow it could do what it pleased with us. We gave ourselves up. We wentdownstream with frightful rapidity. Great clouds, dirty tattered rags hungabout the sky; when the moon was hidden there came lugubrious obscurity. Then we rolled in chaos. Enormous billows as black as ink, resembling thebacks of fish, bore us along, spinning us round. I could no longer seeeither Babet or the children. I already felt myself dying. 

I know not how long this last run lasted. The moon was suddenly unveiled, and the horizon became clear. And in that light I perceived an immenseblack mass in front of us which blocked the way, and towards which we werebeing carried with all the violence of the current. We were lost, we wouldbe broken there. 

Babet had stood upright. She held out little Marie to me:

"Take the child, " she exclaimed. "Leave me alone, leave me alone!"

Jacques had already caught Babet in his arms. In a loud voice he said:

"Father, save the little one--I will save mother. "

We had come close to the black mass. I thought I recognised a tree. Theshock was terrible, and the raft, split in two, scattered its straw andbeams in the whirlpool of water. 

I fell, clasping little Marie tightly to me. The icy cold water broughtback all my courage. On rising to the surface of the river, I supportedthe child, I half laid her on my neck and began to swim laboriously. Ifthe little creature had not lost consciousness but had struggled, weshould both have remained at the bottom of the deep. 

And, whilst I swam, I felt choking with anxiety. I called Jacques, I triedto see in the distance; but I heard nothing save the roar of the waters, Isaw naught but the pale sheet of the Durance. Jacques and Babet were atthe bottom. She must have clung to him, dragged him down in a deadlystrain of her arms. What frightful agony! I wanted to die; I sunk slowly, I was going to find them beneath the black water. And as soon as the floodtouched little Marie's face, I struggled again with impetuous anguish toget near the waterside. 

It was thus that I abandoned Babet and Jacques, in despair at having beenunable to die with them, still calling out to them in a husky voice. Theriver cast me on the stones, like one of those bundles of grass it leaveson its way. When I came to myself again, I took my daughter, who wasopening her eyes, in my arms. Day was breaking. My winter night was at anend, that terrible night which had been an accomplice in the murder of mywife and son. 

At this moment, after years of regret, one last consolation remains to me. I am the icy winter, but I feel the approaching spring stirring within me. As my uncle Lazare said, we never die. I have had four seasons, and here Iam returning to the spring, there is my dear Marie commencing theeverlasting joys and sorrows over again. 

BARON DE TRENCK

BY CLEMENCE ROBERT

Baron de Trenck already had endured a year of arbitrary imprisonment inthe fortress of Glatz, ignorant alike of the cause of his detention or thelength of time which he was destined to spend in captivity. 

During the early part of the month of September, Major Doo, aide to thegovernor of the prison of Glatz, entered the prisoner's apartment for adomiciliary visit, accompanied by an adjutant and the officer of theguard. 

It was noon. The excessive heat of the dying summer had grown almostunsupportable in the tower chamber where Baron de Trenck was confined. Half empty flagons were scattered among the books which littered histable, but the repeated draughts in which the prisoner had soughtrefreshment had only served to add to his ever-increasing exasperation. 

The major ransacked every nook and corner of the prisoner's chamber andthe interior of such pieces of furniture as might afford a possiblehiding-place. Remarking the annoyance which this investigation caused thebaron, Doo said arrogantly:

"The general has issued his orders, and it is a matter of littleconsequence to him whether or not they displease you. Your attempts toescape have greatly incensed him against you. "

"And I, " retorted Trenck, with like hauteur, "am equally indifferent toyour general's displeasure. I shall continue to dispose of my time as maybest please me. "

"Good!" replied the major, "but in your own interests you would be wiserto philosophize with your books, and seek the key to the sciences, ratherthan that of the fortress. "

"I do not need your advice, major, " the baron observed, with sovereigndisdain. 

"You may perhaps repent later that you did not heed it. Your attempts toescape have angered even the king, and it is impossible to say just howfar his severity toward you may go. "

"But, great heavens! when I am deprived of my liberty without cause, haveI not the right to endeavor to regain it?"

"They do not see the matter in that light in Berlin. As a matter of factthis spirit of revolt against your sovereign only serves to greatlyaggravate your crime. "

"My crime!" Trenck exclaimed, trembling with anger. 

His glance fell upon the major's sword and the thought came to him to tearit from his side and pierce his throat with it. But in the same instant itoccurred to him that he might rather profit by the situation. Pale andtrembling as he was, he retained sufficient self-control to modify theexpression of his countenance and the tone of his voice, though his glanceremained fixed upon the sword. 

"Major, " he said, "no one can be called a criminal until he has been soadjudged by the courts. Happily a man's honor does not depend upon theinconsequent, malicious opinion of others. On the contrary blame shouldattach to him who condemns the accused without a hearing. No constitutedpower, whether that of king or judge, has yet convicted me of any culpableaction. Apart from the courtesy which should be observed between officersof the same rank, you, out of simple justice, should refrain front such anaccusation. "

"Every one knows, " retorted Boo, "that you entered into relations with theenemy. "

"I? Great God!"

"Do you not consider the Pandours, then, as such?"

"I visited their chief solely as a relative. A glass of wine shared withhim in his tent can hardly be construed into a dangerous alliance!"

"But you hoped to inherit great riches from this relative. That hope mightwell impel you to cross the frontier of Bohemia for all time. "

"Why, what egregious folly! What more could I hope for than that which Ialready possessed in Berlin? Was I a poor adventurer seeking his fortuneby his sword? Rich in my own right; enjoying to the full the king's favor;attached to the court by all that satisfied pride could demand, as well asby ties of the tenderest sentiments. What more was there for me to covetor to seek elsewhere?"

The major turned his head aside with an air of indifference. 

"One single fact suffices to discount everything you have said, Baron, " hereplied dryly. "You have twice attempted to escape from the fortress. Aninnocent man awaits his trial with confidence, knowing that it cannot beother than favorable. The culprit alone flees. "

Trenck, though quivering with blind rage, continued to maintain his formerattitude, his features composed, his eyes fixed upon the major's sword. 

"Sir, " he said, "in three weeks, on the twenty-fifth of September, I shallhave been a prisoner for one year. You in your position may not have foundthe time long, but to me it has dragged interminably. And it has beenstill harder for me to bear because I have not been able to count the daysor hours which still separate me from justice and liberty. If I knew thelimit set to my captivity--no matter what it may be--I could surely findresignation and patience to await it. "

"It is most unfortunate, then, " said the major, "that no one could giveyou that information. "

"Say rather, would not, " replied Trenck. "Surely, something of the mattermust be known here. You, for instance, major, might tell me frankly whatyou think to be the case. "

"Ah!" said Doo, assuming the self-satisfied manner of a jailer; "it wouldnot be proper for me to answer that. "

"You would save me from despair and revolt, " replied Trenck warmly. "For Igive you my word of honor that from the moment I know when my captivity isto terminate--no matter when that may be, or what my subsequent fate--Iwill make no further attempts to evade it by flight. "

"And you want me to tell you----"

"Yes, " interrupted Trenck, with a shudder; "yes, once again I ask you. "

Doo smiled maliciously as he answered:

"The end of your captivity? Why, a traitor can scarcely hope for release!"

The heat of the day, the wine he had drunk, overwhelming anger and hisfiery blood, all mounted to Trenck's head. Incapable of furtherself-restraint, he flung himself upon the major, tore the coveted swordfrom his side, dashed out of the chamber, flung the two sentinels at thedoor down the stairs, took their entire length himself at a single boundand sprang into the midst of the assembled guards. 

Trenck fell upon them with his sword, showering blows right and left. Theblade flashed snakelike in his powerful grasp, the soldiers falling backbefore the fierce onslaught. Having disabled four of the men, the prisonersucceeded in forcing his way past the remainder and raced for the firstrampart. 

There he mounted the rampart and, never stopping to gauge its height, sprang down into the moat, landing upon his feet in the bottom of the dryditch. Faster still, he flew to the second rampart and scaled it as he haddone the first, clambering up by means of projecting stones andinterstices. 

It was just past noon; the sun blazed full upon the scene and every onewithin the prison stood astounded at the miraculous flight in which Trenckseemed to fairly soar through the air. Those of the soldiers whom Trenckhad not overthrown pursued, but with little hope of overtaking him. Theirguns were unloaded so that they were unable to shoot after him. Not asoldier dared to risk trying to follow him by the road he had taken, overthe ramparts and moats; for, without that passion for liberty which lentwings to the prisoner there was no hope of any of them scaling the wallswithout killing himself a dozen times over. 

They were, therefore, compelled to make use of the regular passages to theouter posterns and these latter being located at a considerable distancefrom the prisoner's avenue of escape, he was certain, at the pace he wasmaintaining, to gain at least a half-hour's start over his pursuers. 

Once beyond the walls of the prison, with the woods close by, it seemed asif Trenck's escape was assured beyond doubt. 

He had now come to a narrow passageway leading to the last of the innerposterns which pierced the walls. Here he found a sentinel on guard andthe soldier sprang up to confront him. But a soldier to overcome was notan obstacle to stop the desperate flight of the baron. He struck the manheavily in the face with his sword, stunning him and sending him rollingin the dust. 

Once through the postern there now remained only a single palisade orstockade--a great fence constructed of iron bars and iron trellis-work, which constituted the outermost barrier between the fleeing prisoner andliberty. Once over that iron palisade he had only to dash into the woodsand disappear. 

But it was ordained that Trenck was not to overcome this last obstacle, simple as it appeared. At a fatal moment, his foot was caught between twobars of the palisade and he was unable to free himself. 

While he was engaged in superhuman but futile efforts to release his foot, the sentinel of the passage, who had picked himself up, ran through thepostern toward the palisade, followed by another soldier from thegarrison. Together they fell upon Trenck, overwhelming him with blows withthe butts of their muskets and secured him. 

Bruised and bleeding he was borne back to his cell. 

Major Doo informed Trenck, after this abortive attempt to escape, that hehad been condemned to one year's imprisonment only. That year was withinthree weeks of expiring when the infamous major, who was an Italian, goaded the unfortunate young man into open defiance of his sovereign'smandate. His pardon was at once annulled and his confinement now becamemost rigorous. 

Another plot, headed by three officers and several soldiers of the guard, who were friendly to Trenck, was discovered at the last moment--in timefor the conspirators themselves to escape to Bohemia, but undercircumstances which prevented Baron de Trenck from accompanying them. 

This also served to increase the hardships of the prisoner's lot, and henow found himself deprived of the former companionship of his friends andsurrounded by strangers, the one familiar face remaining being that ofLieutenant Bach, a Danish officer, a braggart swordsman and ruffler, whohad always been hostile to him. 

But, despite his isolation, the energy and strength of Trenck's characterwere only augmented by his misfortunes, and he never ceased to plot forhis deliverance. Weeks passed without any fruitful event occurring in thelife of the prisoner, yet help was to come to him from a source from whichhe could never have expected it. But before that fortuitous result wasdestined to take place--in fact, as preliminary to its achievement--he wasdestined to be an actor in the most remarkable scene that ever has beenrecorded in the annals of prison life, and in one of the strangest duelsof modern times. 

One day Trenck had cast himself fully clothed upon his bed, in order toobtain a change of position in his cramped place of confinement. Lieutenant Bach was on duty as his guard. 

The young baron had retained in prison the proud and haughty demeanorwhich had formerly brought upon him so much censure at court. LieutenantBach's countenance also bore the imprint of incarnate pride. 

The two exchanged from time to time glances of insolence; for the rest, they remained silently smoking, side by side. 

Trenck was the first to break the silence, for prisoners grasp everyopportunity for conversation, and at any price. 

"It appears to me your hand is wounded, lieutenant, " Trenck said. "Haveyou found another opportunity to cross swords?"

"Lieutenant Schell, it seemed to me, looked somewhat obliquely at me, "replied the Dane. "Therefore, I indulged him in a pass or two directedagainst his right arm. "

"Such a delicate youth, and so mild-mannered! Are you not ashamed?"

"What could I do? There was no one else at hand. "

"Nevertheless he seems to have wounded you?"

"Yes, accidentally though, without knowing what he did. "

"The fact, then, of having been expelled from two regiments for yourhighhanded acts, and finally transferred to the garrison of the fortressof Glatz as punishment, has not cured you of your fire-eatingpropensities?"

"When a man has the reputation of being the best swordsman in Prussia hevalues that title somewhat more than your military rank, which any clumsyfool can obtain. "

"You, the best swordsman!" exclaimed Trenck, concluding his remark with anironical puff of smoke. 

"I flatter myself that such is the case, " retorted Bach, emitting in turna great cloud of tobacco-smoke. 

"If I were free, " said Trenck, "I might, perhaps, prove to you in shortorder that such is not the case. "

"Do you claim to be my master at that art?"

"I flatter myself that such is the case. "

"That we shall soon see, " cried Bach, flushing with rage. 

"How can we? I am disarmed and a prisoner. "

"Ah, yes, you make your claim out of sheer boastfulness, because you thinkwe cannot put it to the test!"

"Truly, lieutenant, set me at liberty and I swear to you that on the otherside of the frontier we will put our skill to the test as freely as youlike!"

"Well, I am unwilling to wait for that. We will fight here, Baron Trenck. "

"In this room?"

"After your assertion, I must either humble your arrogance or lose myreputation. "

"I shall be glad to know how you propose to do so?"

"Ah, you talk of Bohemia because that country is far away. As for me, Iprefer this one, because it affords an immediate opportunity to put thematter to the test. "

"I should ask nothing better if it were not impossible. "

"Impossible! You shall see if it be. "

Bach sprang up. An old door, supported by a couple of benches, had beenplaced in the chamber for a table. He hammered at the worm-eaten wood andknocked off a strip which he split in half. One of these substitutes forrapiers he gave to Trenck, retaining the other himself, and both placedthemselves on guard. 

After the first few passes, Trenck sent his adversary's make-shift swordflying through space, and with his own he met the lieutenant full in thechest. 

"Touché!" he cried. 

"Heavens! It is true!" growled Bach. "But I'll have my revenge!"

He went out hastily. Trenck watched him in utter amazement and he was evenmore astounded when, an instant later, he saw Bach return with a couple ofswords, which he drew out from beneath his uniform. 

"Now, " he said to Trenck, "it is for you to show what you can do with goodsteel!"

"You risk, " returned the baron, smiling calmly, "you risk, over and abovethe danger of being wounded, losing that absolute superiority in mattersof the sword of which you are so proud. "

"Defend yourself, braggart!" shouted Bach. "Show your skill instead oftalking about it. "

He flung himself furiously upon Trenck. The latter, seeming only to triflelightly with his weapon at first, parried his thrusts, and then pressedthe attack in turn, wounding Bach severely in the arm. 

The lieutenant's weapon clattered upon the floor. For an instant hepaused, immovable, overcome by amazement; then an irresistibleadmiration--a supreme tenderness, invaded his soul. He flung himself, weeping, in Trenck's arms, exclaiming:

"You are my master!"

Then, drawing away from the prisoner, he contemplated him with the sameenthusiasm, but more reflectively, and observed:

"Yes, baron, you far exceed me in the use of the sword; you are thegreatest duelist of the day, and a man of your caliber must not remainlonger in prison. "

The baron was somewhat taken by surprise at this, but, with his usualpresence of mind, he immediately set himself to derive such profit as hemight from his guardian's extravagant access of affection. 

"Yes, my dear Bach, " he replied, "yes, I should be free for the reason youmention, and by every right, but where is the man who will assist me toescape from these walls?"

"Here, baron!" said the lieutenant. "You shall regain your freedom assurely as my name is Bach. "

"Oh, I believe in you, my worthy friend, " cried Trenck; "you will keepyour word. "

"Wait, " resumed Bach reflectively. "You cannot leave the citadel withoutthe assistance of an officer. I should compromise you at every step. Youhave just seen what a hot-tempered scatterbrain I am. But I have in mindone who admires you profoundly. You shall know who he is tonight, andtogether we will set you at liberty. "

Bach did, in fact, redeem his promise. He introduced Lieutenant Schell, who was to be Trenck's companion during their arduous flight into Bohemia, into the prisoner's cell, and himself obtained leave of absence for thepurpose of securing funds for his fellow conspirators. The plot wasdiscovered before his return and Schell, warned of this by one of thegovernor's adjutants, hastened the day of their flight. 

In scaling the first rampart, Schell fell and sprained his ankle soseverely that he could not use it. But Trenck was equal to allemergencies. He would not abandon his companion. He placed him across hisshoulders, and, thus burdened, climbed the outer barriers and wandered allnight in the bitter cold, fleeing through the snow to escape his pursuers. In the morning, by a clever ruse, he secured two horses and, thus mounted, he and his companion succeeded in reaching Bohemia. 

Trenck directed his course toward Brandenburg where his sister dwelt, nearthe Prussian and Bohemian frontiers, in the Castle of Waldau, for hecounted upon her assistance to enable him to settle in a foreign landwhere he would be safe. 

The two friends, reduced shortly to the direst poverty, parted with theirhorses and all but the most necessary wearing apparel. Even now, though inBohemia, they were not free from pursuit. Impelled one night, throughhunger and cold, to throw themselves upon the bounty of an inn-keeper, they found in him a loyal and true friend. The worthy host revealed tothem the true identity of four supposed traveling merchants, who had thatday accosted them on the road and followed them to the inn. These menwere, in fact, emissaries from the fortress of Glatz who had attempted tobribe him to betray the fugitives into their hands, for they were sworn tocapture Trenck and his companion and return them dead or alive to theenraged governor of the fortress. 

In the morning the four Prussians, the carriage, the driver, and thehorses set forth and soon disappeared in the distance. 

Two hours later the fugitives, fortified by a good breakfast, took theirdeparture from the Ezenstochow inn, leaving behind them a man whom they, at least, esteemed as the greatest honor to mankind. 

The travelers hastened toward Dankow. They chose the most direct route andtramped along in the open without a thought of the infamous spies whomight already be on their track. 

They arrived at nightfall at their destination, however, without furtherhindrance. 

The next day they set out for Parsemachi, in Bohemia. 

They started early, and a day in the open, together with a night's sleep, had almost obliterated the memory of their adventure at the inn. 

The cold was intense. The day was gray with heavy clouds that no longerpromised rain, but which shrouded the country with a pall of gloom. Thewind swirled and howled, and though the two friends struggled to keeptheir few thin garments drawn closely about them, they still searched thehorizon hopefully, thinking of the journey's end and the peacefulexistence which awaited them. To their right, the aspect of thecountryside had altered somewhat. Great wooded stretches spread away intothe distance, while to the left all was yet free and open. 

They had gone about half a mile past the first clump of trees when theynoticed, through the swaying branches by the roadside, a motionless objectaround which several men busied themselves. With every step they gained aclearer impression of the nature of this obstacle until, at last, anexpression of half-mockery, half-anger overspread their features. 

"Now God forgive me!" exclaimed Schell finally, "but that is the infernalbrown traveling carriage from the inn!"

"May the devil take me!" rejoined Trenck, "if I delay or flee a step fromthose miserable rascals. "

And they strode sturdily onward. 

As soon as they were within speaking distance, one of the Prussians, a bigman in a furred cap, believing them to be wholly unsuspicious, called tothem:

"My dear sirs, in heaven's name come help us! Our carriage has beenoverturned and it is impossible to get it out of this rut. "

The friends had reached an angle of the road where a few withered treebranches alone separated them from the others. They perceived the brownbody of the carriage, half open like a huge rat-trap, and beside it theforbidding faces of their would-be captors. Trenck launched these wordsthrough the intervening screen of branches:

"Go to the devil, miserable scoundrels that you are, and may you remainthere!"

Then, swift as an arrow, he sped toward the open fields to the left of thehighroad, feigning flight. The carriage, which had been overturned solelyfor the purpose of misleading them, was soon righted and the driver lashedhis horses forward in pursuit of the fugitives, the four Prussiansaccompanying him with drawn pistols. 

When they were almost within reaching distance of their prey they raisedtheir pistols and shouted:

"Surrender, rascals, or you are dead men!"

This was what Trenck desired. He wheeled about and discharged his pistol, sending a bullet through the first Prussian's breast, stretching him deadupon the spot. 

At the same moment Schell fired, but his assailants returned the shot andwounded him. 

Trenck again discharged his pistol twice in succession. Then, as one ofthe Prussians, who was apparently still uninjured, took to flight acrossthe plain he sped furiously after him. The pursuit continued some two orthree hundred paces. The Prussian, as if impelled by some irresistibleforce, whirled around and Trenck caught sight of his blanched countenanceand blood-stained linen. One of the shots had struck him!

Instantly Trenck put an end to the half-finished task with a sword thrust. But the time wasted on the Prussian had cost him dear. Returning hastilyto the field of action, he perceived Schell struggling in the grasp of thetwo remaining Prussians. Wounded as he was, he had been unable to copesingle-handed with them, and was rapidly being borne toward the carriage. 

"Courage, Schell!" Trenck shouted. "I am coming!"

At the sound of his friend's voice Schell felt himself saved. By a supremeeffort he succeeded in releasing himself from his captors. 

Frantic with rage and disappointment, the Prussians again advanced to theattack upon the two wretched fugitives, but Trenck's blood was up. He madea furious onslaught upon them with his sword, driving them back step bystep to their carriage, into which they finally tumbled, shouting to thedriver in frantic haste to whip up his horses. 

As the carriage dashed away the friends drew long breaths of relief andwiped away the blood and powder stains from their heated brows. Carelessof their sufferings, these iron-hearted men merely congratulated eachother upon their victory. 

"Ah, it's well ended, Schell, " exclaimed Trenck, "and I rejoice that wehave had this opportunity to chastise the miserable traitors. But you arewounded, my poor Schell!"

"It is nothing, " the lieutenant replied carelessly; "merely a wound in thethroat, and, I think, another in the head. "

This was the last attempt for a considerable time to regain possession ofTrenck's person. But the two friends suffered greatly from hardships andwere made to feel more than once the cruelty of Prussian oppression. EvenTrenck's sister, instigated thereto by her husband, who feared to incurthe displeasure of Frederick the Great, refused the poor fugitivesshelter, money, or as much as a crust of bread, and this after Trenck hadjeopardized his liberty by returning to Prussian soil in order to meether. 

It was at this period, when starvation stared the exiles in the face, thatTrenck met the Russian General Liewen, a relative of Trenck's mother, whooffered the baron a captaincy in the Tobolsk Dragoons, and furnished himwith the money necessary for his equipment. Trenck and Schell were nowcompelled to part, the latter journeying to Italy to rejoin relativesthere, the baron to go to Russia, where he was to attain the highesteminence of grandeur. 

Baron de Trenck, on his journey to Russia, passed through Danzig, whichwas at that time neutral territory, bordering upon the confines ofPrussia. Here he delayed for a time in the hope of meeting with his cousinthe Pandour. During the interim he formed an intimacy with a youngPrussian officer named Henry, whom he assisted lavishly with money. Almostdaily they indulged in excursions in the environs, the Prussian acting asguide. 

One morning, while at his toilet, Trenck's servant, Karl, who was devotedto him body and soul, observed:

"Lieutenant Henry will enjoy himself thoroughly on your excursionto-morrow. "

"Why do you say that, Karl?" asked the baron. 

"Because he has planned to take your honor to Langführ at ten o'clock. "

"At ten or eleven--the hour is not of importance. "

"No! You must be there on the stroke of ten by the village clock. Langführis on the Prussian border and under Prussian rule. "

"Prussia!" exclaimed Trenck, shaking his head, which Karl had not finishedpowdering. "Are you quite sure?"

"Perfectly. Eight Prussians--non-commissioned officers and soldiers--willbe in the courtyard of the charming little inn that Lieutenant Henrydescribed so well. As soon as your honor crosses the threshold they willfall upon you and bear you off to a carriage which will be in waiting. "

"Finish dressing my hair, Karl, " said Trenck, recovering his wontedimpassibility. 

"Oh, for that matter, " continued the valet, "they will have neithermuskets nor pistols. They will be armed with swords only. That will leavethem free to fall bodily upon your honor and to prevent you using yourweapon. "

"Is that all, Karl?"

"No. There will be two soldiers detailed especially for my benefit, sothat I can't get away to give the alarm. "

"Well, is that all!"

"No. The carriage is to convey your honor to Lavenburg, in Pomerania, andyou must cross a portion of the province of Danzig to get there. Besidesthe under officers at the inn who will travel with your honor, two otherswill accompany the carriage on horseback to prevent any outcry while youare on neutral ground. "

"Famously planned!"

"M. Reimer, the Prussian resident here, outlined the plot, and appointedLieutenant Henry to carry it out. "

"Afterward, Karl?"

"That's all--this time--and it's enough!"

"Yes, but I regret that it should end thus, for your account has greatlyinterested me. "

"Your honor may take it that all I have said is absolutely correct. "

"But when did you obtain this information?"

"Oh, just now!"

"And from whom?"

"Franz, Lieutenant Henry's valet, when we were watching the horses beneaththe big pines, while your honors waited in that roadside pavilion for theshower to pass over. "

"Is his information reliable?"

"Of course! As no one suspected him, the whole matter was discussed freelybefore him. "

"And he betrayed the secret?"

"Yes, because he greatly admires your honor and wasn't willing to see youtreated so. "

"Karl, give him ten ducats from my purse and tell him I will take him inmy own service, for he has afforded me great pleasure. The outingto-morrow will be a hundred times more amusing than I had hoped--indeedmore amusing than any I have ever undertaken in my life. "

"Your honor will go to Langführ, then!"

"Certainly, Karl. We will go together, and you shall see if I misled youwhen I promised you a delightful morning. "

As soon as Baron de Trenck had completed his toilet, he visited M. Scherer, the Russian resident, spent a few moments in private with him andthen returned to his apartments for dinner. 

Lieutenant Henry arrived soon afterward. Trenck found delight in thecourse of dissimulation to which he stood committed. He overwhelmed hisguest with courteous attentions, pressing upon him the finest wines andhis favorite fruits, meanwhile beaming upon him with an affection thatoverspread his whole countenance, and expatiating freely upon the delightsof the morrow's ride. 

Henry accepted his attentions with his accustomed dreamy manner. 

The next morning, at half past nine, when the lieutenant arrived, he foundTrenck awaiting him. 

The two officers rode off, followed by their servants, and took the roadto Langführ. Trenck's audacity was terrifying. Even Karl, who was wellaware of his master's great ability and cleverness, was neverthelessuneasy, and Franz, who was less familiar with the baron's character, wasin a state of the greatest alarm. 

The country, beautiful with its verdant grasslands, its budding bushes andflowers, its rich fields of wheat, dotted with spring blossoms, revealeditself to their delighted eyes. In the distance glistened the tavern ofLangführ, with its broad red and blue stripes and its tempting signboardthat displayed a well-appointed festive table. 

The low door in the wall that enclosed the tavern courtyard was stillclosed. Inside, to the right of that door, was a little terrace, andagainst the wall was an arbor formed of running vines and ivy. 

Lieutenant Henry, pausing near a clump of trees some two hundred pacesfrom the tavern, said:

"Baron, our horses will be in the way in that little courtyard. I think itwould be well to leave them here in the care of our servants until ourreturn. "

Trenck assented readily. He sprang from his horse and tossed his bridle tohis valet and Henry did the same. 

The path leading to the tavern was enchanting, with its carpet of flowersand moss, and the two young men advanced arm in arm in the mostaffectionate manner. Karl and Franz watched them, overwhelmed withanxiety. 

The door in the wall had been partly opened as they approached and theyoung men saw, within the arbor on the terrace, the resident, HerrReimer--his three-cornered hat on his powdered wig, his arms crossed onthe top of the adjacent wall, as he awaited their coming. 

As soon as the officers were within ear-shot, he called out:

"Come on, Baron de Trenck, breakfast is ready. "

The two officers were almost at the threshold. Trenck slackened his pacesomewhat; then he felt Henry grip his arm more closely and forcibly draghim toward the doorway. 

Trenck energetically freed his arm, upon observing this movement thatspoke so eloquently of betrayal, and twice struck the lieutenant, withsuch violence that Henry was thrown to the ground. 

Reimer, the resident, realizing that Trenck knew of the plot, saw that thetime had come to resort to armed intervention. 

"Soldiers, in the name of Prussia, I command you to arrest Baron deTrenck!" he shouted to the men who were posted in the courtyard. 

"Soldiers, in the name of Russia!" Trenck shouted, brandishing his sword, "kill these brigands who are violating the rights of the country. "

At these words, six Russian dragoons emerged suddenly from a field ofwheat and, running up, fell upon the Prussians who had rushed from thecourtyard at the resident's command. 

This unexpected attack took the Prussians by surprise. They defendedthemselves only half-heartedly and finally they fled in disorder, throwingaway their weapons, and followed by the shots of the Russians. 

Lieutenant Henry and four soldiers remained in the custody of the victors. Trenck dashed into the arbor to seize Resident Reimer, but the onlyevidence of that personage was his wig, which remained caught in thefoliage at an opening in the rear of the arbor through which the residenthad made his escape. Trenck then returned to the prisoners. 

As a fitting punishment for the Prussian soldiers, he commanded hisdragoons to give each of them fifty blows, to turn their uniformswrongside out, to decorate their helmets with straw cockades, and to drivethem thus attired across the frontier. 

While his men proceeded to execute his orders, Trenck drew his sword andturned to Lieutenant Henry. 

"And now, for our affair, lieutenant!" he exclaimed. 

The unfortunate Henry, under the disgrace of his position, lost hispresence of mind. Hardly knowing what he did, he drew his sword, butdropped it almost immediately, begging for mercy. 

Trenck endeavored to force him to fight, without avail, then, disgustedwith the lieutenant's cowardice, he caught up a stick and belabored himheartily, crying:

"Rogue, go tell your fellows how Trenck deals with traitors!"

The people of the inn, attracted by the noise of the conflict, hadgathered around the spot, and, as the baron administered the punishment, they added to the shame of the disgraced lieutenant by applauding thebaron heartily. 

The punishment over and the sentence of the Prussians having been carriedout, Trenck returned to the city with his six dragoons and the twoservants. 

In this affair, as throughout his entire career, Trenck was simplyfaithful to the rule which he had adopted to guide him through life:

"Always face danger rather than avoid it. "

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA

BY HENRY MURGER

For five or six years Marcel had been engaged upon the famous paintingwhich he said was meant to represent the Passage of the Red Sea; and forfive or six years this masterpiece in color had been obstinately refusedby the jury. Indeed, from its constant journeying back and forth, from theartist's studio to the Musée, and from the Musée to the studio, thepainting knew the road so well that one needed only to set it on rollersand it would have been quite capable of reaching the Louvre alone. Marcel, who had repainted the picture ten times, and minutely gone over it fromtop to bottom, vowed that only a personal hostility on the part of themembers of the jury could account for the ostracism which annually turnedhim away from the Salon, and in his idle moments he had composed, in honorof those watch-dogs of the Institute, a little dictionary of insults, withillustrations of a savage irony. This collection gained celebrity andenjoyed, among the studios and in the Ecole des Beaux-Arts, the same sortof popular success as that achieved by the immortal complaint of GiovanniBellini, painter by appointment to the Grand Sultan of the Turks; everydauber in Paris had a copy stored away in his memory. 

For a long time Marcel had not allowed himself to be discouraged by theemphatic refusal which greeted him at each exposition. He was comfortablysettled in his opinion that his picture was, in a modest way, thecompanion piece long awaited by the "Wedding of Cana, " that giganticmasterpiece whose dazzling splendor the dust of three centuries has notdimmed. Accordingly, each year, at the time of the Salon, Marcel sent hispicture to be examined by the jury. Only, in order to throw the examinersoff the track and if possible to make them abandon the policy of exclusionwhich they seemed to have adopted toward the "Passage of the Red Sea, "Marcel, without in any way disturbing the general scheme of his picture, modified certain details and changed its title. 

For instance, on one occasion it arrived before the jury under the name ofthe "Passage of the Rubicon!" but Pharaoh, poorly disguised under Caesar'smantle, was recognized and repulsed with all the honors that were his due. 

The following year, Marcel spread over the level plane of his picture alayer of white representing snow, planted a pine-tree in one corner, andclothing an Egyptian as a grenadier of the Imperial Guard, rechristenedthe painting the "Passage of the Beresina. "

The jury, which on that very day had polished its spectacles on the liningof its illustrious coat, was not in any way taken in by this new ruse. Itrecognized perfectly well the persistent painting, above all by a bigbrute of a horse of many colors, which was rearing out of one of the wavesof the Red Sea. The coat of that horse had served Marcel for all hisexperiments in color, and in private conversation he called it hissynoptic table of fine tones, because he had reproduced, in their play oflight and shade, all possible combinations of color. But once again, insensible to this detail, the jury seemed scarcely able to findblackballs enough to emphasize their refusal of the "Passage of theBeresina. "

"Very well, " said Marcel; "no more than I expected. Next year I shall sendit back under the title of 'Passage des Panoramas. '"

"That will be one on them--on them--on them, them, them, " sang themusician, Schaunard, fitting the words to a new air he had beencomposing--a terrible air, noisy as a gamut of thunderclaps, and theaccompaniment to which was a terror to every piano in the neighborhood. 

"How could they refuse that picture without having every drop of thevermilion in my Red Sea rise up in their faces and cover them with shame?"murmured Marcel, as he gazed at the painting. "When one thinks that itcontains a good hundred crowns' worth of paint, and a million of genius, not to speak of the fair days of my youth, fast growing bald as my hat!But they shall never have the last word; until my dying breath I shallkeep on sending them my painting. I want to have it engraved upon theirmemory. "

"That is certainly the surest way of ever getting it engraved, " saidGustave Colline, in a plaintive voice, adding to himself: "That was a goodone, that was--really a good one; I must get that off the next time I amasked out. "

Marcel continued his imprecations, which Schaunard continued to set tomusic. 

"Oh, they won't accept me, " said Marcel. "Ah! the government pays them, boards them, gives them the Cross, solely for the one purpose of refusingme once a year, on the 1st of March. I see their idea clearly now--I seeit perfectly clearly; they are trying to drive me to break my brushes. They hope, perhaps, by refusing my Red Sea, to make me throw myself out ofthe window in despair. But they know very little of the human heart ifthey expect to catch me with such a clumsy trick. I shall no longer waitfor the time of the annual Salon. Beginning with to-day, my work becomesthe canvas of Damocles, eternally suspended over their existence. From nowon, I am going to send it once a week to each one of them, at their homes, in the bosom of their families, in the full heart of their private life. It shall trouble their domestic joy, it shall make them think that theirwine is sour, their dinner burned, their wives bad-tempered. They willvery soon become insane, and will have to be put in strait-jackets whenthey go to the Institute, on the days when there are meetings. That ideapleases me. "

A few days later, when Marcel had already forgotten his terrible plans forvengeance upon his persecutors, he received a visit from Father Medicis. For that was the name by which the brotherhood called a certain Jew, whosereal name was Soloman, and who at that time was well known throughout thebohemia of art and literature, with which he constantly had dealings. Father Medicis dealt in all sorts of bric-à-brac. He sold completehouse-furnishings for from twelve francs up to a thousand crowns. He wouldbuy anything, and knew how to sell it again at a profit. His shop, situated in the Place du Carrousel, was a fairy spot where one could findeverything that one might wish. All the products of nature, all thecreations of art, all that comes forth from the bowels of the earth orfrom the genius of man, Medicis found it profitable to trade in. Hisdealings included everything, absolutely everything that exists; he evenput a price upon the Ideal. Medicis would even buy ideas, to use himselfor to sell again. Known to all writers and artists, intimate friend of thepalette, familiar spirit of the writing-desk, he was the Asmodeus of thearts. He would sell you cigars in exchange for the plot of a dime novel, slippers for a sonnet, a fresh catch of fish for a paradox; he would talkat so much an hour with newspaper reporters whose duty was to record thelively capers of the smart set. He would get you passes to the parliamentbuildings, or invitations to private parties; he gave lodgings by thenight, the week, or the month to homeless artists, who paid him by makingcopies of old masters in the Louvre. The greenroom had no secrets for him;he could place your plays for you with some manager; he could obtain foryou all sorts of favors. He carried in his head a copy of the almanac oftwenty-five thousand addresses, and knew the residence, the name, andthe secrets of all the celebrities, even the obscure ones. 

In entering the abode of the bohemians, with that knowing air whichcharacterized him, the Jew divined that he had arrived at a propitiousmoment. As a matter of fact, the four friends were at that moment gatheredin council, and under the domination of a ferocious appetite werediscussing the grave question of bread and meat. It was Sunday, the lastday of the month. Fatal day, sinister of date!

The entrance of Medicis was accordingly greeted with a joyous chorus, forthey knew that the Jew was too avaricious of his time to waste it in merevisits of civility; accordingly his presence always announced that he wasopen to a bargain. 

"Good evening, gentlemen, " said the Jew; "how are you?"

"Colline, " said Rodolphe from where he lay upon the bed, sunk in thedelights of maintaining a horizontal line, "practise the duties ofhospitality and offer our guest a chair; a guest is sacred. I salute you, Abraham, " added the poet. 

Colline drew forward a chair which had about as much elasticity as a pieceof bronze and offered it to the Jew, Medicis let himself fall into thechair, and started to complain of its hardness, when he remembered that hehimself had once traded it off to Colline in exchange for a profession offaith which he afterward sold to a deputy. As he sat down the pockets ofthe Jew gave forth a silvery sound, and this melodious symphony threw thefour bohemians into a reverie that was full of sweetness. 

"Now, " said Rodolphe, in a low tone, to Marcel, "let us hear the song. Theaccompaniment sounds all right. "

"Monsieur Marcel, " said Medicis. "I have simply come to make your fortune. That is to say, I have come to offer you a superb opportunity to enterinto the world of art. Art, as you very well know, Monsieur Marcel, is anarid road, in which glory is the oasis. "

"Father Medicis, " said Marcel, who was on coals of impatience, "in thename of fifty per cent, your revered patron saint, be brief. "

"Here is the offer, " rejoined Medicis. "A wealthy amateur, who iscollecting a picture-gallery destined to make the tour of Europe, hascommissioned me to procure for him a series of remarkable works. I havecome to give you a chance to be included in this collection. In one word, I have come to purchase your 'Passage of the Red Sea. '"

"Money down?" asked Marcel. 

"Money down, " answered the Jew, sounding forth the full orchestra of hispockets. 

"Go on, Medicis, " said Marcel, pointing to his painting. "I wish to leaveto you the honor of fixing for yourself the price of that work of artwhich is priceless. "

The Jew laid Upon the table fifty crowns in bright new silver. 

"Keep them going, " said Marcel; "that is a good beginning. "

"Monsieur Marcel, " said Medicis, "you know very well that my first word isalways my last word. I shall add nothing more. But think; fifty crowns;that makes one hundred and fifty francs. That is quite a sum. "

"A paltry sum, " answered the artist; "just in the robe of my Pharaoh thereis fifty crowns' worth of cobalt. Pay me at least something for my work. "

"Hear my last word, " replied Medicis. "I will not add a penny more; but, Ioffer dinner for the crowd, wines included, and after dessert I will payin gold. "

"Do I hear any one object?" howled Colline, striking three blows of hisfist upon the table. "It is a bargain. "

"Come on, " said Marcel. "I agree. "

"I will send for the picture to-morrow, " said the Jew. "Come, gentlemen, let us start. Your places are all set. "

The four friends descended the stairs, singing the chorus from "TheHuguenots, " "to the table, to the table. "

Medicis treated the bohemians in a fashion altogether sumptuous. Heoffered them a lot of things which up to now had remained for them amystery. Dating from this dinner, lobster ceased to be a myth toSchaunard, and he acquired a passion for that amphibian which was destinedto increase to the verge of delirium. 

The four friends went forth from this splendid feast as intoxicated as ona day of vintage. Their inebriety came near bearing deplorable fruits forMarcel, because as he passed the shop of his tailor, at two o'clock in themorning, he absolutely insisted upon awakening his creditor in order togive him, on account, the one hundred and fifty francs that he had justreceived. But a gleam of reason still awake in the brain of Colline heldback the artist from the brink of this precipice. 

A week after this festivity Marcel learned in what gallery his picture hadfound a place. Passing along the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, he stopped in themidst of a crowd that seemed to be staring at a sign newly placed above ashop. This sign was none other than Marcel's painting, which had been soldby Medicis to a dealer in provisions. Only the "Passage of the Red Sea"had once again undergone a modification and bore a new title. A steamboathad been added to it, and it was now called "In the Port of Marseilles. " Aflattering ovation arose among the crowd when they discovered the picture. And Marcel turned away delighted with this triumph, and murmured softly:"The voice of the people is the voice of God!"

THE WOMAN AND THE CAT

BY MARCEL PREVOST

"Yes, " said our old friend Tribourdeaux, a man of culture and aphilosopher, which is a combination rarely found among army surgeons;"yes, the supernatural is everywhere; it surrounds us and hems us in andpermeates us. If science pursues it, it takes flight and cannot begrasped. Our intellect resembles those ancestors of ours who cleared a fewacres of forest; whenever they approached the limits of their clearingthey heard low growls and saw gleaming eyes everywhere circling themabout. I myself have had the sensation of having approached the limits ofthe unknown several times in my life, and on one occasion in particular. "

A young lady present interrupted him:

"Doctor, you are evidently dying to tell us a story. Come now, begin!"

The doctor bowed. 

"No, I am not in the least anxious, I assure you. I tell this story asseldom as possible, for it disturbs those who hear it, and it disturbs mealso. However, if you wish it, here it is:

"In 1863 I was a young physician stationed at Orléans. In that patriciancity, full of aristocratic old residences, it is difficult to findbachelor apartments; and, as I like both plenty of air and plenty of room, I took up my lodging on the first floor of a large building situated justoutside the city, near Saint-Euverte. It had been originally constructedto serve as the warehouse and also as the dwelling of a manufacturer ofrugs. In course of time the manufacturer had failed, and this big barrackthat he had built, falling out of repair through lack of tenants, had beensold for a song with all its furnishings. The purchaser hoped to make afuture profit out of his purchase, for the city was growing in thatdirection; and, as a matter of fact, I believe that at the present timethe house is included within the city limits. When I took up my quartersthere, however, the mansion stood alone on the verge of the open country, at the end of a straggling street on which a few stray houses produced atdusk the impression of a jaw from which most of the teeth have fallen out. 

"I leased one-half of the first floor, an apartment of four rooms. For mybedroom and my study I took the two that fronted on the street; in thethird room I set up some shelves for my wardrobe, and the other room Ileft empty. This made a very comfortable lodging for me, and I had, for asort of promenade, a broad balcony that ran along the entire front of thebuilding, or rather one-half of the balcony, since it was divided into twoparts (please note this carefully) by a fan of ironwork, over which, however, one could easily climb. 

"I had been living there for about two months when, one night in July onreturning to my rooms, I saw with a good deal of surprise a light shiningthrough the windows of the other apartment on the same floor, which I hadsupposed to be uninhabited. The effect of this light was extraordinary. Itlit up with a pale, yet perfectly distinct, reflection, parts of thebalcony, the street below, and a bit of the neighboring fields. 

"I thought to myself, 'Aha! I have a neighbor. "

"The idea indeed was not altogether agreeable, for I had been rather proudof my exclusive proprietorship. On reaching my bedroom I passednoiselessly out upon the balcony, but already the light had beenextinguished. So I went back into my room, and sat down to read for anhour or two. From time to time I seemed to hear about me, as though withinthe walls, light footsteps; but after finishing my book I went to bed, andspeedily fell asleep. 

"About midnight I suddenly awoke with a curious feeling that something wasstanding beside me. I raised myself in bed, lit a candle, and this is whatI saw. In the middle of the room stood an immense cat gazing upon me withphosphorescent eyes, and with its back slightly arched. It was amagnificent Angora, with long fur and a fluffy tail, and of a remarkablecolor--exactly like that of the yellow silk that one sees in cocoons--sothat, as the light gleamed upon its coat, the animal seemed to be made ofgold. 

"It slowly moved toward me on its velvety paws, softly rubbing its sinuousbody against my legs. I leaned over to stroke it, and it permitted mycaress, purring, and finally leaping upon my knees. I noticed then that itwas a female cat, quite young, and that she seemed disposed to permit meto pet her as long as ever I would. Finally, however, I put her down uponthe floor, and tried to induce her to leave the room; but she leaped awayfrom me and hid herself somewhere among the furniture, though as soon as Ihad blown out my candle, she jumped upon my bed. Being sleepy, however, Ididn't molest her, but dropped off into a doze, and the next morning whenI awoke in broad daylight I could find no sign of the animal at all. 

"Truly, the human brain is a very delicate instrument, and one that iseasily thrown out of gear. Before I proceed, just sum up for yourselvesthe facts that I have mentioned: a light seen and presently extinguishedin an apartment supposed to be uninhabited; and a cat of a remarkablecolor, which appeared and disappeared in a way that was slightlymysterious. Now there isn't anything very strange about that, is there?Very well. Imagine, now, that these unimportant facts are repeated dayafter day and under the same conditions throughout a whole week, and then, believe me, they become of importance enough to impress the mind of a manwho is living all alone, and to produce in him a slight disquietude suchas I spoke of in commencing my story, and such as is always caused whenone approaches the sphere of the unknown. The human mind is so formed thatit always unconsciously applies the principle of the causa sufficiens. Forevery series of facts that are identical, it demands a cause, a law; and avague dismay seizes upon it when it is unable to guess this cause and totrace out this law. 

"I am no coward, but I have often studied the manifestation of fear inothers, from its most puerile form in children up to its most tragic phasein madmen. I know that it is fed and nourished by uncertainties, althoughwhen one actually sets himself to investigate the cause, this fear isoften transformed into simple curiosity. 

"I made up my mind, therefore, to ferret out the truth. I questioned mycaretaker, and found that he knew nothing about my neighbors. Everymorning an old woman came to look after the neighboring apartment; mycaretaker had tried to question her, but either she was completely deaf orelse she was unwilling to give him any information, for she had refused toanswer a single word. Nevertheless, I was able to explain satisfactorilythe first thing that I had noted--that is to say, the sudden extinction ofthe light at the moment when I entered the house. I had observed that thewindows next to mine were covered only by long lace curtains; and as thetwo balconies were connected, my neighbor, whether man or woman, had nodoubt a wish to prevent any indiscreet inquisitiveness on my part, andtherefore had always put out the light on hearing me come in. To verifythis supposition, I tried a very simple experiment, which succeededperfectly. I had a cold supper brought in one day about noon by myservant, and that evening I did not go out. When darkness came on, I tookmy station near the window. Presently I saw the balcony shining with thelight that streamed through the windows of the neighboring apartment. Atonce I slipped quietly out upon my balcony, and stepped softly over theironwork that separated the two parts. Although I knew that I was exposingmyself to a positive danger, either of falling and breaking my neck, or offinding myself face to face with a man, I experienced no perturbation. Reaching the lighted window without having made the slightest noise, Ifound it partly open; its curtains, which for me were quite transparentsince I was on the dark side of the window, made me wholly invisible toany one who should look toward the window from the interior of the room. 

"I saw a vast chamber furnished quite elegantly, though it was obviouslyout of repair, and lighted by a lamp suspended from the ceiling. At theend of the room was a low sofa upon which was reclining a woman who seemedto me to be both young and pretty. Her loosened hair fell over hershoulders in a rain of gold. She was looking at herself in a hand mirror, patting herself, passing her arms over her lips, and twisting about hersupple body with a curiously feline grace. Every movement that she madecaused her long hair to ripple in glistening undulations. 

"As I gazed upon her I confess that I felt a little troubled, especiallywhen all of a sudden the young girl's eyes were fixed upon me--strangeeyes, eyes of a phosphorescent green that gleamed like the flame of alamp. I was sure that I was invisible, being on the dark side of acurtained window. That was simple enough, yet nevertheless I felt that Iwas seen. The girl, in fact, uttered a cry, and then turned and buried herface in the sofa-pillows. 

"I raised the window, rushed into the room toward the sofa, and leanedover the face that she was hiding. As I did so, being really veryremorseful, I began to excuse and to accuse myself, calling myself allsorts of names, and begging pardon for my indiscretion. I said that Ideserved to be driven from her presence, but begged not to be sent awaywithout at least a word of pardon. For a long time I pleaded thus withoutsuccess, but at last she slowly turned, and I saw that her fair young facewas stirred with just the faintest suggestion of a smile. When she caughta glimpse of me she murmured something of which I did not then quite getthe meaning. 

"'It is you, ' she cried out; 'it is you!'

"As she said this, and as I looked at her, not knowing yet exactly what toanswer, I was harassed by the thought: Where on earth have I already seenthis face, this look, this very gesture? Little by little, however, Ifound my tongue, and after saying a few more words in apology for myunpardonable curiosity, and getting brief but not offended answers, I tookleave of her, and, retiring through the window by which I had come, wentback to my own room. Arriving there, I sat a long time by the window inthe darkness, charmed by the face that I had seen, and yet singularlydisquieted. This woman so beautiful, so amiable, living so near to me, whosaid to me, 'It is you, ' exactly as though she had already known me, whospoke so little, who answered all my questions with evasion, excited in mea feeling of fear. She had, indeed, told me her name--Linda--and that wasall. I tried in vain to drive away the remembrance of her greenish eyes, which in the darkness seemed still to gleam upon me, and of those glintswhich, like electric sparks, shone in her long hair whenever she strokedit with her hand. Finally, however, I retired for the night; but scarcelywas my head upon the pillow when I felt some moving body descend upon myfeet. The cat had appeared again. I tried to chase her away, but she keptreturning again and again, until I ended by resigning myself to herpresence; and, just as before, I went to sleep with this strange companionnear me. Yet my rest was this time a troubled one, and broken by strangeand fitful dreams. 

"Have you ever experienced the sort of mental obsession which graduallycauses the brain to be mastered by some single absurd idea--an idea almostinsane, and one which your reason and your will alike repel, but whichnevertheless gradually blends itself with your thought, fastens itselfupon your mind, and grows and grows? I suffered cruelly in this way on thedays that followed my strange adventure. Nothing new occurred, but in theevening, going out upon the balcony, I found Linda standing upon her sideof the iron fan. We chatted together for a while in the half darkness, and, as before, I returned to my room to find that in a few moments thegolden cat appeared, leaped upon my bed, made a nest for herself there, and remained until the morning. I knew now to whom the cat belonged, forLinda had answered that very same evening, on my speaking of it, 'Oh, yes, my cat; doesn't she look exactly as though she were made of gold?' As Isaid, nothing new had occurred, yet nevertheless a vague sort of terrorbegan little by little to master me and to develop itself in my mind, atfirst merely as a bit of foolish fancy, and then as a haunting belief thatdominated my entire thought, so that I perpetually seemed to see a thingwhich it was in reality quite impossible to see. "

"Why, it's easy enough to guess, " interrupted the young lady who hadspoken at the beginning of his story. 

"Linda and the cat were the same thing. "

Tribourdeaux smiled. 

"I should not have been quite so positive as that, " he said, "even then;but I cannot deny that this ridiculous fancy haunted me for many hourswhen I was endeavoring to snatch a little sleep amid the insomnia that atoo active brain produced. Yes, there were moments when these two beingswith greenish eyes, sinuous movements, golden hair, and mysterious ways, seemed to me to be blended into one, and to be merely the doublemanifestation of a single entity. As I said, I saw Linda again and again, but in spite of all my efforts to come upon her unexpectedly, I never wasable to see them both at the same time. I tried to reason with myself, toconvince myself that there was nothing really inexplicable in all of this, and I ridiculed myself for being afraid both of a woman and of a harmlesscat. In truth, at the end of all my reasoning, I found that I was not somuch afraid of the animal alone or of the woman alone, but rather of asort of quality which existed in my fancy and inspired me with a fear ofsomething that was incorporeal--fear of a manifestation of my own spirit, fear of a vague thought, which is, indeed, the very worst of fears. 

"I began to be mentally disturbed. After long evenings spent inconfidential and very unconventional chats with Linda, in which little bylittle my feelings took on the color of love, I passed long days of secrettorment, such as incipient maniacs must experience. Gradually a resolvebegan to grow up in my mind, a desire that became more and moreimportunate in demanding a solution of this unceasing and tormentingdoubt; and the more I cared for Linda, the more it seemed absolutelynecessary to push this resolve to its fulfilment. I decided to kill thecat. 

"One evening before meeting Linda on the balcony, I took out of my medicalcabinet a jar of glycerin and a small bottle of hydrocyanic acid, togetherwith one of those little pencils of glass which chemists use in mixingcertain corrosive substances. That evening for the first time Lindaallowed me to caress her. I held her in my arms and passed my hand overher long hair, which snapped and cracked under my touch in a succession oftiny sparks. As soon as I regained my room the golden cat, as usual, appeared before me. I called her to me; she rubbed herself against me witharched back and extended tail, purring the while with the greatestamiability. I took the glass pencil in my hand, moistened the point in theglycerin, and held it out to the animal, which licked it with her long redtongue. I did this three or four times, but the next time I dipped thepencil in the acid. The cat unhesitatingly touched it with her tongue. Inan instant she became rigid, and a moment after, a frightful tetanicconvulsion caused her to leap thrice into the air, and then to fall uponthe floor with a dreadful cry--a cry that was truly human. She was dead!

"With the perspiration starting from my forehead and with trembling handsI threw myself upon the floor beside the body that was not yet cold. Thestarting eyes had a look that froze me with horror. The blackened tonguewas thrust out between the teeth; the limbs exhibited the most remarkablecontortions. I mustered all my courage with a violent effort of will, tookthe animal by the paws, and left the house. Hurrying down the silentstreet, I proceeded to the quays along the banks of the Loire, and, onreaching them, threw my burden into the river. Until daylight I roamedaround the city, just where I know not; and not until the sky began togrow pale and then to be flushed with light did I at last have the courageto return home. As I laid my hand upon the door, I shivered. I had a dreadof finding there still living, as in the celebrated tale of Poe, theanimal that I had so lately put to death. But no, my room was empty. Ifell half-fainting upon my bed, and for the first time I slept, with aperfect sense of being all alone, a sleep like that of a beast or of anassassin, until evening came. "

Some one here interrupted, breaking in upon the profound silence in whichwe had been listening. 

"I can guess the end. Linda disappeared at the same time as the cat. "

"You see perfectly well, " replied Tribourdeaux, "that there exists betweenthe facts of this story a curious coincidence, since you are able to guessso exactly their relation. Yes, Linda disappeared. They found in herapartment her dresses, her linen, all even to the night-robe that she wasto have worn that night, but there was nothing that could give theslightest clue to her identity. The owner of the house had let theapartment to 'Mademoiselle Linda, concert-singer, ' He knew nothing more. Iwas summoned before the police magistrate. I had been seen on the night ofher disappearance roaming about with a distracted air in the vicinity ofthe river. Luckily the judge knew me; luckily also, he was a man of noordinary intelligence. I related to him privately the entire story, justas I have been telling it to you. He dismissed the inquiry; yet I may saythat very few have ever had so narrow, an escape as mine from a criminaltrial. "

For several moments the silence of the company was unbroken. Finally agentleman, wishing to relieve the tension, cried out:

"Come now, doctor, confess that this is really all fiction; that youmerely want to prevent these ladies from getting any sleep to-night. "

Tribourdeaux bowed stiffly, his face unsmiling and a little pale. 

"You may take it as you will, " he said. 

GIL BLAS AND DR. SANGRADO

BY ALAIN RENE LE SAGE

As I was on my way, who should come across me but Dr. Sangrado, whom I hadnot seen since the day of my master's death. I took the liberty oftouching my hat. He knew me in a twinkling. 

"Heyday!" said he, with as much warmth as his temperament would allow him, "the very lad I wanted to see; you have never been out of my thought. Ihave occasion for a clever fellow about me, and pitched upon you as thevery thing, if you can read and write. "

"Sir, " replied I, "if that is all you require, I am your man. "

"In that case, " rejoined he, "we need look no further. Come home with me;you will be very comfortable; I shall behave to you like a brother. Youwill have no wages, but everything will be found you. You shall eat anddrink according to the true scientific system, and be taught to cure alldiseases. In a word, you shall rather be my young Sangrado than myfootman. "

I closed in with the doctor's proposal, in the hope of becoming anEsculapius under so inspired a master. He carried me home forthwith, toinstall me in my honorable employment; which honorable employmentconsisted in writing down the name and residence of the patients who sentfor him in his absence. There had indeed been a register for this purpose, kept by an old domestic; but she had not the gift of spelling accurately, and wrote a most perplexing hand. This account I was to keep. It mighttruly be called a bill of mortality; for my members all went from bad toworse during the short time they continued in this system. I was a sort ofbookkeeper for the other world, to take places in the stage, and to seethat the first come were the first served. My pen was always in my hand, for Dr. Sangrado had more practise than any physician of his time inValladolid. He had got into reputation with the public by a certainprofessional slang, humored by a medical face, and some extraordinarycures more honored by implicit faith than scrupulous investigation. 

He was in no want of patients, nor consequently of property. He did notkeep the best house in the world; we lived with some little attention toeconomy. The usual bill of fare consisted of peas, beans, boiled apples, or cheese. He considered this food as best suited to the human stomach;that is to say, as most amenable to the grinders, whence it was toencounter the process of digestion. Nevertheless, easy as was theirpassage, he was not for stopping the way with too much of them; and, to besure, he was in the right. But though he cautioned the maid and me againstrepletion in respect of solids, it was made up by free permission to drinkas much water as we liked. Far from prescribing us any limits in thatdirection, he would tell us sometimes:

"Drink, my children; health consists in the pliability and moisture of theparts. Drink water by pailfuls; it is a universal dissolvent; waterliquefies all the salts. Is the course of the blood a little sluggish?This grand principle sets it forward. Too rapid? Its career is checked. "

Our doctor was so orthodox on this head that, though advanced in years, hedrank nothing himself but water. He defined old age to be a naturalconsumption which dries us up and wastes us away; on this principle hedeplored the ignorance of those who call wine "old men's milk. " Hemaintained that wine wears them out and corrodes them; and pleaded withall the force of his eloquence against that liquor, fatal in common bothto the young and old--that friend with a serpent in its bosom--thatpleasure with a dagger under its girdle. 

In spite of these fine arguments, at the end of a week I felt an ailmentwhich I was blasphemous enough to saddle on the universal dissolvent andthe new-fangled diet. I stated my symptoms to my master, in the hope thathe would relax the rigor of his regimen and qualify my meals with a littlewine; but his hostility to that liquor was inflexible. 

"If you have not philosophy enough, " said he, "for pure water, there areinnocent infusions to strengthen the stomach against the nausea of aqueousquaffings. Sage, for example, has a very pretty flavor; and if you wish toheighten it into a debauch, it is only mixing rosemary, wild poppy, andother simples with it--but no compounds!"

In vain did he sing the praise of water, and teach me the secret ofcomposing delicious messes. I was so abstemious that, remarking mymoderation, he said:

"In good sooth, Gil Blas, I marvel not that you are no better than youare; you do not drink enough, my friend. Water taken in a small quantityserves only to separate the particles of bile and set them in action; butour practise is to drown them in a copious drench. Fear not, my good lad, lest a superabundance of liquid should either weaken or chill yourstomach; far from thy better judgment be that silly fear of unadulterateddrink. I will insure you against all consequences; and if my authoritywill not serve your turn, read Celsus. That oracle of the ancients makesan admirable panegyric on water; in short, he says in plain terms thatthose who plead an inconstant stomach in favor of wine, publish a libel ontheir own viscera, and make their constitution a pretense for theirsensuality. "

As it would have been ungenteel in me to run riot on my entrance into themedical career, I pretended thorough conviction; indeed, I really thoughtthere was something in it. I therefore went on drinking water on theauthority of Celsus; or, to speak in scientific terms, I began to drownthe bile in copious drenches of that unadulterated liquor; and though Ifelt my self more out of order from day to day, prejudice won the causeagainst experience. It is evident therefore that I was in the right roadto the practise of physic. 

Yet I could not always be insensible to the qualms which increased in myframe, to that degree as to determine me on quitting Dr. Sangrado. But heinvested me with a new office which changed my tone. 

"Hark you, my child, " said he to me one day; "I am not one of those hardand ungrateful masters who leave their household to grow gray in servicewithout a suitable reward. I am well pleased with you, I have a regard foryou; and without waiting till you have served your time, I will make yourfortune. Without more ado, I will initiate you in the healing art, ofwhich I have for so many years been at the head. Other physicians make thescience to consist of various unintelligible branches; but I will shortenthe road for you, and dispense with the drudgery of studying naturalphilosophy, pharmacy, botany, and anatomy. Remember, my friend, thatbleeding and drinking warm water are the two grand principles--the truesecret of curing all the distempers incident to humanity. 

"Yes, this marvelous secret which I reveal to you, and which nature, beyond the reach of my colleagues, has not been able to conceal from me, is comprehended in these two articles, namely, bleeding and drenching. Here you have the sum total of my philosophy; you are thoroughly bottomedin medicine, and may raise yourself to the summit of fame on the shouldersof my long experience. You may enter into partnership at once, by keepingthe books in the morning and going out to visit patients in the afternoon. While I dose the nobility and clergy, you shall labor in your vocationamong the lower orders; and when you have felt your ground a little, Iwill get you admitted into our body. You are a philosopher, Gil Blas, though you have never graduated; the common herd of them, though they havegraduated in due form and order, are likely to run out the length of theirtether without knowing their right hand from their left. "

I thanked the doctor for having so speedily enabled me to serve as hisdeputy; and by way of acknowledging his goodness, promised to follow hissystem to the end of my career, with a magnanimous indifference about theaphorisms of Hippocrates. But that engagement was not to be taken to theletter. This tender attachment to water went against the grain, and I hada scheme for drinking wine every day snugly among the patients. I left offwearing my own suit a second time to take up one of my master's and looklike an experienced practitioner. After which I brought my medicaltheories into play, leaving those it might concern to look to the event. 

I began on an alguazil (constable) in a pleurisy; he was condemned to bebled with the utmost rigor of the law, at the same time that the systemwas to be replenished copiously with water. Next I made a lodgment in theveins of a gouty pastry-cook, who roared like a lion by reason of goutyspasms. I stood on no more ceremony with his blood than with that of thealguazil, and laid no restriction on his taste for simple liquids. Myprescriptions brought me in twelve reales (shillings)--an incident soauspicious in my professional career that I only wished for the plagues ofEgypt on all the hale citizens of Valladolid. 

I was no sooner at home than Dr. Sangrado came in. I talked to him aboutthe patients I had seen, and paid into his hands eight reales of thetwelve I had received for my prescriptions. 

"Eight reales!" said he, as he counted them. "Mighty little for twovisits! But we must take things as we find them. " In the spirit of takingthings as he found them, he laid violent hands on six of the coins, givingme the other two. "Here, Gil Blas, " continued he, "see what a foundationto build upon. I make over to you the fourth of all you may bring me. Youwill soon feather your nest, my friend; for, by the blessing ofProvidence, there will be a great deal of ill-health this year. "

I had reason to be content with my dividend; since, having determined tokeep back the third part of what I recovered in my rounds, and afterwardtouching another fourth of the remainder, then half of the whole, ifarithmetic is anything more than a deception, would become my perquisite. This inspired me with new zeal for my profession. 

The next day, as soon as I had dined, I resumed my medical paraphernaliaand took the field once more. I visited several patients on the list, andtreated their several complaints in one invariable routine. Hithertothings had gone well, and no one, thank Heaven, had risen up in rebellionagainst my prescriptions. But let a physician's cures be as extraordinaryas they will, some quack or other is always ready to rip up hisreputation. 

I was called in to a grocer's son in a dropsy. Whom should I find therebefore me but a little black-looking physician, by name Dr. Cuchillo, introduced by a relation of the family. I bowed round most profoundly, butdipped lowest to the personage whom I took to have been invited to aconsultation with me. 

He returned my compliment with a distant air; then, having stared me inthe face for a few seconds, "Sir, " said he, "I beg pardon for beinginquisitive; I thought I was acquainted with all my brethren inValladolid, but I confess your physiognomy is altogether new. You musthave been settled but a short time in town. "

I avowed myself a young practitioner, acting as yet under direction of Dr. Sangrado. 

"I wish you joy, " replied he politely; "you are studying under a greatman. You must doubtless have seen a vast deal of sound practise, young asyou appear to be. "

He spoke this with so easy an assurance that I was at a loss whether hemeant it seriously, or was laughing at me. While I was conning over myreply, the grocer, seizing on the opportunity, said:

"Gentlemen, I am persuaded of your both being perfectly competent in yourart; have the goodness without ado to take the case in hand, and devisesome effectual means for the restoration of my son's health. "

Thereupon the little pulse-counter set himself about reviewing thepatient's situation; and after having dilated to me on all the symptoms, asked me what I thought the fittest method of treatment. 

"I am of opinion, " replied I, "that he should be bled once a day, anddrink as much warm water as he can swallow. "

At these words, our diminutive doctor said to me, with a malicious simper, "And so you think such a course will save the patient?"

"Not a doubt of it, " exclaimed I in a confident tone; "it must producethat effect, because it is a certain method of cure for all distempers. Ask Señor Sangrado. "

"At that rate, " retorted he, "Celsus is altogether in the wrong; for hecontends that the readiest way to cure a dropsical subject is to let himalmost die of hunger and thirst. "

"Oh, as for Celsus, " interrupted I, "he is no oracle of mine; he is asfallible as the meanest of us; I often have occasion to bless myself forgoing contrary to his dogmas. "

"I discover by your language, " said Cuchillo, "the safe and sure method ofpractise Dr. Sangrado instils into his pupils! Bleeding and drenching arethe extent of his resources. No wonder so many worthy people are cut offunder his direction!"

"No defamation!" interrupted I, with some acrimony. "A member of thefaculty had better not begin throwing stones. Come, come, my learneddoctor, patients can get to the other world without bleeding and warmwater; and I question whether the most deadly of us has ever signed morepassports than yourself. If you have any crow to pluck with SeñorSangrado, publish an attack on him; he will answer you, and we shall soonsee who will have the best of the battle. "

"By all the saints in the calendar, " swore he in a transport of passion, "you little know whom you are talking to! I have a tongue and a fist, myfriend; and am not afraid of Sangrado, who with all his arrogance andaffectation is but a ninny. "

The size of the little death-dealer made me hold his anger cheap. I gavehim a sharp retort; he sent back as good as I brought, till at last wecame to fisticuffs. We had pulled a few handfuls of hair from each other'shead before the grocer and his kinsman could part us. When they hadbrought this about, they feed me for my attendance and retained myantagonist, whom they thought the more skilful of the two. 

Another adventure succeeded close on the heels of this. I went to see ahuge singer in a fever. As soon as he heard me talk of warm water, heshowed himself so adverse to this specific as to fall into a fit ofswearing. He abused me in all possible shapes, and threatened to throw meout of the window. I was in a greater hurry to get out of his house thanto get in. 

I did not choose to see any more patients that day, and repaired to theinn where I had agreed to meet Fabricio. He was there first. As we foundourselves in a tippling humor, we drank hard, and returned to ouremployers in a pretty pickle; that is to say, so-so in the upper story. Señor Sangrado was not aware of my being drunk, because he took the livelygestures which accompanied the relation of my quarrel with the littledoctor for an effect of the agitation not yet subsided after the battle. Besides, he came in for his share in my report; and, feeling himselfnettled by the insults of Cuchillo--

"You have done well, Gil Blas, " said he, "to defend the character of ourpractise against this little abortion of the faculty. So he takes upon himto set his face against watery drenches in dropsical cases? An ignorantfellow! I maintain, I do, in my own person, that the use of them may bereconciled to the best theories. Yes, water is a cure for all sorts ofdropsies, just as it is good for rheumatisms and the green sickness. It isexcellent, too, in those fevers where the effect is at once to parch andto chill; and even miraculous in those disorders ascribed to cold, thin, phlegmatic, and pituitous humors. This opinion may appear strange to youngpractitioners like Cuchillo, but it is right orthodox in the best andsoundest systems; so that if persons of that description were capable oftaking a philosophical view, instead of crying me down, they would becomemy most zealous advocates. "

In his rage, he never suspected me of drinking; for to exasperate himstill more against the little doctor, I had thrown into my recital somecircumstances of my own addition. Yet, engrossed as he was by what I hadtold him, he could not help taking notice that I drank more water thanusual that evening. 

In fact, the wine had made me very thirsty. Any one but Sangrado wouldhave distrusted my being so very dry as to swallow down glass after glass;but, as for him, he took it for granted in the simplicity of his heartthat I had begun to acquire a relish for aqueous potations. 

"Apparently, Gil Blas, " said he, with a gracious smile, "you have nolonger such a dislike to water. As Heaven is my judge, you quaff it offlike nectar! It is no wonder, my friend; I was certain you would beforelong take a liking to that liquor. "

"Sir, " replied I, "there is a tide in the affairs of men; with my presentlights I would give all the wine in Valladolid for a pint of water. "

This answer delighted the doctor, who would not lose so fine anopportunity of expatiating on the excellence of water. He undertook toring the changes once more in its praise; not like a hireling pleader, butas an enthusiast in a most worthy cause. 

"A thousand times, " exclaimed he, "a thousand and a thousand times ofgreater value, as being more innocent than all our modern taverns, werethose baths of ages past, whither the people went, not shamefully tosquander their fortunes and expose their lives by swilling themselves withwine, but assembling there for the decent and economical amusement ofdrinking warm water. It is difficult to admire enough the patrioticforecast of those ancient politicians who established places of publicresort where water was dealt out gratis to all comers, and who confinedwine to the shops of the apothecaries, that its use might be prohibitedsave under the direction of physicians. What a stroke of wisdom! It isdoubtless to preserve the seeds of that antique frugality, emblematic ofthe golden age, that persons are found to this day, like you and me, whodrink nothing but water, and are persuaded they possess a prevention or acure for every ailment, provided our warm water has never boiled; for Ihave observed that water when it is boiled is heavier, and sits lesseasily on the stomach. "

While he was holding forth thus eloquently, I was in danger more than onceof splitting my sides with laughing. But I contrived to keep mycountenance; nay, more, to chime in with the doctor's theory. I foundfault with the use of wine, and pitied mankind for having contracted anuntoward relish for so pernicious a beverage. Then, finding my thirst notsufficiently allayed, I filled a large goblet with water, and, afterhaving swilled it like a horse--

"Come, sir, " said I to my master, "let us drink plentifully of thisbeneficial liquor. Let us make those early establishments of dilution youso much regret live again in your house. "

He clapped his hands in ecstasy at these words, and preached to me for awhole hour about suffering no liquid but water to pass my lips. To confirmthe habit, I promised to drink a large quantity every evening; and to keepmy word with less violence to my private inclinations, I went to bed witha determined purpose of going to the tavern every day. 

A FIGHT WITH A CANNON

BY VICTOR HUGO

La vieuville was suddenly cut short by a cry of despair, and a the sametime a noise was heard wholly unlike any other sound. The cry and soundscame from within the vessel. 

The captain and lieutenant rushed toward the gun-deck but could not getdown. All the gunners were pouring up in dismay. 

Something terrible had just happened. 

One of the carronades of the battery, a twenty-four pounder, had brokenloose. 

This is the most dangerous accident that can possibly take place onshipboard. Nothing more terrible can happen to a sloop of was in open seaand under full sail. 

A cannon that breaks its moorings suddenly becomes some strange, supernatural beast. It is a machine transformed into a monster. That shortmass on wheels moves like a billiard-ball, rolls with the rolling of theship, plunges with the pitching goes, comes, stops, seems to meditate, starts on its course again, shoots like an arrow from one end of thevessel to the other, whirls around, slips away, dodges, rears, bangs, crashes, kills, exterminates. It is a battering ram capriciouslyassaulting a wall. Add to this the fact that the ram is of metal, the wallof wood. 

It is matter set free; one might say, this eternal slave was avengingitself; it seems as if the total depravity concealed in what we callinanimate things has escaped, and burst forth all of a sudden; it appearsto lose patience, and to take a strange mysterious revenge; nothing morerelentless than this wrath of the inanimate. This enraged lump leaps likea panther, it has the clumsiness of an elephant, the nimbleness of amouse, the obstinacy of an ox, the uncertainty of the billows, the zigzagof the lightning, the deafness of the grave. It weighs ten thousandpounds, and it rebounds like a child's ball. It spins and then abruptlydarts off at right angles. 

And what is to be done? How put an end to it? A tempest ceases, a cyclonepasses over, a wind dies down, a broken mast can be replaced, a leak canbe stopped, a fire extinguished, but what will become of this enormousbrute of bronze. How can it be captured? You can reason with a bulldog, astonish a bull, fascinate a boa, frighten a tiger, tame a lion; but youhave no resource against this monster, a loose cannon. You can not killit, it is dead; and at the same time it lives. It lives with a sinisterlife which comes to it from the infinite. The deck beneath it gives itfull swing. It is moved by the ship, which is moved by the sea, which ismoved by the wind. This destroyer is a toy. The ship, the waves, thewinds, all play with it, hence its frightful animation. What is to be donewith this apparatus? How fetter this stupendous engine of destruction? Howanticipate its comings and goings, its returns, its stops, its shocks? Anyone of its blows on the side of the ship may stave it in. How foretell itsfrightful meanderings? It is dealing with a projectile, which alters itsmind, which seems to have ideas, and changes its direction every instant. How check the course of what must be avoided? The horrible cannonstruggles, advances, backs, strikes right, strikes left, retreats, passesby, disconcerts expectation, grinds up obstacles, crushes men like flies. All the terror of the situation is in the fluctuations of the flooring. How fight an inclined plane subject to caprices? The ship has, so tospeak, in its belly, an imprisoned thunderstorm, striving to escape;something like a thunderbolt rumbling above an earthquake. 

In an instant the whole crew was on foot. It was the fault of the guncaptain, who had neglected to fasten the screw-nut of the mooring-chain, and had insecurely clogged the four wheels of the gun carriage; this gaveplay to the sole and the framework, separated the two platforms, and thebreeching. The tackle had given way, so that the cannon was no longer firmon its carriage. The stationary breeching, which prevents recoil, was notin use at this time. A heavy sea struck the port, the carronade, insecurely fastened, had recoiled and broken its chain, and began itsterrible course over the deck. 

To form an idea of this strange sliding, let one imagine a drop of waterrunning over a glass. 

At the moment when the fastenings gave way, the gunners were in thebattery, some in groups, others scattered about, busied with the customarywork among sailors getting ready for a signal for action. The carronade, hurled forward by the pitching of the vessel, made a gap in this crowd ofmen and crushed four at the first blow; then sliding back and shot outagain as the ship rolled, it cut in two a fifth unfortunate, and knocked apiece of the battery against the larboard side with such force as tounship it. This caused the cry of distress just heard. All the men rushedto the companion-way. The gun-deck was vacated in a twinkling. 

The enormous gun was left alone. It was given up to itself. It was itsown master and master of the ship. It could do what it pleased. This wholecrew, accustomed to laugh in time of battle, now trembled. To describe theterror is impossible. 

Captain Boisberthelot and Lieutenant la Vieuville, although both dauntlessmen, stopped at the head of the companion-way and, dumb, pale, andhesitating, looked down on the deck below. Some one elbowed past and wentdown. 

It was their passenger, the peasant, the man of whom they had just beenspeaking a moment before. 

Reaching the foot of the companion-way, he stopped. 

The cannon was rushing back and forth on the deck. One might have supposedit to be the living chariot of the Apocalypse. The marine lantern swingingoverhead added a dizzy shifting of light and shade to the picture. Theform of the cannon disappeared in the violence of its course, and itlooked now black in the light, now mysteriously white in the darkness. 

It went on in its destructive work. It had already shattered four otherguns and made two gaps in the side of the ship, fortunately above thewater-line, but where the water would come in, in case of heavy weather. It rushed frantically against the framework; the strong timbers withstoodthe shock; the curved shape of the wood gave them great power ofresistance; but they creaked beneath the blows of this huge club, beatingon all sides at once, with a strange sort of ubiquity. The percussions ofa grain of shot shaken in a bottle are not swifter or more senseless. Thefour wheels passed back and forth over the dead men, cutting them, carvingthem, slashing them, till the five corpses were a score of stumps rollingacross the deck; the heads of the dead men seemed to cry out; streams ofblood curled over the deck with the rolling of the vessel; the planks, damaged in several places, began to gape open. The whole ship was filledwith the horrid noise and confusion. 

The captain promptly recovered his presence of mind and ordered everythingthat could check and impede the cannon's mad course to be thrown throughthe hatchway down on the gun-deck--mattresses, hammocks, spare sails, rolls of cordage, bags belonging to the crew, and bales of counterfeitassignats, of which the corvette carried a large quantity--acharacteristic piece of English villainy regarded as legitimate warfare. 

But what could these rags do? As nobody dared to go below to dispose ofthem properly, they were reduced to lint in a few minutes. 

There was just sea enough to make the accident as bad as possible. Atempest would have been desirable, for it might have upset the cannon, andwith its four wheels once in the air there would be some hope of gettingit under control. Meanwhile, the havoc increased. 

There were splits and fractures in the masts, which are set into theframework of the keel and rise above the decks of ships like great, roundpillars. The convulsive blows of the cannon had cracked the mizzenmast, and had cut into the mainmast. 

The battery was being ruined. Ten pieces out of thirty were disabled; thebreaches in the side of the vessel were increasing, and the corvette wasbeginning to leak. 

The old passenger having gone down to the gun-deck, stood like a man ofstone at the foot of the steps. He cast a stern glance over this scene ofdevastation. He did not move. It seemed impossible to take a step forward. Every movement of the loose carronade threatened the ship's destruction. Afew moments more and shipwreck would be inevitable. 

They must perish or put a speedy end to the disaster; some course must bedecided on; but what? What an opponent was this carronade! Something mustbe done to stop this terrible madness--to capture this lightning--tooverthrow this thunderbolt. 

Boisberthelot said to La Vieuville:

"Do you believe in God, chevalier?"

La Vieuville replied:

"Yes--no. Sometimes. "

"During a tempest?"

"Yes, and in moments like this. "

"God alone can save us from this, " said Boisberthelot. 

Everybody was silent, letting the carronade continue its horrible din. 

Outside, the waves beating against the ship responded with their blows tothe shocks of the cannon. It was like two hammers alternating. 

Suddenly, in the midst of this inaccessible ring, where the escaped cannonwas leaping, a man was seen to appear, with an iron bar in his hand. Hewas the author of the catastrophe, the captain of the gun, guilty ofcriminal carelessness, and the cause of the accident, the master of thecarronade. Having done the mischief, he was anxious to repair it. He hadseized the iron bar in one hand, a tiller-rope with a slip-noose in theother, and jumped, down the hatchway to the gun-deck. 

Then began an awful sight; a Titanic scene; the contest between gun andgunner; the battle of matter and intelligence; the duel between man andthe inanimate. 

The man stationed himself in a corner, and, with bar and rope in his twohands, he leaned against one of the riders, braced himself on his legs, which seemed two steel posts; and livid, calm, tragic, as if rooted to thedeck, he waited. 

He waited for the cannon to pass by him. 

The gunner knew his gun, and it seemed to him as if the gun ought to knowhim. He had lived long with it. How many times he had thrust his hand intoits mouth! It was his own familiar monster. He began to speak to it as ifit were his dog. 

"Come!" he said. Perhaps he loved it. 

He seemed to wish it to come to him. 

But to come to him was to come upon him. And then he would be lost. Howcould he avoid being crushed? That was the question. All looked on interror. 

Not a breast breathed freely, unless perhaps that of the old man, who wasalone in the battery with the two contestants, a stern witness. 

He might be crushed himself by the cannon. He did not stir. 

Beneath them the sea blindly directed the contest. 

At the moment when the gunner, accepting this frightful hand-to-handconflict, challenged the cannon, some chance rocking of the sea caused thecarronade to remain for an instant motionless and as if stupefied. "Come, now!" said the man. 

It seemed to listen. 

Suddenly it leaped toward him. The man dodged the blow. 

The battle began. Battle unprecedented. Frailty struggling against theinvulnerable. The gladiator of flesh attacking the beast of brass. On oneside, brute force; on the other, a human soul. 

All this was taking place in semi-darkness. It was like the shadowy visionof a miracle. 

A soul--strange to say, one would have thought the cannon also had a soul;but a soul full of hatred and rage. This sightless thing seemed to haveeyes. The monster appeared to lie in wait for the man. One would have atleast believed that there was craft in this mass. It also chose its time. It was a strange, gigantic insect of metal, having or seeming to have thewill of a demon. For a moment this colossal locust would beat against thelow ceiling overhead, then it would come down on its four wheels like atiger on its four paws, and begin to run at the man. He, supple, nimble, expert, writhed away like an adder from all these lightning movements. Heavoided a collision, but the blows which he parried fell against the, vessel, and continued their work of destruction. 

An end of broken chain was left hanging to the carronade. This chain hadin some strange way become twisted about the screw of the cascabel. Oneend of the chain was fastened to the gun-carriage. The other, left loose, whirled desperately about the cannon, making all its blows more dangerous. 

The screw held it in a firm grip, adding a thong to a battering-ram, making a terrible whirlwind around the cannon, an iron lash in a brazenhand. This chain complicated the contest. 

However, the man went on fighting. Occasionally, it was the man whoattacked the cannon; he would creep along the side of the vessel, bar andrope in hand; and the cannon, as if it understood, and as thoughsuspecting some snare, would flee away. The man, bent on victory, pursuedit. 

Such things can not long continue. The cannon seemed to say to itself, allof a sudden, "Come, now! Make an end of it!" and it stopped. One felt thatthe crisis was at hand. The cannon, as if in suspense, seemed to have, orreally had--for to all it was a living being--a ferocious malice prepense. It made a sudden, quick dash at the gunner. The gunner sprang out of theway, let it pass by, and cried out to it with a laugh, "Try it again!" Thecannon, as if enraged, smashed a carronade on the port side; then, againseized by the invisible sling which controlled it, it was hurled to thestarboard side at the man, who made his escape. Three carronades gave wayunder the blows of the cannon; then, as if blind and not knowing what moreto do, it turned its back on the man, rolled from stern to bow, injuredthe stern and made a breach in the planking of the prow. The man tookrefuge at the foot of the steps, not far from the old man who was lookingon. The gunner held his iron bar in rest. The cannon seemed to notice it, and without taking the trouble to turn around, slid back on the man, swiftas the blow of an axe. The man, driven against the side of the ship, waslost. The whole crew cried out with horror. 

But the old passenger, till this moment motionless, darted forth morequickly than any of this wildly swift rapidity. He seized a package ofcounterfeit assignats, and, at the risk of being crushed, succeeded inthrowing it between the wheels of the carronade. This decisive andperilous movement could not have been made with more exactness andprecision by a man trained in all the exercises described in Durosel's"Manual of Gun Practice at Sea. "

The package had the effect of a clog. A pebble may stop a log, the branchof a tree turn aside an avalanche. The carronade stumbled. The gunner, taking advantage of this critical opportunity, plunged his iron barbetween the spokes of one of the hind wheels. The cannon stopped. Itleaned forward. The man, using the bar as a lever, held it in equilibrium. The heavy mass was overthrown, with the crash of a falling bell, and theman, rushing with all his might, dripping with perspiration, passed theslipnoose around the bronze neck of the subdued monster. 

It was ended. The man had conquered. The ant had control over themastodon; the pygmy had taken the thunderbolt prisoner. 

The mariners and sailors clapped their hands. 

The whole crew rushed forward with cables and chains, and in an instantthe cannon was secured. 

The gunner saluted the passenger. 

"Sir, " he said, "you have saved my life. "

The old man had resumed his impassive attitude, and made no reply. 

The man had conquered, but the cannon might be said to have conquered aswell. Immediate shipwreck had been avoided, but the corvette was notsaved. The damage to the vessel seemed beyond repair. There were fivebreaches in her sides, one, very large, in the bow; twenty of the thirtycarronades lay useless in their frames. The one which had just beencaptured and chained again was disabled; the screw of the cascabel wassprung, and consequently leveling the gun made impossible. The battery wasreduced to nine pieces. The ship was leaking. It was necessary to repairthe damages at once, and to work the pumps. 

The gun-deck, now that one could look over it, was frightful to behold. The inside of an infuriated elephant's cage would not be more completelydemolished. 

However great might be the necessity of escaping observation, thenecessity of immediate safety was still more imperative to the corvette. They had been obliged to light up the deck with lanterns hung here andthere on the sides. 

However, all the while this tragic play was going on, the crew wereabsorbed by a question of life and death, and they were wholly ignorant ofwhat was taking place outside the vessel. The fog had grown thicker; theweather had changed; the wind had worked its pleasure with the ship; theywere out of their course, with Jersey and Guernsey close at hand, furtherto the south than they ought to have been, and in the midst of a heavysea. Great billows kissed the gaping wounds of the vessel--kisses full ofdanger. The rocking of the sea threatened destruction. The breeze hadbecome a gale. A squall, a tempest, perhaps, was brewing. It wasimpossible to see four waves ahead. 

While the crew were hastily repairing the damages to the gun-deck, stopping the leaks, and putting in place the guns which had been uninjuredin the disaster, the old passenger had gone on deck again. 

He stood with his back against the mainmast. 

He had not noticed a proceeding which had taken place on the vessel. TheChevalier de la Vieuville had drawn up the marines in line on both sidesof the mainmast, and at the sound of the boatswain's whistle the sailorsformed in line, standing on the yards. 

The Count de Boisberthelot approached the passenger. 

Behind the captain walked a man, haggard, out of breath, his dressdisordered, but still with a look of satisfaction on his face. 

It was the gunner who had just shown himself so skilful in subduingmonsters, and who had gained the mastery over the cannon. 

The count gave the military salute to the old man in peasant's dress, andsaid to him:

"General, there is the man. "

The gunner remained standing, with downcast eyes, in military attitude. 

The Count de Boisberthelot continued:

"General, in consideration of what this man has done, do you not thinkthere is something due him from his commander?"

"I think so, " said the old man. 

"Please give your orders, " replied Boisberthelot. 

"It is for you to give them, you are the captain. "

"But you are the general, " replied Boisberthelot. 

The old man looked at the gunner. 

"Come forward, " he said. 

The gunner approached. 

The old man turned toward the Count de Boisberthelot, took off the crossof Saint-Louis from the captain's coat and fastened it on the gunner'sjacket. 

"Hurrah!" cried the sailors. 

The mariners presented arms. 

And the old passenger, pointing to the dazzled gunner, added:

"Now, have this man shot. "

Dismay succeeded the cheering. 

Then in the midst of the death-like stillness, the old man raised hisvoice and said:

"Carelessness has compromised this vessel. At this very hour it is perhapslost. To be at sea is to be in front of the enemy. A ship making a voyageis an army waging war. The tempest is concealed, but it is at hand. Thewhole sea is an ambuscade. Death is the penalty of any misdemeanorcommitted in the face of the enemy. No fault is reparable. Courage shouldbe rewarded, and negligence punished. "

These words fell one after another, slowly, solemnly, in a sort ofinexorable metre, like the blows of an axe upon an oak. 

And the man, looking at the soldiers, added:

"Let it be done. "

The man on whose jacket hung the shining cross of Saint-Louis bowed hishead. 

At a signal from Count de Boisberthelot, two sailors went below and cameback bringing the hammock-shroud; the chaplain, who since they sailed hadbeen at prayer in the officers' quarters, accompanied the two sailors; asergeant detached twelve marines from the line and arranged them in twofiles, six by six; the gunner, without uttering a word, placed himselfbetween the two files. The chaplain, crucifix in hand, advanced and stoodbeside him. "March, " said the sergeant. The platoon marched with slowsteps to the bow of the vessel. The two sailors, carrying the shroud, followed. A gloomy silence fell over the vessel. A hurricane howled in thedistance. 

A few moments later, a light flashed, a report sounded through thedarkness, then all was still, and the sound of a body falling into the seawas heard. 

The old passenger, still leaning against the mainmast, had crossed hisarms, and was buried in thought. 

Boisberthelot pointed to him with the forefinger of his left hand, andsaid to La Vieuville in a low voice:

"La Vendée has a head. "

TONTON

BY A. CHENEVIERE

There are men who seem born to be soldiers. They have the face, thebearing, the gesture, the quality of mind. But there are others who havebeen forced to become so, in spite of themselves and of the rebellion ofreason and the heart, through a rash deed, a disappointment in love, orsimply because their destiny demanded it, being sons of soldiers andgentlemen. Such is the case of my friend Captain Robert de X----. And Isaid to him one summer evening, under the great trees of his terrace, which is washed by the green and sluggish Marne:

"Yes, old fellow, you are sensitive. What the deuce would you have done ona campaign where you were obliged to shoot, to strike down with a sabreand to kill? And then, too, you have never fought except against theArabs, and that is quite another thing. "

He smiled, a little sadly. His handsome mouth, with its blond mustache, was almost like that of a youth. His blue eyes were dreamy for an instant, then little by little he began to confide to me his thought, hisrecollections and all that was mystic and poetic in his soldier's heart. 

"You know we are soldiers in my family. We have a marshal of France andtwo officers who died on the field of honor. I have perhaps obeyed a lawof heredity. I believe rather that my imagination has carried me away. Isaw war through my reveries of epic poetry. In my fancy I dwelt only uponthe intoxication of victory, the triumphant flourish of trumpets and womenthrowing flowers to the victor. And then I loved the sonorous words of thegreat captains, the dramatic representations of martial glory. My fatherwas in the third regiment of zouaves, the one which was hewn in pieces atReichshofen, in the Niedervald, and which in 1859 at Palestro, made thatfamous charge against the Austrians and hurled them into the great canal. It was superb; without them the Italian divisions would have been lost. Victor Emmanuel marched with the zouaves. After this affair, while stilldeeply moved, not by fear but with admiration for this regiment of demonsand heroes, he embraced their old colonel and declared that he would beproud, were he not a king, to join the regiment. Then the zouavesacclaimed him corporal of the Third. And for a long time on theanniversary festival of St. Palestro, when the roll was called, theyshouted 'Corporal of the first squad, in the first company of the firstbattalion, Victor Emmanuel, ' and a rough old sergeant solemnly responded:'Sent as long into Italy. '

"That is the way my father talked to us, and by these recitals, a soldierwas made of a dreamy child. But later, what a disillusion! Where is thepoetry of battle? I have never made any campaign except in Africa, butthat has been enough for me. And I believe the army surgeon is right, whosaid to me one day: 'If instantaneous photographs could be taken after abattle, and millions of copies made and scattered through the world, therewould be no more war. The people would refuse to take part in it. '

"Africa, yes, I have suffered there. On one occasion I was sent to thesouth, six hundred kilometres from Oran, beyond the oasis of Fignig, todestroy a tribe of rebels. . . . On this expedition we had a pretty seriousaffair with a military chief of the great desert, called Bon-Arredji. Wekilled nearly all of the tribe, and seized nearly fifteen hundred sheep;in short, it was a complete success. We also captured the wives andchildren of the chief. A dreadful thing happened at that time, under myvery eyes! A woman was fleeing, pursued by a black mounted soldier. Sheturned around and shot at him with a revolver. The horse-soldier wasfurious, and struck her down with one stroke of his sabre. I did not havethe time to interfere. I dismounted from my horse to take the woman up. She was dead, and almost decapitated. I uttered not one word of reproachto the Turkish soldier, who smiled fiercely, and turned back. 

"I placed the poor body sadly on the sand, and was going to remount myhorse, when I perceived, a few steps back, behind a thicket, a little girlfive or six years old. I recognized at once that she was a Touareg, ofwhite race, notwithstanding her tawny color. I approached her. Perhaps shewas not afraid of me, because I was white like herself. I took her on thesaddle with me, without resistance on her part, and returned slowly to theplace where we were to camp for the night. I expected to place her underthe care of the women whom we had taken prisoners, and were carrying awaywith us. But all refused, saying that she was a vile little Touareg, belonging to a race which carries misfortune with it and brings forth onlytraitors. 

"I was greatly embarrassed. I would not abandon the child. . . . I feltsomewhat responsible for the crime, having been one of those who haddirected the massacre. I had made an orphan! I must take her part. One ofthe prisoners of the band had said to me (I understand a little of thegibberish of these people) that if I left the little one to these womenthey would kill her because she was the daughter of a Touareg, whom thechief had preferred to them, and that they hated the petted, spoiledchild, whom he had given rich clothes and jewels. What was to be done?

"I had a wide-awake orderly, a certain Michel of Batignolles. I called himand said to him: 'Take care of the little one. ' 'Very well, Captain, Iwill take her in charge. ' He then petted the child, made her sociable, andled her away with him, and two hours later he had manufactured a littlecradle for her out of biscuit boxes which are used on the march for makingcoffins. In the evening Michel put her to bed in it. He had christened her'Tonton, ' an abbreviation of Touareg. In the morning the cradle was boundon an ass, and behold Tonton following the column with the baggage, in theconvoy of the rear guard, under the indulgent eye of Michel. 

"This lasted for days and weeks. In the evening at the halting place, Tonton was brought into my tent, with the goat, which furnished her thegreater part of her meals, and her inseparable friend, a large chameleon, captured by Michel, and responding or not responding to the name ofAchilles. 

"Ah, well! old fellow, you may believe me or not; but it gave me pleasureto see the little one sleeping in her cradle, during the short night fullof alarm, when I felt the weariness of living, the dull sadness of seeingmy companions dying, one by one, leaving the caravan; the enervation ofthe perpetual state of alertness, always attacking or being attacked, forweeks and months. I, with the gentle instincts of a civilized man, wasforced to order the beheading of spies and traitors, the binding of womenin chains and the kidnapping of children, to raid the herds, to make ofmyself an Attila. And this had to be done without a moment of wavering, and I the cold and gentle Celt, whom you know, remained there, under thescorching African sun. Then what repose of soul, what strange meditationswere mine, when free at last, at night, in my sombre tent, around whichdeath might be prowling, I could watch the little Touareg, saved by me, sleeping in her cradle by the side of her chameleon lizard. Ridiculous, isit not? But, go there and lead the life of a brute, of a plunderer andassassin, and you will see how at times your civilized imagination willwander away to take refuge from itself. 

"I could have rid myself ofTonton. In an oasis we met some rebels, bearing a flag of truce, andexchanged the women for guns and ammunition. I kept the little one, notwithstanding the five months of march we must make, before returning toTlemcen. She had grown gentle, was inclined to be mischievous, but wasyielding and almost affectionate with me. She ate with the rest, neverwanting to sit down, but running from one to another around the table. Shehad proud little manners, as if she knew herself to be a daughter of thechief's favorite, obeying only the officers and treating Michel with anamusing scorn. All this was to have a sad ending. One day I did not findthe chameleon in the cradle, though I remembered to have seen it there theevening before. I had even taken it in my hands and caressed it beforeTonton, who had just gone to bed. Then I had given it back to her and goneout. Accordingly I questioned her. She took me by the hand, and leading meto the camp fire, showed me the charred skeleton of the chameleon, explaining to me, as best she could, that she had thrown it in the fire, because I had petted it! Oh! women! women! And she gave a horribleimitation of the lizard, writhing in the midst of the flames, and shesmiled with delighted eyes. I was indignant. I seized her by the arm, shook her a little, and finished by boxing her ears. 

"My dear fellow, from that day she appeared not to know me. Tonton and Isulked; we were angry. However, one morning, as I felt the sun was goingto be terrible, I went myself to the baggage before the loading fordeparture, and arranged a sheltering awning over the cradle. Then to makepeace, I embraced my little friend. But as soon as we were on the march, she furiously tore off the canvas with which I had covered the cradle. Michel put it all in place again, and there was a new revolt. In short, itwas necessary to yield because she wanted to be able to lean outside ofher box, under the fiery sun, to look at the head of the column, of whichI had the command. I saw this on arriving at the resting place. ThenMichel brought her under my tent. She had not yet fallen asleep, butfollowed with her eyes all of my movements, with a grave air, without asmile, or gleam of mischief. 

"She refused to eat and drink; the next day she was ill, with sunken eyesand body burning with fever. When the major wished to give her medicineshe refused to take it and ground her teeth together to keep fromswallowing. 

"There remained still six days' march before arriving at Oran. I wanted togive her into the care of the nuns. She died before I could do so, verysuddenly, with a severe attack of meningitis. She never wanted to see meagain. She was buried under a clump of African shrubs near Geryville, inher little campaign cradle. And do you know what was found in her cradle?The charred skeleton of the poor chameleon, which had been the indirectcause of her death. Before leaving the bivouac, where she had committedher crime, she had picked it out of the glowing embers, and brought itinto the cradle, and that is why her little fingers were burned. Since thebeginning of the meningitis the major had never been able to explain thecause of these burns. "

Robert was silent for an instant, then murmured: "Poor little one! I feelremorseful. If I had not given her that blow. . . . Who knows?. . . She wouldperhaps be living still. . . . 

"My story is sad, is it not? Ah, well, it is still the sweetest of myAfrican memories. War is beautiful! Eh?"

And Robert shrugged his shoulders. . . . 

THE LAST LESSON

BY ALPHONSE DAUDET

I started for school very late that morning and was in great dread of ascolding, especially because M. Hamel had said that he would question uson participles, and I did not know the first word about them. For a momentI thought of running away and spending the day out of doors. It was sowarm, so bright! The birds were chirping at the edge of the woods; and inthe open field back of the saw-mill the Prussian soldiers were drilling. It was all much more tempting than the rule for participles, but I had thestrength to resist, and hurried off to school. 

When I passed the town hall there was a crowd in front of thebulletin-board. For the last two years all our bad news had come fromthere--the lost battles, the draft, the orders of the commandingofficer--and I thought to myself, without stopping:

"What can be the matter now?"

Then, as I hurried by as fast as I could go, the blacksmith, Wachter, whowas there, with his apprentice, reading the bulletin, called after me:

"Don't go so fast, bub; you'll get to your school in plenty of time!"

I thought he was making fun of me, and reached M. Hamel's little gardenall out of breath. 

Usually, when school began, there was a great bustle, which could be heardout in the street, the opening and closing of desks, lessons repeated inunison, very loud, with our hands over our ears to understand better, andthe teacher's great ruler rapping on the table. But now it was all sostill! I had counted on the commotion to get to my desk without beingseen; but, of course, that day everything had to be as quiet as Sundaymorning. Through the window I saw my classmates, already in their places, and M. Hamel walking up and down with his terrible iron ruler under hisarm. I had to open the door and go in before everybody. You can imaginehow I blushed and how frightened I was. 

But nothing happened, M. Hamel saw me and said very kindly:

"Go to your place quickly, little Franz. We were beginning without you. "

I jumped over the bench and sat down at my desk. Not till then, when I hadgot a little over my fright, did I see that our teacher had on hisbeautiful green coat, his frilled shirt, and the little black silk cap, all embroidered, that he never wore except on inspection and prize days. Besides, the whole school seemed so strange and solemn. But the thing thatsurprised me most was to see, on the back benches that were always empty, the village people sitting quietly like ourselves; old Hauser, with histhree-cornered hat, the former mayor, the former postmaster, and severalothers besides. Everybody looked sad; and Hauser had brought an oldprimer, thumbed at the edges, and he held it open on his knees with hisgreat spectacles lying across the pages. 

While I was wondering about it all, M. Hamel mounted his chair, and, inthe same grave and gentle tone which he had used to me, said:

"My children, this is the last lesson I shall give you. The order has comefrom Berlin to teach only German in the schools of Alsace and Lorraine. The new master comes to-morrow. This is your last French lesson. I wantyou to be very attentive. "

What a thunder-clap these words were to me!

Oh, the wretches; that was what they had put up at the town-hall!

My last French lesson! Why, I hardly knew how to write! I should neverlearn any more! I must stop there, then! Oh, how sorry I was for notlearning my lessons, for seeking birds' eggs, or going sliding on theSaar! My books, that had seemed such a nuisance a while ago, so heavy tocarry, my grammar, and my history of the saints, were old friends now thatI couldn't give up. And M. Hamel, too; the idea that he was going away, that I should never see him again, made me forget all about his ruler andhow cranky he was. 

Poor man! It was in honor of this last lesson that he had put on his fineSunday-clothes, and now I understood why the old men of the village weresitting there in the back of the room. It was because they were sorry, too, that they had not gone to school more. It was their way of thankingour master for his forty years of faithful service and of showing theirrespect for the country that was theirs no more. 

While I was thinking of all this, I heard my name called. It was my turnto recite. What would I not have given to be able to say that dreadfulrule for the participle all through, very loud and clear, and without onemistake? But I got mixed up on the first words and stood there, holding onto my desk, my heart beating, and not daring to look up. I heard M. Hamelsay to me:

"I won't scold you, little Franz; you must feel bad enough. See how it is!Every day we have said to ourselves: 'Bah! I've plenty of time. I'll learnit to-morrow. ' And now you see where we've come out. Ah, that's the greattrouble with Alsace; she puts off learning till to-morrow. Now thosefellows out there will have the right to say to you: 'How is it; youpretend to be Frenchmen, and yet you can neither speak nor write your ownlanguage?' But you are not the worst, poor little Franz. We've all a greatdeal to reproach ourselves with. 

"Your parents were not anxious enough to have you learn. They preferred toput you to work on a farm or at the mills, so as to have a little moremoney. And I? I've been to blame also. Have I not often sent you to watermy flowers instead of learning your lessons? And when I wanted to gofishing, did I not just give you a holiday?"

Then, from one thing to another, M. Hamel went on to talk of the Frenchlanguage, saying that it was the most beautiful language in the world--theclearest, the most logical; that we must guard it among us and neverforget it, because when a people are enslaved, as long as they hold fastto their language it is as if they had the key to their prison. Then heopened a grammar and read us our lesson. I was amazed to see how well Iunderstood it. All he said seemed so easy, so easy! I think, too, that Ihad never listened so carefully, and that he had never explainedeverything with so much patience. It seemed almost as if the poor manwanted to give us all he knew before going away, and to put it all intoour heads at one stroke. 

After the grammar, we had a lesson in writing. That day M. Hamel had newcopies for us, written in a beautiful round hand: France, Alsace, France, Alsace. They looked like little flags floating everywhere in theschool-room, hung from the rod at the top of our desks. You ought to haveseen how every one set to work, and how quiet it was! The only sound wasthe scratching of the pens over the paper. Once some beetles flew in; butnobody paid any attention to them, not even the littlest ones, who workedright on tracing their fish-hooks, as if that was French, too. On the roofthe pigeons cooed very low, and I thought to myself:

"Will they make them sing in German, even the pigeons?"

Whenever I looked up from my writing I saw M. Hamel sitting motionless inhis chair and gazing first at one thing, then at another, as if he wantedto fix in his mind just how everything looked in that little school-room. Fancy! For forty years he had been there in the same place, with hisgarden outside the window and his class in front of him, just like that. Only the desks and benches had been worn smooth; the walnut-trees in thegarden were taller, and the hop-vine, that he had planted himself twinedabout the windows to the roof. How it must have broken his heart to leaveit all, poor man; to hear his sister moving about in the room above, packing their trunks! For they must leave the country next day. 

But he had the courage to hear every lesson to the very last. After thewriting, we had a lesson in history, and then the babies chanted their ba, be, bi, bo, bu. Down there at the back of the room old Hauser had put onhis spectacles and, holding his primer in both hands, spelled the letterswith them. You could see that he, too, was crying; his voice trembled withemotion, and it was so funny to hear him that we all wanted to laugh andcry. Ah, how well I remember it, that last lesson!

All at once the church-clock struck twelve. Then the Angelus. At the samemoment the trumpets of the Prussians, returning from drill, sounded underour windows. M. Hamel stood up, very pale, in his chair. I never saw himlook so tall. 

"My friends, " said he, "I--I--" But something choked him. He could not goon. 

Then he turned to the blackboard, took a piece of chalk, and, bearing onwith all his might, he wrote as large as he could:

"Vive La France!"

Then he stopped and leaned his head against the wall, and, without a word, he made a gesture to us with his hand; "School is dismissed--you may go. "

CROISILLES

BY ALFRED DE MUSSET

I

At the beginning of the reign of Louis XV. , a young man named Croisilles, son of a goldsmith, was returning from Paris to Havre, his native town. Hehad been intrusted by his father with the transaction of some business, and his trip to the great city having turned out satisfactorily, the joyof bringing good news caused him to walk the sixty leagues more gaily andbriskly than was his wont; for, though he had a rather large sum of moneyin his pocket, he travelled on foot for pleasure. He was a good-temperedfellow, and not without wit, but so very thoughtless and flighty thatpeople looked upon him as being rather weak-minded. His doublet buttonedawry, his periwig flying to the wind, his hat under his arm, he followedthe banks of the Seine, at times finding enjoyment in his own thoughts andagain indulging in snatches of song; up at daybreak, supping at waysideinns, and always charmed with this stroll of his through one of the mostbeautiful regions of France. Plundering the apple-trees of Normandy on hisway, he puzzled his brain to find rhymes (for all these rattlepates aremore or less poets), and tried hard to turn out a madrigal for a certainfair damsel of his native place. She was no less than a daughter of afermier-général, Mademoiselle Godeau, the pearl of Havre, a rich heiress, and much courted. Croisilles was not received at M. Godeau's otherwisethan in a casual sort of way, that is to say, he had sometimes himselftaken there articles of jewelry purchased at his father's. M. Godeau, whose somewhat vulgar surname ill-fitted his immense fortune, avengedhimself by his arrogance for the stigma of his birth, and showed himselfon all occasions enormously and pitilessly rich. He certainly was not theman to allow the son of a goldsmith to enter his drawing-room; but, asMademoiselle Godeau had the most beautiful eyes in the world, andCroisilles was not ill-favored, and as nothing can prevent a fine fellowfrom falling in love with a pretty girl, Croisilles adored MademoiselleGodeau, who did not seem vexed thereat. Thus was he thinking of her as heturned his steps toward Havre; and, as he had never reflected seriouslyupon anything, instead of thinking of the invincible obstacles whichseparated him from his lady-love, he busied himself only with finding arhyme for the Christian name she bore. Mademoiselle Godeau was calledJulie, and the rhyme was found easily enough. So Croisilles, havingreached Honfleur, embarked with a satisfied heart, his money and hismadrigal in his pocket, and as soon as he jumped ashore ran to thepaternal house. 

He found the shop closed, and knocked again and again, not withoutastonishment and apprehension, for it was not a holiday; but nobody came. He called his father, but in vain. He went to a neighbor's to ask what hadhappened; instead of replying, the neighbor turned away, as though notwishing to recognize him. Croisilles repeated his questions; he learnedthat his father, his affairs having long been in an embarrassed condition, had just become bankrupt, and had fled to America, abandoning to hiscreditors all that he possessed. 

Not realizing as yet the extent of his misfortune, Croisilles feltoverwhelmed by the thought that he might never again see his father. Itseemed to him incredible that he should be thus suddenly abandoned; hetried to force an entrance into the store; but was given to understandthat the official seals had been affixed; so he sat down on a stone, andgiving way to his grief, began to weep piteously, deaf to the consolationsof those around him, never ceasing to call his father's name, though heknew him to be already far away. At last he rose, ashamed at seeing acrowd about him, and, in the most profound despair, turned his stepstowards the harbor. 

On reaching the pier, he walked straight before him like a man in atrance, who knows neither where he is going nor what is to become of him. He saw himself irretrievably lost, possessing no longer a shelter, nomeans of rescue and, of course, no longer any friends. Alone, wandering onthe sea-shore, he felt tempted to drown himself, then and there. Just atthe moment when, yielding to this thought, he was advancing to the edge ofa high cliff, an old servant named Jean, who had served his family for anumber of years, arrived on the scene. 

"Ah! my poor Jean!" he exclaimed, "you know all that has happened since Iwent away. Is it possible that my father could leave us without warning, without farewell?"

"He is gone, " answered Jean, "but indeed not without saying good-bye toyou. "

At the same time he drew from his pocket a letter, which he gave to hisyoung master. Croisilles recognized the handwriting of his father, and, before opening the letter, kissed it rapturously; but it contained only afew words. Instead of feeling his trouble softened, it seemed to the youngman still harder to bear. Honorable until then, and known as such, the oldgentleman, ruined by an unforeseen disaster (the bankruptcy of a partner), had left for his son nothing but a few commonplace words of consolation, and no hope, except, perhaps, that vague hope without aim or reason whichconstitutes, it is said, the last possession one loses. 

"Jean, my friend, you carried me in your arms, " said Croisilles, when hehad read the letter, "and you certainly are to-day the only being wholoves me at all; it is a very sweet thing to me, but a very sad one foryou; for, as sure as my father embarked there, I will throw myself intothe same sea which is bearing him away; not before you nor at once, butsome day I will do it, for I am lost. "

"What can you do?" replied Jean, not seeming to have understood, butholding fast to the skirt of Croisilles' coat; "What can you do, my dearmaster? Your father was deceived; he was expecting money which did notcome, and it was no small amount either. Could he stay here? I have seenhim, sir, as he made his fortune, during the thirty years that I servedhim. I have seen him working, attending to his business, the crown-piecescoming in one by one. He was an honorable man, and skilful; they took acruel advantage of him. Within the last few days, I was still there, andas fast as the crowns came in, I saw them go out of the shop again. Yourfather paid all he could, for a whole day, and, when his desk was empty, he could not help telling me, pointing to a drawer where but six francsremained: 'There were a hundred thousand francs there this morning!' Thatdoes not look like a rascally failure, sir? There is nothing in it thatcan dishonor you. "

"I have no more doubt of my father's integrity, " answered Croisilles, "than I have of his misfortune. Neither do I doubt his affection. But Iwish I could have kissed him, for what is to become of me? I am notaccustomed to poverty, I have not the necessary cleverness to build up myfortune. And, if I had it, my father is gone. It took him thirty years, how long would it take me to repair this disaster? Much longer. And willhe be living then? Certainly not; he will die over there, and I cannoteven go and find him; I can join him only by dying. "

Utterly distressed as Croisilles was, he possessed much religious feeling. Although his despondency made him wish for death, he hesitated to take hislife. At the first words of this interview, he had taken hold of oldJean's arm, and thus both returned to the town. When they had entered thestreets and the sea was no longer so near:

"It seems to me, sir, " said Jean, "that a good man has a right to live andthat a misfortune proves nothing. Since your father has not killedhimself, thank God, how can you think of dying? Since there is no dishonorin his case, and all the town knows it is so, what would they think ofyou? That you felt unable to endure poverty. It would be neither brave norChristian; for, at the very worst, what is there to frighten you? Thereare plenty of people born poor, and who have never had either mother orfather to help them on. I know that we are not all alike, but, after all, nothing is impossible to God. What would you do in such a case? Yourfather was not born rich, far from it, --meaning no offence--and that isperhaps what consoles him now. If you had been here, this last month, itwould have given you courage. Yes, sir, a man may be ruined, nobody issecure from bankruptcy; but your father, I make bold to say, has bornehimself through it all like a man, though he did leave us so hastily. Butwhat could he do? It is not every day that a vessel starts for America. Iaccompanied him to the wharf, and if you had seen how sad he was! How hecharged me to take care of you; to send him news from you!--Sir, it is aright poor idea you have, that throwing the helve after the hatchet. Everyone has his time of trial in this world, and I was a soldier before I wasa servant. I suffered severely at the time, but I was young; I was of yourage, sir, and it seemed to me that Providence could not have spoken Hislast word to a young man of twenty-five. Why do you wish to prevent thekind God from repairing the evil that has befallen you? Give Him time, andall will come right. If I might advise you, I would say, just wait two orthree years, and I will answer for it, you will come out all right. It isalways easy to go out of this world. Why will you seize an unluckymoment?"

While Jean was thus exerting himself to persuade his master, the latterwalked in silence, and, as those who suffer often do, was looking this wayand that as though seeking for something which might bind him to life. Aschance would have it, at this juncture, Mademoiselle Godeau, the daughterof the fermier-général, happened to pass with her governess. The mansionin which she lived was not far distant; Croisilles saw her enter it. Thismeeting produced on him more effect than all the reasonings in the world. I have said that he was rather erratic, and nearly always yielded to thefirst impulse. Without hesitating an instant, and without explanation, hesuddenly left the arm of his old servant, and crossing the street, knockedat Monsieur Godeau's door. 

II

When we try to picture to ourselves, nowadays, what was called a"financier" in times gone by, we invariably imagine enormous corpulence, short legs, a gigantic wig, and a broad face with a triple chin, --and itis not without reason that we have become accustomed to form such apicture of such a personage. Everyone knows to what great abuses the royaltax-farming led, and it seems as though there were a law of nature whichrenders fatter than the rest of mankind those who fatten, not only upontheir own laziness, but also upon the work of others. 

Monsieur Godeau, among financiers, was one of the most classical to befound, --that is to say, one of the fattest. At the present time he had thegout, which was nearly as fashionable in his day as the nervous headacheis in ours. Stretched upon a lounge, his eyes half-closed, he was coddlinghimself in the coziest corner of a dainty boudoir. The panel-mirrors whichsurrounded him, majestically duplicated on every side his enormous person;bags filled with gold covered the table; around him, the furniture, thewainscot, the doors, the locks, the mantel-piece, the ceiling were gilded;so was his coat. I do not know but that his brain was gilded too. He wascalculating the issue of a little business affair which could not fail tobring him a few thousand louis; and was even deigning to smile over it tohimself when Croisilles was announced. The young man entered with anhumble, but resolute air, and with every outward manifestation of thatinward tumult with which we find no difficulty in crediting a man who islonging to drown himself. Monsieur Godeau was a little surprised at thisunexpected visit; then he thought his daughter had been buying sometrifle, and was confirmed in that thought by seeing her appear almost atthe same time with the young man. He made a sign to Croisilles not to sitdown but to speak. The young lady seated herself on a sofa, andCroisilles, remaining standing, expressed himself in these terms:

"Sir, my father has failed. The bankruptcy of a partner has forced him tosuspend his payments and unable to witness his own shame he has fled toAmerica, after having paid his last sou to his creditors. I was absentwhen all this happened; I have just come back and have known of theseevents only two hours. I am absolutely without resources, and determinedto die. It is very probable that, on leaving your house, I shall throwmyself into the water. In all probability, I would already have done so, if I had not chanced to meet, at the very moment, this young lady, yourdaughter. I love her, from the very depths of my heart; for two years Ihave been in love with her, and my silence, until now, proves better thananything else the respect I feel for her; but to-day, in declaring mypassion to you, I fulfill an imperative duty, and I would think I wasoffending God, if, before giving myself over to death, I did not come toask you Mademoiselle Julie in marriage. I have not the slightest hope thatyou will grant this request; but I have to make it, nevertheless, for I ama good Christian, sir, and when a good Christian sees himself come to sucha point of misery that he can no longer suffer life, he must at least, toextenuate his crime, exhaust all the chances which remain to him beforetaking the final and fatal step. "

At the beginning of this speech, Monsieur Godeau had supposed that theyoung man came to borrow money, and so he prudently threw his handkerchiefover the bags that were lying around him, preparing in advance a refusal, and a polite one, for he always felt some good-will toward the father ofCroisilles. But when he had heard the young man to the end, and understoodthe purport of his visit, he never doubted one moment that the poor fellowhad gone completely mad. He was at first tempted to ring the bell and havehim put out; but, noticing his firm demeanor, his determined look, thefermier-général took pity on so inoffensive a case of insanity. He merelytold his daughter to retire, so that she might be no longer exposed tohearing such improprieties. 

While Croisilles was speaking, Mademoiselle Godeau had blushed as a peachin the month of August. At her father's bidding, she retired, the youngman making her a profound bow, which she did not seem to notice. Leftalone with Croisilles, Monsieur Godeau coughed, rose, then dropped againupon the cushions, and, trying to assume a paternal air, delivered himselfto the following effect:

"My boy, " said he, "I am willing to believe that you are not poking fun atme, but you have really lost your head. I not only excuse this proceeding, but I consent not to punish you for it. I am sorry that your poor devil ofa father has become bankrupt and has skipped. It is indeed very sad, and Iquite understand that such a misfortune should affect your brain. Besides, I wish to do something for you; so take this stool and sit down there. "

"It is useless, sir, " answered Croisilles. "If you refuse me, as I see youdo, I have nothing left but to take my leave. I wish you every goodfortune. "

"And where are you going?"

"To write to my father and say good-bye to him. "

"Eh! the devil! Any one would swear you were speaking the truth. I'll bedamned if I don't think you are going to drown yourself. "

"Yes, sir; at least I think so, if my courage does not forsake me. "

"That's a bright idea! Fie on you! How can you be such a fool? Sit down, sir, I tell you, and listen to me. "

Monsieur Godeau had just made a very wise reflection, which was that it isnever agreeable to have it said that a man, whoever he may be, threwhimself into the water on leaving your house. He therefore coughed oncemore, took his snuff-box, cast a careless glance upon his shirt-frill, andcontinued:

"It is evident that you are nothing but a simpleton, a fool, a regularbaby. You do not know what you are saying. You are ruined, that's what hashappened to you. But, my dear friend, all that is not enough; one mustreflect upon the things of this world. If you came to ask me--well, goodadvice, for instance, --I might give it to you; but what is it you areafter? You are in love with my daughter?"

"Yes, sir, and I repeat to you, that I am far from supposing that you cangive her to me in marriage; but as there is nothing in the world but that, which could prevent me from dying, if you believe in God, as I do notdoubt you do, you will understand the reason that brings me here. "

"Whether I believe in God or not, is no business of yours. I do not intendto be questioned. Answer me first: where have you seen my daughter?"

"In my father's shop, and in this house, when I brought jewelry forMademoiselle Julie. "

"Who told you her name was Julie? What are we coming to, great heavens!But be her name Julie or Javotte, do you know what is wanted in any onewho aspires to the hand of the daughter of a fermier-général?"

"No, I am completely ignorant of it, unless it is to be as rich as she. "

"Something more is necessary, my boy; you must have a name. "

"Well! my name is Croisilles. "

"Your name is Croisilles, poor wretch! Do you call that a name?"

"Upon my soul and conscience, sir, it seems to me to be as good a name asGodeau. "

"You are very impertinent, sir, and you shall rue it. "

"Indeed, sir, do not be angry; I had not the least idea of offending you. If you see in what I said anything to wound you, and wish to punish me forit, there is no need to get angry. Have I not told you that on leavinghere I am going straight to drown myself?"

Although M. Godeau had promised himself to send Croisilles away as gentlyas possible, in order to avoid all scandal, his prudence could not resistthe vexation of his wounded pride. The interview to which he had to resignhimself was monstrous enough in itself; it may be imagined, then, what hefelt at hearing himself spoken to in such terms. 

"Listen, " he said, almost beside himself, and determined to close thematter at any cost. "You are not such a fool that you cannot understand aword of common sense. Are you rich? No. Are you noble? Still less so. Whatis this frenzy that brings you here? You come to worry me; you think youare doing something clever; you know perfectly well that it is useless;you wish to make me responsible for your death. Have you any right tocomplain of me? Do I owe a son to your father? Is it my fault that youhave come to this? Mon Dieu! When a man is going to drown himself, hekeeps quiet about it--"

"That is what I am going to do now. I am your very humble servant. "

"One moment! It shall not be said that you had recourse to me in vain. There, my boy, here are three louis d'or: go and have dinner in thekitchen, and let me hear no more about you. "

"Much obliged; I am not hungry, and I have no use for your money. "

So Croisilles left the room, and the financier, having set his conscienceat rest by the offer he had just made, settled himself more comfortably inhis chair, and resumed his meditations. 

Mademoiselle Godeau, during this time, was not so far away as one mightsuppose; she had, it is true, withdrawn in obedience to her father; but, instead of going to her room, she had remained listening behind the door. If the extravagance of Croisilles seemed incredible to her, still shefound nothing to offend her in it; for love, since the world has existed, has never passed as an insult. On the other hand, as it was not possibleto doubt the despair of the young man, Mademoiselle Godeau found herself avictim, at one and the same time, to the two sentiments most dangerous towomen--compassion and curiosity. When she saw the interview at an end, andCroisilles ready to come out, she rapidly crossed the drawing-room whereshe stood, not wishing to be surprised eavesdropping, and hurried towardsher apartment; but she almost immediately retraced her steps. The ideathat perhaps Croisilles was really going to put an end to his lifetroubled her in spite of herself. Scarcely aware of what she was doing, she walked to meet him; the drawing-room was large, and the two youngpeople came slowly towards each other. Croisilles was as pale as death, and Mademoiselle Godeau vainly sought words to express her feelings. Inpassing beside him, she let fall on the floor a bunch of violets which sheheld in her hand. He at once bent down and picked up the bouquet in orderto give it back to her, but instead of taking it, she passed on withoututtering a word, and entered her father's room. Croisilles, alone again, put the flowers in his breast, and left the house with a troubled heart, not knowing what to think of his adventure. 

III

Scarcely had he taken a few steps in the street, when he saw his faithfulfriend Jean running towards him with a joyful face. 

"What has happened?" he asked; "have you news to tell me?"

"Yes, " replied Jean; "I have to tell you that the seals have beenofficially broken and that you can enter your home. All your father'sdebts being paid, you remain the owner of the house. It is true that allthe money and all the jewels have been taken away; but at least the housebelongs to you, and you have not lost everything. I have been runningabout for an hour, not knowing what had become of you, and I hope, my dearmaster, that you will now be wise enough to take a reasonable course. "

"What course do you wish me to take?"

"Sell this house, sir, it is all your fortune. It will bring you aboutthirty thousand francs. With that at any rate you will not die of hunger;and what is to prevent you from buying a little stock in trade, andstarting business for yourself? You would surely prosper. "

"We shall see about this, " answered Croisilles, as he hurried to thestreet where his home was. He was eager to see the paternal roof again. But when he arrived there so sad a spectacle met his gaze, that he hadscarcely the courage to enter. The shop was in utter disorder, the roomsdeserted, his father's alcove empty. Everything presented to his eyes thewretchedness of utter ruin. Not a chair remained; all the drawers had beenransacked, the till broken open, the chest taken away; nothing had escapedthe greedy search of creditors and lawyers; who, after having pillaged thehouse, had gone, leaving the doors open, as though to testify to allpassers-by how neatly their work was done. 

"This, then, " exclaimed Croisilles, "is all that remains after thirtyyears of work and a respectable life, --and all through the failure to haveready, on a given day, money enough to honor a signature imprudentlygiven!"

While the young man walked up and down given over to the saddest thoughts, Jean seemed very much embarrassed. He supposed that his master was withoutready money, and that he might perhaps not even have dined. He wastherefore trying to think of some way to question him on the subject, andto offer him, in case of need, some part of his savings. After havingtortured his mind for a quarter of an hour to try and hit upon some way ofleading up to the subject, he could find nothing better than to come up toCroisilles, and ask him, in a kindly voice:

"Sir, do you still like roast partridges?"

The poor man uttered this question in a tone at once so comical and sotouching, that Croisilles, in spite of his sadness, could not refrain fromlaughing. 

"And why do you ask me that?" said he. 

"My wife, " replied Jean, "is cooking me some for dinner, sir, and if bychance you still liked them--"

Croisilles had completely forgotten till now the money which he wasbringing back to his father. Jean's proposal reminded him that his pocketswere full of gold. 

"I thank you with all my heart, " said he to the old man, "and I acceptyour dinner with pleasure; but, if you are anxious about my fortune, bereassured. I have more money than I need to have a good supper thisevening, which you, in your turn, will share with me. "

Saying this, he laid upon the mantel four well-filled purses, which heemptied, each containing fifty louis. 

"Although this sum does not belong to me, " he added, "I can use it for aday or two. To whom must I go to have it forwarded to my father?"

"Sir, " replied Jean, eagerly, "your father especially charged me to tellyou that this money belongs to you, and, if I did not speak of it before, it was because I did not know how your affairs in Paris had turned out. Where he has gone your father will want for nothing; he will lodge withone of your correspondents, who will receive him most gladly; he hasmoreover taken with him enough for his immediate needs, for he was quitesure of still leaving behind more than was necessary to pay all his justdebts. All that he has left, sir, is yours; he says so himself in hisletter, and I am especially charged to repeat it to you. That gold is, therefore, legitimately your property, as this house in which we are now. I can repeat to you the very words your father said to me on embarking:'May my son forgive me for leaving him; may he remember that I am still inthe world only to love me, and let him use what remains after my debts arepaid as though it were his inheritance. ' Those, sir, are his ownexpressions; so put this back in your pocket, and, since you accept mydinner, pray let us go home. "

The honest joy which shone in Jean's eyes, left no doubt in the mind ofCroisilles. The words of his father had moved him to such a point that hecould not restrain his tears; on the other hand, at such a moment, fourthousand francs were no bagatelle. As to the house, it was not anavailable resource, for one could realize on it only by selling it, andthat was both difficult and slow. All this, however, could not but make aconsiderable change in the situation the young man found himself in; so hefelt suddenly moved--shaken in his dismal resolution, and, so to speak, both sad and, at the same time, relieved of much of his distress. Afterhaving closed the shutters of the shop, he left the house with Jean, andas he once more crossed the town, could not help thinking how small athing our affections are, since they sometimes serve to make us find anunforeseen joy in the faintest ray of hope. It was with this thought thathe sat down to dinner beside his old servant, who did not fail, during therepast, to make every effort to cheer him. 

Heedless people have a happy fault. They are easily cast down, but theyhave not even the trouble to console themselves, so changeable is theirmind. It would be a mistake to think them, on that account, insensible orselfish; on the contrary they perhaps feel more keenly than others and arebut too prone to blow their brains out in a moment of despair; but, thismoment once passed, if they are still alive, they must dine, they musteat, they must drink, as usual; only to melt into tears again at bed-time. Joy and pain do not glide over them but pierce them through like arrows. Kind, hot-headed natures which know how to suffer, but not how to lie, through which one can clearly read, --not fragile and empty like glass, butsolid and transparent like rock crystal. 

After having clinked glasses with Jean, Croisilles, instead of drowninghimself, went to the play. Standing at the back of the pit, he drew fromhis bosom Mademoiselle Godeau's bouquet, and, as he breathed the perfumein deep meditation, he began to think in a calmer spirit about hisadventure of the morning. As soon as he had pondered over it for awhile, he saw clearly the truth; that is to say, that the young lady, in leavingthe bouquet in his hands, and in refusing to take it back, had wished togive him a mark of interest; for otherwise this refusal and this silencecould only have been marks of contempt, and such a supposition was notpossible. Croisilles, therefore, judged that Mademoiselle Godeau's heartwas of a softer grain than her father's and he remembered distinctly thatthe young lady's face, when she crossed the drawing-room, had expressed anemotion the more true that it seemed involuntary. But was this emotion oneof love, or only of sympathy? Or was it perhaps something of still lessimportance, --mere commonplace pity? Had Mademoiselle Godeau feared to seehim die--him, Croisilles--or merely to be the cause of the death of a man, no matter what man? Although withered and almost leafless, the bouquetstill retained so exquisite an odor and so brave a look, that in breathingit and looking at it, Croisilles could not help hoping. It was a thingarland of roses round a bunch of violets. What mysterious depths ofsentiment an Oriental might have read in these flowers, by interpretingtheir language! But after all, he need not be an Oriental in this case. The flowers which fall from the breast of a pretty woman, in Europe, as inthe East, are never mute; were they but to tell what they have seen whilereposing in that lovely bosom, it would be enough for a lover, and this, in fact, they do. Perfumes have more than one resemblance to love, andthere are even people who think love to be but a sort of perfume; it istrue the flowers which exhale it are the most beautiful in creation. 

While Croisilles mused thus, paying very little attention to the tragedythat was being acted at the time, Mademoiselle Godeau herself appeared ina box opposite. 

The idea did not occur to the young man that, if she should notice him, she might think it very strange to find the would-be suicide there afterwhat had transpired in the morning. He, on the contrary, bent all hisefforts towards getting nearer to her; but he could not succeed. Afifth-rate actress from Paris had come to play Mérope, and the crowd was sodense that one could not move. For lack of anything better, Croisilles hadto content himself with fixing his gaze upon his lady-love, not liftinghis eyes from her for a moment. He noticed that she seemed pre-occupiedand moody, and that she spoke to every one with a sort of repugnance. Herbox was surrounded, as may be imagined, by all the fops of theneighborhood, each of whom passed several times before her in the gallery, totally unable to enter the box, of which her father filled more thanthree-fourths. Croisilles noticed further that she was not using heropera-glasses, nor was she listening to the play. Her elbows resting onthe balustrade, her chin in her hand, with her far-away look, she seemed, in all her sumptuous apparel, like some statue of Venus disguised enmarquise. The display of her dress and her hair, her rouge, beneath whichone could guess her paleness, all the splendor of her toilet, did but themore distinctly bring out the immobility of her countenance. Never hadCroisilles seen her so beautiful. Having found means, between the acts, toescape from the crush, he hurried off to look at her from the passageleading to her box, and, strange to say, scarcely had he reached it, whenMademoiselle Godeau, who had not stirred for the last hour, turned round. She started slightly as she noticed him and only cast a glance at him;then she resumed her former attitude. Whether that glance expressedsurprise, anxiety, pleasure or love; whether it meant "What, not dead!" or"God be praised! There you are, living!"--I do not pretend to explain. Bethat as it may; at that glance, Croisilles inwardly swore to himself todie or gain her love. 

IV

Of all the obstacles which hinder the smooth course of love, the greatestis, without doubt, what is called false shame, which is indeed a verypotent obstacle. 

Croisilles was not troubled with this unhappy failing, which both prideand timidity combine to produce; he was not one of those who, for wholemonths, hover round the woman they love, like a cat round a caged bird. Assoon as he had given up the idea of drowning himself, he thought only ofletting his dear Julie know that he lived solely for her. But how could hetell her so? Should he present himself a second time at the mansion of thefermier-général, it was but too certain that M. Godeau would have himejected. 

Julie, when she happened to take a walk, never went without her maid; itwas therefore useless to undertake to follow her. To pass the nights underthe windows of one's beloved is a folly dear to lovers, but, in thepresent case, it would certainly prove vain. I said before that Croisilleswas very religious; it therefore never entered his mind to seek to meethis lady-love at church. As the best way, though the most dangerous, is towrite to people when one cannot speak to them in person, he decided on thevery next day to write to the young lady. 

His letter possessed, naturally, neither order nor reason. It readsomewhat as follows:

"Mademoiselle, --Tell me exactly, I beg of you, what fortune one mustpossess to be able to pretend to your hand. I am asking you a strangequestion; but I love you so desperately, that it is impossible for me notto ask it, and you are the only person in the world to whom I can addressit. It seemed to me, last evening, that you looked at me at the play. Ihad wished to die; would to God I were indeed dead, if I am mistaken, andif that look was not meant for me. Tell me if Fate can be so cruel as tolet a man deceive himself in a manner at once so sad and so sweet. Ibelieve that you commanded me to live. You are rich, beautiful. I know it. Your father is arrogant and miserly, and you have a right to be proud; butI love you, and the rest is a dream. Fix your charming eyes on me; thinkof what love can do, when I who suffer so cruelly, who must stand in fearof every thing, feel, nevertheless, an inexpressible joy in writing youthis mad letter, which will perhaps bring down your anger upon me. Butthink also, mademoiselle that you are a little to blame for this, myfolly. Why did you drop that bouquet? Put yourself for an instant, ifpossible, in my place; I dare think that you love me, and I dare ask youto tell me so. Forgive me, I beseech you. I would give my life's blood tobe sure of not offending you, and to see you listening to my love withthat angel smile which belongs only to you. 

"Whatever you may do, your image remains mine; you can remove it only bytearing out my heart. As long as your look lives in my remembrance, aslong as the bouquet keeps a trace of its perfume, as long as a word willtell of love, I will cherish hope. "

Having sealed his letter, Croisilles went out and walked up and down thestreet opposite the Godeau mansion, waiting for a servant to come out. Chance, which always serves mysterious loves, when it can do so withoutcompromising itself, willed it that Mademoiselle Julie's maid should havearranged to purchase a cap on that day. She was going to the milliner'swhen Croisilles accosted her, slipped a louis into her hand, and asked herto take charge of his letter. 

The bargain was soon struck; the servant took the money to pay for her capand promised to do the errand out of gratitude. Croisilles, full of joy, went home and sat at his door awaiting an answer. 

Before speaking of this answer, a word must be said about MademoiselleGodeau. She was not quite free from the vanity of her father, but her goodnature was ever uppermost. She was, in the full meaning of the term, aspoilt child. She habitually spoke very little, and never was she seenwith a needle in her hand; she spent her days at her toilet, and herevenings on the sofa, not seeming to hear the conversation going on aroundher. As regards her dress, she was prodigiously coquettish, and her ownface was surely what she thought most of on earth. A wrinkle in hercollarette, an ink-spot on her finger, would have distressed her; and, when her dress pleased her, nothing can describe the last look which shecast at her mirror before leaving the room. She showed neither taste noraversion for the pleasures in which young ladies usually delight. She wentto balls willingly enough, and renounced going to them without a show oftemper, sometimes without motive. 

The play wearied her, and she was in the constant habit of falling asleepthere. When her father, who worshipped her, proposed to make her somepresent of her own choice, she took an hour to decide, not being able tothink of anything she cared for. When M. Godeau gave a reception or adinner, it often happened that Julie would not appear in the drawing-room, and at such times she passed the evening alone in her own room, in fulldress, walking up and down, her fan in her hand. If a compliment wasaddressed to her, she turned away her head, and if any one attempted topay court to her, she responded only by a look at once so dazzling and soserious as to disconcert even the boldest. Never had a sally made herlaugh; never had an air in an opera, a flight of tragedy, moved her;indeed, never had her heart given a sign of life; and, on seeing her passin all the splendor of her nonchalant loveliness one might have taken herfor a beautiful somnambulist, walking through the world as in a trance. 

So much indifference and coquetry did not seem easy to understand. Somesaid she loved nothing, others that she loved nothing but herself. Asingle word, however, suffices to explain her character, --she was waiting. From the age of fourteen she had heard it ceaselessly repeated thatnothing was so charming as she. She was convinced of this, and that waswhy she paid so much attention to dress. In failing to do honor to her ownperson, she would have thought herself guilty of sacrilege. She walked, inher beauty, so to speak, like a child in its holiday dress; but she wasvery far from thinking that her beauty was to remain useless. 

Beneath her apparent unconcern she had a will, secret, inflexible, and themore potent the better it was concealed. The coquetry of ordinary women, which spends itself in ogling, in simpering, and in smiling, seemed to hera childish, vain, almost contemptible way of fighting with shadows. Shefelt herself in possession of a treasure, and she disdained to stake itpiece by piece; she needed an adversary worthy of herself; but, tooaccustomed to see her wishes anticipated, she did not seek that adversary;it may even be said that she felt astonished at his failing to presenthimself. 

For the four or five years that she had been out in society and hadconscientiously displayed her flowers, her furbelows, and her beautifulshoulders, it seemed to her inconceivable that she had not yet inspiredsome great passion. 

Had she said what was really behind her thoughts, she certainly would havereplied to her many flatterers: "Well! if it is true that I am sobeautiful, why do you not blow your brains out for me?" An answer whichmany other young girls might make, and which more than one who saysnothing hides away in a corner of her heart, not far perhaps from the tipof her tongue. 

What is there, indeed, in the world, more tantalizing for a woman than tobe young, rich, beautiful, to look at herself in her mirror and seeherself charmingly dressed, worthy in every way to please, fully disposedto allow herself to be loved, and to have to say to herself: "I amadmired, I am praised, all the world thinks me charming, but nobody lovesme. My gown is by the best maker, my laces are superb, my coiffure isirreproachable, my face the most beautiful on earth, my figure slender, myfoot prettily turned, and all this helps me to nothing but to go and yawnin the corner of some drawing-room! If a young man speaks to me he treatsme as a child; if I am asked in marriage, it is for my dowry; if somebodypresses my hand in a dance, it is sure to be some provincial fop; as soonas I appear anywhere, I excite a murmur of admiration; but nobody speakslow, in my ear, a word that makes my heart beat. I hear impertinent menpraising me in loud tones, a couple of feet away, and never a look ofhumbly sincere adoration meets mine. Still I have an ardent soul full oflife, and I am not, by any means, only a pretty doll to be shown about, tobe made to dance at a ball, to be dressed by a maid in the morning andundressed at night--beginning the whole thing over again the next day. "

That is what Mademoiselle Godeau had many times said to herself; and therewere hours when that thought inspired her with so gloomy a feeling thatshe remained mute and almost motionless for a whole day. When Croisilleswrote her, she was in just such a fit of ill-humor. She had just beentaking her chocolate and was deep in meditation, stretched upon a lounge, when her maid entered and handed her the letter with a mysterious air. Shelooked at the address, and not recognizing the handwriting, fell again tomusing. 

The maid then saw herself forced to explain what it was, which she didwith a rather disconcerted air, not being at all sure how the young ladywould take the matter. Mademoiselle Godeau listened without moving, thenopened the letter, and cast only a glance at it; she at once asked for asheet of paper, and nonchalantly wrote these few words:

"No, sir, I assure you I am not proud. If you had only a hundred thousandcrowns, I would willingly marry you. "

Such was the reply which the maid at once took to Croisilles, who gave heranother louis for her trouble. 

V

A hundred thousand crowns are not found "in a donkey's hoof-print, " and ifCroisilles had been suspicious he might have thought in readingMademoiselle Godeau's letter that she was either crazy or laughing at him. He thought neither, for he only saw in it that his darling Julie lovedhim, and that he must have a hundred thousand crowns, and he dreamed fromthat moment of nothing but trying to secure them. 

He possessed two hundred louis in cash, plus a house which, as I havesaid, might be worth about thirty thousand francs. What was to be done?How was he to go about transfiguring these thirty-four thousand francs, ata jump, into three hundred thousand. The first idea which came into themind of the young man was to find some way of staking his whole fortune onthe toss-up of a coin, but for that he must sell the house. Croisillestherefore began by putting a notice upon the door, stating that his housewas for sale; then, while dreaming what he would do with the money that hewould get for it, he awaited a purchaser. 

A week went by, then another; not a single purchaser applied. More andmore distressed, Croisilles spent these days with Jean, and despair wastaking possession of him once more, when a Jewish broker rang at the door. 

"This house is for sale, sir, is it not? Are you the owner of it?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And how much is it worth?"

"Thirty thousand francs, I believe; at least I have heard my father sayso. "

The Jew visited all the rooms, went upstairs and down into the cellar, knocking on the walls, counting the steps of the staircase, turning thedoors on their hinges and the keys in their locks, opening and closing thewindows; then, at last, after having thoroughly examined everything, without saying a word and without making the slightest proposal, he bowedto Croisilles and retired. 

Croisilles, who for a whole hour had followed him with a palpitatingheart, as may be imagined, was not a little disappointed at this silentretreat. He thought that perhaps the Jew had wished to give himself timeto reflect and that he would return presently. He waited a week for him, not daring to go out for fear of missing his visit, and looking out of thewindows from morning till night. But it was in vain; the Jew did notreappear. Jean, true to his unpleasant rôle of adviser, brought moralpressure to bear to dissuade his master from selling his house in so hastya manner and for so extravagant a purpose. Dying of impatience, ennui, andlove, Croisilles one morning took his two hundred louis and went out, determined to tempt fortune with this sum, since he could not have more. 

The gaming-houses at that time were not public, and that refinement ofcivilization which enables the first comer to ruin himself at all hours, as soon as the wish enters his mind, had not yet been invented. 

Scarcely was Croisilles in the street before he stopped, not knowing whereto go to stake his money. He looked at the houses of the neighborhood, andeyed them, one after the other, striving to discover suspiciousappearances that might point out to him the object of his search. Agood-looking young man, splendidly dressed, happened to pass. Judging fromhis mien, he was certainly a young man of gentle blood and ample leisure, so Croisilles politely accosted him. 

"Sir, " he said, "I beg your pardon for the liberty I take. I have twohundred louis in my pocket and I am dying either to lose them or win more. Could you not point out to me some respectable place where such things aredone?"

At this rather strange speech the young man burst out laughing. 

"Upon my word, sir!" answered he, "if you are seeking any such wickedplace you have but to follow me, for that is just where I am going. "

Croisilles followed him, and a few steps farther they both entered a houseof very attractive appearance, where they were received hospitably by anold gentleman of the highest breeding. 

Several young men were already seated round a green cloth. Croisillesmodestly took a place there, and in less than an hour his two hundredlouis were gone. 

He came out as sad as a lover can be who thinks himself beloved. He hadnot enough to dine with, but that did not cause him any anxiety. 

"What can I do now, " he asked himself, "to get money? To whom shall Iaddress myself in this town? Who will lend me even a hundred louis on thishouse that I can not sell?"

While he was in this quandary, he met his Jewish broker. He did nothesitate to address him, and, featherhead as he was, did not fail to tellhim the plight he was in. 

The Jew did not much want to buy the house; he had come to see it onlythrough curiosity, or, to speak more exactly, for the satisfaction of hisown conscience, as a passing dog goes into a kitchen, the door of whichstands open, to see if there is anything to steal. But when he sawCroisilles so despondent, so sad, so bereft of all resources, he could notresist the temptation to put himself to some inconvenience, even, in orderto pay for the house. He therefore offered him about one-fourth of itsvalue. Croisilles fell upon his neck, called him his friend and saviour, blindly signed a bargain that would have made one's hair stand on end, and, on the very next day, the possessor of four hundred new louis, heonce more turned his steps toward the gambling-house where he had been sopolitely and speedily ruined the night before. 

On his way, he passed by the wharf. A vessel was about leaving; the windwas gentle, the ocean tranquil. On all sides, merchants, sailors, officersin uniform were coming and going. Porters were carrying enormous bales ofmerchandise. Passengers and their friends were exchanging farewells, smallboats were rowing about in all directions; on every face could be readfear, impatience, or hope; and, amidst all the agitation which surroundedit, the majestic vessel swayed gently to and fro under the wind thatswelled her proud sails. 

"What a grand thing it is, " thought Croisilles, "to risk all one possessesand go beyond the sea, in perilous search of fortune! How it fills me withemotion to look at this vessel setting out on her voyage, loaded with somuch wealth, with the welfare of so many families! What joy to see hercome back again, bringing twice as much as was intrusted to her, returningso much prouder and richer than she went away! Why am I not one of thosemerchants? Why could I not stake my four hundred louis in this way? Thisimmense sea! What a green cloth, on which to boldly tempt fortune! Whyshould I not myself buy a few bales of cloth or silk? What is to preventmy doing so, since I have gold? Why should this captain refuse to takecharge of my merchandise? And who knows? Instead of going and throwingaway this--my little all--in a gambling-house, I might double it, I mighttriple it, perhaps, by honest industry. If Julie truly loves me, she willwait a few years, she will remain true to me until I am able to marry her. Commerce sometimes yields greater profits than one thinks; examples arewanting in this world of wealth gained with astonishing rapidity in thisway on the changing waves--why should Providence not bless an endeavormade for a purpose so laudable, so worthy of His assistance? Among thesemerchants who have accumulated so much and who send their vessels to theends of the world, more than one has begun with a smaller sum than I havenow. They have prospered with the help of God; why should I not prosper inmy turn? It seems to me as though a good wind were filling these sails, and this vessel inspires confidence. Come! the die is cast; I will speakto the captain, who seems to be a good fellow; I will then write to Julie, and set out to become a clever and successful trader. "

The greatest danger incurred by those who are habitually but half crazy, is that of becoming, at times, altogether so. 

The poor fellow, without further deliberation, put his whim intoexecution. To find goods to buy, when one has money and knows nothingabout the goods, is the easiest thing in the world. 

The captain, to oblige Croisilles, took him to one of his friends, amanufacturer, who sold him as much cloth and silk as he could pay for. Thewhole of it, loaded upon a cart, was promptly taken on board. Croisilles, delighted and full of hope, had himself written in large letters his nameupon the bales. He watched them being put on board with inexpressible joy;the hour of departure soon came, and the vessel weighed anchor. 

VI

I need not say that in this transaction, Croisilles had kept no money inhand. His house was sold; and there remained to him, for his sole fortune, the clothes he had on his back;--no home, and not a son. With the bestwill possible, Jean could not suppose that his master was reduced to suchan extremity; Croisilles was not too proud, but too thoughtless to tellhim of it. So he determined to sleep under the starry vault, and as forhis meals, he made the following calculation; he presumed that the vesselwhich bore his fortune would be six months before coming back to Havre;Croisilles, therefore, not without regret, sold a gold watch his fatherhad given him, and which he had fortunately kept; he got thirty-six livresfor it. That was sufficient to live on for about six months, at the rateof four sous a day. He did not doubt that it would be enough, and, reassured for the present, he wrote to Mademoiselle Godeau to inform herof what he had done. He was very careful in his letter not to speak of hisdistress; he announced to her, on the contrary, that he had undertaken amagnificent commercial enterprise, of the speedy and fortunate issue ofwhich there could be no doubt; he explained to her that La Fleurette, amerchant-vessel of one hundred and fifty tons, was carrying to the Baltichis cloths and his silks, and implored her to remain faithful to him for ayear, reserving to himself the right of asking, later on, for a furtherdelay, while, for his part, he swore eternal love to her. 

When Mademoiselle Godeau received this letter she was sitting before thefire, and had in her hand, using it as a screen, one of those bulletinswhich are printed in seaports, announcing the arrival and departure ofvessels, and which also report disasters at sea. It had never occurred toher, as one can well imagine, to take an interest in this sort of thing;she had in fact never glanced at any of these sheets. 

The perusal of Croisilles' letter prompted her to read the bulletin shehad been holding in her hand; the first word that caught her eye was noother than the name of La Fleurette. 

The vessel had been wrecked on the coast of France, on the very nightfollowing its departure. The crew had barely escaped, but all the cargowas lost. 

Mademoiselle Godeau, at this news, no longer remembered that Croisilleshad made to her an avowal of his poverty; she was as heartbroken as thougha million had been at stake. 

In an instant, the horrors of the tempest, the fury of the winds, thecries of the drowning, the ruin of the man who loved her, presentedthemselves to her mind like a scene in a romance. The bulletin and theletter fell from her hands. She rose in great agitation, and, with heavingbreast and eyes brimming with tears, paced up and down, determined to act, and asking herself how she should act. 

There is one thing that must be said in justice to love; it is that thestronger, the clearer, the simpler the considerations opposed to it, in aword, the less common sense there is in the matter, the wilder does thepassion become and the more does the lover love. It is one of the mostbeautiful things under heaven, this irrationality of the heart. We shouldnot be worth much without it. After having walked about the room (withoutforgetting either her dear fan or the passing glance at the mirror), Julieallowed herself to sink once more upon her lounge. Whoever had seen her atthis moment would have looked upon a lovely sight; her eyes sparkled, hercheeks were on fire; she sighed deeply, and murmured in a delicioustransport of joy and pain:

"Poor fellow! He has ruined himself for me!"

Independently of the fortune which she could expect from her father, Mademoiselle Godeau had in her own right the property her mother had lefther. She had never thought of it. 

At this moment, for the first time in her life, she remembered that shecould dispose of five hundred thousand francs. This thought brought asmile to her lips; a project, strange, bold, wholly feminine, almost asmad as Croisilles himself, entered her head;--she weighed the idea in hermind for some time, then decided to act upon it at once. 

She began by inquiring whether Croisilles had any relatives or friends;the maid was sent out in all directions to find out. 

Having made minute inquiries in all quarters, she discovered, on thefourth floor of an old rickety house, a half-crippled aunt, who neverstirred from her arm-chair, and had not been out for four or five years. This poor woman, very old, seemed to have been left in the world expresslyas a specimen of hungry misery. Blind, gouty, almost deaf, she lived alonein a garret; but a gayety, stronger than misfortune and illness, sustainedher at eighty years of age, and made her still love life. Her neighborsnever passed her door without going in to see her, and the antiquatedtunes she hummed enlivened all the girls of the neighborhood. Shepossessed a little annuity which sufficed to maintain her; as long as daylasted, she knitted. She did not know what had happened since the death ofLouis XIV. 

It was to this worthy person that Julie had herself privately conducted. She donned for the occasion all her finery; feathers, laces, ribbons, diamonds, nothing was spared. She wanted to be fascinating; but the realsecret of her beauty, in this case, was the whim that was carrying heraway. She went up the steep, dark staircase which led to the good lady'schamber, and, after the most graceful bow, spoke somewhat as follows:

"You have, madame, a nephew, called Croisilles, who loves me and has askedfor my hand; I love him too and wish to marry him; but my father, MonsieurGodeau, fermier-général of this town, refuses his consent, because yournephew is not rich. I would not, for the world, give occasion to scandal, nor cause trouble to anybody; I would therefore never think of disposingof myself without the consent of my family. I come to ask you a favor, which I beseech you to grant me. You must come yourself and propose thismarriage to my father. I have, thank God, a little fortune which is quiteat your disposal; you may take possession, whenever you see fit, of fivehundred thousand francs at my notary's. You will say that this sum belongsto your nephew, which in fact it does. It is not a present that I ammaking him, it is a debt which I am paying, for I am the cause of the ruinof Croisilles, and it is but just that I should repair it. My father willnot easily give in; you will be obliged to insist and you must have alittle courage; I, for my part, will not fail. As nobody on earthexcepting myself has any right to the sum of which I am speaking to you, nobody will ever know in what way this amount will have passed into yourhands. You are not very rich yourself, I know, and you may fear thatpeople will be astonished to see you thus endowing your nephew; butremember that my father does not know you, that you show yourself verylittle in town, and that, consequently it will be easy for you to pretendthat you have just arrived from some journey. This step will doubtless besome exertion to you; you will have to leave your arm-chair and take alittle trouble; but you will make two people happy, madame, and if youhave ever known love, I hope you will not refuse me. "

The old lady, during this discourse, had been in turn surprised, anxious, touched, and delighted. The last words persuaded her. 

"Yes, my child, " she repeated several times, "I know what it is, --I knowwhat it is. "

As she said this she made an effort to rise; her feeble limbs could barelysupport her; Julie quickly advanced and put out her hand to help her; byan almost involuntary movement they found themselves, in an instant, ineach other's arms. 

A treaty was at once concluded; a warm kiss sealed it in advance, and thenecessary and confidential consultation followed without further trouble. 

All the explanations having been made, the good lady drew from herwardrobe a venerable gown of taffeta, which had been her wedding-dress. This antique piece of property was not less than fifty years old; but nota spot, not a grain of dust had disfigured it; Julie was in ecstasies overit. A coach was sent for, the handsomest in the town. The good ladyprepared the speech she was going to make to Monsieur Godeau; Julie triedto teach her how she was to touch the heart of her father, and did nothesitate to confess that love of rank was his vulnerable point. 

"If you could imagine, " said she, "a means of flattering this weakness, you will have won our cause. "

The good lady pondered deeply, finished her toilet without Another word, clasped the hands of her future niece, and entered the carriage. 

She soon arrived at the Godeau mansion; there, she braced herself up sogallantly for her entrance that she seemed ten years younger. Shemajestically crossed the drawing-room where Julie's bouquet had fallen, and when the door of the boudoir opened, said in a firm voice to thelackey who preceded her:

"Announce the dowager Baroness de Croisilles. "

These words settled the happiness of the two lovers. Monsieur Godeau wasbewildered by them. Although five hundred thousand francs seemed little tohim, he consented to everything, in order to make his daughter a baroness, and such she became;--who would dare contest her title? For my part, Ithink she had thoroughly earned it. 

THE VASE OF CLAY

BY JEAN AICARD

I

Jean had inherited from his father a little field close beside the sea. Round this field the branches of the pine trees murmured a response to theplashing of the waves. Beneath the pines the soil was red, and the crimsonshade of the earth mingling with the blue waves of the bay gave them apensive violet hue, most of all in the quiet evening hours dear toreveries and dreams. 

In this field grew roses and raspberries. The pretty girls of theneighborhood came to Jean's home to buy these fruits and flowers, so liketheir own lips and cheeks. The roses, the lips, and the berries had allthe same youth, had all the same beauty. 

Jean lived happily beside the sea, at the foot of the hills, beneath anolive tree planted near his door, which in all seasons threw a lance-likeblue shadow upon his white wall. 

Near the olive tree was a well, the water of which was so cold and purethat the girls of the region, with their cheeks like roses and their lipslike raspberries, came thither night and morning with their jugs. Upontheir heads, covered with pads, they carried their jugs, round and slenderas themselves, supporting them with their beautiful bare arms, raisedaloft like living handles. 

Jean observed all these things, and admired them, and blessed his life. 

As he was only twenty years old, he fondly loved one of the charming girlswho drew water from his well, who ate his raspberries and breathed thefragrance of his roses. 

He told this younger girl that she was as pure and fresh as the water, asdelicious as the raspberries and as sweet as the roses. 

Then the young girl smiled. 

He told it her again, and she made a face at him. 

He sang her the same song, and she married a sailor who carried her faraway beyond the sea. 

Jean wept bitterly, but he still admired beautiful things, and stillblessed his life. Sometimes he thought that the frailty of what isbeautiful and the brevity of what is good adds value to the beauty andgoodness of all things. 

II

One day he learned by chance that the red earth of his field was anexcellent clay. He took a little of it in his hand, moistened it withwater from his well, and fashioned a simple vase, while he thought ofthose beautiful girls who are like the ancient Greek jars, at once roundand slender. 

The earth in his field was, indeed, excellent clay. 

 * * * * *

He built himself a potter's wheel. With his own hands, and with his clay, he built a furnace against the wall of his house, and he set himself tomaking little pots to hold raspberries. 

He became skilful at this work, and all the gardeners round about came tohim to provide themselves with these light, porous pots, of a beautifulred hue, round and slender, wherein the raspberries could be heapedwithout crushing them, and where they slept under the shelter of a greenleaf. 

The leaf, the pot, the raspberries, these enchanted everybody by theirform and color; and the buyers in the city market would have no berriessave those which were sold in Jean the potter's round and slender pots. 

Now more than ever the beautiful girls visited Jean's field. 

Now they brought baskets of woven reeds in which they piled the emptypots, red and fresh. But now Jean observed them without desire. His heartwas forevermore far away beyond the sea. 

Still, as he deepened and broadened the ditch in his field, from which hetook the clay, he saw that his pots to hold the raspberries were variouslycolored, tinted sometimes with rose, sometimes with blue or violet, sometimes with black or green. 

These shades of the clay reminded him of the loveliest things which hadgladdened his eyes: plants, flowers, ocean, sky. 

Then he set himself to choose, in making his vases, shades of clay, whichhe mingled delicately. And these colors, produced by centuries ofalternating lights and shadows, obeyed his will, changed in a momentaccording to his desire. 

Each day he modelled hundreds of these raspberry pots, moulding them uponthe wheel which turned like a sun beneath the pressure of his agile foot. The mass of shapeless clay, turning on the center of the disk, under thetouch of his finger, suddenly raised itself like the petals of a lily, lengthened, broadened, swelled or shrank, submissive to his will. 

The creative potter loved the clay. 

III

As he still dreamed of the things which he had most admired, his thought, his remembrance, his will, descended into his fingers, where--without hisknowing how--they communicated to the clay that mysterious principle oflife which the wisest man is unable to define. The humble works of Jeanthe potter had marvellous graces. In such a curve, in such a tint, he putsome memory of youth, or of an opening blossom, or the very color of theweather, and of joy or sorrow. 

In his hours of repose he walked with his eyes fixed upon the ground, studying the variations in the color of the soil on the cliffs, on theplains, on the sides of the hills. 

And the wish came to him to model a unique vase, a marvellous vase, inwhich should live through all eternity something of all the fragilebeauties which his eyes had gazed upon; something even of all the briefjoys which his heart had known, and even a little of his divine sorrows ofhope, regret and love. 

He was then in the full strength and vigor of manhood. 

Yet, that he might the better meditate upon his desire he forsook thewell-paid work, which, it is true, had allowed him to lay aside a littlehoard. No longer, as of old, his wheel turned from morning until night. Hepermitted other potters to manufacture raspberry pots by the thousand. Themerchants forgot the way to Jean's field. 

The young girls still came there for pleasure, because of the cold water, the roses, and the raspberries; but the ill-cultivated raspberriesperished, the rose-vines ran wild, climbed to the tops of the high walls, and offered their dusty blossoms to the travellers on the road. 

The water in the well alone remained the same, cold and plenteous, andthat sufficed to draw about Jean eternal youth and eternal gaiety. 

Only youth had grown mocking for Jean. For him gaiety had now becomescoffing. 

"Ah, Master Jean! Does not your furnace burn any more? Your wheel, MasterJean, does it scarcely ever turn? When shall we see your amazing pot whichwill be as beautiful as everything which is beautiful, blooming like therose, beaded like the raspberry, and speaking--if we must believe what yousay about it--like our lips?"

Now Jean is ageing; Jean is old. He sits upon his stone seat beside thewell, under the lace-like shade of the olive tree, in front of his emptyfield, all the soil of which is good clay but which no longer produceseither raspberries or roses. 

Jean said formerly: "There are three things: roses, raspberries, lips. "

All the three have forsaken him. 

The lips of the young girls, and even those of the children, have becomescoffing. 

"Ah, Father Jean! Do you live like the grasshoppers? Nobody ever sees youeat, Father Jean! Father Jean lives on cold water. The man who grows oldbecomes a child again!

"What will you put into your beautiful vase, if you ever make it, sillyold fellow? It will not hold even a drop of water from your well. Go andpaint the hen-coops and make water-jugs!"

Jean silently shakes his head, and only replies to all these railleries bya kindly smile. 

He is good to animals, and he shares his dry bread with the poor. 

It is true that he eats scarcely anything, but he does not suffer inconsequence. He is very thin, but his flesh is all the more sound andwholesome. Under the arch of his eyebrows his old eyes, heedful of theworld, continue to sparkle with the clearness of the spring which reflectsthe light. 

IV

One bright morning, upon his wheel, which turns to the rhythmic motion ofhis foot, Jean sets himself to model a vase, the vase which he has longseen with his mind's eye. 

The horizontal wheel turns like a sun to the rhythmic beating of his foot. The wheel turns. The clay vase rises, falls, swells, becomes crushed intoa shapeless mass, to be born again under Jean's hand. At last, with onesingle burst, it springs forth like an unlooked-for flower from aninvisible stem. 

It blooms triumphantly, and the old man bears it in his trembling hands tothe carefully prepared furnace where fire must add to its beauty of formthe illusive, decisive beauty of color. 

All through the night Jean has kept up and carefully regulated thefurnace-fire, that artisan of delicate gradations of color. 

At dawn the work must be finished. 

And the potter, old and dying, in his deserted field, raises toward thelight of the rising sun the dainty form, born of himself, in which helongs to find, in perfect harmony, the dream of his long life. 

In the form and tint of the frail little vase he has wished to fix for alltime the ephemeral forms and colors of all the most beautiful things. 

Oh, god of day! The miracle is accomplished. The sun lights the round andslender curves, the colorations infinitely refined, which blendharmoniously, and bring back to the soul of the aged man, by the pathwayof his eyes, the sweetest joys of his youth, the skies of daybreak and themournful violet waves of the sea beneath the setting sun. 

Oh, miracle of art, in which life is thus epitomized to make joy eternal!

 * * * * *

The humble artist raises toward the sun his fragile masterpiece, theflower of his simple heart; he raises it in his trembling hands as thoughto offer it to the unknown divinities who created primeval beauty. 

But his hands, too weak and trembling, let it escape from them suddenly, even as his tottering body lets his soul escape--and the potter's dream, fallen with him to the ground, breaks and scatters into fragments. 

Where is it now, the form of that vase brought to the light for aninstant, and seen only by the sun and the humble artist? Surely, it mustbe somewhere, that pure and happy form of the divine dream, made real foran instant!