[Illustration: "Shall I relate to you the history of that
particular louis,--all the adventures it has met with, and to how
many uses it has been applied?"--P. 3.]
MORAL TALES
BY
MADAME GUIZOT
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
MRS. L. BURKE
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE
NEW YORK: 416 BROOME STREET
PREFACE.
The writings of Madame Guizot are highly celebrated in France, and
though something of this celebrity may be due to her position as
the wife of an illustrious statesman and historian, it must also be
remembered, that this very position was calculated to draw forth a
severer criticism than would usually be passed on one less favourably
circumstanced. But the works themselves have merits of far too
decided an order not to command attention in any case, and they
especially deserve the notice of English parents, from their entire
freedom from the exaggeration of sentiment and love of effect, so
often justly complained of in a certain portion of the Literature of
France.
In her Tales, it has been the aim of Madame Guizot to secure the
attention of her youthful readers by an attractive narrative, in
which the chief personages are children like themselves, and the
events and situations such as might occur in their own experience,
and then to lead their minds to important conclusions by the natural
course of the story, and without the repulsive intervention of mere
lecturing or argumentation; and we think it will be admitted, that
in the present series, she has been eminently successful. These
Tales are so simple and natural, that they may be understood by even
younger children than they are actually intended for, while at the
same time they are so full of good sense, and touch so vividly those
springs of action which influence alike both the young and the old,
that many of them will be read with as much interest, and sometimes
even with as much advantage, by the parent as by the child. Though
perfectly unpretending in structure and language, the most fastidious
taste will acknowledge them to be the productions of a highly refined
and cultivated mind, while they equally display all the charms of an
affectionate and parental disposition, conjoined with a lofty, though
a gentle and rational morality.
It is only necessary to observe, in conclusion, that the Translator
has endeavoured to preserve throughout the simplicity of style which
distinguishes the original, and to convey its meaning with all the
fidelity which the difference of the two idioms would permit. A few
unimportant expressions have been modified or omitted as unsuitable
to English taste, or likely to convey, in translation, a different
impression from that actually intended, but beyond this no liberty
has been taken with the text.
CONTENTS.
THE HISTORY OF A LOUIS D'OR _Page_ 1
FRANÇOU 120
M. LE CHEVALIER 142
EUDOXIA; OR LEGITIMATE PRIDE 158
EDWARD AND EUGENIA; OR THE EMBROIDERED BAG
AND THE NEW COAT 185
MARIE; OR THE FEAST OF CORPUS CHRISTI 212
THE LITTLE BRIGANDS 272
OLD GENEVIÈVE 291
JULIA; OR THE STORY OF MADAME CROQUE-MITAINE 309
AGLAÏA AND LEONTINE; OR MANOEUVRING 332
OH! OH! OH! A TALE 359
HELEN; OR THE FAILURE 370
ARMAND; OR THE INDEPENDENT LITTLE BOY 381
THE SECRET OF COURAGE 406
THE DREAM; AN EASTERN TALE 417
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE HISTORY OF A LOUIS D'OR--_Frontispiece_.
LITTLE PETER _Page_ 27
THE TEMPTATIONS 92
EUDOXIA 176
MARIA AND THE CURÉ 248
THE LITTLE BRIGANDS 288
LOUIS AND THE OLD SOLDIER 364
ARMAND, THE INDEPENDENT BOY 402
MORAL TALES.
THE HISTORY OF A LOUIS D'OR.
Ernestine was passing with her mother through the arcades of the
Palais Royal, stopping at every shop, longing for all she saw, now
and then sighing heavily, and at each moment making the happiness
of life consist in the possession of some attractive object, the
remembrance of which was effaced the moment after by some other,
destined in like manner to be as speedily forgotten. She was,
however, more especially interested by a toy-shop; not that Ernestine
had any wish for dolls, little carts, or bureaus, in which she could
not even have put her thimble, the drawers were so small: she was,
indeed, too old for that, for she was already eleven; but the sight
of a moving picture, in which were to be seen two men fighting, a dog
turning a spit, a laundress, a paviour, and a stonecutter, inspired
her with a fancy, which appeared to her much more reasonable. She
stopped her mamma in order to examine it more leisurely, and her
mother was kind enough to indulge her; but the picture was then
motionless. Ernestine thought it would be delightful to see all those
figures in action, especially the dog turning the spit, and asked if
it would not be possible to beg of the shopkeeper to wind it up.
"Certainly not," replied Madame de Cideville, "he did not place it
there for the amusement of the passers-by; he would think I wished to
purchase it."
"It would surely be very dear?" said Ernestine.
"One louis," replied the shopkeeper, who had overheard her.
"Oh! mamma," whispered Ernestine, "how cheap!" for she had imagined
that a thing so beautiful, and so ingenious, must have cost an
enormous sum. "How delightful it would be," she continued, "to obtain
that for one louis!"
"There are," said her mother, "many better ways of employing it;"
and she passed on, to the great vexation of Ernestine, who wondered
to herself how it could happen that her parents, who were so rich,
did not think it proper to spend a louis on so charming a thing as
a moving picture, in which a dog was to be seen turning a spit: for
Ernestine, like all children, and upon this point she was more than
usually inconsiderate even for her age, thought her parents much
richer than they really were; besides, she was not aware that there
is no fortune, however large, which justifies unnecessary expense. On
reaching home, she spoke to her father about the picture.
"Only fancy, papa, it might have been had for one louis. Oh! how
happy I should have been if I had had a louis of my own!"
"You would not surely have spent it upon that?" replied her father.
"Oh! papa, how could I have spent it on anything more delightful?"
"Doubtless," replied M. de Cideville, "it would have been quite
impossible to have found anything more delightful; but you might have
found something more useful."
"For a louis, papa! What is there so very useful that can be bought
for one louis?"
As she said these words, Ernestine tossed in her hands her mamma's
purse, which Madame de Cideville, on entering, had laid upon the
table. A louis d'or fell out of it. "See," said Ernestine, as she
picked it up, "to what very important use can this little yellow
thing be put?"
"To what use?" replied her father; "if I were to tell you all the
important uses to which it might be applied, all the trouble that is
sometimes required to gain it, all the danger there is in spending it
badly, all the good it may do to those who are in want of it, all the
evil it may make them commit in order to obtain it, you would wonder
how any one could be even tempted to throw it away upon useless
objects. Shall I relate to you the history of that particular louis,
all the adventures it has met with, and to how many uses it has been
applied?"
"Oh! yes, papa; but how came you to know all this?"
"That I will tell you afterwards. At present I want you to look at it
merely; it is not very ancient, it belongs to the coinage of 1787,
so that it is scarcely five-and-twenty years old. Now, listen to all
that has happened to it."
Ernestine drew a chair to her father's side, that she might listen
more attentively, and M. de Cideville began thus:--
I will not tell you how much labour and time were required to
extract from the earth the small quantity of gold of which this
louis is composed, to separate it from the other substances which
are generally found mixed with it, to melt it, to coin it, &c. It
was in the year 1787, that it came for the first time into the
Royal treasury, and that it was afterwards given out, in payment of
a regiment, to which, I know not by what chance, several months'
arrears were due. As the soldiers received five sous a day, this
louis served to discharge what was owing for more than three months'
pay to a poor fellow who, had there been war, might, during this
time, have fought in a dozen battles, have been killed, or at least
wounded, have died of hunger in a besieged city, perished at sea,
or been eaten by savages, had he been sent to fight in America.
But as it was a time of peace, he had only caught an inflammation
on the chest, in consequence of having had to mount guard during
one of the severest nights of winter, and afterwards a cutaneous
disease, from having slept in the hospital in the same bed with
a comrade who had it. At length he recovered, and as he was an
industrious and well-conducted man, and had managed by his occupation
of barber to the regiment, to make some little savings, he was
able, notwithstanding what I have mentioned, to send this louis to
his father, a poor peasant, at that very moment on the point of
being imprisoned for a debt of one louis, which he could not pay.
The creditor was on the spot, threatening him, and announcing his
determination of sending for the sheriff's officer: the peasant's
second son, the brother of the soldier, furious at seeing his father
thus menaced, had taken up a hatchet with which he was going to
kill the creditor, notwithstanding the interposition of his mother,
who, uttering piercing cries, rushed forward to prevent him, and
was thrown down by him, without his perceiving it, so violent
was his passion. The person who had brought the louis from the
soldier, arrived in the midst of this tumult. She had, at first,
much difficulty in making herself heard; but when they did begin to
understand what she was saying, peace was restored. The father paid
his creditor, the son rejoiced that he had not killed him, and thus
this louis d'or saved a man's life, probably the lives of two men;
for the son would have been punished for his crime: perhaps, indeed,
it saved a whole family, for the father and mother, who had only this
son to assist them in their labours, would, in all probability, have
died of misery and grief.
The creditor who had exacted this louis with so much severity,
belonged to the same village, and was really in absolute want of the
money, because, his harvest having failed, he had not the necessary
provisions for his family during the winter. Had the soldier's
louis not arrived, however, it would have been useless for him to
have put the father in prison; he would have gained nothing, as the
old man possessed nothing; but with this louis he bought twenty or
five-and-twenty bushels of potatoes, which were then very cheap, and
these served to support himself and his children.
The woman, however, from whom he had purchased the potatoes, and who
belonged to another village, having the imprudence to cross in the
dark a wood, through which the road to her house lay, three villains
of the neighbourhood in which she had sold her potatoes, who had
seen her receive the louis, agreed to wait for her in the wood, and
rob her of it. When, therefore, she had penetrated into the thicket,
they burst upon her, threw her from her horse, took the louis, and
were about to tear off her clothes, and perhaps kill her, when,
fancying they heard a noise, they ran off in different directions.
He who held the louis, endeavoured to escape from his companions,
that he might not share it with them; but they met him that same
evening at a tavern where he was spending it in drink. They demanded
their share, quarrelled, fought, and discovered all their secrets.
They were arrested and sent to the galleys. The tavern-keeper
interposed in the lawsuit; he wished to have the louis, as it had
been spent at his house; the woman who sold the potatoes, and who
had recovered and again mounted her horse, also claimed it, as it
had been stolen from her. I know not whether they were indemnified,
but the louis, after having served as a proof of the theft, because
it was the only one in the country, none of this particular coinage
having been before introduced there, passed into the hands of an old
lawyer, who quarrelled with an elderly lady, after a friendship of
thirty years, because she had won it of him at piquet, during the
course of six months, and had told him, besides, that he did not
know how to play. This old lady sent it as a new-year's gift to one
of her little granddaughters in Paris, who was saved by it from a
very considerable annoyance. Her brother, who, though treated with
a good deal of severity, was, nevertheless, very disobedient and
ill-behaved, had taken from her father's library, notwithstanding his
having been forbidden to touch it, a book which contained prints;
while reading it, he had let an inkstand fall upon it, and in order
that he might not be suspected, had carried it into the anteroom. All
this he communicated to his sister, as a great secret, making her
solemnly promise to say nothing about it, so that the servant might
be suspected. As her father was very particular about his books, the
young girl knew that the servant would be dismissed; still she could
not denounce her brother. The book had been put in the anteroom,
during the evening, and she wept all night at the thought of what
was to happen next day; for she was extremely kind and just. In the
morning, on awaking, the first thing she beheld was the louis, which
had been put upon her bed as a present from her grandmamma; her joy
was extreme, and she immediately sent for a copy of the book, as her
brother, who had also received a louis, finding himself screened,
would not spend his in this manner. However, she consoled herself, by
thinking of the terrible pain she would have experienced in seeing
an innocent person punished, without daring to justify him. The
book cost exactly one louis; this louis passed into the hands of a
librarian, and had a great influence on the destiny of a little boy,
whose history I am about to relate to you.
LITTLE PETER.
Little Peter, when ten years old, had entered the service of M.
Dubourg, a worthy man, who passed his life in the study of Greek and
Latin, and was so much taken up with what happened three thousand
years ago, that he did not even think of troubling himself with
what was actually passing around him; for he was consoled for every
inconvenience, provided he could apply to it an example or a maxim
drawn from antiquity. If he cut his finger, or hurt his foot, his
first movement was an exclamation of impatience, but immediately
afterwards he checked himself and grew calm, saying, "The philosopher
Epictetus suffered his leg to be broken by his master, who was
beating him, without making any complaint beyond these words: '_I
told you you would break my leg._'" One day, while dining in town,
he found himself in company with some very ill-bred military men,
who could talk of nothing but the stories of their regiment, and
the number of bottles of wine they had drunk at a mess dinner. The
mistress of the house, in order to make him some kind of apology for
a conversation which wearied him, said, laughing, "You must allow, M.
Dubourg, that I have made you dine in very bad company."
"Madame," replied M. Dubourg, "Alcibiades knew how to accommodate
himself to every grade of society, to every company, and even to the
customs of every nation;" and in order to follow the example of
Alcibiades, he commenced talking to them of the battle of Salamis,
and the feasts of Bacchus. As to the rest, M. Dubourg only dined out
six times a year; this was a rule which he had laid down for himself,
however numerous might be the invitations which he received. The
only irregularity he allowed himself was in the periods. Thus, for
instance, he might one year dine out on the 6th of March, and the
following year on the 7th or the 10th; it might even happen that
he accepted two invitations in the same month, though as a general
rule he placed them as nearly as possible at equal distances; but if
by any extraordinary chance, the six dinners were expended by the
month of July, no consideration would induce him to dine away from
home during the rest of the year. His expenditure was regulated as
strictly as his manner of life. With a very small income, M. Dubourg
wished to live in such a manner as to be perfectly independent of
every one, and especially so as never to be reduced to the necessity
of borrowing, which he regarded as the greatest of all faults;
"for," said he, "one can never be sufficiently sure of repaying."
Thus, his dinners were furnished by a restaurateur, who, for the
same sum, brought him every day the same thing. On one occasion the
restaurateur wished to increase his charge. "It is all the same to
me," said M. Dubourg, "I shall take less; Diogenes was able, by mere
philosophy, to bring himself to drink out of his hand, although he
had still a wooden cup of which he might have made use." It was
probably less out of respect for philosophy, than from the fear of
disobliging a customer, that the restaurateur, by the means of
certain arrangements, agreed to furnish him, for the old price, a
dinner of pretty nearly the same kind.
The other expenses of the day were calculated with the same
precision, so that, without ever counting, M. Dubourg, had always a
year's income in advance, and was consequently never inconvenienced
by having to wait for his returns. He had, besides, a sum in reserve
for extraordinary cases; such as an illness, an accident, or even
a goblet broken, or a bottle of ink overturned, &c. It might also
happen, on a rainy day, that he had to pay for crossing a stream upon
a plank, or, in winter, to give a sous to the little sweeper who
cleaned the crossing; all these expenses fell upon the extraordinary
fund, for as to coaches, M. Dubourg had only hired two during the
whole course of thirty years. One was to pay a visit to a rich man
from whom he had accepted an invitation to dinner, and to whose
house he was told he must not go splashed. This broke off their
acquaintance, and he never would go again, however much he was
pressed. The other he took when going to declare his sentiments to a
young lady whom he had been persuaded to fancy himself desirous of
marrying. He took it for fear that the wind should shake the powder
out of his hair, and it gave him an opportunity of reflecting, as
he proceeded, on the disorders into which the passions lead us. On
arriving at the young lady's house, he paid the coachman, returned
home on foot, and renounced for ever the idea of marrying. His
reserved fund was always maintained in the same state, by means of
a portion of his income regularly set apart for this purpose. When
it did not happen to be all spent by the end of the year, M. Dubourg
gave the remainder to the poor, otherwise, he neither gave nor lent;
for he said that "it is not proper to give unless we are certain
of not being obliged to ask, and that he who, in order to lend,
exposes himself to the chance of being obliged to borrow, places his
integrity at the mercy of a bad paymaster." It may be seen then, that
with some follies, M. Dubourg was a man highly to be esteemed for his
integrity.
Little Peter passed with him the happiest of lives. Provided he
was careful not to arrange the books that were scattered or heaped
together upon the desk or floor, which M. Dubourg called disarranging
them; provided he took care to sweep the room only once a fortnight,
when M. Dubourg had taken away certain fine editions, which he did
not wish to have exposed to the dust; provided he was careful never
to remove the cobwebs, that he might not run the risk of upsetting
the busts of Homer, of Plato, of Aristotle, of Cicero, of Virgil,
&c., which adorned the top of the library, little Peter might do
pretty nearly what he pleased. If he happened to be out at the hour
at which the restaurateur brought, every day, M. Dubourg's dinner,
so that it had to be left at the door, M. Dubourg having forbidden
the man ever to ring, for fear of interrupting his studies, and if
M. Dubourg found his dinner quite cold, or partly eaten by the cat,
Peter merely excused himself by saying, that he had been detained
by some business. Then M. Dubourg would say to him: "It is quite
natural, Peter, that you should occupy yourself principally with your
own affairs; you are not my slave; I have not purchased you with
my money: but were you my slave, the case would be very different."
Then, whilst taking his dinner, he would explain to him the duties
and condition of slaves; and how it was that their masters possessed
over them the power of life and death, which was indeed but just,
since they had purchased them; "But as for me, Peter," he would add,
"I am not permitted to do you the least harm, for you are not my
slave." And, in fact, he would not give him a caning, even when he
learned his Latin grammar badly; this was, nevertheless, the greatest
annoyance Peter could cause M. Dubourg; who, on this point, sometimes
got into violent passions, quite at variance with his general
character; for he could not understand how it was possible for any
one to dislike so excellent a thing as the Latin grammar. This
dislike, however, was very sincere on the part of little Peter, who
had no fancy for study, and who, though he had learned to read and to
write, had done so much against his will. When M. Dubourg, who did
not wish any one to live with him without understanding Latin, first
put an _Accidence_ into his hand, his parents were delighted at the
idea of his making, as they thought, little Peter a learned man like
himself; but Peter had not the slightest wish to resemble M. Dubourg,
who passed the whole day in poring over books; who often only half
dined, for fear of allowing a Greek passage to escape him, the
meaning of which he was beginning to seize; who took water, scarcely
coloured, because wine disturbed the judgment, and had, he said,
caused Alexander the Great to commit many crimes; and who, finally,
as his only pleasure, walked for two hours every day in the gardens
of the Tuileries, with three other learned men, who, on their part,
met there for the purpose of conversing together, after the manner of
the Peripaticians.
Little Peter, fancying that Latin led to nothing better than this,
could not perceive in it anything very attractive, and only learned
his Accidence, ill or well as the case might be, for the sake of
pleasing M. Dubourg, who wept with joy when he had repeated his
lesson well. He read, however, with tolerable pleasure, some books of
history which M. Dubourg had lent him, and he passed the remainder
of his time with his parents, to whom M. Dubourg had promised to
send him for several hours each day, and to whom Peter, according to
custom, remitted a very considerable portion of the hundred francs
which he annually received as his wages; for they said that, having
consented to place him with M. Dubourg at an age in which his labour
might have been useful to them in their trade of braziers, they ought
to be indemnified, in some other manner, for the expenses he had
occasioned them in his childhood. Little Peter, better fed and better
clothed than he could have been at home, ought to have considered
himself very well off; but he was discontented, because he could not
run about like other boys of his age, and because he had not the free
disposal of his money; in fact he regretted all the follies which
he could not commit, and then the Rudiments greatly disgusted him.
Besides, little Peter affected to be ambitious; he must make his
fortune, and that was an impossibility so long as he remained with
M. Dubourg. He related his troubles to a little groom with whom
he became acquainted, from having seen him at the door of a house,
situated between the residence of M. Dubourg and his father's shop.
One day this groom, whose name was John, told him that if he wished
he would procure him a good situation, with a young gentleman, a
friend of his master, who was in want of a groom. He would have to
take his meals with the other servants of the family, as long as
the young gentleman resided with his parents, and receive a hundred
francs a year, as with M. Dubourg, besides a louis d'or for his
new-year's gift, not to mention the perquisites, which, according to
John's account, would amount to three times as much as his wages.
Peter felt himself greatly tempted by the louis d'or, which he hoped
to keep for himself, and by the livery, which he thought much finer
than his grey jacket, forgetting, that from his grey jacket he might
pass to a better dress without the change being remarked, whereas
livery is a costume which once seen upon a person is never forgotten.
John had taught him to groom a horse, and this pleased him much more
than the Rudiments; he thought it would be very delightful to have to
groom one every day, and, besides, it seemed to him that he should
have his own way much more. However, he told John that the thing
was impossible; that he could not leave M. Dubourg; but as he went
along he could think of nothing else. His parents, seeing him thus
preoccupied, said to him a dozen times, "Peter, are you ill?" He
replied that he was not, and left them much earlier than usual, to go
and find John; not that he knew what answer to give him, but simply
that he might hear him talk of the situation, of the louis d'or, of
the perquisites, and of the horse.
The desire he felt to obtain the situation increased at every moment.
John told him that nothing was easier; that he had only to allow him
to speak to M. and Madame Jerôme,--these were the parents of little
Peter; and that he would make them listen to reason. Peter took him
at his word, and told him to come with him. John went, and as he was
a boy of great determination, he represented, in glowing colours, to
M. and Madame Jerôme, all the advantages of the situation which he
proposed, with the exception, however, of the louis d'or, to which
Peter had begged him not to allude, as he wished to keep it for
himself. "But see, Madame Jerôme," said John, "the master he will
have, lays aside his clothes almost new, and I will wager that, every
year, Peter will be able to bring a suit to M. Jerôme; but that is on
condition that you let him have a little more of his wages."
"We shall see, we shall see," said Madame Jerôme, who was quite
captivated with the idea of her husband's having a smart coat to walk
out with her on a Sunday. M. Jerôme urged that Peter could not leave
M. Dubourg, who bestowed so much pains on his education. "Excellent!"
replied Madame Jerôme; "no doubt Peter will be very well off when
he is as learned as M. Dubourg. They say in the neighbourhood, that
that is not the way to get bread." And as Madame Jerôme always made
her husband do just what she pleased, it was agreed that Peter should
accept the situation. John went to his master to solicit it; the
latter mentioned it to his friend, who sent for little Peter, and as
he was without a servant, it was arranged, that if Peter brought him
a good character from M. Dubourg, he should enter his service the
following day.
Peter returned home to M. Dubourg, whose dinner had been waiting at
the door a quarter of an hour. He was so bewildered, that in laying
the cloth, he put the chair on the side of the window instead of on
that of the door, a thing which had not been done for five-and-twenty
years; and he forgot, when giving M. Dubourg something to drink, that
it was an inviolable rule with him to put the wine into the glass
before the water. His master looked at him with astonishment, saying,
"Are you ill, Peter?" He again replied that he was not, and continued
his duties; but he was completely embarrassed, and the more so as M.
Dubourg spoke to him with even more than his usual kindness, calling
him _my child_, his term of endearment for those whom he particularly
liked. He said to him, "You will soon be thirteen years old; this is
precisely the age at which the Romans took the _Prætexta_. I even
think that I might find instances in which it was taken earlier,
though, indeed, this may have been in corrupt times. But no matter: I
think I can in conscience, allow you to leave off your grey jacket.
Since you have been with me, I have made it a rule never to dust the
covers of my books with my sleeve, as I was accustomed to do, and I
have only failed once, and then through pure forgetfulness. Besides,
although this coat has nearly served its time, for I buy one every
three years, it is in a sufficiently good condition to be done up
for you. And," added M. Dubourg, patting him on the head with an air
of gaiety, "you will look like a little gentleman."
Little Peter felt extremely troubled; this kindness, and then this
coat, which was to make him look like a gentleman, had completely
upset all his ideas. He left the room as soon as he could, and did
not enter it again that evening. The following morning, Madame Jerôme
came to inform M. Dubourg that her son wished to leave him, and to
ask him for a character. However great was his astonishment, he only
uttered these words: "Little Peter is not my slave; I have no right
to detain him against his will." He promised the character, and when
Madame Jerôme was gone, he called Peter, who had not dared to show
himself. "Peter," said he, "if you were my slave, you would deserve
to be beaten with rods, or even worse, for wishing to leave your
master; but you are not my slave, therefore you may go."
He said this in a tone of so much feeling, that little Peter, already
much moved, began to cry. "Why do you wish to leave me, my child?"
continued M. Dubourg; "you will forget all you know, with another
master."
"Oh! Sir," said Peter, shaking his head, "it is not my lot to be a
learned man."
"You are mistaken, Peter; you are mistaken, my child. If you could
once get over the rule of _que retranché_, you would get on very
well." And thereupon he began to cite to him, with great earnestness,
the examples of many celebrated men, who had at first displayed but
little talent, but who afterwards astonished the world by the extent
of their learning. "You have the opportunity of becoming what they
were, Peter," exclaimed M. Dubourg, "and yet you renounce it." He was
so sure of his case, and spoke with so much enthusiasm, that little
Peter, quite carried away, felt himself on the point of losing his
fortune.
"Oh! Sir," he exclaimed, "only consent to give me one louis more a
year, and I will remain with you all my life."
At these words, the enthusiasm of M. Dubourg was changed into
consternation. "If that is what is required," said he, "it is
impossible. You know yourself, that it is impossible." Peter remained
silent and confounded, for he knew that his master, before engaging
him, had refused a boy who asked him five louis, because this would
have occasioned an irregularity of twenty francs in the expenses
of the year. He retired in confusion. M. Dubourg, without uttering
another word, gave him a favourable character, to which, however, he
considered himself obliged, as a matter of conscience, to add, that
Peter had always shown but little inclination for the Latin grammar.
Little Peter soon got over his vexation; he thought himself so fine
in his livery, especially when John had taught him some of his
grand airs, that he was as proud of it as if there had really been
some merit or honour in wearing it, and when, by chance, he had
to drive his master's cabriolet through the streets, he would not
have exchanged conditions with any of those triumphant heroes whose
history M. Dubourg had made him read. One day when he was behind this
cabriolet, he saw M. Dubourg in danger of being knocked down by the
horse, and cried out, "Take care, take care!" in a louder, though
less imperious tone than usual. M. Dubourg recognised the voice,
and looked up. Peter did not very well know whether to be pleased
or ashamed, that he should thus be seen by him in all his glory. M.
Dubourg gave a heavy sigh: "Is it possible," he said, "that a person
who was beginning to understand the Latin grammar could mount behind
a cabriolet!" And he continued his way home, in a thoughtful mood.
As for Peter, he did not think of the circumstance very long, he
only thought of amusing himself. John had taught him, according to
his own account, the best means of doing so; that is, he took him
to the public-house, and to places where cards and billiards were
played. There he lost his money, and when his master paid him his
first quarter's wages, he owed the whole of it. For three days, he
did not dare to go near his parents; for he knew very well that they
would require their share. At length, John advised him to say, that
he was to be paid only every six months, assuring him that by that
time he would regain all that he had lost. On the contrary, he lost
more, and only got deeper in debt. At the end of the six months, he
said that he had been mistaken, and that his master paid only once
a year. His parents began to disbelieve him, and, besides, the coat
that John had promised to M. Jerôme was not forthcoming. If Peter had
received perquisites, he had sold them to obtain money. Still his
debts increased daily; he dared not pass down the street in which a
certain tavern-keeper lived, because he had had drink in his house,
for which he had not paid; in the neighbouring street a petty dealer
in hardware, from whom he had obtained, on credit, a chain of false
gold, in order to appear to wear a watch, insulted him every time
he saw him. At every moment, he met comrades to whom he was still
indebted, for money which they had won from him, while his parents,
on the other hand, were very much displeased with him, and threatened
to go and ask his master whether he told them the truth. Little Peter
knew not where to hide his head.
One morning his master's mother, who was almost as precise a person
as M. Dubourg, gave him eighteen francs to carry to a shopkeeper, to
whom she owed the balance of an account, for some things purchased
of him the previous evening. Peter went out, proceeding with great
precaution and looking on every side, as he was accustomed to do,
since he had become constantly fearful of meeting persons to whom
he owed money. He was absolutely obliged to pass through the street
in which the hardware-dealer lived; he looked out from a distance,
saw him engaged in conversation, and hoped to pass by unperceived.
But as he approached, the person with whom he was talking turned
round. It was the tavern-keeper, who called to him, and demanded his
money, in no very polite terms. The hardware-man joined him, and
they placed themselves in the middle of the street, so as to prevent
him from passing, telling him that he must pay them. Peter glided
between the wall and a carriage, which was standing there, and ran on
with all his might; he heard them cry after him, that it was well to
have good legs when one had not a good conscience, but that he might
spare himself the trouble of running away, as they would catch him
again. As he continued his flight, and was rapidly turning a corner,
he ran against a man who was coming towards him. This man turned
out to be a groom of his acquaintance, to whom he owed some money,
won at cards. He was half-intoxicated, and seizing little Peter by
the collar, and swearing at him, said that he must have his money,
for the publican demanded it of him, and that he would drag Peter
before him and beat him until he had paid it. Peter defended himself
with all his strength. A crowd gathered round, and allowed them to
continue. At length he heard some one cry out, "Villain, leave off
beating that child!" He recognised the voice of M. Dubourg, and saw
him, with uplifted cane, approaching to his assistance. The fear
of being recognised, gave him even more strength than the fear of
being beaten; he tore himself out of the hands of the groom, who had
likewise turned round, on hearing himself thus spoken to, and whom M.
Dubourg, with his cane still upraised, prevented from following Peter.
Peter, who now continued his flight with even greater rapidity than
before, came at last to a street where he no longer saw any one
likely to recognise him, and sat down trembling, upon a bench, not
knowing what was to become of him. He had heard the groom also say
that he would catch him, and he had no doubt that he was watching
for his return. On raising his eyes, he perceived that he was before
a tavern to which his comrades had taken him to play at cards, and
where he had seen one of them win a hundred francs. His heart beat
high at the idea of gaining as much, and a detestable thought took
possession of his mind. Perhaps in hazarding thirty sous only of the
eighteen francs with which he had been intrusted, he might regain
all that he owed; but if he happened to lose! This reflection made
him tremble. He went away; then returned, the temptation increasing
every moment. At last, picking up a stone, he said to himself, "If
in throwing this against the wall, I hit the mark that I see there,
it will be a sign that I shall win!" He placed himself very near
the wall, that he might not miss it, threw the stone, hit the spot,
and went in. He was so excited, that he scarcely knew what he was
about. Never before had he committed so bad an action, nor would he
have committed it now, doubtless, had he been in his right mind.
But it is one of the consequences of bad actions that they place us
in circumstances which disturb the judgment, and deprive it of the
strength necessary for directing our conduct. Had any one, at this
moment, told Peter that he was committing the act of a thief, he
would have trembled from head to foot; yet such was, nevertheless,
the fact; but he did not think of it. At first he only hazarded
thirty sous, and won: he won again, and fancied himself already rich.
Had he stopped there, he would have had, if not sufficient to get out
of difficulty, at least enough to satisfy, in some degree, one or two
of his creditors; but by doing this, he would have been rewarded for
his fault, and by a law of Providence, evil-doers never know how to
stop at the point where their faults would be unattended with danger.
He who, in doing wrong, relies upon his prudence to protect him from
exposure, always finds himself deceived; the love of gain, or of
pleasure, ends by dragging him on to the action which is to bring
about his punishment. Peter was desirous of gaining more, and he lost
not only what he had won, but his stake also. The hopes that he had
at first formed, rendered him only the more ardent in the game, and,
besides, how was he to replace the thirty sous? He hazarded thirty
more, lost them, then more; at last the whole eighteen francs are
gone. He left the house in despair, and wandered through the streets
unconsciously, neither knowing where he was, nor what he was doing,
still less what he intended to do. He heard it strike four o'clock,
and remembered that at five he had to wait at table. He would be
asked by his mistress's mother whether he had paid the eighteen
francs, and though for some time past he had got into the habit of
telling falsehoods, his conscience accused him so vehemently, that
he felt he should not be able to reply. However, like a man who
throws himself into a river without knowing whether he shall get out
of it again, he took, mechanically, the way to the house; but as
he approached it, he fancied he saw the shop girl belonging to the
tradesman, to whom he had been ordered to carry the eighteen francs,
coming out of it. He had no doubt that she had been to ask for the
money, and feeling that it would be quite impossible for him to enter
again his master's dwelling, he turned away, and recommenced running,
without knowing whither he went. It was winter: night came on, and
he at last stopped, and sat down upon a step, and felt that he was
without a home. Nothing in the world would have induced him to
return to his parents, and it would have been equally impossible for
him to expose himself to the look of the honest M. Dubourg. The cold
increased with the night, and it began to freeze rather severely.
Peter had eaten nothing since the morning, and though his heart was
oppressed, yet hunger began to make itself felt at last. All he could
do, however, was to weep; for what resource was left to him in the
world? At times this hunger, cold, suffering, and despair weighed so
heavily upon him, that he would start up, and run away, whither he
knew not, but determined to find some spot where he should suffer
less. Then again, he would suddenly stop; for he felt that he had not
the courage to show himself anywhere, or to endure the questions or
the looks of any one; so he would slowly return, sit down again, and
weep anew, while the cold wind, blowing upon his face, froze up the
traces of his tears.
At last, overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, he fell asleep, or
rather he became numbed; his state was a kind of half-sleep,
which, although leaving him no distinct ideas, still left him the
consciousness of the cold and hunger, and grief. In the middle of the
night, he was awakened by some one who shook him violently. He opened
his eyes, and saw around him several armed men. It was the watch,
who finding a child asleep in the street, wanted to know why he was
there, and to whom he belonged. Peter had at first some difficulty
in collecting his ideas, and when he had succeeded in doing so, he
only felt the more vividly the impossibility of replying. He dared
not say to whom he belonged. He cried, and entreated them to leave
him there, as he was doing no harm to any one. They would not listen
to him, but told him that he must go to the guardhouse. One of them
took him by the shoulders, and as he resisted, another gave him a
blow across the legs to make him proceed. Peter walked on trembling.
The snow began to fall so heavily, that they could scarcely see their
way, and added to this, the wind was so strong, that it extinguished
all the lamps, and drove the snow full into their faces. At length,
the soldier who held little Peter had his cap blown off by a violent
gust, and left him in order to run after it. The others, blinded by
the snow, got dispersed; they sought each other; they called out. As
to Peter, stupified by the wind, the snow, and all that had happened
to him, he knew not where he was, what he was doing, or what he ought
to do. Motionless on the spot where he had been left, he heard the
soldiers inquiring for him, and asking whether he had not escaped.
This brought him to himself, and finding one of them approaching, he
drew back softly, in order to get as near as possible to the wall. As
he retired farther and farther, he was still unable to feel the wall,
and at last perceived that he had entered a bye-street, which the
thickness of the snow had prevented him from seeing. He then walked
faster, and soon ceasing to hear the soldiers, he regained a little
courage, and after many windings, he at last stopped, and crouched
down at the corner of an old building.
After remaining there some time, he again fell asleep, and when he
awoke day was breaking. He tried to get up, but the cold and the
uneasy posture in which he had remained, had so benumbed his limbs,
that he could not move a step, nor even stretch his legs; while the
violent effort which he made in order to move forward, threw him to
the ground. In falling, his head struck the curbstone so violently
that he become unconscious. He did not, however, altogether faint,
and after a short time he had a confused perception of persons
speaking and acting around him. It also seemed to him that he was
taken up and carried away; but all was so indistinct that he had
no proper consciousness of anything. He had neither any fear of
what was going to happen to him, nor any wish to be better, nor any
recollection of what he had done. He came to himself, however, by
degrees, and his first sensation was a violent oppression of the
heart. Poor little fellow! this is a feeling which he will henceforth
always experience, as often as he calls to mind what he has done.
At present he does not call this to mind, he simply feels that he
has committed a terrible fault. He also feels that he is suffering
in every part of his body, but, at the same time, he perceives
that he is in a bed, and in a room; at length he regained complete
consciousness and saw that he was at M. Dubourg's, and that M.
Dubourg and his mother Madame Jerôme were by his side.
His first impulse on perceiving them was to hide his head in the
bedclothes and weep. As soon as his mother saw that he was conscious,
she asked him what had happened to him, and why he had fled from his
master. She told him that, finding he did not return during the day,
they had sent at night to inquire for him at her house; that this
had made her very uneasy, and that she had gone to his master's
early in the morning, and learning that he had not slept there, she
had run in great terror to M. Dubourg, who told her that he had not
seen him; and finally, that on leaving his house, she had found
him at the corner of the street stretched upon the ground, totally
insensible, and surrounded by several women of the neighbourhood,
who were exclaiming, "Oh! it is little Peter! What can have happened
to him! What will Mother Jerôme say! He must have been drinking, and
got intoxicated, and the cold has seized him." At the same time, the
woman who attended to M. Dubourg's house had gone to tell him the
news, and he in great uneasiness came out in his dressing-gown and
nightcap, a thing which had never happened to him before in the whole
course of his life.
[Illustration: She had found him at the corner of the street,
totally insensible, and surrounded by several women of the
neighbourhood--P. 27.]
At the conclusion of this recital, intermingled with reproofs, Madame
Jerôme renewed her questions; but little Peter wept without replying.
The physician who had been sent for, now arrived, and told them that
he must not be tormented, as a severe fever was coming on; and indeed
a violent excitement soon succeeded to the weakness from which he
had just recovered. His fault represented itself to him in the most
frightful colours, and threw him into fits of despair, of which they
were at a loss to conjecture the cause. At length, when Madame Jerôme
had gone home to inform her husband of what had happened, and of
the necessity there was of her remaining to nurse Peter, he raised
himself in his bed, and throwing himself on his knees, with clasped
hands called M. Dubourg, and said to him, "Oh! M. Dubourg, I have
committed a great crime." M. Dubourg, thinking him delirious, told
him to keep himself quiet, and lie down again. "No, M. Dubourg,"
he repeated, "I have committed a great crime." And then with the
quickness and volubility which the fever gave him, he related all
that had passed, but with so much minuteness of detail, that it was
impossible to consider what he said as the effect of delirium. M.
Dubourg made him he down again, and stood before him pale and shocked.
"Oh! Peter, Peter!" said he at last, with a deep sigh, "I had so
earnestly hoped to have been able to keep you with me!"