of his conscience dictated; he said that his master's mother would
have him apprehended, and in moments when his reason wandered more
than usual, he declared that the guard were in pursuit of him. M.
Dubourg, after reflecting for some time, went to his secretary,
counted his money, closed his desk again, and Madame Jerôme returning
at the same moment, he related to her what he had just learned,
adding, "Madame Jerôme, little Peter, according to his own account,
has committed a great crime, which prevents my keeping him with me
as I had hoped to do, for I had provided the necessary means. My
mind has never been easy, from the day I saw him behind a cursed
cabriolet. He had offered to remain with me for one louis more a
year, and I thought of procuring it by my labour. You see, Madame
Jerôme, how valuable and profitable a thing is learning. I had indeed
made it a rule never to publish anything; but I considered that
there were works which might be written, without compromising one's
tranquillity. I have composed an almanac, in which I have recorded
the feasts and epochs of the year among the ancients. It cannot but
be very interesting to know, that on such a day began the Ides of
March, or, as the case may be, the Feasts of Ceres. I demanded of
the publisher one louis for it, that being all I stood in need of.
He gave it immediately, and will give me the same every year, for
a similar almanac." M. Dubourg was going on to explain to Madame
Jerôme how he would manage to insure accuracy, notwithstanding the
irregularity of the ancient calendar; "but," said he, "it is not
necessary for you to know all this:" and then added, "I had intended
this louis for little Peter. I can dispose of it in his favour, and
the more easily as we are now at the end of the year, and I have in
my reserved fund more than sufficient to defray the expenses of his
illness. I was afraid at first that I should be encouraging vice; but
I have since considered that the evil is now done, and that it is the
innocent who has suffered from it. Take, then, this louis, Madame
Jerôme, and carry the eighteen francs to the shopkeeper." This,
said M. de Cideville, was the precise louis d'or whose history I am
relating to you.
Madame Jerôme, he continued, had been waiting anxiously for the end
of this discourse, which she did not very well understand, but which
she had not ventured to interrupt. As she was a very honest woman,
the conduct of her son had so overwhelmed her with grief and shame,
that she almost threw herself at the feet of M. Dubourg, to thank him
for affording her the means of repairing it without being obliged to
pay a sum very considerable for a poor woman burdened with a family.
She hastened out, though not without addressing some reproaches to
her son, who scarcely understood them, and ran to pay the shopkeeper.
As it happened, no inquiries had been made of him, nor had he, on
his part, sent for the money. Peter, therefore, had been mistaken,
and as yet nothing was known about the affair. His mother, on her
return, found him better; the fever had begun to abate, and he was
also comforted by the intelligence she brought. But if he had escaped
exposure, he could not escape from the remorse of his own conscience,
or from the reproaches of his mother, who was inconsolable. Her
lamentations, however, distressed him less than the cold and serious
manner of M. Dubourg, who no longer approached his bed, or spoke to
him, but took care that he should want for nothing, without ever
directly asking him what he wished to have. Little Peter had, more
than once, shed bitter tears on this account, and to this grief was
added, when he began to recover, the fear of returning to his father,
who had come to see him during his illness, and who, being a man of
great integrity, had severely reprimanded, and even threatened him.
Peter entreated his mother to ask M. Dubourg to keep him. M. Dubourg
at first refused; but Madame Jerôme having promised him that Peter
should not go out, and that he should study the whole of the day, he
went to consult his Xenophon, and saw that Socrates in his youth had
been addicted to every vice; there was reason therefore, for hoping
that labour would reform little Peter, as it had reformed Socrates.
Peter was obliged to keep his word. His illness had left a debility
which long continued, and he was further restrained from going out
by the fear of meeting those to whom he owed money. Study being his
only amusement, he ended by becoming fond of it: and as he possessed
good abilities, his progress was such as to give his master much
satisfaction. But the honest M. Dubourg was ill at ease with Peter,
and no longer spoke to him with his accustomed familiarity. Peter
felt this, and was unhappy: then he redoubled his efforts to improve.
One day, having made a translation which gave M. Dubourg great
satisfaction, the latter promised, that if he continued to improve,
he would have the coat, which he still kept for him, arranged. Peter,
after much hesitation, begged to be allowed to sell it instead, so
that its price, together with the louis which he was to receive
at the end of the year, might serve to pay a part, at least, of
his debts. M. Dubourg consented, and was greatly pleased that this
idea had occurred to him. While waiting, therefore, for two years,
until the new coat had served its time, he continued to wear his
old grey jacket, which he was obliged to mend almost every day, and
the sleeves of which had become about four inches too short. But
during this time he succeeded in completely gaining the friendship
of M. Dubourg, who, having received a small legacy, employed it in
increasing the salary of Peter, whom he elevated to the rank of his
secretary. From this moment he treated him as a son; but Peter, who
was now called M. Jerôme, could not perceive, without profound grief,
that whenever any allusion was made in his presence to a defect of
probity, M. Dubourg blushed, cast down his eyes, and did not dare
to look at him. As for himself, whenever anything was mentioned
that could have reference to his fault, he felt a severe pang shoot
through his heart. When money was concerned, he was timid, always
trembling, lest his honesty should be suspected. He did not dare,
for several years, to propose to M. Dubourg that he should spare
him the trouble of carrying the money to the restaurateur at the
end of each month. The first time his master intrusted him with it,
he was delighted, but still felt humiliated by the very pleasure he
experienced. However, he became accustomed to it: a life of steady
honesty has at last restored to him the confidence which every man of
honour ought to possess; but he will not dare to relate this history
to his children for their instruction, until he has become so old,
and so respectable, that he is no longer the same person as little
Peter, and he will always remember, that to M. Dubourg, and his louis
d'or, he owes the preservation of his character.
CONTINUATION OF THE HISTORY OF A LOUIS D'OR.
One day after breakfast, M. de Cideville having a leisure hour,
Ernestine begged him to continue the history of the louis d'or, and
he began thus:--
The shopkeeper to whom Madame Jerôme had carried the louis, was just
going out as she gave it to him. He took it, returned her in change
a six-franc piece, which was lying on the counter, gave the louis
to his wife to be locked up, and departed. As the woman was on the
point of putting it by, she heard her little girl, a child of two
years old, screaming so violently in the adjoining room, that she
thought she must have fallen into the fire. She ran to her, and found
that she had only caught her finger in a door. Having succeeded in
pacifying her, she returned to lock up the louis, but it was not to
be found. Her shopwoman, Louisa, searched for it also, with great
uneasiness. No one had entered the shop; she had been alone, and
she felt persuaded that her mistress, who did not much like her,
and who often quarrelled with her without just cause, would accuse
her of having taken it: nor was she mistaken. It was in vain that
she asserted her innocence, that she emptied her pockets, and even
undressed herself in the presence of her mistress, to prove to her
that she had not concealed it. She was not to be convinced, and she
was the more enraged from knowing that her husband would be angry
with her for not having locked it up immediately. On his return, she
related what had happened, and expressed her confidence that Louisa
had taken the money. He was not so sure of that, however, for he
knew her to be an honest girl; but he was out of temper, and Louisa
suffered for it, and was dismissed.
She went away heart-broken, yet carrying with her, without being
aware of it, the louis d'or in her shoe. At the moment that her
mistress, hearing the cries of her little girl, ran to her aid, she
laid the louis upon the counter, on which Louisa had mounted for the
purpose of arranging a bandbox, placed very high. She wore thick
shoes, to which, in order to render them still stronger, and better
suited for keeping out the damp, she had had another sole put; but
this sole, which was not very good, was worn out at the side, and
Louisa, making a false step upon the counter with these heavy shoes,
the louis was forced into the opening between the two soles. She
felt, as she descended, something catch at her foot, but imagined it
to be a nail coming out of her shoe, and as she was very active, and
did not willingly interrupt anything upon which she was engaged, she
merely struck her foot against the bottom of the counter, in order to
drive in what inconvenienced her. This made the louis enter entirely
into the opening, and as high heels were then worn, the action of the
foot made it slip towards the toe, where it was no longer felt, and
Louisa wandered through Paris in search of a new situation, carrying
with her everywhere this louis which had driven her from her old one.
Not having a character from her master, she could not obtain an
engagement. She was an orphan, and had no relations in Paris, so that
to avoid perishing from want, she was obliged to station herself at
the corner of a street, as a mender of old clothes. This occupation
was a very painful one for Louisa, who had been well brought up,
her parents having been respectable tradespeople, who had failed,
and died in poverty. It had required all the gentleness of her
disposition to enable her to live with the wife of the shopkeeper,
by whom she was badly treated, but as she was a well-conducted
girl, she endured everything in order to continue in a respectable
situation. Now, she was compelled to hear the oaths of the street
people, and the talk of drunkards, who often addressed her in a very
disagreeable manner, to say nothing of the cold, the wind, and the
rain, from which she suffered greatly; but as her occupation did not
require much walking, she had not worn out her shoes, so that she
always carried about with her the louis which had occasioned her so
much harm.
One day, in spring, when the sun had been very warm, there came on
suddenly a terrible storm, which, in a few minutes, swelled the
kennels to such a degree, that in several places they touched the
walls of the street. Louisa had left her station to take refuge under
an opposite doorway, where she found herself by the side of a lady,
dressed in a manner which indicated affluence. She was not young,
appeared to be in bad health, and was much embarrassed about having
to cross, in her thin shoes, the deep pools of water formed before
her. She was not in the habit of going on foot; but this morning, the
weather being very fine, and the church in which she usually heard
mass, being near her residence, she had not ordered her carriage in
going to it. Having found it, however, very full, she went to another
at some distance, and while there, had sent her servant on an errand.
She had returned alone, had been overtaken by the storm, and was much
afraid that the damp would bring on a severe cold, from which she
was but just recovered. "If I had only some other shoes!" she said.
Louisa very timidly offered hers.
"But what will you do?" asked the lady.
"Oh, I can go barefoot," replied Louisa; "but you, madam, cannot
possibly go in those shoes." And Louisa really believed what she
said, for poor people, accustomed to see us surrounded with so many
conveniences, which they manage to do without, sometimes imagine it
would be impossible for us to support things which they endure as a
matter of course. But although they entertain this opinion, we ought
not to share it. We must not persuade ourselves that their skins are
much less sensitive than our own, nor that they are constituted in a
different manner to ourselves; but, accustomed to pain, they do not
exaggerate it, and thus endure, without much suffering, things which
we should think it impossible for us even to attempt, and which,
nevertheless, would not do us more harm than they do them.
However, continued M. de Cideville, in the present case, it was not
so. Louisa was young, and in good health, the lady aged, and an
invalid. It was quite reasonable, therefore, that she should accept
Louisa's offer, and she did so. Louisa making many apologies for not
being able to present her shoes in better condition, accompanied her
barefoot, and supported her, as she could not walk very well in such
large and heavy shoes. When they reached the lady's residence, she
made Louisa go in, in order to dry herself, and at the same time to
reward her for the service she had rendered her. She also ordered
her shoes to be dried before they were returned to her. They were
placed near the kitchen fire; Louisa likewise seated herself there,
and while talking with the servants, the kitchen-maid took one of the
shoes in order to clean it, and accidentally raised up the outer sole
which the water had almost entirely detached. The louis d'or fell
out. For a moment Louisa was as much astonished as the rest, but
she suddenly uttered a cry of joy, for she remembered that something
had entered her shoe on the day she had been accused of taking the
louis. She related her story, and the servants, greatly astonished,
went and told it to their mistress. Louisa entreated the lady to
give her a certificate of what had happened, that she might get a
character from her master, and thus be able to obtain a situation.
The lady caused inquiries to be made, not only at the shopkeeper's,
where she learned that Louisa's account was entirely true, but also
in the neighbourhood, where she had always been regarded as a very
honest girl, and where no one believed that she had stolen the louis.
The lady also perceived by her manners and conversation, that she
was much superior to the station in which she had found her; she
therefore took her into her service, in order to assist her lady's
maid, who was old and infirm. She sent to the shopkeeper the amount
of his louis in silver, and gave to Louisa the louis d'or, which had
occasioned her so much injury, and so much good.
As often happens with uneducated persons, Louisa was superstitious.
She imagined that her good fortune was attached to this louis d'or,
which she had so long carried about her, without being aware of it.
She therefore would not think of spending it, but still continued
to carry it about her. It happened that her mistress while going
to her country seat, which lay at some considerable distance from
Paris, turned aside, for a few leagues, in order to spend a day with
a friend, whose house was nearly on her route. She left Louisa at
the post-house, with her luggage, where she was to take her up the
following morning. As Louisa had nothing to do, she seated herself
upon a bench before the door which faced the high road. Presently she
beheld a young man riding up to the house, at full speed. He rode so
rapidly that the postilion, by whom he was accompanied, could not
keep pace with him, and was obliged to follow at some considerable
distance behind. He was pale, apparently much fatigued, and also
greatly agitated. He alighted from his horse, and ordered another
to be saddled immediately; the ostlers could not make sufficient
haste. As he was preparing to remount, he sought for money to
defray his expenses, but he had not his purse. He searched all his
pockets, and then perceived that at the last stage but one, where he
had been obliged to change everything, in consequence of his horse
having thrown him into a ditch full of water, he had forgotten his
portmanteau, his purse, and his watch. He was greatly distressed and
agitated. "What!" he exclaimed, "not a louis upon me! A louis would
save my life." He inquired for the master of the inn, and was told
that he was in the fields, and that there was no one in the house
except his son, a lad of fifteen, and some postilions. "Can you not,"
he said, "find one louis to lend me? I will give you a cheque for
ten." The men looked at each other without replying. He told them he
was the Count de Marville, and that he was going two leagues further
on. His wife was lying there ill, very ill, without a physician, and
surrounded by persons who did not understand her constitution, and
who were giving her remedies quite unsuitable to her state. The news
had reached him at Paris: he had consulted his physician, and in
order not to lose time, had taken post horses and travelled night
and day. His servant, too weak to follow him, had been obliged to
stop by the way, and as for himself, he had just travelled a double
post, so that he was four leagues from the place where he had left
his luggage, and had not a single louis to continue his journey, and
save, perhaps, the life of his wife. But to all this, the men made
no reply; they merely dispersed; the very agitation of the count
destroyed their confidence in what he said. Besides, the postilion
who had accompanied him, and to whom he had promised a liberal
reward, in order to induce him to ride a double stage, was extremely
dissatisfied, at not being even paid his hire, and complained, swore,
and threatened to appeal to the mayor of the place. M. de Marville
thought of nothing but the delay, and in his anxiety it seemed to him
that the loss of a single hour might be fatal to his wife. Louisa
heard all this; she knew the name of de Marville, having heard it
mentioned by her mistress. She thought of her louis; it was the only
money she had about her, for in travelling she placed the little she
possessed in the care of her mistress, except the louis, which she
could not part with. She thought it very hard to give it up: still it
had drawn her from a state of so much misery, that she felt it would
be a sin not to allow another to be benefited by it when it was in
her power to do so. Taking it, therefore, out of the little pocket
in which she always carried it, she offered it to M. de Marville,
who, greatly delighted, asked her name, and promised that she should
hear from him; then paying the postilion, and remounting his horse,
he rode off; while Louisa, though she did not repent of what she had
done, felt, nevertheless, a little uneasy, and the more so as the
people of the inn assured her that she would never see her money
again.
The following day, her mind was set at rest, by the return of her
mistress, who was acquainted with M. de Marville, and had learned
that his wife was in fact lying very ill, at the distance of two
leagues from where they were. Louisa's sole anxiety now was to regain
her louis, which was still at the post-house where M. de Marville had
changed it, and it became henceforward more precious than ever in
her estimation. M. de Marville did not forget what he owed her. He
had found his wife extremely ill, and whether from the good effects
of his treatment, or from some other cause, he had the delight of
seeing her restored to health. He attributed her cure to Louisa, and
as he was extremely attached to his wife, he considered himself under
great obligations to one whom he regarded as her preserver. He went
to see her at the seat of her mistress, repaid the louis, and also
settled upon her a small annuity. On this occasion, his man-servant,
who had some property, became acquainted with Louisa. He married her,
and shortly after entered into the service of the same mistress. As
he was a reasonable man, he wished her to spend the louis, for he
knew that it was ridiculous to imagine that anything of this kind
could bring good fortune; but Louisa would only consent to part with
it, in payment of the first two months' nursing of her first child.
The nurse of this child was a tenant of M. d'Auvray, the father of a
little girl called _Aloïse_. To him she gave the louis, when paying
the rent of her farm, and you shall presently see what use was made
of it.
THE RENT.
Aloïse had for some time been very uneasy. Janette, the woman who
used to bring her every other day a bunch of fresh chickweed for
her bird, had not been near her for a whole week, and each time she
thought of it, she said to her nurse, "I am sure my poor little
_Kiss_ will be ill, for want of some chickweed, for there is no shade
in his cage when he is at the window, and the sun is shining over his
head." And Aloïse actually feared that her bird would receive a _coup
de soleil_. This fear, indeed, did not often occupy her thoughts,
only whenever she went to talk to Kiss, she would say, "This naughty
Janette, will she never come?"
Janette arrived at last, and Aloïse, when she saw her, gave her a
good scolding, and hastily seizing a bunch of chickweed, and without
giving herself the time to unfasten it, she tore a handful, and
carried it to her bird, saying, "Poor Kiss! the sun is dreadfully
hot!"
"Oh yes! Miss," said Janette, "it is indeed very hot, especially when
one has just recovered from a fever."
"Have you had a fever?" asked Aloïse, whose whole attention was now
turned to Janette, and whom, indeed, she perceived to be very much
altered. Janette told her that her illness had been caused by grief,
for her rent was due, and she was unable to pay it, and her landlord
had threatened to turn her and her three children out of doors, and
take away her bed, which was all she possessed in the world.
"What," said Aloïse, "have you no chairs?"
Janette replied that she had had two wooden stools and a table, but
that during the winter before last, which was that of 1789, she had
been forced to burn them, for the cold was so intense, that one
morning she found one of her children almost dead. A short time
previously, she had lost her husband, after a long illness, which had
exhausted all their resources, so that this was the third quarter's
rent which she had been unable to pay. Her landlord had given her
some further indulgence, but now told her, that if she did not pay
by the next quarter, both she and her children should be turned into
the street. "And well will it be for us," continued Janette, "if we
find there a little straw on which to lie down and die, for we are
too miserable to be taken in by any one." Saying this, she began
to cry, and Aloïse, who was extremely kind and compassionate, felt
ready to cry also. She asked Janette if her rent was very high. It
was six francs a quarter. Three quarters were due, a louis would,
therefore, be owing in July; and this was a sum which she could not
possibly hope to pay, for her only means of living was the sale of
her chickweed, together with a few flowers in summer, and some baked
apples in the winter, all which was scarcely sufficient to find food
for her children. She added that during her illness, they must have
died of hunger, had it not been for the charity of some neighbours,
and that she was now hastening home in order to get them some bread,
as they had eaten nothing all day. Aloïse took from her drawer forty
sous, which was all that remained of her month's allowance, for
as she was very careless, she was never rich. These she gave to
Janette, and the nurse added twenty more, thus making in all half
a crown. The nurse also gave her, for the children, some old shoes
which Aloïse had cast aside, and poor Janette went away delighted,
forgetting for the time her unhappy condition, for the poor sometimes
endure such pressing hardships, that when they find themselves for a
moment freed from them, the happiness which they experience prevents
them from thinking of the misery which awaits them.