in any respect, not even with your giving orders to Henry, if that
affords you any pleasure; but then, you must, in turn, allow me to
have the privilege of forbidding him to execute them."
Saying this, he went away; and when he had got to some distance,
Henry began laughing, and said, "It is a fine thing to order one's
servants, when one has got any to order!"
Armand was enraged, and attempted to give him a kick, but Henry
avoided it, saying, "I have had no orders to allow myself to be
beaten; therefore mind what you are at," and he took up a boot with
which he was preparing to defend himself. Armand would not compromise
his dignity by contending with him, and therefore left him, saying
that he was an insolent fellow, and that he would pay him off some
day.
"Yes! yes! and I will pay you, when you pay me for the ham which I
have bought for you this morning."
This recollection redoubled Armand's ill-humour; he felt inclined to
go and get it himself; but in addition to his being unaccustomed to
go out alone, he was proud, and could not make up his mind to stop at
the shop of the pork-butcher, especially as the man knew him, from
having seen him frequently pass by with the Abbé Durand, and it would
have been very annoying to him to explain to such a person the reason
of his coming himself, and of his being alone. To have profited by
his liberty, Armand ought to have been better able to manage for
himself, and to overcome his repugnance to a thousand things, which
he could not bring himself to do. He began to discover that he was
made to pay dearly for a freedom from which he hardly knew how to
extract any advantage; nevertheless he had nothing to complain of. No
one controlled his actions, and he could not help acknowledging, that
the Abbé Durand had a right to refuse to take him out, and his father
a right to forbid his servants to execute his orders. He felt that
the kindness which these servants had hitherto manifested towards
him, could result only from their submission to the authority of his
father and his preceptor; still he persuaded himself that the latter,
by acting as they did, took an unfair advantage of the need he had of
their protection. He did not remember, that when we cannot do without
people, we must make up our minds to be dependent on them.
Being out of temper this day, he learned his lessons badly; then
interrupted them, and did not finish them. The manner in which he
had gone through his morning's tasks left him in no humour for the
evening's studies: he therefore passed the afternoon in playing at
battledore and shuttlecock in the yard with Henry, with whom he was
very glad to be on better terms again; but when he saw his father
return, he hid himself. The remainder of the day he was afraid to
meet him, for fear of being asked whether he had been at work. At
night, he returned to his room, much embarrassed, and scarcely
daring to look at the Abbé, who, however, said nothing, but treated
him as usual. It was of no avail for Armand to say to himself that
no one had a right to scold him, and that he was free to do as he
pleased: he was, nevertheless, ashamed of wishing for and doing what
was unreasonable; for the man who is most completely master of his
actions, is no more at liberty to neglect his duties, than a child
whom we compel to fulfil them: the sole difference is, that the
man possesses reason and strength to do what is right, and that it
is because the child does not yet possess these qualities, that he
stands in need of being sustained by the necessity of obedience.
Nothing would be more unhappy than a child left entirely to himself;
half the time he would not know what he wanted; he would commence a
hundred things, and never finish one of them, and would pass his life
without knowing how. Even he who considers himself reasonable, and
who, on this account, thinks that there is no necessity for his being
commanded, does not perceive that all his reasonableness springs
from his doing what is commanded without repugnance, and without
ill-temper; and that if he had no one to guide him, he would be quite
incapable of guiding himself. Armand had some notion of all this, but
it was a confused one: he did not reflect much upon the matter, and
merely thought that, after all, there was no such great pleasure in
being free.
The next day, which was Sunday, two of his companions, the sons of an
old friend of M. de Saint Marsin, came to see him. They were about
fifteen or sixteen years of age, frank and thoughtless, and often
amused Armand by relating anecdotes of their college, and of the
tricks of the boys; but they sometimes shocked him also, by their
coarse and disagreeable manners. They, on their side, often ridiculed
him for being too orderly, too neat, and too elegant. As their father
was not rich, he had only placed them at college as day-scholars; and
as they always went there alone, they laughed at Armand, who could
not move a step without his tutor. He was therefore delighted to be
able to tell them that he was free to do whatever he pleased.
"That's good," said they, "we shall have fine fun: we will go to the
place where we went last Sunday; one can play at ball there with all
the people of the neighbourhood, who are dressed in their Sunday
clothes: they swear, they fight; it's capital sport! Jules was near
getting a thrashing from one of the players, because he laughed at
him for never sending back the ball." "And Hippolyte," said the
other, "had his nose and lips swelled for three days, from having
been hit by the ball, in the face; and then they drink beer. Though
we were sent to stay here the whole morning, we were determined to go
there; will you come with us?"
"Certainly not," replied Armand, to whom this sport offered few
attractions: he had no ambition to contend with a porter, nor be
struck by a ball, nor to drink beer at a tavern. "You must come,"
continued his companions. "Oh, we'll polish you up; we'll show you
how to amuse yourself."
"I wish to amuse myself in my own way," said Armand, who endeavoured,
but in vain, to extricate himself from his friends, who had each
taken one of his arms, in order to drag him against his will out of
the yard where they were. Armand cried out and struggled, and, seeing
his father at the window, "Papa," said he, "don't let them drag me
away by force."--"I! my son," replied M. de Saint Marsin, "why do you
ask me to prevent these young gentlemen from doing anything? You know
very well that every one is free here. My friends, amuse yourselves
according to your own fancy. Armand, do just what you please. I
have no wish to restrain you in any respect," and he withdrew from
the window. The two lads laughed outrageously, repeating, as they
held Armand tightly by the arm, "Armand, do just what you please;"
and seeing that M. de Saint Marsin left them a clear stage, they
forced Armand to run along the streets, in spite of his cries and
struggles. As they passed along, people exclaimed, "Look at those
young rascals fighting!" and, indeed, Armand did not make a very
respectable appearance; he was without cravat, or hat; he had on a
soiled over-coat, and his stockings were tied in a slovenly manner;
it was this which delighted his mischievous companions, for they
knew he had a great objection to be seen in public, unless when well
dressed, and they had sometimes fancied, when walking with him, that
he had manifested some degree of pride, in consequence of being
better dressed than they were. The remarks which were made on them
increased his annoyance and anger. "Let me go!" he exclaimed, "you
have no right to hold me against my will." "Hinder us, then," said
his tormentors; but Armand was strong in arguments only, so that
in order to avoid being dragged along by force, he was obliged to
promise that he would go with them voluntarily; but he was indignant
at the treatment he had received, and might perhaps, notwithstanding
his promise, have been tempted to make his escape, had not his two
tormentors kept constant guard over him, "Don't be a baby," they
said, "you don't know how much you'll be amused."
They soon reached a kind of tavern-garden, where several men were
playing at ball. Jules' first joke was to push Armand in amongst
them; a ball struck him on the left ear, and the man whose throw
he had interfered with, gave him a blow with his fist on the right
shoulder, in order to push him out of the way. This threw him on the
feet of another man, who sent him off with a second blow, at the same
time swearing at him, and telling him to mind what he was about. He
had not time to reply to this one, before the ball came bounding
close to him, and one of the men who ran after it, for the purpose of
sending it back again, threw him on the ground with an oath, at the
same time falling with him; every one laughed, and especially Jules
and Hippolyte. Armand had never in his life felt so enraged, but
seeing that his anger was impotent, his heart was ready to burst, and
had not his pride restrained him, he would have cried with vexation.
However, he restrained himself, and withdrawing from the players,
he seized the moment when Jules and Hippolyte, who had probably had
sufficient of this kind of sport, were no longer watching him, and
leaving the garden, he hastened home as fast as he could, trembling
lest he should see them coming after him. His heart swelled with
anger and a sense of degradation, to find that he was unable either
to defend himself, or to punish those who had so unworthily used
their strength against him. He reached home at last: his father was
coming out as he entered, and asked him, somewhat ironically, whether
he enjoyed his walk. Armand could no longer contain himself; he
said it was a shame to have encouraged Jules and Hippolyte to drag
him away by force, as they had done: "If it was to punish me," he
continued, "for the agreement you pretended to make with me, I ought
to have been told of it. I did not ask you to make such an agreement."
"My child," said M. de Saint Marsin, "I have no wish to punish you; I
have nothing to punish you for; I have no right to punish you. On the
other hand, what right had I to prevent your companions from doing
what they pleased with you. When you were dependent upon me, I could
say, I do not wish him to do such and such things, consequently I
will not allow any one to force him to do them. I could exercise my
authority, and even my strength, if necessary, to protect you from
those who might desire to interfere with you. I could not permit
any one to infringe my rights, by compelling you to obey them, but
now you depend upon yourself only; it is your business to defend
yourself, to say I will not, and to discover what your will is worth.
So long as you are unwilling to be dependent upon any one, no one is
obliged to assist you."
"I see, then," said Armand, in a tone of irritation, "that because I
am not dependent upon you, if you saw any one going to kill me, you
would say that you had no right to defend me."
"Oh! no," said M. de Saint Marsin, smiling. "I do not think my
forbearance would extend quite so far as that: however, I will think
about it. I have not yet examined the case. I do not very well see
what are the duties of a father towards a child who does not consider
himself bound to obey his father. And remember that this is not my
fault, for I never before met with a child who entertained these
ideas."
With these words he went away. Armand, who clearly perceived that
they were making game of him, began to weary of these pleasantries;
but at the same time, he was becoming confirmed in the idea of
following his own will. Near the place where he had seen the
ball-playing, he had noticed another spot where they were firing at
a target, and the idea of this had recurred to him since his return.
His father, when in the country, had begun to teach him the use of
firearms, and had even occasionally allowed him to accompany him on
a shooting excursion, an amusement which greatly delighted Armand.
But M. de Saint Marsin would not permit him to use firearms in Paris,
notwithstanding his earnest assurances that he would employ them
with the greatest prudence. This prohibition was very grievous to
Armand, who, in his wisdom, was quite satisfied that he would be
able to amuse himself in this way without any danger. As he had no
fancy for practising with such people as he had just escaped from, it
occurred to him that he might at least have a target in his father's
garden, or shoot at the sparrows. He went to fetch from his father's
study, where they were always kept, his gun and some pistols which
had been given him by one of his uncles. It was a mere chance that
he got at them, for since he had been intrusted with his liberty, M.
de Saint Marsin, fearing he might make a dangerous use of them, had
always been careful to keep them locked up; but his valet de chambre
having to get something from the place where they were kept, had,
notwithstanding the strict injunctions given to him, forgotten to
relock the place, and take away the key. Armand therefore found the
gun, the pistols, and some ammunition. On descending to the garden,
he observed a cat running along the cornice of a neighbouring house;
he took aim, missed, and walked on. He entered the garden, and there
shot away right and left, and kept up a firing sufficient to alarm
the whole neighbourhood.
After exhausting his ammunition, he was returning across the
yard, loaded with his artillery, when a man, who was talking very
vehemently with the porter, rushed towards him, saying, "Oh! that's
him! that's him! I knew very well it came from here. It is you, then,
sir, who have been breaking my windows and my furniture, and were
very near killing my son. Oh, you shall pay well for this! I will
be paid; if not I'll go and fetch the police, and take you before a
magistrate!" He was in such a rage, that he poured forth a torrent
of words, without allowing himself time to take breath, and all the
while he shook Armand by the arm. "Yes, yes, I'll take him before a
magistrate," he said to the gossips of the neighbourhood, who began
to crowd round the gate.
"That's right," said one; "with his gun and pistol shots, one would
have supposed that the enemy was at hand."
"The balls hit our walls," said another, "and I didn't know where to
hide myself."
"Our poor Azor barked as if he was mad," said a third, "and I am
still trembling all over."
"They shall pay me," continued the man. Armand, confounded, neither
knew what had happened, nor what they wanted. At length he became
aware that the shot which he had fired at the cat, had struck a
window above the ledge along which the animal was walking. He
had loaded his gun with ball, thinking that small shot would not
be sufficient to kill it, and the ball had entered the window of
one of the finest apartments in a furnished house, and had broken
a looking-glass worth two thousand francs, shattered a pendule,
and knocked off the hat of the landlord's son, who happened to be
standing near the chimney-piece. At every incident the man related,
he shook the arm of Armand, who was making fruitless efforts to
escape from him. "You shall pay me," he continued, "as sure as my
name is Bernard, and something more into the bargain, to teach you
not to fire at other people's houses."
"He would be rather puzzled to pay, I should think," said one of the
women.
"If he pays," added another, "it will not be out of his own purse."
"It's all the same to me," said Bernard. "I must be paid: I don't
care by whom. Where is M. de Saint-Marsin? I wish to speak with M. de
Saint-Marsin!"
"Here I am," said M. de Saint-Marsin, who entered at the moment.
"What do you want of me?"
At the sight of his father, Armand turned pale; yet his presence
gave him confidence of protection. Whilst they were explaining the
facts of the case, he timidly raised his eyes, but immediately cast
them down again, like a criminal awaiting his sentence. When M. de
Saint-Marsin understood the cause of all this commotion, he said, "M.
Bernard, I am very sorry for the misfortune that has happened to you,
but I can do nothing in the matter. If it be really my son who has
broken your looking-glass, you must arrange with him, it is not my
business."
"But it must of necessity be your business, Sir," replied M. Bernard,
"otherwise who is to pay me?"
"I know not, Sir, but if my son has done it, it was during my
absence, so that no one can suppose I have had anything to do with
it. I do not answer for his actions."
Then turning towards Armand, he said, "You must see, Armand, that
this is just; that I cannot be responsible for your actions, when I
have no means of making you obey my wishes."
Armand was unable to reply, and stood with his eyes cast down, and
his hands clasped, while large tears rolled down his cheeks. M.
Bernard, in a terrible fury, insisted on taking M. de Saint-Marsin
before the magistrate.
[Illustration: He ran to take refuge with his father, round whom
he clung with all his strength.--P. 403.]
"It is not I who ought to go, it is my son," said M. de Saint-Marsin.
"Oh, your son may be sent to prison."
"I am very sorry, Sir, but I can do nothing."
"To the correctional police," continued M. Bernard.
"I shall be exceedingly grieved, but I cannot prevent it."
Armand at each word sobbed violently, and raised his eyes and clasped
hands towards his father. Some one whispered to M. Bernard, "Here is
the commissary of police passing by." Armand heard him, and uttering
a loud scream, he tore himself from the hands of M. Bernard, and ran
to take refuge with his father, round whom he clung with all his
strength, exclaiming, "Oh, papa, do not let the commissary take me
away; have pity on me!... Do not let me go to prison!"
"What right have I to prevent him, my son? or in what respect is it
my duty to do so? Have you not renounced my protection?"
"Oh, restore it to me! restore it to me! I will obey you, I will do
everything you wish."
"Do you promise me this? Do you really desire that I should resume my
authority?"
"Oh! yes! yes! Punish me in any way you please, but do not let me go
to prison."
"Follow me," said M. de Saint-Marsin; and turning to M. Bernard, he
said, "M. Bernard, I trust this matter may be arranged without the
intervention of the magistrate; have the goodness to wait here for me
a few minutes."
When he entered the house, he said to Armand, "My dear son, I do not
wish to take advantage of a moment of trouble; think well of what
you are going to do: have you made up your mind to obey me, and are
you now convinced that I have a right to exact obedience? I will not
conceal from you, that if M. Bernard takes any proceedings, it will
in all probability be against me, and that after having compelled me
to pay the damages, I shall be ordered to prevent you from committing
similar acts for the future. Will you believe, then, that you are
bound to submit to my authority, or will you wait for the magistrate
to order you to do so?"
"Oh! no, no, papa!" said Armand, confused, and kissing his father's
hand, which he covered with tears. "Forgive me, I entreat you."
"My dear child," said his father, "I have nothing to forgive you: in
granting you your liberty, I knew very well that you would abuse it.
I knew that by allowing you to follow your own judgment, I exposed
you to the danger of committing many faults; but it is for this
reason that you ought to feel the necessity of sometimes submitting
to my judgment."
Armand was unable to express his gratitude for so much indulgence and
kindness. M. de Saint-Marsin returned to M. Bernard, and told him
he would have an estimate made of the amount of damage done, which
fortunately was not so great as M. Bernard had at first represented.
Nevertheless it was considerable, and Armand, who happened to be in
his father's study on the day when they came to demand payment, did
not dare to raise his eyes, so much was he ashamed of what he had
done.
"You now understand, my son," said M. de Saint-Marsin, "that parents
have a right to prevent the follies of their children, since they
have to pay for them; but it is not only for such faults as they have
to pay for, that they are responsible, but for all the faults of
their children, when they have the power of preventing them."
"To whom are they responsible, papa?"
"To God and to the world. To God, who requires that men should be
good, reasonable, and as much as possible enlightened, but who does
not require that children should become all this, by their own
unaided efforts. He has, therefore, intrusted their education and
instruction to their parents, and for this purpose has given them the
authority necessary for compelling them to receive instruction, and
to endeavour to become virtuous. On the other hand, as the world also
demands that children should be so brought up, as to become worthy
members of society, when they conduct themselves ill, when they
manifest vicious propensities, it is the parents who are reproached:
they ought therefore to possess the means and authority of correcting
and controlling their actions, until they attain sufficient strength
and reason to be rendered responsible for themselves."
Armand felt the truth of these arguments. He still occasionally found
obedience troublesome, but he no longer obstinately clung to his
own ideas, for he perceived that there are many things which cannot
possibly be thoroughly understood by a boy of thirteen.
THE SECRET OF COURAGE.
While rummaging one day in her mamma's drawers, Clementia found a
tale, which had been written by one of Madame de Laumont's friends,
for the purpose of throwing ridicule on the absurd fears of her
daughter, as well as upon a scene to which those fears had given
occasion. She asked her mother's permission to read it, this Madame
de Laumont granted, and she read as follows:--
THE FORMIDABLE MONSTERS.[B]
[B] This tale is not from my own pen, it was given to me by a
friend, who composed it on a scene which actually took place.
In the time of the fairies, when every story commenced with _There
was once upon a time_, many wonderful things were to be seen. The
learned men who have discovered that the bones of animals found at
Montmartre, do not belong to any species existing at present, ought
to endeavour to ascertain whether they may not have belonged to
some animals of that period. I am going to speak of two of the most
singular that then existed, and to relate the terror caused by their
apparition, in a fairy castle, where dwelt the princess Tantaffaire
and the princess Morgeline.
One day in the beginning of December, an animal, almost as large and
strong as a man, was observed to enter the castle, walking on his
hind legs, and enveloped in a covering which resembled the skin of a
rhinoceros. His skull alone was covered with a species of hair, of a
deep black, and the fore part of his head presented a skin nearly of
the same colour as the rest of his body. He had large black and white
eyes, which rolled incessantly, and which appeared to possess an
extraordinary degree of vivacity, while to the two jaws of his wide
mouth were attached teeth, as white as those of the elephant, and
which seemed disposed to devour everything they could seize upon. The
strangely-articulated growling which escaped him, seemed to indicate
that he wanted something in the house, whereupon the servants eagerly
chased him from room to room, until he reached the one occupied by
the two princesses of whom I have spoken. In this room there was a
long tube, which extended as far as the upper terraces, which were
frequently visited by the cats. As soon as the monster perceived
this tube, which had become blackened by the dust and smoke from the
fire usually lighted in it, he took off one of the thick skins which
covered the upper part of his body, and disclosed in one of his large
paws, a new claw, flat and sharp, and suddenly darting into the tube,
he showered after him, a black powder as offensive as the vapours of
the infernal regions.
The princess Morgeline, at this unexpected sight, could not help
uttering the most fearful cries. Every one tried in vain to calm her;
every one pointed out to her, that the creature had not injured any
one; she was not to be quieted until she had seen him disappear by
the chimney, for I had forgotten to tell you that this smoky tube was
precisely what at the present day is called a _chimney_.