WHICH IS BOTH SOCIAL AND RELIGIOUS.
Now, undoubtedly, it is extremely easy to most persons not to believe
a thing if they do not wish to believe it. And very soon our friends,
wending their way along the soft moist forest path, in the languid
December sunshine, began to forget about John Paqualin and his alarming
warning.
'It was all spite,' said Eliza, tossing her head, white muslin cap and
all, with a great show of dignity. 'He hates me because I won't receive
his advances and always keep him at a proper distance. It was just a
trick to deprive a poor, hard-working, young woman of a well-earned
holiday.'
'I think he was wrong about the weather,' remarked Paul quietly. 'It's
generally colder before snow.'
'He ought to be shut up in the madhouse, as my father suggested,' said
Antony, who was still smarting from the reproof his mother had given
him. 'I'd have all those sort of fellows kept under lock and key. There
ought to be a law about it. They've no right to be about loose.'
'You are young, my son,' said Susan Lepage, 'and the young, too often,
are thoughtless and cruel. Perhaps life will teach you, among other
lessons, to be merciful if you would obtain mercy.'
Antony's handsome face grew very sulky. 'You're always scolding me for
something or other,' he said crossly.
[Illustration]
Meanwhile our little Peter was very happy. He had been sorry for the
charcoal-burner, it is true; but he would have been very much more
sorry not to go to Nullepart. A light breeze ruffled the dark branches
of the pine-trees; here and there a scarlet or yellow leaf still hung
on the brambles that grew on the skirts of the wood; the little birds
looked at him merrily with their round, bright eyes, as they flew
chirping to and fro among the trees and bushes. As to the snow, Peter
did not give it a thought, as he ran, just like a little dog, first a
long way on in front of the rest of the party, and then dawdled ever
so far behind them--looking at the quaint little huts, and houses, and
castles that the pine needles make where they fall and gather on the
small twigs and branches at the base of the younger trees; and then,
seeing that his mother and brothers had got on a long way ahead of him,
scuttled up to them again in a great fuss and hurry, with very red
cheeks, and a curious bumping at his heart, what with excitement and
exercise, and just a trifle of fright, too, lest the old dwarf whom
John Paqualin had told him about should suddenly nod and grin at him
from under the pine boughs, saying:--
'Hey, my fine fellow, so we've met at last!' But I suppose the black
dwarf was plotting mischief at home within the recesses of his
mysterious cavern on that particular Sunday morning; for though he
kept a very sharp look-out, little Peter saw no trace of his naughty,
mocking face, even where the path was narrowest and the pine-trees
thickest.
Now the town of Nullepart is an exceedingly ancient place, as you will
gather from its name if you are anything of a scholar. It lies down in
a remote valley along the banks of a river, with hills on either hand
clothed below with oak, and beech, chestnut, and walnut, and, at their
summits, crowned with pine-trees, that make a dark, ragged, saw-like
edge against the sky. Some of the houses in the main street are built
of stone, and roofed with fine, red, fluted tiles; but the major part
of them are of wood, like the farm-house in the forest, with deep
eaves, and quaint gables and stairways, and galleries. And I am sorry
to say that the good people of Nullepart are somewhat old-fashioned in
their habits, and do not pay quite as strict a regard to cleanliness
as might be desired; and permit their ducks, and chickens, and pigs
to walk about the crooked streets along with the foot-passengers, in
rather too friendly and confidential a manner.
[Illustration: GOING TO CHURCH. _Page 72_]
But little Peter, never having seen any other town, thought Nullepart
a very fine place indeed; and quite believed that nowhere else in the
world were there such grand houses, or such inviting shops, or so many
people, or half so much chatter and bustle. You see the justice of our
opinions is very much dependent upon the extent of our experience--a
fact which few persons always manage to bear in mind, at least where
their own opinions are concerned--with the opinions of their neighbours
it is, of course, different.
Little Peter clung rather tight to his mother's hand on one side, and
to his brother Paul's on the other, for he was somewhat afraid of being
lost in the crowd and never found again. Antony did not offer to hold
the little boy's hand. He walked on the other side of his mother, with
his cap set jauntily over one ear and his handsome face all smiles
again. He nodded and said good-day to all his acquaintances, and stared
hard at all the pretty girls when he passed them, as a young man should
who has a good opinion of himself and who intends some day to be a
soldier.
But if little Peter thought Nullepart street dangerously full of
people, what did he think when passing under the carved porch, and
pushing aside the heavy, leathern curtain that hung across the doorway,
he entered the church itself, still clinging tightly to his mother's
hand?
He could see nothing but trousers and petticoats, the broad backs of
men, and the comfortable backs of women--it would be uncivil to call
them broad, too, you know; you should select your adjectives carefully
in speaking of ladies--and the straight backs of lads, and the slim,
neat backs of young girls all around him; while the close, heavy air
of the church was full of the hum of many voices, and the shuffling of
many feet over the stone pavement.
'Ouf, how hot!' said Eliza, in a loud whisper, unpinning her blue
shawl. 'Heaven forgive me, but it's like being in a saucepan with
the lid on. Why, there's my cousin Ursula Jacqueline Lambert. Ah, my
dear cousin! how have you been this long while? Yes, it is seldom we
meet. And time passes and leaves its mark behind it. Not that I change
much--no, the saints be praised, I keep my looks. But I see you have
altered. Well, it cannot be helped. Your husband is a good, faithful
soul, and I daresay he doesn't observe it. There's the advantage of
having married an old man. His eyes grow dim just in time--now with
me....'
But Peter did not hear any more of Eliza's conversation, for his
mother moved forward into the middle of the nave of the church, from
whence it was possible to see the high altar, with its lights and
flowers, and the great picture behind it, of which the people of
Nullepart are very proud, for it was painted by a famous artist and is
worth a great deal of money, and is, moreover, so dark with age, and,
perhaps, with a proportion of dirt as well, that it affords an immense
amount of interesting conversation, as nobody has ever yet discovered
what subject it represents.
Priests in rich vestments stood before the altar, their backs looking
like those of great gold and silver beetles; and there were boys with
tall candles, and boys chanting; and the plaintive sound of the organ;
and many persons kneeling on low chairs or on the rough pavement
saying their prayers. Susan Lepage knelt down too; and little Peter
stood bare-headed close beside her. The church, somehow, seemed very
different to what he had expected. It was very large and high, and the
painted windows up in the roof let in but scanty light. It seemed to
Peter a very mysterious place; and he felt a wee bit frightened.
At last Susan rose again from her knees.
'Now for thy pleasure, little one,' she said, looking lovingly at the
child. 'Where is the stable, Antony?'
'It is there,' he answered, pointing to the southern aisle of the
church. 'I've just been to see; but the crowd is so thick about it we
must wait awhile--we can't get through yet.'
Susan Lepage sat down on one of the low, rush-bottomed chairs, and took
Peter on her lap.
'All in good time,' she said. 'Antony will let us know when to be
moving. Meanwhile, we will rest. Your poor, little legs must be tired.'
Presently a stout, genial-looking, old gentleman, in a black cassock
and funny, little, black cape, came up to them. He wore a black
skull-cap, too, for the church was draughty, and his head was bald,
save just at the back, where his short, bristly, white hair stood out
like a neat trimming round the edge of his cap.
'Well, well, Susan Lepage, it isn't often that we see you here, now,'
he said. 'Don't move, don't move, my good woman. Ah, yes! I know the
walk is long and fatiguing; you would come oftener if you could. The
spirit is willing, as it is written, but the flesh is weak. Yet you
do well to come to-day, and bring these fine lads, your sons, with
you. The good God remembers those who remember Him. But where is the
husband?'
[Illustration]
Peter looked at his mother as the priest asked this question, and it
seemed to him that for some reason she seemed troubled and sad.
'Ah, my father, he has remained at home to keep house. We live, as you
know, in a lonely place.'
The priest smiled and shook his head.
'Exactly,' he said, 'I understand. Politics have a word to say in the
matter, though, haven't they?'
But Susan Lepage did not smile in return.
'Alas, my father!' she said.
Peter stared at both speakers wonderingly. He did not understand what
they meant. But then it must be admitted there are a good many things
we do not quite understand at five years old.
'Do not vex yourself,' answered the priest kindly. 'It is written that
the faithful wife may save her husband. All times are in the hands of
God. That which He has ordained cannot fail to be accomplished.'
Then he laid his hand gently on little Peter's round, black head,
saying:--
'And this is your youngest, the autumn child, who brings the blessing
to the house?'
'Yes,' she said. 'He has come for the first time to burn a candle
before the Infant Jesus. But the worshippers are so many that as yet
we have been unable to get a sight of the stable.'
Just then Eliza bustled up.
'Ah,' she exclaimed, 'one thing is certain, my poor cousin's temper
is sadly soured with age. I made myself agreeable to her, in the
assurance that she would at least ask me in to dinner.--Forgive me,
your reverence, I did not observe that you were conversing with my
mistress'--Eliza curtsied to the priest.--'But not a bit of it. She
has treated me with marked coldness, and not so much as hinted at an
invitation. It seems to me--'
'My daughter,' said the priest, 'lower your voice. We do not discuss
these things so shrilly in this sacred place. Turn your thoughts to
religion. Think here of your own sins, not of the shortcomings of
others.'
Eliza got very red in the face.
'Believe me, I was not thinking of myself, your reverence,' she
answered, quickly, 'but of my mistress. I wished to save her the
expense of my dinner at the inn, by dining with my relations.--We
ought to be going to the Red Horse soon, ma'am,' she added, 'or there
will be no room for us.'
'Oh! but I haven't seen the stable yet,' cried little Peter, quite out
loud, forgetting that he was in church. 'I don't want any dinner. But I
can't go home till I have seen the stable, please.'
The little boy had jumped down off his mother's lap and stood there
with the big tears in his eyes, and with the corners of his mouth
quivering. It seemed to him a terrible thing to have come this long way
full of expectation and hope, and then to be disappointed after all.
But the priest took his hand kindly, and led him towards the southern
aisle of the church, where the crowd was, while Susan Lepage and Paul
and Antony followed behind them.
'Room, my friends; have the amiability to make room,' said the priest,
'for a little lad who comes from a considerable distance to see this
pious and instructive representation for the first time.'
Then little Peter felt quite proud and distinguished, for the people,
at the request of the priest, moved aside to the right hand and the
left, making a narrow lane for him to pass along to the gilded railings
in front of the chapel, where the stable was dressed. Once there, he
stood quite still, staring with very round eyes, for the sight seemed
to him very beautiful and strange, and his heart was filled with wonder
and awe.
In a rough, rocky cave, on the straw in a wooden manger, lay the image
of the Infant Jesus, wrapped in swaddling clothes, with a golden circle
above his baby head. On one side knelt the Virgin Mother, in a white
robe and blue mantle, with her hands clasped meekly on her heart; and,
as she bent towards her Babe, she seemed to little Peter to look at
him with mild and loving eyes. On the other side stood St. Joseph, in
a brown habit, leaning upon his staff. And in the dusky background the
boy could just make out the form of an ass and some cows. While above
the entrance of the cave shone a bright star.
'Ah, how beautiful!' said Susan Lepage softly.
'It should have been finer had we had more money,' answered the priest
with a sigh. 'Not that I complain. The parish has been generous, and
the good sisters have done their best. Still, I myself greatly desired
to have the Three Kings offering treasures. It would have been an
effective incident--but our means are limited. They would have been too
expensive for us.'
And little Peter was puzzled and could not quite comprehend what the
priest meant; for he had often heard his father say that kings were
old-fashioned rubbish, worth nothing at all, and that a republic was
worth ten thousand of them any day in the week.
'Kneel down, my son,' said the priest to Peter presently:--'and pray
to be kept pure, and innocent, and devout, so that, when your earthly
warfare is accomplished--be it late or soon--you may behold the face of
the Saviour in Heaven as you now behold this poor, unworthy image of
Him on earth.'
Then he turned and left them.
Each of the boys bought a candle from the old woman who sat on the
chapel steps, and stuck them in the round iron frame standing just by
the gilded rails, and lighted them with the long taper she gave them.
And Eliza bought one, too, though she was a little disposed to haggle
with the old woman and accuse her of overcharging. But Susan Lepage
bought three candles, and set them in the frame and lighted them.
'For,' she said, 'we must remember those who are absent--whether by
choice or by misfortune--when we are in the house of God.'
[Illustration]