Alone in the apartment adjoining that of the invalid, he had roused

himself from a long and painful stupor: he listened, and heard only

the voice of his aged tutor, who had been his father's preceptor

also, and who, now seeing the approach of the shadows of death, gave

him his blessing in these words: "Go calmly to thy sleep, virtuous

soul! May all thy good actions, all thy promises fulfilled, all thy

pious thoughts, be gathered around thee at the close of life, as the

beautiful clouds of evening gather round the sun when sinking in the

west! Smile once more if you can hear my words, and if your dying

heart has still the power of feeling." The invalid made an effort to

rouse himself from the heavy sleep of his swoon, but he did not smile,

for, in the confusion of his senses, he had mistaken the voice of

his preceptor for that of his son. "Henry," he stammered in imperfect

accents, "I cannot see you, but I hear you. Lay your hand on my heart,

and solemnly promise me that you will become virtuous." Henry rushed

forward to make this promise, but the preceptor had already placed his

hand on the fluttering heart of the father, and, with a sign to the

son, said, in a low voice, "I promise for you." The heart of the count

was still beating with that slow and languid motion which announces the

near extinction of life; he neither heard the vow, nor the friends who

surrounded him.

Henry, sinking under this heart-rending scene, and trembling for that

which must succeed it, resolved to quit the château, and not return

till the most agonizing hours of his affliction should have passed

away, but he felt that this amendment must not commence by a secret

flight. He therefore announced to his preceptor, "that he could no

longer support this dreadful sight, but that he would return in a

week," and then he added, in a voice choked with grief, "I shall still

find a father here." He embraced him, told him where he meant to

seclude himself, and left the house.

With faltering steps he traversed the park. He perceived the two

white sepulchres visible through the trees, and approached them. Not

daring to touch the yet empty tomb beneath which his father was to

repose, he leaned against the one which covered a heart which he had

not broken, that of his mother, whom he had lost many years before. On

that mother's tomb, and in the presence of God, he renewed his vow of

amendment.

Every step he took brought back the memory of his errors; a child led

by his father, a pit, a fading leaf, the sound of a church-bell, all

awakened the most painful recollections.

He reached the place of his retreat, but after four days of remorse, of

tears and of anguish, he felt that he ought to return to the château,

and prove the sincerity of his regret for the loss of his father by

imitating his virtues. The most noble commemoration that man can offer

to those whom he has loved, and whose loss he deplores, is to dry the

tears of those who suffer;--a series of good works is the fairest

garland that can be suspended over their tombs.

Henry again turned his steps homewards: it was evening when he crossed

the park; and the dusky pyramid which surmounted his father's tomb

looked through the trees, like one of those grey clouds which float

in the azure sky, over the blackened ruins of a village destroyed by

fire. Henry stopped: he leaned his head against the cold marble, his

face bathed with tears, but there was no gentle voice to bid him "be

consoled." No father there to show his affection by tenderly repeating,

"I pardon thee." The rustling of the leaves sounded to him as a murmur

of anger, and the obscurity of the evening chilled him with the terror

of some horrible gloom. However, he recovered himself, and renewed in

these words the vow which his tutor had pronounced in his name: "Oh!

father! dear father! Do you hear your poor child who is weeping over

your grave? Look at me; on my knees I implore your forgiveness, I

promise to fulfil the vow which my tutor pronounced for me upon your

dying heart. Oh father! father!"--here grief stifled his voice--"will

you not give your child some token of your forgiveness!"

A rustling among the leaves was audible, a figure slowly advancing put

aside the branches, and said, "I have pardoned you." It was his father!

That which is intermediate between sleep and death, a deep swoon, had

restored him to life by throwing him into a salutary lethargy. It was

the first time he had been out, and he came, accompanied by his ancient

preceptor, to offer his thanks on his tomb. Tender father! if thou

hadst indeed passed into another world, thy heart could not thus have

throbbed with joy, nor thine eyes shed tears of happiness, on the

return of a penitent son who came to cast at thy feet a regenerate man!

I cannot draw the curtain over this affecting scene, without addressing

one important question to my young readers. Are you still so happy as

to possess a father and a mother, to whom you may afford inexpressible

joy by your affection and your good conduct? Ah! if any one of you has

hitherto neglected to procure them this felicity, I will take upon me

the office of a conscience which cannot fail some day to awaken, and I

tell him that a time will come when nothing can afford him consolation

if he has to say to himself, "They loved me above all things, yet I

have seen them expire without having given them the happiness of being

able to say, My child is virtuous."

POOR JOSÉ.

On the 15th of May, 1801, an honest, but wretched woman breathed her

last, in a garret of one of the highest houses in the Rue Saint-Honoré.

She was still young; but misery more than sickness had rendered her

condition hopeless. Stretched, since the morning, without food, upon a

bed of straw, her strength was nearly exhausted; and she already was

speechless, when the cries of her only child, a boy of about six years

of age, attracted the neighbours, as well as the portress of the house.

Their assistance, however, was of no avail. The poor creature expired

without having the power to utter a single word, and her eyes closed in

death while still fixed upon her child, whose tears had already ceased

to flow on beholding himself thus surrounded. The portress took him in

her arms, and kissed him. "Poor little José!" she said. "Poor José!"

repeated the neighbours, and taking the child, they left the garret,

to go and consult with Dame Robert, a shoemaker, and owner of a shop

six feet square, attached to the same house. She was the friend and

adviser of all who lived near her: the most trifling circumstances were

referred to her superior judgment, and, in the present embarrassment,

it was to her that the neighbours turned to decide on the fate of

the unfortunate orphan. Before revealing the result of this noisy

conference, we will relate in a few words the melancholy, but too

common history, of the parents of poor José.

His father, a native of Annecy, in Savoy, was named Joseph Berr,

or José, according to the _patois_ of the province. The name, thus

corrupted, is so common in that part of the country, that, if ignorant

of a man's name, one may call him José, without being often wrong; and,

under all circumstances, the appellation is received with pleasure.

José Berr, then, possessed the usual qualities of his countrymen; he

was honest, intelligent, and energetic. He had lately married, and not

finding sufficient work to maintain his little family in comfort, he,

like many other ignorant people, committed the folly of going to settle

in Paris, after having expended in a long and wearisome journey, one

half of his little store. The simple-hearted Berr firmly believed that

he should make his fortune; but he soon found that, if a large city

does offer great resources, there are also obstacles to be met with on

all sides. He wished to station himself at the corner of a street, to

do porter's work, but he found the ground already occupied by rivals,

who determined to beat him off the field. They would have nothing to

say to the new comer, and it was not until he had expended what was

to him a considerable sum, in treating the whole party at a tavern,

that he obtained the honour of being admitted into their fraternity.

But as, at the corner of almost every street, companies of porters

are to be met with, similar to the one into which Berr was received,

the profits, consequently, were very trifling, while living in Paris

is very dear. His wife, on her side, endeavoured to work, but having

neither acquaintances nor patrons, and obliged, moreover, to take care

of little José, who was just born, she earned still less than her

husband. For some years, this unfortunate family thus struggled against

poverty, Berr often repenting that he had left his native town, where,

if he did not earn much, he was at least sure of being employed and

assisted. Finally, at the close of a severe winter, during which he had

made redoubled efforts to obtain a subsistence for his wife and child,

Berr was seized with inflammation of the chest, and died in four days'

time for want of proper care. From that moment, his wife languished,

and unable to endure this loss, and the privations of all kinds which

were hourly increasing, she terminated her miserable existence, as we

have already seen.

In the meantime, the council of neighbours, assembled at Dame Robert's,

deliberated, without coming to any conclusion, upon the fate of little

José, who, without troubling himself as to the future, was quietly

sleeping in the shoemaker's shop. The charity and the means of most

of these women were about sufficient to make them willing to keep the

child for a week, but not longer. One had a large family, another was

in service. A moment's silence ensued; then a voice uttered the word

"Workhouse." "The workhouse!" exclaimed Dame Robert, with indignation.

"Send this poor little innocent, the only child of these worthy people

to the workhouse! No, you shall not go to the workhouse, my little

cherub," she continued, taking up the sleeping José; "I have five

children of my own, but you shall share their bread, even if I have to

work an hour more morning and evening, I will take care of you until

you can provide for yourself; and God will help me."

The idea of the workhouse, so distressing to the poor, had greatly

excited Dame Robert, but the kindness of her heart soon confirmed her

generous promise. Left alone with the child, after being overwhelmed

with praise by her neighbours, who envied her the good action, which

they had not themselves courage to perform, she laid the little orphan

in the same bed with her own boys, and retired to rest with the

satisfaction of having done her duty.

The good done by the poor is more meritorious, and requires more

self-denial, than that done by others; for their charity is always at

the expense of necessaries, while that of the rich takes from nothing

but their superfluity. Dame Robert had recently become a widow. Her

small business was tolerably flourishing; but to suffice for the

maintenance of a sixth child, she made it a rule to work, as she had

said, an hour longer morning and evening. This was a great deal for

her, who, with the care of her six children, her work and her business,

could only obtain these two additional hours by taking them from her

time of rest.

The produce of this surplus labour was amply sufficient for the

maintenance of a child so young as José; besides, Dame Robert was not

a woman to spoil him any more than the rest, for all her kindness of

heart did not prevent her from displaying the roughness of manner

so common to her class; his share of potatoes was the same as those

of the two younger children; he occupied the small space left in

the poor bed provided for them; and when the six little rogues made

too much noise, broke anything, or drank the milk of Dame Robert's

favourite cat, the reproofs and thumps which followed these misdeeds

were equally distributed between José and his adopted brothers. As

to the rest, Providence seemed willing to reward the good shoemaker

for her humanity. The labour of the two additional hours was scarcely

sufficient to satisfy her numerous customers; and, as she herself

observed to her neighbours, who were astonished at her constant

cheerfulness, "I laugh to see the people passing and repassing in such

a hurry, little thinking that by wearing out their shoes they are

helping to make my pot boil."

José was beloved by all his little comrades on account of his gentle

and obliging disposition; but he was more especially the friend of

Philip, the youngest of Dame Robert's children. Somewhat older than

José, Philip protected him in their quarrels, gave him the best of

everything, and became seriously angry whenever any one called him the

little Savoyard, this appellation appearing to him insulting, without

his very well knowing why. However, as the children grew older, Philip

had no longer any need of exerting his influence for the protection

of José. The intelligence of the latter had developed so much, and

rendered him so far superior to his young friends, that he assumed

over them that kind of ascendancy which the grossest minds cannot

refuse to superior intellect, when it does not interfere with their own

self-respect.

José had just attained his eighth year; he was small for his age, but

strong and active. Dame Robert had neither the means nor the capacity

to bestow upon him any education beyond some notions of religion,

rather limited, it is true, but still sufficient for his age. The whole

moral code of this worthy woman was contained in these four sentences,

which she was incessantly repeating to her children, and which they

always beheld her put in practice:--

"Be thankful to God for the bread he gives you.

"Never tell a lie, even to gain your bread.

"Earn your bread honestly, otherwise it will profit you nothing.

"When you are grown up, return to your father and mother the bread they

have given to you."

It may be seen, that if Dame Robert was not possessed of much

eloquence, the principles which guided her conduct were just and

solid, and that their correct application was sufficient to direct her

children in the narrow path they were destined to tread.

"Now, my boy!" she said, one Sunday morning, taking José upon her

knees, "we have something besides sport to think about to-day; you are

now eight years old, and you may, in your turn, begin to assist me as I

have assisted you. There are no idlers with Dame Robert. My eldest boys

have begun their apprenticeship; Philip goes of my errands; and of you

I intend to make a little shoe-black, who will bring home every night

the pence he has earned in the day. See! here is the little box I have

bought for you."

José was enchanted at these words. How delightful to be able, at his

age, to earn money, to be useful to his kind mother; for the tenderness

of his little heart made him already feel this joy. It must also be

owned, that the seductive idea of being almost his own master, and of

being able to go through a few streets when executing commissions,

delighted him beyond measure, and made him eagerly accept Dame Robert's

plan; and he immediately ran to admire his little shoe-cleaning

apparatus. Nothing had been forgotten; the box, two hard brushes,

two soft brushes, a little knife, some blacking, some spirit for the

tops of the boots, a supply of rags, and a vessel to contain water;

these articles comprised the whole of José's new possessions. They

were looked at, touched, and turned about, not only by himself, but by

the other children also; while José, impatient to make use of them at

once, wanted to clean all the dirty shoes in the house, and Dame Robert

decided, if he succeeded in this his first attempt, that he should

the next day be established sole master of his brushes, on the grand

Place du Musée. José, full of zeal, immediately set to work, aided

by the advice of his brothers and sisters. The first pair turned out

badly: José cut the strings; at the second attempt he gave his hand a

great scratch, but this only proved that his knife was good, so he did

not cry. Finally, he succeeded very well with the third pair, better

with the next, and still better with the succeeding one; so that,

when he came to Philip's shoes, which he intentionally reserved till

the last, the young novice executed what the apprentices term their

_masterpiece_, and it was therefore decided that he might exercise his

talents in public.

It was with difficulty that José closed his eyes that night, and when

he did sleep he beheld in his dreams more than one passer-by stop

before him to require the exercise of his skill. As I have already

said, Dame Robert lived in the Rue Saint-Honoré, near the corner of

the Rue Froidmanteau; and, although but a short time has elapsed since

the period at which little José commenced his labours, this part of

Paris then bore no resemblance to what it is at the present day. The

wide and handsome street leading from the Carrousel to the Place du

Musée did not then exist, and the Place du Musée itself terminated

in a rapid descent at the end of the Rue Froidmanteau, while this

narrow, low, and always dirty street was almost the only thoroughfare

leading to the Louvre in this direction. Nevertheless it was the one

usually taken by the artists who were attracted either by business or

pleasure to the Palace of the Louvre, in which at that time, as now,

the exhibition of pictures was held, and in which, moreover, were

situated the free academy for drawing, the rooms for the exhibition of

prize pictures, both of which have been removed elsewhere, as well as

the studios of a great number of painters then situated in the immense

wing which extends from the Pont-des-Arts to the Pont-Royal. Dame

Robert, in her tender solicitude for José, and wishing also to justify

her reputation for prudence, had carefully examined all the localities

I have mentioned; the inevitable mud which every foot-passenger must

necessarily collect in crossing the Rue Froidmanteau, first suggested

to her the idea of the useful establishment, of which José was to be

the founder, and having with joy discovered that no rival in this

department had yet thought of taking advantage of so favourable a site,

she hastened, as we have already seen, to inform her adopted son of his

new destination.

On the Monday morning, therefore, José commenced his new career. The

whole of the little family was awake at an early hour, anxious to

accompany and install José in the situation indicated by Dame Robert,

who herself carried the neat little box, while each of the children

took possession of one of the utensils. José alone, as the hero of

the day, carried nothing; he marched proudly at the head of the merry

troop, and never did conqueror take possession of a kingdom with

greater satisfaction than was experienced by the little Savoyard, when

he established his apparatus in a hollow, some feet in depth, faced by

two enormous posts, between which José appeared as in a fortress. Dame

Robert, after having strongly cautioned him not to leave his post, and

not to eat up at once his provisions for the day, which she had given

to him in a little basket, at length made up her mind to leave him,

and went away, accompanied by the other children, though not without

often looking back. Having reached the end of the Place du Musée, she

once more turned round, and saw, with infinite satisfaction, that José

was already engaged in cleaning some boots, which a lazy servant had

brought to him, in order to save himself the trouble of doing them.

With a contented heart, the good woman then redoubled her speed, and

returned home to resume her ordinary occupations; but the image of José

frequently presented itself to her imagination, and interrupted her

labours. The day seemed to her very long, and she had to exercise her

self-denial, in order to resist the temptation she felt to go and take

a distant peep at him, to ascertain how he was getting on; but not to

give her more credit than she deserved, it must be told that she turned

away her eyes when, at lunch-time, Philip, stealing by the side of the

houses, bent his steps towards the Place du Musée. When he returned

empty-handed, and with a smiling countenance, the kind soul became

quite easy, and resumed her needle with more activity than ever.

At the close of this day, so memorable to the little family, the moment

José was perceived in the distance, dragging along his new possessions,

all the children ran to his assistance; José, throwing himself into

the arms of Dame Robert, commenced a confused recital of his wonderful

adventures; then, suddenly interrupting himself, he drew from his

pocket and presented to her, with inexpressible pride, twelve sous,

carefully tied up in a bit of rag. This was the result of his day's

labour, and José, encouraged by this first attempt, and having almost

completely overcome the timidity natural to his age, like all children

who are compelled by necessity to work while very young, he devoted

himself with so much assiduity and intelligence to his new calling,

that he soon became the most skilful, as well as the smartest little

shoeblack in the whole neighbourhood. As he grew older, his earnings

increased; he sometimes went of errands, called hackney coaches, &c.,

&c., while his gentle disposition and pleasing manners gained for him

the esteem of all who lived in the neighbourhood of his ambulatory

establishment. Besides, José was industrious and docile, and not given

to mischief, neither was he greedy, as is sometimes the case with

children even better brought up than he could have been, and his good

conduct was all the more remarkable from his being entirely his own

master during the whole of the day, while fate, as if for the very

purpose of trying him, had placed objects of temptation in almost every

street through which he had to pass on his way backward and forward.

One of these objects was an attractive gingerbread shop, another, a

troop of little urchins, who endeavoured to entice every child that

passed by to join in their follies. It really required strength of

mind, and even what at José's age may be termed virtue, to withstand

these terrible rocks, but he was always triumphant, and if he did

sometimes cast a longing look towards the somersets and tricks of these

little vagabonds, or upon the delicious piles of Madame Legris' crisp

gingerbread, his daily treasure was always faithfully carried home to

Dame Robert, and never had the mud-soiled pedestrian to complain of

having to wait a single minute for the services of the useful shoeblack.

As our reputation commences with ourselves, and is almost always

dependent on our own will, José, who was truly anxious to do what

was right, had already obtained for himself a very flattering one,

considering his age; and we will now relate the good fortune which this

reputation was the means of procuring for him at the expiration of a

year.

In addition to Madame Legris', and many other enticing shops, there

was, at that time, upon the Place du Musée, one which kept an

excellent assortment of colours, canvasses, and everything connected

with painting, and which the artists and students of that period may

remember to have been well acquainted with. M. Barbe, the owner of this

establishment, was a kind-hearted and excellent man, very intelligent,

and very active in his business. His shop was always filled with

artists and young men engaged in painting, the proximity of a great

number of studios rendering it convenient for the purchases perpetually

required in this pursuit. Moreover, the length of time it had been

established, the confidence inspired by the worthy owner, and the

advantages it offered to the poorer class of students, had rendered

it a kind of rendezvous for that little world of its own which we

term artists. Barbe kept in his lumber-rooms those inferior pictures

which could not obtain a purchaser, and with which, otherwise, the

unfortunate authors would not have known what to do; he supplied one

with colours, for a certain time, gratis; lent a palette or an easel

to another; had a kind word for all, and took as much interest in

them as if they had been his own children. Madame Barbe seconded him

wonderfully, and shared his tastes and occupations with a degree of

skill and intelligence worthy of all praise; but, as there is nothing

perfect in this world, Madame Barbe will not be offended if I reveal

two little defects, of which, besides, I have since learned, that she

has corrected herself. She was a little too fond, to use a common

expression, of _storming_ at those about her; and she possessed such

an amazing volubility of tongue, that it was difficult to keep pace

with her, so that she almost always remained master of the field.

Still young and very agreeable, she exercised great influence over

her excellent husband, while she possessed sufficient attraction for

her numerous customers, who were amused with her eloquence without

suffering from her irritability. Her usual victims were her husband,

her little girl of four years old, and a man of about forty, named

Gabri, M. Barbe's head assistant and confidential clerk. Naturally

taciturn, Gabri had become still more so since the marriage of his

patron with this eloquent dame. He had remarked, with his usual

discrimination, that when these fits of passion commenced, the very

mildest answer was only pouring oil upon the fire; he maintained,

therefore, in such cases, the most perfect silence; and Madame Barbe,

satisfied with this evidence of the force of her arguments, went

elsewhere to exercise her power. Gabri was nevertheless esteemed by

her, as by every one else; and it is even asserted, that in one of

her better moments she acknowledged, that a great portion of the

prosperity of their business was due to his intelligence and integrity.

He therefore, with a few exceptions, fared pretty well in the house;

not to mention, that Barbe himself treated him altogether as a friend.

Still, poor Gabri could not overcome the melancholy induced by

irreparable misfortunes. In the course of six weeks he had lost his

three children and their mother, by the small-pox; and, even after the

lapse of many years, this man, apparently so cold, shed tears whenever

he spoke of his poor children. "They were three fine boys," he would

say, but could not finish. With a heart so sensitive, it was impossible

for him to behold without interest our amiable little José. He

carefully watched his disposition and conduct for a long time, became

more and more attached to him, and the fortunate child thus acquired by

his own merits alone a prudent and sincere friend.

But it was not enough for Gabri that he should love José with his whole

heart; he wished also to take measures for his future welfare; and

after repeatedly talking over the matter with Madame Legris, who also

took a great interest in his young _protégé_, they commenced their

innocent plot in the following manner.

Madame Barbe entertained some partiality for Madame Legris, who,

wishing to maintain a good understanding with her neighbours, listened

more patiently than others to the long speeches of this chatterbox.

Besides, she often gave cakes to the little girl, a generosity which

Madame Barbe could not find it in her heart to blame, notwithstanding

her desire to discover faults. The friendly vender of gingerbread went,

therefore, one morning, to call upon her at the hour she was sure to be

in the best humour, her shop being then filled with purchasers. "Well,

neighbour," she said, on entering, "how goes on business this week?"

"Pretty well, pretty well," replied Madame Barbe, (all the while

dexterously filling and capping some bladders of colour, an occupation

which she always reserved till the middle of the morning, in order to

display the grace of her pretty fingers,) "but sit down, neighbour; I

am really very glad to see you.... Ah! good morning, sir; you shall be

attended to in a moment.... Pussy, my darling, here is Madame Legris,

who has brought you some cracknels.... Be so kind as to take a seat,

ladies.... Barbe, bring some canvasses.... Yes, ladies, they are

excellent and very fine, and have been made these twelve months and

more.... Your servant, sir; I know what you want.... Gabri, bring some

pencils to this gentleman.... Naples yellow and white? In a moment,

my little friend.... Gracious! what a crowd! what confusion! and only

myself to attend to it all! for as to my husband and Gabri ..." And

Madame Barbe shrugged her shoulders in a most significant manner.

"Really, friend," resumed Madame Legris, "you seem to me ..."

"What, sir!" exclaimed Madame Barbe, in a higher tone, "those brushes

good for nothing!... Brushes carefully sorted, and made with brass

wire.... Just look at them a second time, sir. Here's a glass of water.

Good heavens! those brushes ill made!"

"Pooh!" exclaimed the discontented purchaser, "I don't want any water;"

and putting the brush into his mouth, "I see," he repeated, "that they

divide;" and he threw them on the counter with contempt.

"You have them, however, from the best makers, my dear friend," said

Madame Legris, wishing to maintain the choleric shopkeeper in good

humour in order to attain her object; "and doubtless ..."

"Doubtless!" resumed Madame Barbe, becoming scarlet, and biting her

lips; "the gentleman, doubtless, knows nothing about the manufactory of

Dagneau; so it's no use talking. Get out of my way, you little stupid,"

she said, addressing her daughter, at the same time giving her a slap.

"Yes, five sous for every dip-cup[2] you bring me to clean, young

gentleman, and quite enough, I think; other people only give four.

Mercy! Gabri: you bring so many things at a time, that you will let

them all fall." And whether Madame Barbe's quick eye really saw what

was going to happen, or whether the sharp tones of her voice startled

poor Gabri, certain it is that he let fall the whole of his load in the

middle of the shop. His mistress, greatly irritated, rushed forward,

and she might, perhaps, have even ventured to have added acts to words

had not the entrance of a new comer suddenly changed the expression of

her features.

This was a distinguished artist, one of M. Barbe's best customers, who

also affected to be an admirer of his wife, at whose expense he amused

himself, by deluding her with the hope that he would one day paint her

portrait.

"What's the matter now? Here is truly a fine subject for a picture;"

he exclaimed, as he beheld the crayons and other articles floating

in a sea of oil, while Gabri, with folded arms, stood petrified, and

Madame Legris was engaged in restraining the infuriated mistress of the

establishment. "It might be called the Broken Cruse. But do not spoil

your pretty face, my charming model. My picture will be completed in a

week, and then we will commence the sketch of our portrait; but really

your complexion is so delicate, so transparent, that we shall have to

use all the resources of our art, and I have a great fancy to try it

on wood. Have you any panels at hand, as, if so, we will choose one at

once."

Whilst Madame Barbe, now calmed and delighted, resumed her seat with

an affected air; the painter, half reclining upon the counter, amused

himself with sketching a small figure with a piece of white chalk,

while he related all the important news of the artistic world. "I told

you, Madame Barbe, that the number of fools was increasing; pictures of

ten feet are nothing to these gentlemen now. There is G----, whom you

know very well; he has just hired the tennis-court at Versailles, in

order to commence his picture, as no studio would be large enough for

it; and this they call painting."

"Ah! Ah!" said Madame Barbe, smiling, "we shall see that at the

Exhibition. But what has become of that young man, a pupil of Monsieur

V----'s, so talented, and so admired? I never see him here now."

"Lost! utterly lost!" replied the artist, with a malicious smile. "He

gave the greatest hopes, but his master's false system has ruined him.

That man will never turn out a first-rate pupil; I have said so for a

long time past.... But, Madame Barbe, they are not bringing me anything

I want. How is it that you have not more attendance for your numerous

customers? It is very strange, upon my word."

"Indeed, neighbour!" said Madame Legris, who had been watching for

an opportunity of getting in a word, "Your business is getting so

extensive that it will be impossible for you to attend to it all

yourself, notwithstanding your activity. Were I in your place, I should

take an assistant--a child, for instance, that would not be much

expense."

"You are right, neighbour," said Barbe, who at that moment joined them.

"Gabri is overwhelmed with messages and work, and an errand boy would

be very useful."

Madame Barbe looked at her husband, and then at Gabri: but the latter

continued quietly to grind his colours, and Barbe saying no more, the

desire of contradicting them passed away almost immediately; and this

capricious woman, turning graciously towards the artist, begged him to

give his opinion upon a subject of so much importance.

"Certainly!" he replied. "It is a good thing; you are quite right;" and

he had already forgotten the matter in question.

"Since it is decided," resumed Madame Barbe, who now calculated that

she should have an additional person to exercise her authority over,

"tell me, neighbour, whether you happen to know a lad likely to suit

us. You know as well as we do what we require."

"As to that," replied Madame Legris, concealing the pleasure she felt

at this question, "it is a difficult matter. I am not sure that I know

any one at this moment who would suit you in every respect.... Yes!

stop; I know a poor boy.... But no, it is impossible; his mother would

not consent...."

"His mother would not consent!" exclaimed Madame Barbe, offended at

the supposition. "What! not consent to his entering a house like ours,

to be my husband's _pupil_, to live as we do! And for all this, what

do we ask in return? Almost nothing, in truth! only to be intelligent,

faithful, obedient, active, industrious, and not greedy, nor awkward;"

and as she named the last of the required qualifications, she glanced

towards Gabri, who bent his head in silence. "In fine, Madame Legris,

represent these advantages to the child's parents, and I cannot think

that they will hesitate for a moment."

"They will not be so foolish," replied Madame Legris, "besides, this

boy has only adoptive parents. It is poor little José, the pretty

little Savoyard, who is established down yonder, between those two

great stones. His is a singular history, and when you know it...."

"You shall relate it to me at our first sitting," interrupted the

painter, taking up his hat; and the hope of being able to relate an

interesting story, increased the desire which Madame Barbe then felt

of possessing José. The kind-hearted Madame Legris therefore went away

perfectly satisfied with the success of her project, and if Gabri's

conversation was still as laconic as usual, a close observer might have

seen him several times during the day rub his hands and smile, a thing

quite extraordinary for him.

The day after this conversation, Dame Robert, dressed in her Sunday

clothes, and holding our little hero by the hand, called upon Madame

Barbe. The story was long, and the dialogue which followed it still

longer: and it may be presumed that Madame Barbe's eloquence was more

flowing and animated than usual; but, as her auditors did not take

the trouble to report it, we can only inform our reader that it was

agreed--firstly, that José should serve Madame Barbe during the space

of seven years, without receiving any remuneration whatever; and that,

after that time, if his conduct was good, he should be paid a small sum

monthly. Secondly, that the said José should, during his seven years'

apprenticeship, be lodged and boarded by his new masters, and that Dame

Robert should take charge of his clothing.

Every thing being arranged to the satisfaction of both parties, José

was immediately set to work, and from the first moment displayed a

degree of intelligence which greatly delighted the kind-hearted Barbe

and much astonished his difficult partner. He had a wonderful faculty

for remembering where the different articles were kept, and, if he

happened to hesitate for a moment, Gabri, from the extremity of the

back shop, where he was grinding his colours, would quickly make him a

sign, which the intelligent child immediately understood. Poor Gabri

dared not display all his joy, for his tormenting mistress would have

punished him by scolding the innocent José; but, taking advantage of a

moment when the latter came to fetch something from where he was, he

would cast a rapid glance towards the counter, and, clasping the child

in his arms, press him with transport to his heart. Madame Barbe would

turn her head, but Gabri's grindstone was already in motion, while

little José was at the top of the ladder.

In the evening, the mistress ordered Gabri to conduct the _apprentice_

to his room. Oh! how delightfully did these words fall upon José's

ears! he who had hitherto possessed only one-third of the dark loft

in which the brothers slept! He was going to sleep alone, and in his

own room! After having gaily mounted seven stories, Gabri opened a

little door, and entered a very small room which led to the roof of

the house, and adjoined M. Barbe's lumber-room. "A window! a window!"

exclaimed José, on entering; "Monsieur Gabri, I have a window!" and he

clapped his hands, and jumped for joy. Gabri showed him his bed, which

was of fresh straw, covered with a sheet; the little fellow was in such

a state of joyous excitement that it was with difficulty his protector

could induce him to lie down.

José was roused from his pleasant slumbers by the first rays of the

morning sun, when he was gladdened by another agreeable surprise, on

discovering that the walls of his garret were smooth and perfectly

white, for it had just undergone repair, and was then in a state of

cleanliness rarely met with in such places; but José, little sensible

to this advantage, was very much so to the cheerful appearance of his

room, and especially to the facilities which those white walls afforded

him for continuing his first attempts in art. For it must be known that

José, in the leisure moments left by his former occupation, used often

to exercise his talents by daubing with his blacking and clumsy brushes

upon stones or bits of wood a thousand figures of his own invention.

What pleasure, then, for him to be able to adorn his room with drawings

of soldiers and horses! and he was already on the point of commencing

operations when he heard the voice of Madame Barbe, and hastened to

obey the summons.

For a whole week the house resounded with nothing but the name of José.

The poor boy, constantly watched and tormented, was subjected to a

very severe test; but the natural goodness of his disposition and his

indefatigable zeal, softened by degrees the severity of his mistress.

Besides, his kind friend Gabri, by his judicious advice, saved him from

many an act of thoughtlessness, and Madame Barbe scolded so often that

her husband never scolded at all. José was, therefore, good, beloved,

and happy. His taste for painting was increased by the conversations

which he daily heard in this house; still, perhaps, this taste might

never have been developed, had it not been for a singular occurrence,

and his genius, like the fire shut up in a rude stone, might never have

emitted a spark, had not some one struck upon it.

Amongst the numerous houses to which José was sent with the orders

executed by M. Barbe, there was one at which he was received with

especial kindness, and which, notwithstanding all his prudence, he

found great difficulty in leaving when his errand was performed. This

was the house of one M. Enguehard, a respectable man, in only moderate

circumstances, who, being passionately fond of art, had exercised his

talents in engraving until compelled to discontinue, by weakness of

sight. Married, late in life, to an amiable woman; who made him happy,

their constant occupation was the education of their only son, a lad

about two years older than José. Francisco, as he was named, had from

his birth been destined to be a painter, and being brought up with this

idea, he manifested both facility and power; but naturally of a lively,

volatile temperament, and still too fond of amusement, he worked but

little, and his progress was consequently not rapid. Like many other

children he did not reflect on the sacrifices which his father's

slender means obliged him to make for his education, and he lost or

destroyed, without scruple, books, maps, mathematical instruments,

and other expensive articles, which his parents could only replace by

depriving themselves of some personal comfort.

Francisco was nevertheless of a good disposition, and when he chose to

make an effort, his progress was so astonishing, that his kind parents

forgot his past faults. M. Enguehard was at first inclined to restrain

the liking which his son manifested for José, fearing lest this child,

whom he naturally supposed had not been very carefully brought up,

might lead his son to contract some bad habits; but feeling himself

an interest, which it was indeed difficult not to feel, on seeing the

boy's frank and amiable countenance, he made inquiries about him, and

what he learned was so satisfactory that it removed all apprehension

with regard to his intimacy with Francisco. The two boys grew daily

more and more attached to each other, and José divided all his leisure

moments between Dame Robert and his beloved Francisco. Philip, however,

was not forgotten; but José, always beyond his years in mental powers,

preferred the advantage of being enlightened by the conversation of M.

Enguehard and Francisco, to the pleasure of being admired by Philip.

His ideas became enlarged and elevated; and, grieved at his own

ignorance, he envied Francisco the happiness of an education from which

he profited so little.

One day when the latter had thrown aside, in a passion, a book which

wearied him, José picked it up, and, turning it round, looked at it

with a sigh.

"You are very fortunate," said Francisco, "in not knowing how to read

or write, for you are not forced to learn lessons."

"Ah!" replied José, "that is my greatest grief: it is you who are

fortunate in having the opportunity of learning. Oh, if you would but

teach me to draw!"

"Yes, yes!" cried Francisco, enchanted at the idea: "I will be your

master; but take care if you do not do well--upon the knuckles, my lad!"

José smiled at this threat, and M. Enguehard, who entered at the

moment, having approved the project, it was decided that Francisco

should give José a lesson every Sunday, and of an evening during the

week whenever José could obtain permission to go out; but Francisco

thought no more about rapping knuckles. José comprehended so readily

and advanced so rapidly, that, in order to maintain the proper distance

between master and pupil, his friend was obliged to set seriously

to work, and this little experiment led him to make a few salutary

reflections. M. Enguehard, struck by José's astonishing aptitude,

neglected no opportunity of maintaining an emulation so advantageous

to both the boys. He often talked to them about the celebrated masters

of the old school, and related to them portions of their history.

"Almost all of them," he said, "displayed their genius from childhood.

Lanfranc, one of the most distinguished pupils of the Caracci, being

in the service of Count Scotti, covered all the walls with charcoal

drawings, his paper being insufficient to contain the fertility of his

imagination. Philippe de Champagne, a native of Brussels, but classed

amongst the painters of the French school, and who died President of

the Academy, used, when about eight or nine years of age, to copy every

picture and engraving that came in his way; and Claude Gelée, called

Lorraine, a real phenomenon, such as the history of the arts can offer

but few examples of, could learn nothing while at school; his parents

therefore apprenticed him to a confectioner, with whom he succeeded

still worse. Not knowing what to do, he went to Rome, and, unable to

find employment, he entered by chance the service of Augustin Tasso to

grind his colours and clean his palette. This master, in the hope of

obtaining some advantage from his talents, taught him some of the rules

of perspective; and Lorraine, devoting himself entirely to painting,

passed whole days in the fields sketching and painting, and became the

celebrated and almost unique landscape painter, whose works we still

daily admire in our Museum."

José had listened to this recital with an attention which scarcely

permitted him to breathe. When M. Enguehard had finished speaking,

a silence of a few moments ensued, which José at length interrupted

by rising suddenly and crying out with all his might, "Why not? why

not?"... He then blushed when he beheld Francisco and M. Enguehard

laughing heartily. M. Enguehard sent them to play, and, reflecting

upon the words which had escaped from José, he felt tempted to direct

him into a career to which everything seemed to call him; but the

kind-hearted engraver was poor; to charge himself with José was

impossible; and then, was he not wrong in diverting the child's mind

from the ideas that were suitable to his present position? Again he

hesitated. "Good God! what a pity!" he repeated; "but if I should

render him unhappy without being able to assist him!" And from that

day M. Enguehard related no more stories, nor gave himself any further

anxiety about the lessons which Francisco continued to give to José.

But all precautions were now useless; José was born a painter; Claude

Lorraine incessantly recurred to his mind, and for want of fields,

which he was denied the privilege of beholding, he sketched horses

and figures in every corner, and sought subjects for composition in

the historical anecdotes which Francisco related to him. Francisco,

however, could only teach him the elements and mechanical details of

art, things which José's genius rendered almost useless to him. Drawing

even was not enough; he burned with a desire to paint, and found a

secret pleasure in touching palettes and colours. Examining with

attention the occupations of the various painters on whom he waited

with parcels, his imagination became excited, and when alone in his

garret, he grieved at being only able to work with black and white. He

took good care, however, to keep from Madame Barbe the knowledge of

his favourite amusement. It was at the expense of his sleep that he

exercised his talents; and his friend Gabri, his only confidant, did

not feel tempted to betray his secret.

But a circumstance occurred, which all his prudence could not have

foreseen, and which, by enlightening Madame Barbe, cost poor José many

tears.

We have already spoken of Barbe's kindness in giving room in his house,

not only to those pictures, whether good or bad, which their authors

had no convenience for keeping; but also to the colour boxes of the

young men employed in copying in the Museum; as well as to the studies

which the pupils were very glad to bring under the notice of the crowd

of artists, who were continually congregated in the shop of the honest

colour vender. Before being admitted to compete for the great prize

for painting which annually sends to Rome, and maintains there, at

the expense of the government, the person who has the good fortune

to obtain it, the students have a first trial with a full-length

figure, and afterwards with painted sketches; and the six or eight

most successful competitors then take their places, and commence

the pictures for which the prize is to be awarded. It may easily be

conceived how great is the importance attached to these competitions by

those young and poor students, who behold in them the termination of

their elementary course, and the possibility of pursuing their studies

on a more extended scale. One of the most promising pupils of that time

had just obtained the prize for the figure. As Barbe had assisted him

in various ways, he was anxious to make him a participator in his joy,

and place in his hands his triumphant work. He arrived, therefore,

followed by a dozen of his companions and rivals, who, the first moment

of disappointment over, usually participate cordially in the delight of

the victor, especially when they happen to study under the same master.

José was a witness to the transports of these young men, and heard the

praises lavished by the spectators on the fortunate student. Agitated

by a thousand varied emotions, jealous, but with that noble and rare

jealousy which made Cæsar weep at the feet of Alexander's statue, he

would doubtless in his excitement have drawn upon himself a severe

reprimand from Madame Barbe, had not Gabri whom nothing could divert

from his silent watchfulness, led him away, in spite of himself.

"Ah!" said José, with emotion, "Do you see that young man? He is only

fifteen.... Claude Lorraine was a confectioner.... And I, what am I?...

I feel that I, too, have something in me!..."

Gabri knew nothing about Claude Lorraine, but he exerted himself with

so much kindness to pacify José, that he at length succeeded, by means

of a positive promise, to satisfy, at least, the most attainable of his

wishes. The Exhibition had just opened, and José from his station in

Madame Barbe's shop, could see successive crowds of amateurs thronging

the entrance to the Museum; and he was constantly hearing the merits of

the different paintings discussed. How, then, could he help ardently

longing to examine for himself those interesting works? He had once

ventured timidly to approach the door of the Museum, but the dark scowl

of the porter, and a slight movement of his cane, warned him to make a

precipitate retreat; not that working-men of all kinds, and soldiers,

cannot without difficulty gain admission into these exhibitions; but it

must be owned that poor José, at his age, and in his linen pantaloons,

besmeared with every colour in M. Barbe's establishment, and in his

tattered and scanty jacket, presented an appearance by no means

calculated to soften the rigour of so proper a gentleman. Having then

confided his grief, both to his young and his old friend,--to Francisco

and to Gabri,--the affair was settled in the following manner.

Francisco, with his father's permission, presented his little companion

with a coat, and a pair of nankeen trousers, which he had laid aside,

and which could easily be made to fit José. Philip, who had for some

time been working at a tailor's, eagerly offered his services. Dame

Robert purchased a pretty piece of stuff, which her daughter cut out

for a waistcoat; and Gabri declared that he would take upon himself to

provide the hat. José burned with impatience to enjoy the generosity of

his friends; but the requisite preparations necessarily took some time,

for the little workers had more zeal than capacity; and, besides, they

could not neglect their ordinary tasks. It was necessary, therefore,

to wait, and José, finding himself alone in the shop, and wishing to

divert his mind, determined to take another view of the picture which

had made so deep an impression on him, and which the young painter,

according to custom, had left for some time with M. Barbe. It was hung

at a considerable height; José mounted a ladder, to get it down; but,

thinking he heard the voice of the terrible Madame Barbe, he hastily

replaced it, and, in his precipitation, brushed against the still fresh

paint with his sleeve, and rubbed out a portion of the ground and

almost the whole of one leg. Recovering from his fright, and finding

no one approach, he again raised his eyes: judge of his dismay, on

beholding what had occurred! What was to be done? What would become of

him, if the young painter happened to come for his picture? What would

Madame Barbe say? for, if questioned on the subject, he would not utter

a falsehood. Besides, all evasion would be as useless as it would be

wicked, as such an act of carelessness could have been committed by

no one but him. The poor child was in despair; he already saw himself

ignominiously turned out of the house; but time pressed, and he must

discover some means of repairing the mischief. He could find but one.

He ran to hide the picture in his room, and was presumptuous enough to

rely upon his own ability to repair the fatal blemish.

It may be thought, that so daring an idea was but little likely to

enter the mind of a child only thirteen years of age; but José, as

we have before observed, was born with extraordinary talents for

painting; besides, he knew nothing else; he occupied his thoughts

with nothing else;--all that he had seen and heard from his earliest

childhood had reference to painting. Neither is it without example,

that remarkable talents--especially when constantly directed towards

one object--have produced, even in extreme youth, very astonishing

results. Some years ago at Florence, when there happened to be a fall

of snow of a few inches thick, a very unusual occurrence in that

climate, the children of the common people might be seen gathering it

together into great heaps, forming it into giants in the principal

square, and in the streets into colonnades and statues, and even

into groups, in which artists themselves could not but acknowledge a

remarkable imitation of the great works in the midst of which they were

born; so much does the influence of what they hear and see act upon the

minds and dispositions of children, and give, as a mere starting-point,

to some of those who live in the atmosphere of art, that which to

others less favoured proves almost a goal. It must also be remembered,

that the work on which José was about to try his skill was that of a

youth of fifteen, and, consequently, far from being faultless.

He had seen enough of painting to feel at no loss in charging a

palette; but he wanted colours, brushes, &c.; and José well knew that,

though in the midst of everything of this kind, he had no right to

touch any. He therefore resolved to have recourse to the friendship of

Francisco, and to ask him for the money necessary to make his purchases

at a distant shop. It may perhaps appear singular that his friend Gabri

did not come to his aid; but the absence of this guardian angel had

been the cause of his misfortune as there was no friendly glance or

hand to warn, or raise him up. Gabri, for the first time during the

whole fifteen years that he had lived with M. Barbe, had asked leave of

absence for a few days, in order to visit his native place; his request

was so reasonable, that it could not be refused, but Madame Barbe's

ill-temper was at its height when she beheld him depart without being

able to obtain a single word of explanation relative to the motives

which had induced him to undertake this unexpected journey.

Gabri was to return on the Sunday evening, the day following that

which had proved so fatal to poor José; but to wait for his coming

was impossible, this same Sunday being the only time that the poor

boy had at his own disposal. He therefore hastened to M. Enguehard's,

and having fortunately found Francisco alone, he confided to him his

embarrassment. Francisco shuddered at his friend's danger, but was

almost as much terrified at the projected reparation as at the accident

itself; nevertheless, at the urgent entreaty of José, who feared lest

his absence should be remarked, he gave him all the money he had,

amounting to four francs ten sous. This was sufficient for José's

purpose; for, as may be easily imagined, there was no question of

easel, nor colour box, and he made so much haste, that his purchases

were completed and hidden before Madame Barbe had once asked for him.

José was tormented during the whole of the day by the idea of his

daring undertaking; and his preoccupation prevented him from being as

much delighted as he would otherwise have been with his new clothes,

which Philip, with an air of importance, brought home tied up in a

handkerchief, in tailor fashion, under his arm. The poor boy, who

expected great praise and many thanks, was somewhat disconcerted at the

indifference with which José examined an _invisible_ seam, which in

spite of this qualification was even more easily distinguishable than

any of the others. He therefore went off, persuaded that José was ill,

for he could never attach an unkind motive to his conduct.

José, awakening with the earliest dawn, at first felt nothing but

the delight of possessing colours and brushes. He prepared his rude

palette with extreme care, and made this important operation last as

long as he could; but when all was ready, the difficulty of commencing

vividly presented itself to his mind, and caused him so much anxiety,

that he remained motionless, not daring to touch a brush, when all at

once a fortunate inspiration restored his courage. "I have to paint

half a leg," he said to himself. "Well, then, why not copy my own? The

greatest masters use models, and paint everything from nature; I can

easily place one foot without inconveniencing myself. We shall see if

with this assistance I cannot manage." And José commenced by cutting a

caper; then looking at the figure, the legs of which, fortunately for

him, were outstretched, he placed one of his own in nearly the same

position, and with a trembling hand gave the first touch. By degrees

that fever of enthusiasm, which always fills the mind in every kind

of composition, took possession of him; he became excited; he fancied

himself drawing like Raphael, colouring like Rubens; and his hand, so

timid at first, worked with freedom and facility; he felt no further

embarrassment, and did not cease until he had completely repaired the

mischief.

[Illustration: Poor José, p. 264.]

His task ended, José went down, to watch for an opportunity of

replacing the picture without being observed. It was already late, the

whole of the family were going out for a walk; and Madame Barbe was

in such good humour, on account of a pretty cap which her husband had

just given her, that José had no difficulty in obtaining leave to go

to the Exhibition, on the understanding that he was to be back before

dinner-time, to arrange certain things, which Gabri's absence had left

in disorder. José, with a light heart, had no sooner lost sight of them

than he hastened to hang up the picture, and smiled, as from beneath

he beheld the fine effect of his work. Having now nothing to think of

but the delight of possessing his new clothes, and, especially, of

being privileged to pass the threshold of that door, so long closed

against him, he went out, fastening with some pride the metal buttons

of his coat, and entered the Exhibition, eyeing the burly porter, as he

passed, with a confident air.

At that period, the noble staircase, with its double banister,

which we admire at present, was not built; the square saloon of the

Exhibition was reached by a side door, leading from the Place du

Musée, and a staircase, which now only serves as a private entrance.

This entrance was neither so convenient nor handsome as the present

one; but still it was princely in its dimensions, and especially so

to the unaccustomed eyes of poor José, who had never seen anything

more splendid than the church of Saint Roch. Those wide steps of white

stone; those walls covered with pictures, for they reached almost to

the first landing-place; the tumult of the crowd which pressed forward,

carrying him along with it,--all combined to throw José into a kind

of bewilderment. He looked without seeing, walked without thinking,

and, driven onwards by the crowd, at length found himself at the door

of the great gallery of the Museum, which is left open during the

Exhibition, but which at that time contained only the works of the

old masters. At the sight of this immense gallery, magnificent even

to those who are familiar with magnificence, José stood struck with

astonishment, while an involuntary feeling of respect caused him to

take off his hat. There were but few visitors in that part of the

Museum; José breathed more freely, and being able to examine without

being jostled, began deliciously to taste the pleasure he had so

often longed for. Various pictures attracted his attention; but too

ignorant to divine their subjects, there was something wanting to his

enjoyment. But when, at last, he came to that picture of Raphael's,

known by the name of _La Vierge à la chaise_, the figures could easily

be recognised, and José found himself, so to speak, in the midst of

his habitual acquaintances; he was able to make comparisons, having

seen other church paintings; and his natural taste was so pure, and

he had so remarkable an instinct for appreciating the master-pieces

of art, that at the sight of this admirable production, an emotion

hitherto unknown took possession of him. The more he looked, the more

complete did the illusion become; the face of the divine infant seemed

to become animated, and to smile upon him. José, leaning against the

balustrade, extended his arms and smiled too, and in the delight of

these new sensations, forgot everything else, when a noise close by

him made him start and awake from his reverie. He turned his head,

and beheld a man attentively examining him; he was still young, and

possessed a countenance remarkable for its expression; his eyes, full

of fire, were fixed with kindness upon José, who, notwithstanding his

ordinary timidity, replied without embarrassment to the questions

addressed to him. The stranger wished to know his name, what he thought

of Raphael's picture, what were his views, his occupations, &c. José's

artless statements, through which his precocious genius could readily

be discerned, deeply interested the stranger. "You were born a painter,

child," he said, touching José's forehead. "You already know what no

master could teach you, but you must be directed, and this I will

undertake to do. Here is my address, my name is G----; call upon me, I

will make something of you."

José, overwhelmed with joy in recognising the name of one of our most

celebrated artists, clasped his hands without being able to utter a

word. Monsieur G. gave him another kind look, and departed. It was some

time before José recovered from the agitation into which this event had

thrown him, and the day was already far advanced when he remembered

that he was still in the service of Madame Barbe, and that his accident

caused him to run great risk of not remaining in it. Full of anxiety,

he precipitately retraced his steps, and soon reached home. Alas!

every one had returned, and the manner in which he was received, was a

presage of the storm about to burst over his devoted head.

Barbe, who was hurriedly pacing the shop, advanced towards him, as if

to question him, then turned away his head with an expression of vivid

sorrow. José, confounded, was beginning to murmur some excuses, when

Madame Barbe, the violence of whose passion had hitherto prevented her

from speaking, at length recovered the power of pouring forth the abuse

destined for the hapless culprit.

"Here you are, at last, Sir!" she said. "You are certainly very

punctual; however, I can easily imagine, you young rascal, that you

were in no hurry to make your appearance."

"I am very sorry, Madame....." replied José.

But Madame Barbe would not give him time to finish.

"Do not interrupt, you shameless liar," she cried; "you little viper,

whom we have nourished, and who now stings his benefactors. But I could

pardon you for being idle and ungrateful, if you had not sacrificed

the reputation of my house, by destroying the pictures confided to us.

Yes," she continued with more vehemence, seeing José turn pale, "you

fancied, you hardened, good-for-nothing, that your tricks would not be

discovered; thief, we know all: not content with having irreparably

destroyed a fine work, you have carried your villany so far as to steal

from us the things necessary for your undertaking." José uttered a

cry of horror, and rushing towards his implacable mistress, who still

continued her invectives, he protested his innocence, in so far at

least as related to the second part of the accusation; but neither his

tears nor his protestations produced any effect upon the prejudiced

minds of his employers. It had so happened that when they entered,

the light which M. Barbe carried, fell directly upon the unfortunate

figure restored by José; and as nature had made him a colorist, a

quality which can never be acquired, and one in which the young student

was deficient, it was an easy matter to perceive the difference.

Besides, poor José, in his embarrassment, had copied the left foot,

which happened to be most convenient for him, without observing whether

it was the proper one, and had so placed it that the great toe was on

the outside. The loft in which the culprit slept was visited, and his

still moist palette and colours left no doubt of what he had done.

Barbe would have pardoned the injury done to the painting, but the idea

of theft revolted his honest nature, and it was difficult to avoid

suspecting José, since they were ignorant of Francisco's friendship for

him, and well knew that he had nothing of his own. It was in vain that

he related the simple truth, it only appeared an ingeniously concocted

story; and Madame Barbe, after a second explosion of invectives, took

him by the arm, and would have turned him out of doors that very

evening, had not her husband positively declared that he should remain

for that night. His wife, obliged to yield, revenged herself by seeking

two or three of her neighbours, who hurried with malicious eagerness

to see the left foot upon the right leg, and the woful condition of

poor little José, choking with grief in a corner. He was spared none of

their commentaries, these kind souls taking care to speak very loudly

and very distinctly.

"Certainly," said one, "his mother did well to die, poor dear woman.

She did not deserve such a son."

"I always expected it," said another, "this is what comes of picking

up vagabonds; but Dame Robert is such an obstinate woman. What is one

to do?" A third added that everything must be locked up, and care

taken that he was never left alone. Finally, their cruelty was carried

to such extremes, that poor José was unable any longer to restrain

his sobs, which being heard by M. Barbe in his room, he immediately

hastened to the poor child and sent him to bed.

José passed a frightful night; a few hours more and he would be sent

away disgraced, and obliged to return to his adopted mother, without

the means of support, and with a charge of dishonesty weighing upon

him. One hope alone remained to him, Francisco might attest the truth

of what he had said; he therefore determined to entreat M. Barbe, who

was more humane than his wife, to go and question Francisco, who would

establish his innocence; but even this resource failed the unfortunate

child. The same idea had occurred to Barbe, who was very fond of him,

and early in the morning he had called upon M. Enguehard. Wishing to

spare his favourite as much as possible, he merely asked Francisco

whether he had lent José any money. But Francisco not having been put

upon his guard, and fearing lest he might in some manner injure his

friend, or be reprimanded by his father, committed a fault too common

among children, and in order to save José he told a falsehood, and by

so doing completed his ruin, for he assured M. Barbe that he had not

lent his apprentice anything. M. Enguehard knew nothing more, and Barbe

returned, convinced of José's theft, and of the necessity of sending

him away. He therefore repulsed him angrily when he came to present his

request, and told him to pack up his things. But Madame Barbe was not a

woman to lose an opportunity of delivering a speech or making a scene,

and therefore determined before expelling the unhappy boy, to oblige

him to make an apology to the young student whom she had begged to

call at the shop. José almost happy at this unexpected respite, placed

his little bundle on the ground, and leaning upon it, cast a sorrowful

look on all the objects around him, and which he was about to leave

for ever. Gabri's vacant place caused his tears to flow afresh; would

that faithful friend believe his protestations any more than the rest,

whilst proofs were so strong against him? At that moment the postman

placed a letter in M. Barbe's hand. "Oh!" said the latter, "it is from

Nogent-sur-Marne, and from friend Gabri. What can he have to write to

us about?" and he read the letter to himself with signs of the greatest

surprise. Madame Barbe, impatient to know what it contained, snatched

it from his hand, and, after reading it, exclaimed, "Heaven be praised,

this act of folly will never be committed. Listen to this," she said,

calling to José, "behold the just punishment of your infamous conduct;"

and she read, or rather declaimed the following letter:--

"From Nogent-sur-Marne, my native

place, September the 7th.

"MONSIEUR BARBE,--Notwithstanding my intention of returning the day

after that fixed by you, I write to inform you in a more authentic

and convenient manner of my intentions with regard to Joseph Berr,

called José, your apprentice. Monsieur Barbe, I have lost my wife

and three children, three fine boys whom God has taken away from

me; but I dare say I have already told you this. I have a nice

little property perfectly free from all claims (a good seven

thousand francs placed here in honest hands). Therefore, being

master of my own will, which is to love and assist the said José,

I intend that he shall follow the calling which he is so anxious

for, viz., that of an artist, and for this I have bound myself, by

my signature, which you will see at the end of the deed written by

me upon stamped paper, and which accompanies this letter. I beg

that it may be read to the said José, and never again recurred to,

being, notwithstanding, Monsieur Barbe,

"Your very faithful Servant,

"SEBASTIAN GABRI."

The second paper was as follows:--

"Joseph Berr, called José, requiring, in order to be able to

prosecute his studies in painting, during four years, a sum of

money, which I possess, I give it to him as a loan which he will

return to me when his profession becomes profitable, together with

the interests and costs as is just and customary.

f. c.

"First. One franc per day for maintenance

during the space of four years, making 1460 0

Item. For entering the studio of a celebrated

master, 15 francs per month for four

years 720 0

Item. For indemnifying Madame Barbe, for

three years' apprenticeship, still due to

her 50 0

Item. For 25 centimes every Sunday, for

child's amusements 52 0

Item. For my journey hither by coach, expressly

on his account 10 0

Item. For my expenses while here 12 0

Item. For this sheet of stamped paper 0 30

Item. For interest during four years 460 6

--------

2764 36

"Which sum I undertake to pay, according as required, Provided that

the board and lodging be furnished by Dame Robert as heretofore.

"The said José will put his mark at the end of this deed, to which

I also cheerfully put my name.

"SEBASTIAN GABRI."

It is easy to imagine the agony of poor José while listening to the

reading of these papers; what would have overwhelmed him with joy the

evening before, now filled him with anguish. Gabri, that tender and

generous friend, as a reward for his sacrifice, was about to learn that

the object of his care was unworthy of it. Still José was not guilty,

and these bitter trials were now on the point of coming to the happiest

termination. Francisco, tormented as one always is by the consciousness

of having done wrong, and rendered uneasy about his friend on account

of M. Barbe's visit, determined to confess all to his father, who had

no difficulty in convincing him of the gravity of his fault, and of

the inconvenience which might result to the innocent José, who might

perhaps be accused of having stolen the colours from his master.

Francisco, alarmed at this idea, entreated his father to take him

instantly to M. Barbe's; and there, regardless of the spectators, he

had the courage and the merit to confess his fault, and thus completely

justify his friend.

Whilst Madame Barbe stood biting her lips, and saying, "It is very

singular, very strange," and her kind-hearted husband brushed the tears

from his eyes, the two boys affectionately embraced each other, and

enjoyed the happiest moment of their young lives. A moment afterwards,

José had another triumph, highly flattering indeed to his self-love,

but not to be compared in real worth with the noble friendship of

Francisco. The young author of the injured painting was with his

master when Madame Barbe wrote to him her anything but clear account

of the accident, which she was anxious to turn to the disgrace of

poor José. This master was the very Monsieur G---- before mentioned,

who, recognising in the hero of the story, the child who had so much

interested him at the Museum, wished to accompany his pupil to M.

Barbe's. For a long time he examined in silence the attempt which

had cost the poor boy so dear, then turning towards his pupil, "If

you don't make haste," he said, "I can tell you he will catch you."

This man, distinguished as much by feeling as by genius, was able to

appreciate the action of the worthy and generous Gabri; he read his

letter with emotion, and taking a pencil, ran it through the fifteen

francs per month destined for José's instruction. "I cannot hope," he

said, smiling, to José, "to be the _celebrated master_ mentioned by

Gabri, but he must at least let me teach you all I know."

It may easily be imagined, that everything was arranged, without

difficulty, to the entire delight of the poor boy. Madame Barbe,

awed by the presence of Monsieur G---- and Monsieur Enguehard, felt

that she must put some restraint upon her tongue. She unhesitatingly

accepted, it is true, the indemnification of fifty francs, and only

murmured on the day that Barbe presented José with his first box of

colours. Dame Robert, who was consulted in all important arrangements,

was at first somewhat discontented with José's choice; but she could

refuse nothing to her dear child. "And, after all," she said, "it is a

trade, like any other. I am only sorry that the apprenticeship is so

long." She was completely consoled, however, when José came once more

to live with her.

To complete José's happiness, M. Enguehard, a short time after these

occurrences, begged M. G---- to receive his son as a pupil. The two

friends, therefore, were again together, following the same career with

equal ardour, and although with different success, still without any

interruption to their mutual friendship.

Those who are curious to know whether José justified the hopes inspired

by his childhood, may have their curiosity gratified by a perusal of

the Second Part of his history.

SEQUEL TO THE HISTORY OF POOR JOSÉ.

How tranquil and pleasant is the life of the artist! He possesses an

advantage which is denied even to the fortunate of this world,--an

occupation always affording amusement and variety, together with an

almost total indifference to everything which does not bear directly

upon painting. The artist sees that all is quiet in the town in which

he lives; this is enough for him: scarcely does he know the names of

the ministers in office, and he is the last to learn what is going

on around. Occupied the whole day with his art, his studio is his

universe; and at night, in the midst of a re-union of friends, artists

like himself, he still dwells upon his favourite idea, which is never

absent from his mind, while he gains instruction, or is inspired with

increased ardour by the conversation of his colleagues or rivals. These

re-unions are gay, and abound in wit, as well as in mischief. Not a

few of those caricatures which attract the loungers of the Boulevards

and the Rue du Coq, have been sketched by a skilful hand during these

moments of recreation. A few amiable women, authors, distinguished

musicians, and poets, make a part of these seductive meetings: each one

amuses himself according to his fancy; and if the mirth is sometimes a

little noisy, and the wit a little too free, wit and mirth are at least

always to be found in them.

But if the artist is happy, the student is even more so. The former,

being no longer at an age in which he can advance much, is keenly

alive to his own deficiencies, and, if it must be owned, often looks

with a jealous eye on the success of his brother artists; while to

the other, on the contrary the horizon of his hopes is unbounded, and

emulation but a healthy stimulant, which does not degenerate into envy.

The student tries to excel his companions, but he loves them all; he

encourages the less skilful, frankly admires those who are superior to

himself, and, while pursuing his laborious occupations, seldom fails to

lay the foundation of one of those honourable and lasting friendships

which embellish the remainder of his life. Little favoured by fortune,

as a general rule, these young men endure privations with cheerfulness,

or rather their simple habits prevent them from feeling them as such.

The whole of their time and powers, being constantly directed towards

the one object in view, there is no space left for the minor passions,

which so often disturb the mind of youth. The pleasures of the toilet

are unknown to him who spends his days in the studio, and public

amusements are too expensive to be thought of more than once or twice

a year.

Francisco and José, re-united as we have already said in the studio

of a celebrated painter, led a life in every way consonant to their

tastes; but José especially felt the happiness of a condition, to

which he had never thought it possible to attain. He was no longer

the hapless child, rescued from the street by the benevolence of a

kind-hearted woman, but a fine young man, the honour and hope of

Monsieur G----'s studio, and, what was still better, a good young man,

always simple and modest, almost ashamed of being distinguished, and

redoubling his attentions towards his first protectors, in proportion

as his success rendered them less necessary to him. The excellent

Gabri devoted a portion of the sum which had been destined for his

instruction to the hire of a room in the house in which Dame Robert

lived, where José could work without much inconvenience. He rose very

early, and commenced the labours of the day by making pictures of

everything that presented itself to his imagination, or copied drawings

lent to him by his master. After a hasty breakfast, he repaired to the

studio, worked until five o'clock, when, accompanied by Francisco, and

conversing together on their projects and hopes, he quietly returned

home. M. Enguehard often invited him to dinner, and took great pleasure

in extending his knowledge in such a manner as might be useful to

him. Thanks to the kind instruction of Madame Enguehard, and to his

own natural abilities, he soon learned to read and write; while M.

Enguehard especially endeavoured to make him acquainted with history

and fable,--acquirements indispensable to a painter, who, in fact,

ought not, if it were possible, to remain in ignorance of any branch of

knowledge. Everything can and ought to tend to his advancement in art:

travel, reading, science, the habits of different classes of society,

solitude, happiness, and misery, all are useful and profitable to him

who seeks to represent, with the utmost possible truth, the acts and

passions of man.

Francisco and José had not yet reached what might be called the moral

portion of their studies; but José could form some idea of it, and

began to make, beforehand, his provisions for the future. During the

winter evenings, the two friends used to draw by lamplight, from seven

till ten, according to the custom of almost all the students. Each pay

a trifling sum monthly for the hire of the room, the models, and the

lights. The students of the various academies assemble together, and

their masters often take pleasure in passing an hour with them, and

aiding them with their counsel.

It may, perhaps, be thought that such constant occupation must be very

fatiguing, but there are so many attractions, and so much novelty, in

the study of art, that weariness is seldom felt, especially in the full

vigour of youth; and those who have experienced it, can say whether a

week in the life of a man of the world does not leave behind it more

lassitude, more weariness, and more void, than one such as I have just

described. Besides, all is not labour in these pursuits: they rest,

they chat; ideas are exchanged and corrected; the rich are generous

towards the poor, and never refuse to share with them their experience.

The character even is improved in these studious reunions--images in

miniature of the great world into which they will have, at a later

period, to be thrown; it is no longer the rod and the rule of college,

but it is still the salutary influence of companionship; it is

emulation, and a something of the honours of renown, without that alloy

which so often spoils it for man. But woe to the sullen and morose!

woe to those who cherish absurd or bad propensities! for justice is

speedily rendered either by bitter sarcasm or by force. There, as

elsewhere, the most distinguished take the lead, and it can easily be

understood that studies, whose aim in general is to trace the good

and the beautiful, may tend to elevate the mind, and strengthen every

generous sentiment of the heart.

José enjoyed, with intense delight, the idea of being something

of himself, of seeing before him the almost certain prospect of

an honourable subsistence, acquired by a great talent. He may one

day, perhaps, be rich; the name of Berr may one day be uttered with

respect, and his pictures placed with care in the cabinets of the most

fastidious lovers of art; but I may confidently assert, in advance,

that nothing will be so dear to him, that nothing will efface from his

memory the remembrance of the time, when, on the Monday, accompanied by

Francisco, each went to purchase his sheet of tinted paper, or when,

before retiring to rest, once more turning his canvass to take another

look at the morning's work, he ventured to hope for all that he might

then possess.

Profoundly impressed with the obligations which he was under to Dame

Robert and to Gabri, he made it a law to himself never to lose a

single day during the whole four years of his pupilage. Always the

first at the studio, he never left before the time of the lessons,

as is sometimes done by those idlers who, having gossiped or wasted

in play the whole of the morning, hide themselves at the arrival of

the master, who supposes them absent. Still, José was not always in

an equally favourable disposition; the games and boyish tricks of his

companions possessed some attraction for him; but he rarely yielded to

the temptation, and did all he could to prevent his too volatile friend

Francisco from doing so. "What matters," said the latter, "losing

a few hours? We have time enough!" and Francisco wasted his time

without scruple. Nevertheless, his natural ability, and a few weeks'

steadiness, always kept him pretty nearly in the second rank among his

companions.

At the expiration of a year, José began to paint sufficiently well

from nature to attempt some portraits; and he eagerly availed himself

of this means of being less burdensome to his friend Gabri. At his

express desire, Dame Robert persuaded one of her relations _to have

her face drawn in colours_; at the same time assuring her, that her

boy _was well skilled in his business_. José would certainly have been

sadly distressed could he have heard her thus torture the language of

art; but, happily, he was not present, and the good woman, with two or

three phrases of this kind, persuaded her cousin, who merely stipulated

that she should be painted with two eyes, and with her lace cap and

coral ear-rings. This portrait was to be finished for her husband's

birthday. José therefore left the studio a little earlier every day;

and, as the likeness was very striking, and had but little shade, while

the eyes looked full at the spectator, and the coral ear-rings seemed

_as if they could be taken in the fingers_, the work was universally

applauded. The young painter received innumerable compliments, twelve

francs, and several commissions, which, although paid for below their

value, so much increased his little store, that he had the satisfaction

of being able, at the end of a year, to reimburse Gabri for the hire of

his room, and Dame Robert for the trifling expense of his board. The

greater his advancement, the more profitable did his talents become;

and he at length followed the example of many other students of slender

means, who, having the good sense not to be ashamed of employing their

talents in sign-painting, adorn the shops of Paris with what might

almost be called handsome pictures.

All Monsieur G----'s instructions were attentively listened to by José,

who sometimes even wrote down the most remarkable passages before

he went to bed. One phrase especially struck him as being the true

definition of an artist. "Three things," said this clever master to

his pupils, "are requisite for him who devotes his life to the fine

arts,--genius to conceive, taste to select, and talent to execute."

These conditions are equally applicable to the musician and to the

poet; but who can flatter himself with being possessed at once of all

these three qualifications? José dare not cherish such a hope; he dare

not believe that he had genius; but taste and talent might be acquired,

he thought; and, as our sage little friend was still but just emerged

from childhood, he wrote in large letters, upon his table and upon his

easel, the words which thus became to him a fundamental law of painting.

The excellent Gabri experienced the most heartfelt joy at the success

of his _protégé_; he frequently visited him when at work in his room,

and, for fear of disturbing him, would remain in perfect silence behind

his chair, and then, after embracing him, he would go down to listen to

Dame Robert's chat. As we have already observed, Gabri was no talker;

their intercourse, therefore, was rather a monologue than a dialogue;

but he was never weary of listening, so long as José was the theme;

but when Dame Robert went on to any other subject, "Good evening,

neighbour," he would say; "Madame Barbe is expecting me, and you know

she is not one to make light of things."

One morning, at the class, Monsieur G---- said to his pupils,

"Gentlemen, you will to-morrow have a new companion. I recommend him to

your kindness. Not too many experiments or jokes, if you please. He is

very young, and, doubtless, but little experienced in your ways; be,

therefore, good boys. He is sent to me by the city of Angers. Berr,

my friend, you will place him by you; and I beg that you, Enguehard,

will not show off the Parisian too much." Francisco smiled, without

replying; but Monsieur G----'s speech produced the ordinary effect,

and which he very well knew himself. The desire of tormenting the new

comer immediately seized all these young madcaps, and Francisco in

particular. "Oh!" said he, "a pupil from the provinces! how odd that

we have had none before. And they think I shall not amuse myself with

this young Raphael from Angers! Stuff! our master very well knows the

value of his recommendations in this line." And Francisco, encouraged

by the laughter of his auditors, began to make a grotesque sketch upon

the wall which he assured them was an exact portrait of the Angevin.

"Angevin! Yes, that must be his name," said another young rogue, the

usual companion of Francisco's follies; "you know how that exasperates

them."

"Oh! as to that," replied Francisco, "we have all our nicknames: am I

not the Madcap, and Berr the Phoenix? But listen! I'll tell you what

we must do;" and hereupon these two giddy brains began whispering in a

corner. José hazarded a few words in favour of the provincial; but he

was only laughed at, and was at last obliged to end by joining in their

mirth, though he determined, nevertheless, to exert his influence to

the utmost at the proper time, in order to save the new pupil from too

much annoyance.

Many of the provincial towns had then, and still have, academies of

painting, destined for the artistic education of children in humble

circumstances; and the pupil who displayed the greatest amount of

talent was sent to Paris, to continue his studies under a better master

than could generally be obtained in a small town, the expenses of

those studies being defrayed by the establishment which elected him.

The youth, from whom Francisco and his mischievous companions expected

so much diversion, had been chosen by the professors of the Academy

of Angers as the most promising of its pupils. This, however, was

not saying much; and it did not unfrequently happen, that those who

occupied the first rank in the Departmental Schools, were, on entering

those of Paris, immediately placed in the lowest; still, however,

fortunate that the principles inculcated by their professors were

not those of the time of Jouvenet and Boucher. The young student had,

unhappily, been directed by an old master--an admirer of that age of

absurdity and bad taste. He made his pupils copy figures in red chalk,

portraits in pastel, and showed them with pride his prize picture--for

he, too, had been to Rome. But we may judge of the merits of his

rivals, and of the advantage he derived from his journey, when we learn

that this picture, regarded by him thirty years afterwards as his

best production, represented Cleobis and Biton; and that the Grecian

characters wore Roman armour, and draperies of gauze and silk. To crown

his misfortune, the poor candidate, small, ill-made, and more than

plainly attired, not so much in conformity with the fashions of his

province as with the length of his purse, presented an appearance not

altogether unlike the caricature sketched by Francisco upon the wall;

and it may, therefore, be easily imagined, that these young satirists

did not lose so favourable an opportunity of exercising their humour.

Scarcely had the young man entered, than he was received with noisy

acclamations; and two of the pupils, eagerly pressing forward to

receive him, overwhelmed him with ironical and _outré_ compliments.

"Sir!" they exclaimed, "your reputation has preceded you; the

admiration of your native city was insufficient for such distinguished

merit. You are about to receive the homage of Paris, while you have

ours already...."

"The name of the Angevin is already celebrated," added another; "and it

will be handed down to posterity like that of Josepin."

"But, gentlemen," said the unfortunate victim,--speaking as if all

the A's and E's had circumflex accents over them, according to the

agreeable custom of his province,--"Gentlemen, I am not called

the Angevin. My father's, as well as my own name, is Valentin lâ

Grimâudière."[3]

This name, and especially the tone in which it was pronounced, a kind

of sing-song, difficult of imitation to those unacquainted with the

fair province of Anjou, excited fresh bursts of laughter; and Francisco

again taking the word, "You must be aware, Sir," he said, gravely, and

at the same time endeavouring to imitate the accent of the stranger,

"that the great painters are rarely known by their true names. Thus we

speak of Dominichino and Guercino, instead of Dominico Zampieri, and

Barbieri da Cento. Assuredly then it is not surprising that you should

be called the Angevin."

"But, gentlemen," replied the simple youth, "you are indeed too good; I

do not deserve...."

"You deserve our most profound respect, illustrious companion,"

interrupted Francisco. "Gentlemen, I present to you the glory of the

Angevin Academy, the hero of Pasticcio,[4] the conqueror of Stipling,

and the favourite of the Rococos.[5] And to you, noble Angevin, I

present my especial friends, Landort, Galvaudeur (the Disturber), La

Picoterie (the Torment), Rubens the Younger, and myself, Le Braque (the

Madcap), your very humble servant. Now, my worthy friend, you know us

perfectly, so away with ceremony; take your place, my Gringalet, and

let us see what you can do. At the first rest, you shall be made to

read, to write, and to sing, and, after the model, you shall pay your

welcome."

The unfortunate Angevin, bewildered by this torrent of bad jokes,

dared neither reply nor resist. He had arrived early, in the hope

of finding his future companions less numerous; but his precaution

had proved a failure. Francisco, and the merry participators in his

follies, had divined his intention, and their diligence surpassed his

own. The more sober pupils had not yet arrived; and José, detained by

a portrait which he had to finish that morning, did not arrive until

late, so that the innocent victim remained unprotected in the midst of

his persecutors. Although he had announced himself as having painted,

Monsieur G---- made him commence by drawing, in order to judge of his

power.

"Sit there," said Francisco, pointing to an empty seat between two

of his companions; "the call has been made, but that is the place of

honour, the best for the light, and the one always chosen by the first

on the master's list;" and he pushed the poor lad towards the place

which his mischief had destined for him.

As studios in repute are usually well attended, and as space is not

always in proportion to the number of the pupils, they are often

much inconvenienced, and press round the model in three or four rows

of different elevations. Those of the first row are seated upon

low wooden benches; those of the second upon chairs; others again

upon high stools; while, behind these, upon still higher stools, or

standing, come those who paint, with scarcely room for themselves

and their light easels. The place pointed out by Francisco to the

unfortunate competitor, was upon one of the little benches, so that

above him were seated two pupils who amused themselves by resting

their drawing-boards upon his head, and obliged him to hold it bent

down, in a position by no means convenient, especially for looking

at the model, which was placed upon a table two or three feet high.

Besides, the disagreeable person above him, pretending to be obliged to

touch and retouch his work again and again, crumbled up large pieces

of bread, which he afterwards shook over the work of the patient

Angevin. More than one bullet of bread was aimed at his nose, too,

and by such well-practised hands, that their occupation seemed in no

way interrupted. Conversation, however, flowed on as usual, while

the elder students, busied with their work, thought no more of the

stranger. He, poor fellow, tormented, crushed, with heavy drops of

perspiration standing on his brow, and not daring to utter a syllable,

smudged his paper at random, while tears rolled down his cheeks when

he thought of the opinion Monsieur G---- would form of his talents.

Summoning up his courage, however, he at length ventured to address

his right-hand neighbour, and said gently, "Would you be so kind as to

lend me your penknife, Sir?" No reply. "Sir;" he resumed in a somewhat

louder tone, and gently touching him, "if you have a penknife...."

The young man looked at him with astonishment, and pointing to his

ear, gave him to understand that he was deaf. The Angevin sighed,

not wishing to speak louder, for fear of again becoming an object of

ridicule, and turning towards his left-hand neighbour, he again said,

"Oblige me with a penknife, Sir, if you please." The student raised his

head, and replied gravely, "_Non intelligo, domine; non sum Gallus._"

"But, Sir, it is a penknife I want," continued the Angevin, at the same

time making a movement with his fingers, as if cutting a pencil. His

mischievous companion pretended not to understand him, and affecting

to believe that he was making game of him, he pretended to be angry,

and gave him so rude a push that he almost fell from his by no means

steady seat. His portfolio escaped from his hold, and all the drawings

and papers contained in it flew into the middle of the room. The

Angevin, in despair, crept as softly as possible to pick them up, but

his persecutors were not yet weary of the sport. "Get away from the

model! Silence!" exclaimed those of the last row, who were disturbed by

this commotion. "To the hunt! dog! hunt!" cried the others. At length

the poor boy succeeded in returning to his place; but he found himself

so much pressed, and so ill at ease, his companions having designedly

drawn closer together, that, urged to extremes, his anger was on the

point of triumphing over his timidity, when the door opened, and José

appeared.

"Ah! Phoenix, Phoenix!" exclaimed the young students. "Good morning,

my brave Phoenix," said Francisco; "you are late for a Monday morning,

and will get no place for painting."--"I shall not paint this week,"

replied José, advancing towards the fire-place; then looking round

him he said, "Who will give me his place, and I will give him my

study?"--"I! I!" exclaimed several voices.

"Come, then!" said José, who had immediately observed the uncomfortable

position of the Angevin, "it shall be you, Maurice;" and he pointed to

the pupil seated beside the stranger, who had pretended to be deaf.

"Bravo!" exclaimed Maurice, rising, "I shall have your study. Besides,

I am not very industriously disposed. I shall do nothing this week.

I'll be a gentleman at large!"

José took his place, and by a glance caused the drawing-boards which

crushed his unfortunate _protégé_ to be removed: then, as if he had

forgotten to bring paper with him, he asked him for a sheet. The

Angevin hastened to comply with the request, and José having kindly

addressed some questions to him, he began to feel a little more at

his ease. At the hour of recreation, these mischief-loving urchins

again met to decide whether some grand joke could not be played off

upon their victim; but José, stepping into the midst of the group,

exclaimed, "No! no! gentlemen, enough of this; let us leave the poor

fellow in peace; he is not a Paris boy, and I demand an exception in

his favour. I was far more of a foreigner among you than he is, yet

have I found in you most excellent comrades."

José was so much beloved, and possessed so much influence over his

companions, that their sport had no longer any interest for them the

moment he disapproved of it; so the Angevin was abandoned to his young

protector. The nickname alone adhered to him, and it was not long

before they discovered in him so much kindness and good-nature, that

they soon ceased to have any desire of tormenting him. He obtained the

good opinion of all his fellow-students; but José was his friend, and

to serve him he would have gone through fire and water.

Solon has, I think, said: "No praise before death;" and he said

wisely, for one moment of forgetfulness might tarnish even the most

irreproachable life. Who can boast of being infallible, especially

in youth? José, the prudent José, learned this to his cost; for,

unhappily, these reflections apply to him. It was his first fault; but

it was a serious one, as we shall show.

Occasionally, during the summer, José's companions formed themselves

into little parties, and spent the day in the country in an inexpensive

manner; for they had both good legs and a good appetite, and required

only simple fare. They went into the environs of Paris, and returned

home in the evening, after spending a pleasant day. But José, though

keenly alive to the pleasure of these parties, often refused to join

them, as they occasioned a loss of time which to him was very precious.

However, the fête of Saint Cloud was approaching, and Francisco

proposed going to see the fountains play. This proposition was eagerly

acceded to, and José felt a strong desire to accompany them. He had

never seen the fountains play, and this sight possesses powerful

attractions to a Parisian, and especially to a young man like José,

who was ignorant of almost everything foreign to his studies. It was,

therefore, decided that they should form a party of twelve, dine at

Saint Cloud, and share the expenses between them. José communicated

his project to Dame Robert, and this excellent woman loved him too

tenderly to oppose what appeared likely to afford him so much pleasure;

nevertheless, at the moment of his departure, she followed him to the

door, recommending him not to lose his purse in the crowd, and not get

into any quarrel with the boothkeepers at the fair. José smiled at her

fears, and hastened to rejoin his friends, who were to meet him at the

Tuileries.

The young people merrily pursued their way, already amused with

the procession of carriages, horses, carts, and pedestrians, like

themselves, all taking the same direction. On arriving at Saint Cloud,

they commenced with a simple breakfast, the greater part of their

little treasure being reserved for their evening meal. They then took

a survey of the booths, admired the cascades, listened to the bands,

marvelled at the conjurors, and even laughed at Punch's buffoonery, as

the numerous spectators of this fête are annually accustomed to do at

the same season of the year. They several times fell in with a troop

of young men, pupils of a different master, and their rivals in glory

and talent. These two studios were jealous and inimical, as well from

party spirit as from a sentiment of attachment to their masters; and

this animosity had been manifested in more than one encounter of class

against class, for there existed between them no individual aversion.

On this occasion, they looked at each other with an expression of irony.

"Oh, oh!" cried José's companions, "here are the Princes of _Babocheux_

and _Flou-flou_."[6]

"Yes, gentlemen," replied the others, "ready to admire your _Croûtes

aux épinards_."[7]

Each made a grimace; but they separated without saying anything more.

Returned to the inn, after having wandered about for a considerable

time, José and his companions were prepared to enjoy a repast, dainty

to them, from their simple habits; and they contemplated it with a

degree of satisfaction, which would have made many young people,

spoiled either by fortune or by their parents, shrug their shoulders

with contempt. Their table was laid in what was called the garden,

a small enclosure surrounded by walls, and covered with a trellis

work, ornamented with honey-suckle and vine. This spot was capable of

containing five or six tables, separated by partitions, also of trellis

work, and though very warm, still there was a little more air there

than in the house; besides the circumstances of the guests permitted

them no choice, and our young students were therefore very well

satisfied at being so comfortably located.

As may be imagined, there was no lack of conversation; this turned at

first upon their good cheer, which they had time enough to enjoy, as

the waiters were so much occupied, that they allowed full half an hour

to intervene between each course.

"Well! Angevin, my friend," said Francisco,--for José's protection had

caused him to be received into the party,--"what do you think of this

Marinade?[8] something better than your usual fare, hey!"

"I should think so," replied the Angevin, holding out his plate for

the third or fourth time. "Plague take the stew, I shan't touch it

to-morrow."

"What!" cried the young folks, laughing; "what do you mean by the stew?"

"Oh! nothing, nothing," replied the Angevin, already regretting his

indiscretion; but his companions insisting, and José joining in their

request, he told them, laughingly, that, finding it impossible to live

in Paris in any other than the most economical manner, he had ended,

after trying various plans, by purchasing a large stew-pan and an

earthen stove. He filled it once a week with turnips, potatoes, and a

few slices of bacon, which he boiled altogether, and this _ragout_,

which was hot only for the first time, served him for dinner during the

whole week. He was so much accustomed to call it his stew, that the

word had inadvertently escaped him in the presence of his companions.

"My poor fellow!" said José, holding out his hand to him. "Poor

Angevin!" repeated the others; and, so far from laughing, a momentary

silence pervaded the whole party.

"Gentlemen," said Francisco, who blushed at the remembrance of the

murmurs which often escaped him on account of what he called his

father's unnecessary economy; "I am going to propose a toast: to the

success of our worthy comrade! May he gain the prize, even though I

should myself have to be left behind him."

The young friends rose, and eagerly touched their glasses, while the

Angevin, deeply moved, repeated, in a tone of emotion, "Oh! Berr, Berr,

it is to you that I owe all this!"

Their conversation then turned upon painting, and upon the hopes

entertained by Francisco and José, who flattered themselves with being

this year permitted to compete for the prize, not, however, with the

presumptuous hope of obtaining it, for they were both very young,

especially José; but the mere fact of being admitted to the competition

counted for much, and they might perhaps deserve honourable mention.

Francisco had, moreover, an additional motive for desiring, as soon as

possible, to distinguish himself. Glory was not the only passion which

agitated his breast; for some time past he had grieved at being without

fortune or reputation, which prevented him from aspiring to an alliance

which would have crowned his fondest wishes. But this prospect was so

distant and so uncertain that he had never spoken of it, even to José,

except once, and then very vaguely.

Whilst, then, they were conversing upon art, with an enthusiasm

worthy of the subject, they were interrupted by a loud noise, which

proceeded from a room on the first-floor, immediately above the

spot where they were dining. As the window was open, it was easy to

overhear what passed, and, by a natural feeling of curiosity, the young

guests checked their conversation, in order to listen to their joyous

neighbours.

"By the powers!" cried one, "here's a splendid _charge_[9] it ought to

be hung up in Barbe's shop; the veriest _rapin_[10] would recognise it!"

"Yes," said another, "it is his very self, with his vagabond air! Ah!

ah! my gentlemen of the green and yellow school! you fancy you are

going to carry off the next prizes from us, do you? We shall see, my

lads! we shall see!"

Our young friends looked at each other with indignation, and softly

approached the window, in order to hear more, for they recognised their

antagonists, who doubtless little imagined they were so near.

"For my part," said one of the rival students, "I fear neither Rivol

nor Enguehard, nor even the famous Berr, about whom they make such a

fuss; he is ready enough, and up to the tricks of the art, and that's

all. Enguehard is an idle dog, who does no good, while Rivol is too

well off ever to be anything more than an amateur and a dauber. So down

with the Purists, and long life to the Colourists!"

"Long life to the Colourists!" shouted his companions, and they

added many other jests so bitter and so personal, that José and his

friends, already animated by a few glasses of wine, to which they were

unaccustomed, could no longer restrain their indignation, and commenced

the attack by throwing into the room plates, knives, and anything

else which happened to come in their way. The enemy hastened to the

window, and recognising their adversaries, uttered shouts of laughter,

which completely exasperated the others. A decanter, thrown by José,

struck the forehead of one of the Colourists, who in their turn became

furious, and began to make a descent, by means of the trellis-work

placed beneath the window, for the purpose of crushing their

antagonists. A battle then ensued, amidst bitter insults. Fragments

of broken chairs flew about in all directions, the women at the

neighbouring tables screamed, the children cried, and the men rushed

forward to separate the combatants, without being in the least able to

understand the invectives with which they overwhelmed each other, under

the names of Purists and Colourists. The landlord of the inn, attracted

by the noise, ran towards the scene of action, followed by his waiters,

and they succeeded, without much difficulty, in calming those who were

only _soldiers_--for they fought solely for the honour of their corps.

But the chiefs did not so readily listen to reason; Enguehard was

stretched upon the ground, his arms pinioned by the two stout hands of

a Colourist, and José, absolutely out of his senses, was stifling, with

the weight of his knee, the young man who had spoken of him with so

much contempt, and who had just been conquered by his impetuosity.

These four madmen would listen to nothing, and were at length obliged

to be separated by main force; but José, while still struggling,

slipped over some pieces of the broken plates, and gave himself so

violent a twist that he was unable to rise, and was obliged to remain

seated on the ground, suffering excruciating pain.

It being proved by the testimony of eye-witnesses, that the young

people in the garden had commenced this memorable battle, by throwing

plates into the room, and that the Colourists had only broken the

trellis-work in descending, the landlord contented himself with a

slight sum as indemnification, and allowed them to depart; but José

and his friends had done considerable damage, and had been the first

to commence the disturbance; they had only sufficient money to defray

the expenses of their dinner, and the innkeeper declared that he would

be paid, and that he should send for the police. Francisco increased

the man's anger, by the rage into which he put himself; the poor

Angevin employed prayers and tears, to soften the innkeeper; while

José, ashamed, and in despair, maintained a gloomy silence, abandoning

himself to the most melancholy reflections, when his name, pronounced

by a severe and well-known voice, made him utter a cry, and hide his

face in his hands.

The voice was that of the good and vigilant Gabri, who had been induced

by his active friendship for José to follow him to the fête, and to

watch over the inexperience which he very justly attributed to him. He

had watched the young men from a distance, and determined not to make

his appearance, except in case of accident; finally, having been able

to find accommodation only at the farther end of the place occupied by

them at the inn, he had been the last to arrive at the scene of action.

"Sir," he said coldly to the innkeeper, "estimate the damage done, and

make out your account; I will discharge the debts of these madcaps, who

are of my acquaintance, and we will afterwards settle matters together."

The host, who was no cheat, and who was, moreover, too happy to be paid

without any further trouble, made out a tolerably reasonable account,

which Gabri immediately discharged. Then telling Francisco and the

Angevin to support José, who was unable to walk, he placed him in a

carriage, and drove off with him, after having saluted the troop of

students, who were still too much bewildered by what had taken place

even to think of thanking him.

Gabri had placed José in the cabriolet in as convenient a position

as possible for his injured leg, while he went upon the box himself,

and during the whole of their way home never once addressed a single

word to the poor sufferer, nor even turned his head towards him,

notwithstanding the complaints which the constant jolting of the rude

vehicle drew from the culprit. The well-paid coachman took them as

far as Dame Robert's door. "There, there he is," said Gabri to the

terrified woman, "and now good evening; I will see him again when he

has recovered, and grown wiser;" and he turned away without listening

to Dame Robert's exclamations, who in her trouble did not perceive

that José had almost fainted. He was conveyed to bed, his dislocated

ankle set, and his numerous bruises attended to: but the wine which

he had taken, and the violent excitement which had followed an excess

altogether new to him, brought on a somewhat severe illness, which

lasted for several days; and even when it was subdued he was obliged

to remain six weeks with his foot resting upon a chair, without being

able to move. We may judge of his grief and remorse, which many

circumstances contributed to augment. Gabri allowed his heart to be

touched by his repentance, and consented to see him; but he was sad,

and Dame Robert uneasy; and José was one day deeply grieved to see her,

while thinking herself unobserved, lock up a bottle of brandy which was

standing near him.

Soon afterwards he had to endure a far more bitter trial. The time

for competing for the prizes arrived; Francisco was admitted for

the sketches; while José, who was only just beginning to walk, and

whose studies had, moreover, been too much interrupted, was obliged

to give up all hope for that year, and endure the mortification of

finding himself left behind by companions considerably less advanced

than himself. Francisco, though sincerely grieved at his friend's

misfortune, felt his ardour increased from not having to compete with

so formidable a rival. He made astonishing efforts to sustain the

honour of the school, but he only obtained the second prize, which did

not send its possessor to Rome: the first was carried off by that same

chief of the Colourists who had spoken of José with so much contempt:

and thus the poor boy remained with the bitter remembrance of two

months passed in suffering, of a triumph lost, and of a folly committed.

However, as it is not considered that a young man must necessarily be

dishonoured because he has once been intoxicated and beaten, José,

after having passed some time in a state of complete apathy, at length

took courage. He perceived, that instead of abandoning himself to vain

regrets he ought to endeavour to repair his fault, while that intimate

consciousness of power, in which even the most modest cannot help

believing, told him, that he _could_ repair everything. It usually

happens after a first fault, that a young man either turns from the

evil path, or pursues it for the rest of his life. José had too

much superiority of nature not to profit by experience. Redoubling,

therefore, both his assiduity and zeal, he made such marked progress

during the course of the current year, that Monsieur G. decided that he

also might compete as well as Francisco and Rivol.

The place in which the young people then worked at their prize

pictures, was situated at the top of that same _Pavilion du Musée_,

of which we have already spoken. It was divided into several little

compartments, or cells, called _boxes_, in each of which a student

was shut up, so as to allow him no communication with his companions,

and still less with his master or with strangers. The subject for the

picture was chosen by the professors of painting of the Institution;

the programme was distributed to the candidates, and when their

sketches were made, and received, they were all to commence their

pictures at the same time, according to those sketches, without

changing anything. Each morning, on arriving, they were rigidly

searched, in order to make sure that they brought with them no drawings

or engravings which could in any manner aid them. Thus left to their

own resources, they passed two months in this manner, _en loge_, as

it is termed; and these pictures, the figures in which were one third

the size of life, were publicly exhibited during three days before the

prizes were awarded. But although it was strictly forbidden for the

pupils to see their respective works, in order, doubtless, to prevent

the weak from being aided by the strong, or to take care that a happy

idea should remain the sole property of its author--notwithstanding, I

say, all these precautions, the students of that time, less sensible

perhaps than those of the present day, found means of visiting each

other without being perceived. The windows of their cells all looked

in the same direction, upon a small, dirty, and almost unfrequented

square, in which is now situated one of the gates leading to the quay.

These temporary abodes were, as we have already said, situated in the

roof, all the windows opening upon wide leads, unprotected by railings.

These madcaps, at the imminent risk of breaking their necks by falling

from an immense height, glided by this way from one cell to another.

The more scrupulous closed their windows, so as to prevent intrusion;

but two days before the expiration of the time allowed for the

pictures, each student permitted, without difficulty, his work to be

inspected by his companions, and the little Areopagus, with remarkable

sagacity and impartiality, precisely anticipated the decrees of the

greater one, and awarded the first and second prize in such a manner,

that there is scarcely an example of their decisions having turned out

erroneous.

José, who took the first rank in the sketches, now prepared to submit

to this trial, so severe, but, at the same time, so important to him.

Monsieur G. had recommended the reputation of his studio to his pupils.

Three times had they competed, without any of them obtaining the first

prize. It was necessary to repair this disgrace, and be avenged for

the late success of the Colourists. In addition to two formidable

rivals in the opposition school, José had to contend against his two

friends, Francisco and Rivol, who, besides having already competed

for the prize, had, also, the advantage of age--José was then only

fifteen years and a half old; but these considerations by no means

discouraged him; and fired by that enthusiastic and true love of art

which overcomes all difficulties, he commenced, though not without

emotion, the required picture, the subject of which was the "Death of

Hippolytus."

Dame Robert, as may be imagined, was greatly excited, and her mind

wholly absorbed by her darling boy's undertaking. Certainly, had she

been consulted, José would have had nothing to fear; but neither the

good woman's indulgence, nor Gabri's affection, could avail poor José

anything--they must wait. "If," said Dame Robert, "I could only see

what they are doing, I should soon find out whether José had not left

them behind; but they are cloistered up like so many monks, and when

the boy comes home at night, he does not even so much as give us a hint

as to how things are going on."

Gabri, equally anxious, but more discreet than Dame Robert, did not

seek to elicit anything from José; but he watched him carefully, sighed

when the poor boy appeared depressed, and rubbed his hands with glee

when he seemed happy.

The good-natured Angevin, who was not yet sufficiently advanced to

compete for the prize, was deeply interested in the success of his

friend; but he felt little uneasiness, for he knew that José was very

far superior to his rivals. He too would have liked to have seen his

work, but he was obliged to content himself with walking beneath the

windows of the young captives, and see their heads pop out and in

occasionally, like so many marionettes, with now and then a mahl-stick

accompanying them, and serving to complete the resemblance.

Six weeks had passed away, the pictures were advancing, and as, with

the exception of José and his companions, the competitors were of

different schools, he had seen only the work of his friends; and his

own was so far superior to theirs, that a hope which he scarcely dared

own, even to himself, made his heart beat high within his breast. He

had nothing to fear from the other students, as they were all inferior

to Francisco and Rivol. He was standing, therefore, contemplating with

a kind of secret pleasure the group of terrified horses which he had

just completed, when Francisco tapped at his window, and immediately

afterwards leaping into the room, told him, with a countenance

expressive of the utmost concern, that he was in despair, and should

never succeed with his figure of Aricia, which was in the programme

distributed for the picture. Subjects are usually selected with but few

female figures, these being more difficult for the young artists, as

they cannot have models; and the unfortunate Aricia, which almost all

of them had reserved till the last, had completely wrecked both the

courage and talent of Francisco. He looked with admiration on José's

Aricia, for he had been entirely successful, at least in his sketch.

José, anxious to soothe the agitation of his friend, accompanied him

across the leads to his cell, in order to examine the figure which so

much distressed him: he found it awkward, ill-drawn, and in bad taste,

and could not conceal from his friend that he thought it detestable.

This, of course, served only to increase Francisco's despair. He

dashed his palette to the ground, stamped upon it, broke his brushes,

and ended by crying with rage. José embraced and tried to soothe him,

and at length, by dint of kindness and encouragement, succeeded in

persuading him that all was not yet lost, and that he could still

repaint the figure during the week that yet remained to them. He

pointed out to him what he had to avoid, and raised his courage by

dwelling on the merits of the rest of the picture. At last, after

having spent two hours in this manner, he left him, if not entirely

consoled, at least sufficiently recovered to resume his work.

The following days Francisco repainted his unfortunate figure, but

still without success; he effaced it, recommenced, again effaced it,

and at last succeeded in completing it; but in a manner so far inferior

to the other parts of the composition, that it formed a blemish which

destroyed the general effect. Such was the opinion of his companions,

when, according to the rule established among them, they visited each

other to judge of the respective merits of their productions. They had

still four days to remain at work, and the pictures were not completely

finished, but it was easy to judge which would obtain the prize; and

José was regarded as the conqueror, provided he completed the figure of

Aricia as he had done the group of Hippolytus and his horses. Next to

his, came Francisco's picture, then Rivol's, the others were very far

from the mark, and need, therefore, cause them no anxiety.

Francisco, deprived of the last ray of hope by the decision of his

companions, as well as by that of his own judgment, shut himself up in

his cell, and would not allow José to enter, though he entreated for

admittance. He gave no reply to these friendly solicitations, and the

intensity of his annoyance had rendered him so unjust, that to avoid

seeing José, who lay crouched upon the narrow ledge of the window, he

took a large piece of linen, which served him for a blind, and fastened

it before the window. José listened to him for some time pacing up and

down and groaning with despair; but seeing that his perseverance was

useless and importunate he retired, deeply grieved at his distress.

He passed a sleepless night, and the next morning no sooner had he

reached his own cell than he ran to Francisco's; but he was not there,

his picture still rested upon the easel, and for a moment José thought

of retouching the figure of Aricia. But this would have been a

palpable fraud, and his honour revolted from its commission. Francisco,

moreover, would never have consented to triumph by such disgraceful

means. José, therefore, laid down the brush which he had taken up, and

with a heavy heart returned to his own cell.

Whilst painting the figure which had proved so fatal to poor Francisco,

he vainly sought some method of serving him, and his tender friendship

made him almost desire that his Aricia might not be better than his

companion's. He worked with so little care, that, had any one else been

in the case, his wishes would have been accomplished; but, as it often

happens with artists, the very thing that he took the least pains with

turned out the best; and, to make use of a familiar expression, this

figure came so happily, that even an experienced painter would not have

been ashamed to own it.

With a mind absorbed in reflection, José painted on almost without

heeding what he did, and it was not until he rose up, when all was

completed, that he perceived that the last touches seemed to have been

given by the hand of a master, rather than by that of a pupil. His

first feeling was one of intense joy, but it was soon overshadowed by

the thought of Francisco. He felt that the prize was his, but soon one

of those noble inspirations which elevated minds alone receive in their

happiest moments, presented itself to his imagination, and showed him

that the safety of his friend depended solely upon him.

By one of the old rules of the professors, the pupil who presented his

picture with a figure completely erased, or otherwise defaced, was on

this account excluded from the competition; his picture was exhibited

with the others, but was not taken into account in the awarding of the

prizes, even though it were a masterpiece in comparison with the rest.

This rule, which it was found rarely necessary to apply, was unknown

to most of the students. José had become informed of it during his

residence at M. Barbe's, but he was quite sure that Francisco knew

nothing about it. His friend's picture was the best, after his own;

and by having the courage to destroy the figure of Aricia, which alone

would have ensured the prize to a work of less merit, Francisco would

remain without a rival.

At first José seized upon this idea with all the warmth of generous

affection, but, on raising his eyes to his work, he began to think

the sacrifice beyond his strength. Pacing his cell with agitation, he

thought of the honour of being crowned at the age of sixteen, of the

pleasure of going to Italy, and of the advantage his studies would

derive from the journey.

"But," said he, turning his back upon his picture, "Francisco needs it

almost as much as myself; the means of his parents are almost exhausted

by the efforts they have made for his education; his mother's health

requires a warmer climate; if Francisco gains the prize his family will

follow him,..." and José again approached his easel.

"Francisco is nearly twenty," he continued; "he has already obtained a

second prize, and thus cannot have it again; his age will soon exclude

him from the competition, while I have still two or three years before

me; moreover, he spoke to me of a vague hope which he entertained of a

happy marriage, to which his want of fortune might one day be the only

obstacle. If a brilliant success were to overcome this obstacle? If the

happiness of his future life depended upon what I am about to do?..."

José trembled, opened a box, took out his palette knife, and approached

the head of the charming Aricia--but again he paused.