The gourd mentioned in Jonah as springing up in one night, is in the
Hebrew 'Kikajon.' St. Jerom and many others call it ivy. St. Jerom,
however, acknowledges ivy to be an improper translation. The Kikajon,
according to Galmêt, is a non-parasitical shrub found in the sandy
places of Palestine. It grows with rapidity, and has thick leaves
resembling those of a vine.
{149}
THE COUSIN OF THE MARRIED, AND THE COUSIN OF THE DEAD. [From the
French.]
There was found, under the Restoration, a man who was surnamed _The
Cousin of the Married_, and who merited the appellation by a course of
industry and ingenuity truly singular. He repaired every morning to
the office of the Mayor of the twelve districts of Paris, and
stationed himself before the little grate, where are endorsed notices
of all marriages about to take place. He read attentively the names of
the affianced persons, learned their qualities, and informed himself
of their fortune. When he obtained all this information, the ingenious
Cousin made his choice, always deciding, however, in favor of that
marriage which was expected to attract the greatest number of guests,
and which promised the most sumptuous dinner. He would then buy an
enormous _bouquet_, put on his fine black coat, a pair of open-work
stockings and light pumps, and then take from his bandbox his new hat;
so attired he would proceed cautiously among the carriages, with a
buoyant step, to the church where the marriage ceremony was to be
performed, join the crowd of attendants, and officiously offer to hold
the nuptial veil. When the benediction was pronounced, he created
himself _Master of Ceremonies_, leading the way to the carriages,
giving his hand to the ladies, carefully lifting their dresses to
prevent them from coming in contact with the coach wheels, shutting
the coach doors and bidding the drivers proceed to the appointed
hotel. For himself he was no less careful, as he always contrived to
secure a place for himself in one of the carriages, so as to arrive
with the rest of the company. It was then that he was brilliant, and
then that his liveliness and gaiety served to beguile, with the
company, the tedious hour before dinner. He had for all some remark to
excite laughter--he repeated a pleasant little story, adapted to the
time and circumstance of the assembly--he hastened the preparations
for the repast--humorously recommended the guests to be patient, and
to prepare their appetites for eating, and when all was ready he would
announce the fact himself. He was the Major Domo of the house--the man
indispensable--the commissary of the feast. Every voice was in his
praise--"_that gentleman is very amiable_"--and if any one
indiscreetly inquired his name, it was answered that he was presumed
to be the parent or friend of the bride, or a cousin or an intimate
friend of the groom.
But it was at the table that his efforts to please were particularly
conspicuous. He would post himself in the place of honor--seize the
great carving-knife--cut up the meats with admirable promptness and
dexterity, and carefully and politely wait upon every guest. He
directed the servants, overlooked the courses, and tasted the wines.
Then when the dessert was brought, he would take from his pocket a
piece of pink paper, mysteriously unfold it, and sing from it a stanza
in honor of the newly married couple, composed by himself expressly
for the occasion. The good fellow knew but one little story and but
one stanza, but he served them up every morning in a new edition.
Unfortunately this witty sharper was one day detected in his career of
imposition. Seduced by the attraction of great names, he went to the
marriage festival of a rich nobleman of the Fauborg St. Germain. He
had assisted at the mass--returned in an elegant barouche to the
hotel--had glided unobserved into the parlor, and stood waiting for a
suitable opportunity to rehearse his amusing little story, and to
commence his _impromptu_ remarks, so often before repeated. All at
once he became the object of general attention; all at once he found
all eyes fixed upon him. The mistress of the feast had counted her
plates and her guests, and had ascertained that of the latter there
was one too many. She was astonished to find on inquiring the name of
the Cousin, that no one knew him, and that no one recognized him as a
friend. For the first time the _Cousin of the Married_ lost his
self-possession and his assurance. How was he to escape the gaze of
the eyes fixed upon him? How was he to answer the questions which
might be addressed to him? Presently, a gentleman advances towards him
and asks--"By which of the married couple were you invited--on which
side are you?"
"On which side?" said the Cousin of the Married, taking his hat, "on
the side of the door;" and so saying, he quickly descended the stairs
and left the house. Since that day no one has heard tell of him.
But if we have no longer the Cousin of the Married, we have now the
_Cousin of the Dead_, an expression equally as significant as the
first.
Ruined by the Revolution of 1793, the Count of V***, was obliged to
accept of a very modest employment. In consequence of a change in the
Ministry, the old clerk was compelled to leave his office, with no
other resource to sustain life, than a miserable income of 400 francs
per annum. He was old, and alone in the world. His strength did not
permit him to labor, and by constantly dwelling on his poverty, he
became melancholy, and subsequently fell dangerously sick. By
carefully attending to the advice of a physician, who generously
refused to accept the small sum the old man offered to give for his
services, he became, in time, somewhat restored. This physician
prescribed for his patient, on pain of a relapse, frequent exercise
and a daily ride. You may judge of the poor man's embarrassment! How
could he ride every day in a carriage, when his little income was
scarcely sufficient to procure the essentials of life? The smallest
excursion in a cabriolet cost twenty-five sous--one excursion per day
would be four hundred and fifty francs per annum, and his whole yearly
income amounted to only four hundred. At that time omnibusses were not
invented.
He was beginning to despond when the heavens sent him succor. In
passing near St. Rock, he observed that the gate of the church was
hung in black, and that a long line of vehicles were in waiting to
conduct a funeral procession to _Père La Chaise_. The coachmen were on
their seats, and their strong and beautiful horses, covered with the
trappings of mourning, were awaiting with impatience, the moment of
departure. The advice of the physician recurred with great force to
the mind of poor V***--a feeling of jealousy glided into his
inoffensive heart. He envied the fortune of those who could thus ride
gratis--he envied, for one instant, the happy destiny of the deceased,
in being conveyed to his last earthly home, in a splendid hearse,
drawn by four magnificent horses. Feeling a curiosity to know the name
and history of one upon whom fortune had so lavished {150} her favors,
he entered the church and piously knelt down among the mourners. V***
had on his only black coat, and he was immediately taken for one of
the friends of the deceased, and after the ceremonies in the church,
was offered a place in one of the funeral carriages. The occasion was
too opportune to be neglected, and he gladly jumped into the
wished-for carriage.
On the way, a thousand ideas passed through his imagination. He
thanked heaven for having furnished him with the means to fulfil, in
so economical a manner, the recommendation of his physician. He
accompanied the corpse to the grave--saw the coffin laid in the tomb,
and on leaving the churchyard, he found the coach in waiting, and the
coachman ready to convey him home.
Since that event V*** has become the willing assistant of all public
interments; and what was, at first, only useful as a means of
exercise, has become for him a pleasure and a delight. He goes to a
funeral as others go to the theatre, to a ball, or to a festival. He
daily reads the lists of deaths in the city, and these lists are to
him a journal, and the only one for which he conceives there is any
use. Still more, he has taken lodgings opposite the dwelling of the
undertaker, and every morning he crosses the street to converse with
the undertaker, and inform himself of the burials of the day. He puts
on his blue surtout or his black dress, according to the rank and
fortune of the deceased, the expenses of the funeral, &c., and for all
grand ceremonies he wears crape on his arm. V*** is now generally
known by the title of _the Cousin of the Dead_. For fifteen years he
has not missed a single funeral. His views are too liberal to adopt
party feelings; he has assisted to inter Bellart and Manuel, Talma and
the Bishop of Beauvais, a female follower of St. Simon and the lady
Superior of the Convent of Minimes, and he hopes to live to inter many
other characters equally distinguished. He once presented to the
Chamber of Deputies, a petition for a law interdicting the embalming
of infants, by which the number of funeral processions is materially
lessened.
The Cousin of the Dead possesses a remarkably expansive sensibility,
and an extraordinary quantity of sympathy for the afflictions of
others. He feels the grief of a bereaved mother, the despair of a
heart-broken widow, the sorrow of a childless father, with the
poignancy of truth. Many a legator, in noticing his sorrow at the
grave, has taken him for a disinherited relative; many a mother has
been gratified to see him shed tears over her favorite son, and many
an husband, on losing a beloved wife, has been astonished at his grief
over her remains. He composes funeral orations for all illustrious
persons; the burial place is his life and his world. At times, struck
with the appearance of grief depicted on his countenance, the friends
of the dead have desired him to be the principal mourner.
One day, during the burial of a personage of considerable importance,
the Cousin of the Dead was observed to shed an abundance of tears. One
of the mourners approached him and desired that he would make a few
appropriate remarks--_jeter quelques fleurs sur le cercueil_--on the
individual whose remains they had just deposited in the cold grave.
The procession closed around him as he prepared to speak.
"The tomb," said he, "is again about to enclose the remains of a
distinguished citizen." He stopped for a moment, and inquired, in a
low voice, the name of the deceased. He was answered, "Augustin
Leger."
"Augustin Leger," he resumed, "was a man, grave and austere. His long
life was but a continued series of virtuous and benevolent acts. He
was entirely devoted to the holy, the legitimate cause of----"
_He was a regicide!_
"The rights of the sovereign people. His disinterestedness----"
_He was a usurer!_
"His laudable economy, his aversion to luxury, his unassuming and
modest deportment, had gained for him universal esteem. But still more
worthy of admiration were his virtues in private life--his patience,
his humility, and his devoted and unchangeable attachment to the wife
of his bosom, the lady of his choice."
_He had been divorced!_
"For his children he cherished the most affectionate and tender
regard."
_He had driven them from his house!_
"Virtuous friend! May the earth rest lightly on thy coffin!"