*DERUES*
*DERUES*
One September afternoon in 1751, towards half-past five, about a score
of small boys, chattering, pushing, and tumbling over one another like a
covey of partridges, issued from one of the religious schools of
Chartres. The joy of the little troop just escaped from a long and
wearisome captivity was doubly great: a slight accident to one of the
teachers had caused the class to be dismissed half an hour earlier than
usual, and in consequence of the extra work thrown on the teaching staff
the brother whose duty it was to see all the scholars safe home was
compelled to omit that part of his daily task. Therefore not only thirty
or forty minutes were stolen from work, but there was also unexpected,
uncontrolled liberty, free from the surveillance of that black-cassocked
overseer who kept order in their ranks. Thirty minutes! at that age it
is a century, of laughter and prospective games! Each had promised
solemnly, under pain of severe punishment, to return straight to his
paternal nest without delay, but the air was so fresh and pure, the
country smiled all around! The school, or preferably the cage, which had
just opened, lay at the extreme edge of one of the suburbs, and it only
required a few steps to slip under a cluster of trees by a sparkling
brook beyond which rose undulating ground, breaking the monotony of a
vast and fertile plain. Was it possible to be obedient, to refrain from
the desire to spread one’s wings? The scent of the meadows mounted to
the heads of the steadiest among them, and intoxicated even the most
timid. It was resolved to betray the confidence of the reverend fathers,
even at the risk of disgrace and punishment next morning, supposing the
escapade were discovered.
A flock of sparrows suddenly released from a cage could not have flown
more wildly into the little wood. They were all about the same age, the
eldest might be nine. They flung off coats and waistcoats, and the grass
became strewn with baskets, copy-books, dictionaries, and catechisms.
While the crowd of fair-haired heads, of fresh and smiling faces,
noisily consulted as to which game should be chosen, a boy who had taken
no part in the general gaiety, and who had been carried away by the rush
without being able to escape sooner, glided slyly away among the trees,
and, thinking himself unseen, was beating a hasty retreat, when one of
his comrades cried out—
“Antoine is running away!”
Two of the best runners immediately started in pursuit, and the
fugitive, notwithstanding his start, was speedily overtaken, seized by
his collar, and brought back as a deserter.
“Where were you going?” the others demanded.
“Home to my cousins,” replied the boy; “there is no harm in that.”
“You canting sneak!” said another boy, putting his fist under the
captive’s chin; “you were going to the master to tell of us.”
“Pierre,” responded Antoine, “you know quite well I never tell lies.”
“Indeed!—only this morning you pretended I had taken a book you had
lost, and you did it because I kicked you yesterday, and you didn’t dare
to kick me back again.”