This morning, while I was arranging my books, Mother Genevieve came in,and brought me the basket of fruit I buy of her every Sunday. For thenearly twenty years that I have lived in this quarter, I have dealt inher little fruit-shop. Perhaps I should be better served elsewhere, butMother Genevieve has but little custom; to leave her would do her harm,and cause her unnecessary pain. It seems to me that the length of ouracquaintance has made me incur a sort of tacit obligation to her; mypatronage has become her property.
She has put the basket upon my table, and as I want her husband, who is ajoiner, to add some shelves to my bookcase, she has gone downstairs againimmediately to send him to me.
At first I did not notice either her looks or the sound of her voice:
but, now that I recall them, it seems to me that she was not as jovial asusual. Can Mother Genevieve be in trouble about anything?
Poor woman! All her best years were subject to such bitter trials, thatshe might think she had received her full share already. Were I to livea hundred years, I should never forget the circumstances which made herknown to me, and which obtained for her my respect.
It was at the time of my first settling in the faubourg. I had noticedher empty fruit-shop, which nobody came into, and, being attracted by itsforsaken appearance, I made my little purchases in it. I have alwaysinstinctively preferred the poor shops; there is less choice in them, butit seems to me that my purchase is a sign of sympathy with a brother inpoverty. These little dealings are almost always an anchor of hope tothose whose very existence is in peril--the only means by which someorphan gains a livelihood. There the aim of the tradesman is not toenrich himself, but to live! The purchase you make of him is more thanan exchange--it is a good action.
Mother Genevieve at that time was still young, but had already lost thatfresh bloom of youth which suffering causes to wither so soon among thepoor. Her husband, a clever joiner, gradually left off working tobecome, according to the picturesque expression of the workshops, aworshipper of Saint Monday. The wages of the week, which was alwaysreduced to two or three working days, were completely dedicated by him tothe worship of this god of the Barriers,--[The cheap wine shops areoutside the Barriers, to avoid the octroi, or municipal excise.]--andGenevieve was obliged herself to provide for all the wants of thehousehold.
One evening, when I went to make some trifling purchases of her, I hearda sound of quarrelling in the back shop. There were the voices ofseveral women, among which I distinguished that of Genevieve, broken bysobs. On looking farther in, I perceived the fruit-woman holding a childin her arms, and kissing it, while a country nurse seemed to be claimingher wages from her. The poor woman, who without doubt had exhaustedevery explanation and every excuse, was crying in silence, and one of herneighbors was trying in vain to appease the countrywoman. Excited bythat love of money which the evils of a hard peasant life but too wellexcuse, and disappointed by the refusal of her expected wages, the nursewas launching forth in recriminations, threats, and abuse. In spite ofmyself, I listened to the quarrel, not daring to interfere, and notthinking of going away, when Michael Arout appeared at the shop-door.
The joiner had just come from the Barriers, where he had passed part ofthe day at a public-house. His blouse, without a belt, and untied at thethroat, showed none of the noble stains of work: in his hand he held hiscap, which he had just picked up out of the mud; his hair was indisorder, his eye fixed, and the pallor of drunkenness in his face. Hecame reeling in, looked wildly around him, and called Genevieve.
She heard his voice, gave a start, and rushed into the shop; but at thesight of the miserable man, who was trying in vain to steady himself, shepressed the child in her arms, and bent over it with tears.
The countrywoman and the neighbor had followed her.
"Come! come!" cried the former in a rage, "do you intend to pay me,after all?"
"Ask the master for the money," ironically answered the woman from thenext door, pointing to the joiner, who had just fallen against thecounter.
The countrywoman looked at him.
"Ah! he is the father," returned she. "Well, what idle beggars! not tohave a penny to pay honest people; and get tipsy with wine in that way."
The drunkard raised his head.
"What! what!" stammered he; "who is it that talks of wine? Ive hadnothing but brandy! But I am going back again to get some wine! Wife,give me your money; there are some friends waiting for me at the Perela Tuille."
Genevieve did not answer: he went round the counter, opened the till, andbegan to rummage in it.
"You see where the money of the house goes!" observed the neighbor tothe countrywoman; "how can the poor unhappy woman pay you when he takesall?"
"Is that my fault?" replied the nurse, angrily. "They owe to me, andsomehow or other they must pay me!"
And letting loose her tongue, as these women out of the country do, shebegan relating at length all the care she had taken of the child, and allthe expense it had been to her. In proportion as she recalled all shehad done, her words seemed to convince her more than ever of her rights,and to increase her anger. The poor mother, who no doubt feared that herviolence would frighten the child, returned into the back shop, and putit into its cradle.
Whether it is that the countrywoman saw in this act a determination toescape her claims, or that she was blinded by passion, I cannot say; butshe rushed into the next room, where I heard the sounds of quarrelling,with which the cries of the child were soon mingled. The joiner, who wasstill rummaging in the till, was startled, and raised his head.
At the same moment Genevieve appeared at the door, holding in her armsthe baby that the countrywoman was trying to tear from her. She rantoward the counter, and throwing herself behind her husband, cried:
"Michael, defend your son!"
The drunken man quickly stood up erect, like one who awakes with a start.
"My son!" stammered he; "what son?"
His looks fell upon the child; a vague ray of intelligence passed overhis features.
"Robert," resumed he; "it is Robert!"
He tried to steady himself on his feet, that he might take the baby, buthe tottered. The nurse approached him in a rage.
"My money, or I shall take the child away!" cried she. "It is I whohave fed and brought it up: if you dont pay me for what has made itlive, it ought to be the same to you as if it were dead. I shall not gountil I have my due, or the baby."
"And what would you do with him?" murmured Genevieve, pressing Robertagainst her bosom.
"Take it to the Foundling!" replied the countrywoman, harshly; "thehospital is a better mother than you are, for it pays for the food of itslittle ones."
At the word "Foundling," Genevieve had exclaimed aloud in horror. Withher arms wound round her son, whose head she hid in her bosom, and hertwo hands spread over him, she had retreated to the wall, and remainedwith her back against it, like a lioness defending her young. Theneighbor and I contemplated this scene, without knowing how we couldinterfere. As for Michael, he looked at us by turns, making a visibleeffort to comprehend it all. When his eye rested upon Genevieve and thechild, it lit up with a gleam of pleasure; but when he turned toward us,he again became stupid and hesitating.
At last, apparently making a prodigious effort, he cried out, "Wait!"
And going to a tub filled with water, he plunged his face into it severaltimes.
Every eye was turned upon him; the countrywoman herself seemedastonished. At length he raised his dripping head. This ablution hadpartly dispelled his drunkenness; he looked at us for a moment, then heturned to Genevieve, and his face brightened up.
"Robert!" cried he, going up to the child, and taking him in his arms.
"Ah! give him me, wife; I must look at him."
The mother seemed to give up his son to him with reluctance, and stayedbefore him with her arms extended, as if she feared the child would havea fall. The nurse began again in her turn to speak, and renewed herclaims, this time threatening to appeal to law. At first Michaellistened to her attentively, and when he comprehended her meaning, hegave the child back to its mother.
"How much do we owe you?" asked he.
The countrywoman began to reckon up the different expenses, whichamounted to nearly thirty francs. The joiner felt to the bottom of hispockets, but could find nothing. His forehead became contracted byfrowns; low curses began to escape him. All of a sudden he rummaged inhis breast, drew forth a large watch, and holding it up above his head:
"Here it is--heres your money!" cried he with a joyful laugh; "a watch,a good one! I always said it would keep for a drink on a dry day; but itis not I who will drink it, but the young one. Ah! ah! ah! go and sellit for me, neighbor, and if that is not enough, I have my earrings. Eh!
Genevieve, take them off for me; the earrings will square all! Theyshall not say you have been disgraced on account of the child--no, noteven if I must pledge a bit of my flesh! My watch, my earrings, and myring--get rid of all of them for me at the goldsmiths; pay the woman,and let the little fool go to sleep. Give him me, Genevieve; I will puthim to bed."
And, taking the baby from the arms of his mother, he carried him with afirm step to his cradle.
It was easy to perceive the change which took place in Michael from thisday. He cut all his old drinking acquaintances. He went early everymorning to his work, and returned regularly in the evening to finish theday with Genevieve and Robert. Very soon he would not leave them at all,and he hired a place near the fruit-shop, and worked in it on his ownaccount.
They would soon have been able to live in comfort, had it not been forthe expenses which the child required. Everything was given up to hiseducation. He had gone through the regular school training, had studiedmathematics, drawing, and the carpenters trade, and had only begun towork a few months ago. Till now, they had been exhausting every resourcewhich their laborious industry could provide to push him forward in hisbusiness; and, happily, all these exertions had not proved useless: theseed had brought forth fruit, and the days of harvest were close by.
While I was thus recalling these remembrances to my mind, Michael hadcome in, and was occupied in fixing shelves where they were wanted.
During the time I was writing the notes of my journal, I was alsoscrutinizing the joiner.
The excesses of his youth and the labor of his manhood have deeply markedhis face; his hair is thin and gray, his shoulders stoop, his legs areshrunken and slightly bent. There seems a sort of weight in his wholebeing. His very features have an expression of sorrow and despondency.
He answers my questions by monosyllables, and like a man who wishes toavoid conversation. Whence comes this dejection, when one would think hehad all he could wish for? I should like to know!
Ten oclock.--Michael is just gone downstairs to look for a tool he hasforgotten. I have at last succeeded in drawing from him the secret ofhis and Genevieves sorrow. Their son Robert is the cause of it!
Not that he has turned out ill after all their care--not that he is idleor dissipated; but both were in hopes he would never leave them any more.
The presence of the young man was to have renewed and made glad theirlives once more; his mother counted the days, his father preparedeverything to receive their dear associate in their toils; and at themoment when they were thus about to be repaid for all their sacrifices,Robert had suddenly informed them that he had just engaged himself to acontractor at Versailles.
Every remonstrance and every prayer were useless; he brought forward thenecessity of initiating himself into all the details of an importantcontract, the facilities he should have in his new position of improvinghimself in his trade, and the hopes he had of turning his knowledge toadvantage. At, last, when his mother, having come to the end of herarguments, began to cry, he hastily kissed her, and went away that hemight avoid any further remonstrances.
He had been absent a year, and there was nothing to give them hopes ofhis return. His parents hardly saw him once a month, and then he onlystayed a few moments with them.
"I have been punished where I had hoped to be rewarded," Michael said tome just now. "I had wished for a saving and industrious son, and God hasgiven me an ambitious and avaricious one! I had always said to myselfthat when once he was grown up we should have him always with us, torecall our youth and to enliven our hearts. His mother was alwaysthinking of getting him married, and having children again to care for.
You know women always will busy themselves about others. As for me, Ithought of him working near my bench, and singing his new songs; for hehas learnt music, and is one of the best singers at the Orpheon.
A dream, sir, truly! Directly the bird was fledged, he took to flight,and remembers neither father nor mother. Yesterday, for instance, wasthe day we expected him; he should have come to supper with us. NoRobert to-day, either! He has had some plan to finish, or some bargainto arrange, and his old parents are put down last in the accounts, afterthe customers and the joiners work. Ah! if I could have guessed how itwould have turned out! Fool! to have sacrificed my likings and my money,for nearly twenty years, to the education of a thankless son! Was it forthis I took the trouble to cure myself of drinking, to break with myfriends, to become an example to the neighborhood? The jovial goodfellow has made a goose of himself. Oh! if I had to begin again! No,no! you see women and children are our bane. They soften our hearts;they lead us a life of hope and affection; we pass a quarter of our livesin fostering the growth of a grain of corn which is to be everything tous in our old age, and wh en the harvest-time comes--good-night, the earis empty!"
While he was speaking, Michaels voice became hoarse, his eyes fierce,and his lips quivered. I wished to answer him, but I could only think ofcommonplace consolations, and I remained silent. The joiner pretended heneeded a tool, and left me.
Poor father! Ah! I know those moments of temptation when virtue hasfailed to reward us, and we regret having obeyed her! Who has not feltthis weakness in hours of trial, and who has not uttered, at least once,the mournful exclamation of Brutus?
But if virtue is only a word, what is there then in life that is trueand real? No, I will not believe that goodness is in vain! It does notalways give the happiness we had hoped for, but it brings some other.
In the world everything is ruled by order, and has its proper andnecessary consequences, and virtue cannot be the sole exception to thegeneral law. If it had been prejudicial to those who practised it,experience would have avenged them; but experience has, on the contrary,made it more universal and more holy. We only accuse it of being afaithless debtor because we demand an immediate payment, and one apparentto our senses. We always consider life as a fairytale, in which everygood action must be rewarded by a visible wonder. We do not accept aspayment a peaceful conscience, self-content, or a good name among men--treasures that are more precious than any other, but the value of whichwe do not feel till after we have lost them!
Michael is come back, and has returned to his work. His son has not yetarrived.
By telling me of his hopes and his grievous disappointments, he becameexcited; he unceasingly went over again the same subject, always addingsomething to his griefs. He had just wound up his confidential discourseby speaking to me of a joiners business which he had hoped to buy, andwork to good account with Roberts help. The present owner had made afortune by it, and, after thirty years of business, he was thinking ofretiring to one of the ornamental cottages in the outskirts of the city,a usual retreat for the frugal and successful workingman. Michael hadnot indeed the two thousand francs which must be paid down; but perhapshe could have persuaded Master Benoit to wait. Roberts presence wouldhave been a security for him, for the young man could not fail to insurethe prosperity of a workshop; besides science and skill, he had the powerof invention and bringing to perfection. His father had discovered amonghis drawings a new plan for a staircase, which had occupied his thoughtsfor a lon g time; and he even suspected him of having engaged himself tothe Versailles contractor for the very purpose of executing it. Theyouth was tormented by this spirit of invention, which took possession ofall his thoughts, and, while devoting his mind to study, he had no timeto listen to his feelings.
Michael told me all this with a mixed feeling of pride and vexation. Isaw he was proud of the son he was abusing, and that his very pride madehim more sensitive to that sons neglect.
Six oclock PM--I have just finished a happy day. How many events havehappened within a few hours, and what a change for Genevieve and Michael!
He had just finished fixing the shelves, and telling me of his son, whileI laid the cloth for my breakfast.
Suddenly we heard hurried steps in the passage, the door opened, andGenevieve entered with Robert.
The joiner gave a start of joyful surprise, but he repressed itimmediately, as if he wished to keep up the appearance of displeasure.
The young man did not appear to notice it, but threw himself into hisarms in an open-hearted manner, which surprised me. Genevieve, whoseface shone with happiness, seemed to wish to speak, and to restrainherself with difficulty.
I told Robert I was glad to see him, and he answered me with ease andcivility.
"I expected you yesterday," said Michael Arout, rather dryly.
"Forgive me, father," replied the young workman, "but I had business atSt. Germains. I was not able to come back till it was very late, andthen the master kept me."
The joiner looked at his son sidewise, and then took up his hammer again.
"All right," muttered he, in a grumbling tone; "when we are with otherpeople we must do as they wish; but there are some who would like betterto eat brown bread with their own knife than partridges with the silverfork of a master."
"And I am one of those, father," replied Robert, merrily, "but, as theproverb says, "you must shell the peas before you can eat them." It wasnecessary that I should first work in a great workshop--"
"To go on with your plan of the staircase," interrupted Michael,ironically.
"You must now say Monsieur Raymonds plan, father," replied Robert,smiling.
"Why?"
"Because I have sold it to him."
The joiner, who was planing a board, turned round quickly.
"Sold it!" cried he, with sparkling eyes.
"For the reason that I was not rich enough to give it him."
Michael threw down the board and tool.
"There he is again!" resumed he, angrily; "his good genius puts an ideainto his head which would have made him known, and he goes and sells itto a rich man, who will take the honor of it himself."
"Well, what harm is there done?" asked Genevieve.
"What harm!" cried the joiner, in a passion. "You understand nothingabout it--you are a woman; but he--he knows well that a true workmannever gives up his own inventions for money, no more than a soldier wouldgive up his cross. That is his glory; he is bound to keep it for thehonor it does him! Ah, thunder! if I had ever made a discovery, ratherthan put it up at auction I would have sold one of my eyes! Dont yousee that a new invention is like a child to a workman? He takes care ofit, he brings it up, he makes a way for it in the world, and it is only apoor creature who sells it."
Robert colored a little.
"You will think differently, father," said he, "when you know why I soldmy plan."
"Yes, and you will thank him for it," added Genevieve, who could nolonger keep silence.
"Never !" replied Michael.
"But, wretched man!" cried she, "he sold it only for our sakes!"
The joiner looked at his wife and son with astonishment. It wasnecessary to come to an explanation. The latter related how he hadentered into a negotiation with Master Benoit, who had positively refusedto sell his business unless one half of the two thousand francs werefirst paid down. It was in the hopes of obtaining this sum that he hadgone to work with the contractor at Versailles; he had had an opportunityof trying his invention, and of finding a purchaser. Thanks to the moneyhe received for it, he had just concluded the bargain with Benoit, andhad brought his father the key of the new work-yard.
This explanation was given by the young workman with so much modesty andsimplicity that I was quite affected by it. Genevieve cried; Michaelpressed his son to his heart, and in a long embrace he seemed to ask hispardon for having unjustly accused him.
All was now explained with honor to Robert. The conduct which hisparents had ascribed to indifference really sprang from affection; he hadneither obeyed the voice of ambition nor of avarice, nor even the noblerinspiration of inventive genius: his whole motive and single aim had beenthe happiness of Genevieve and Michael. The day for proving hisgratitude had come, and he had returned them sacrifice for sacrifice!
After the explanations and exclamations of joy were over, all three wereabout to leave me; but, the cloth being laid, I added three more places,and kept them to breakfast.
The meal was prolonged: the fare was only tolerable; but the over-flowings of affection made it delicious. Never had I better understoodthe unspeakable charm of family love. What calm enjoyment in thathappiness which is always shared with others; in that community ofinterests which unites such various feelings; in that association ofexistences which forms one single being of so many! What is man withoutthose home affections, which, like so many roots, fix him firmly in theearth, and permit him to imbibe all the juices of life? Energy,happiness--do not all these come from them? Without family life wherewould man learn to love, to associate, to deny himself? A community inlittle, is it not this which teaches us how to live in the great one?
Such is the holiness of home, that, to express our relation with God, wehave been obliged to borrow the words invented for our family life. Menhave named themselves the sons of a heavenly Father!
Ah! let us carefully preserve these chains of domestic union. Do notlet us unbind the human sheaf, and scatter its ears to all the capricesof chance and of the winds; but let us rather enlarge this holy law; letus carry the principles and the habits of home beyond set bounds; and,if it may be, let us realize the prayer of the Apostle of the Gentileswhen he exclaimed to the newborn children of Christ: "Be ye like-minded,having the same love, being of one accord, of one mind."