I was in bed, and hardly recovered from the delirious fever which hadkept me for so long between life and death. My weakened brain was makingefforts to recover its activity; my thoughts, like rays of lightstruggling through the clouds, were still confused and imperfect; attimes I felt a return of the dizziness which made a chaos of all myideas, and I floated, so to speak, between alternate fits of mentalwandering and consciousness.
Sometimes everything seemed plain to me, like the prospect which, fromthe top of some high mountain, opens before us in clear weather. Wedistinguish water, woods, villages, cattle, even the cottage perched onthe edge of the ravine; then suddenly there comes a gust of wind ladenwith mist, and all is confused and indistinct.
Thus, yielding to the oscillations of a half-recovered reason, I allowedmy mind to follow its various impulses without troubling myself toseparate the real from the imaginary; I glided softly from one to theother, and my dreams and waking thoughts succeeded closely upon oneanother.
Now, while my mind is wandering in this unsettled state, see, underneaththe clock which measures the hours with its loud ticking, a female figureappears before me!
At first sight I saw enough to satisfy me that she was not a daughter ofEve. In her eye was the last flash of an expiring star, and her face hadthe pallor of an heroic death-struggle. She was dressed in a drapery ofa thousand changing colors of the brightest and the most sombre hues, andheld a withered garland in her hand.
After having contemplated her for some moments, I asked her name, andwhat brought her into my attic. Her eyes, which were following themovements of the clock, turned toward me, and she replied:
"You see in me the year which is just drawing to its end; I come toreceive your thanks and your farewell."
I raised myself on my elbow in surprise, which soon gave place to bitterresentment.
"Ah! you want thanks," cried I; "but first let me know what for?
"When I welcomed your coming, I was still young and vigorous: you havetaken from me each day some little of my strength, and you have ended byinflicting an illness upon me; already, thanks to you, my blood is lesswarm, my muscles less firm, and my feet less agile than before! You haveplanted the germs of infirmity in my bosom; there, where the summerflowers of life were growing, you have wickedly sown the nettles of oldage!
"And, as if it were not enough to weaken my body, you have alsodiminished the powers of my soul; you have extinguished her enthusiasm;she is become more sluggish and more timid. Formerly her eyes took inthe whole of mankind in their generous survey; but you have made hernearsighted, and now she hardly sees beyond herself! "That is what youhave done for my spiritual being: then as to my outward existence, see towhat grief, neglect, and misery you have reduced it! "For the many daysthat the fever has kept me chained to this bed, who has taken care ofthis home in which I placed all my joy? Shall I not find my closetsempty, my bookcase ,stripped, all my poor treasures lost throughnegligence or dishonesty? Where are the plants I cultivated, the birds Ifed? All are gone! my attic is despoiled, silent and solitary! "As itis only for the last few moments that I have returned to a consciousnessof what surrounds me, I am even ignorant who has nursed me during my longillness! Doubtless some hirel ing, who will leave when all my means ofrecompense are exhausted ! "And what will my masters, for whom I ambound to work, have said to my absence? At this time of the year, whenbusiness is most pressing, can they have done without me, will they evenhave tried to do so? Perhaps I am already superseded in the humblesituation by which I earned my daily bread! And it is thou-thou alone,wicked daughter of Time--who hast brought all these misfortunes upon me:
strength, health, comfort, work--thou hast taken all from me. I haveonly received outrage and loss from thee, and yet thou darest to claim mygratitude!
"Ah! die then, since thy day is come; but die despised and cursed; andmay I write on thy tomb the epitaph the Arabian poet inscribed upon thatof a king:
"Rejoice, thou passer-by: he whom we have buried herecannot live again."
.......................
I was wakened by a hand taking mine; and opening my eyes, I recognizedthe doctor.
After having felt my pulse, he nodded his head, sat down at the foot ofthe bed, and looked at me, rubbing his nose with his snuffbox. I havesince learned that this was a sign of satisfaction with the doctor.
"Well! so we wanted old snub-nose to carry us off?" said M. Lambert, inhis half-joking, half-scolding way. "What the deuce of a hurry we werein! It was necessary to hold you back with both arms at least!"
"Then you had given me up, doctor?" asked I, rather alarmed.
"Not at all," replied the old physician. "We cant give up what we havenot got; and I make it a rule never to have any hope. We are butinstruments in the hands of Providence, and each of us should say, withAmbroise Pare: I tend him, God cures him!"
"May He be blessed then, as well as you," cried I; "and may my healthcome back with the new year!"
M. Lambert shrugged his shoulders.
"Begin by asking yourself for it," resumed he, bluntly. "God has givenit you, and it is your own sense, and not chance, that must keep it foryou. One would think, to hear people talk, that sickness comes upon uslike the rain or the sunshine, without one having a word to say in thematter. Before we complain of being ill we should prove that we deserveto be well."
I was about to smile, but the doctor looked angry.
"Ah! you think that I am joking," resumed he, raising his voice; "buttell me, then, which of us gives his health the same attention that hegives to his business? Do you economize your strength as you economizeyour money? Do you avoid excess and imprudence in the one case with thesame care as extravagance or foolish speculations in the other? Do youkeep as regular accounts of your mode of living as you do of your income?
Do you consider every evening what has been wholesome or unwholesome foryou, with the same care that you bring to the examination of yourexpenditure? You may smile; but have you not brought this illness onyourself by a thousand indiscretions?"
I began to protest against this, and asked him to point out theseindiscretions. The old doctor spread out his fingers, and began toreckon upon them one by one.
"Primo," cried he, "want of exercise. You live here like a mouse in acheese, without air, motion, or change. Consequently, the bloodcirculates badly, the fluids thicken, the muscles, being inactive, do notclaim their share of nutrition, the stomach flags, and the brain growsweary.
"Secundo. Irregular food. Caprice is your cook; your stomach a slavewho must accept what you give it, but who presently takes a sullenrevenge, like all slaves.
"Tertio. Sitting up late. Instead of using the night for sleep, youspend it in reading; your bedstead is a bookcase, your pillows a desk!
At the time when the wearied brain asks for rest, you lead it throughthese nocturnal orgies, and you are surprised to find it the worse forthem the next day.
"Quarto. Luxurious habits. Shut up in your attic, you insensiblysurround yourself with a thousand effeminate indulgences. You must havelist for your door, a blind for your window, a carpet for your feet, aneasy-chair stuffed with wool for your back, your fire lit at the firstsign of cold, and a shade to your lamp; and thanks to all theseprecautions, the least draught makes you catch cold, common chairs giveyou no rest, and you must wear spectacles to support the light of day.
You have thought you were acquiring comforts, and you have onlycontracted infirmities.
"Quinto"
"Ah! enough, enough, doctor!" cried I. "Pray, do not carry yourexamination farther; do not attach a sense of remorse to each of mypleasures."
The old doctor rubbed his nose with his snuffbox.
"You see," said he, more gently, and rising at the same time, "you wouldescape from the truth. You shrink from inquiry--a proof that you areguilty. Habemus confitentem reum! But at least, my friend, do not goon laying the blame on Time, like an old woman."
Thereupon he again felt my pulse, and took his leave, declaring that hisfunction was at an end, and that the rest depended upon myself.
When the doctor was gone, I set about reflecting upon what he had said.
Although his words were too sweeping, they were not the less true in themain. How often we accuse chance of an illness, the origin of which weshould seek in ourselves! Perhaps it would have been wiser to let himfinish the examination he had begun.
But is there not another of more importance--that which concerns thehealth of the soul? Am I so sure of having neglected no means ofpreserving that during the year which is now ending? Have I, as one ofGods soldiers upon earth, kept my courage and my arms efficient? ShallI be ready for the great review of souls which must pass before Him WHOIS in the dark valley of Jehoshaphat?
Darest thou examine thyself, O my soul! and see how often thou hasterred?
First, thou hast erred through pride! for I have not duly valued thelowly. I have drunk too deeply of the intoxicating wines of genius, andhave found no relish in pure water. I have disdained those words whichhad no other beauty than their sincerity; I have ceased to love mensolely because they are men--I have loved them for their endowments; Ihave contracted the world within the narrow compass of a pantheon, and mysympathy has been awakened by admiration only. The vulgar crowd, which Iought to have followed with a friendly eye because it is composed of mybrothers in hope or grief, I have let pass by with as much indifferenceas if it were a flock of sheep. I am indignant with him who rolls inriches and despises the man poor in worldly wealth; and yet, vain of mytrifling knowledge, I despise him who is poor in mind--I scorn thepoverty of intellect as others do that of dress; I take credit for a giftwhich I did not bestow on myself, and turn the favor of fortune into aweapon with which t o attack others.
Ah! if, in the worst days of revolutions, ignorance has revolted andraised a cry of hatred against genius, the fault is not alone in theenvious malice of ignorance, but comes in part, too, from thecontemptuous pride of knowledge.
Alas! I have too completely forgotten the fable of the two sons of themagician of Bagdad.
One of them, struck by an irrevocable decree of destiny, was born blind,while the other enjoyed all the delights of sight. The latter, proud ofhis own advantages, laughed at his brothers blindness, and disdained himas a companion. One morning the blind boy wished to go out with him.
"To what purpose," said he, "since the gods have put nothing in commonbetween us? For me creation is a stage, where a thousand charming scenesand wonderful actors appear in succession; for you it is only an obscureabyss, at the bottom of which you hear the confused murmur of aninvisible world. Continue then alone in your darkness, and leave thepleasures of light to those upon whom the day-star shines."
With these words he went away, and his brother, left alone, began to crybitterly. His father, who heard him, immediately ran to him, and triedto console him by promising to give him whatever he desired.
"Can you give me sight?" asked the child.
"Fate does not permit it," said the magician.
"Then," cried the blind boy, eagerly, "I ask you to put out the sun!"
Who knows whether my pride has not provoked the same wish on the part ofsome one of my brothers who does not see?
But how much oftener have I erred through levity and want of thought!
How many resolutions have I taken at random! how many judgments have Ipronounced for the sake of a witticism! how many mischiefs have I notdone without any sense of my responsibility! The greater part of menharm one another for the sake of doing something. We laugh at the honorof one, and compromise the reputation of another, like an idle man whosaunters along a hedgerow, breaking the young branches and destroying themost beautiful flowers.
And, nevertheless, it is by this very thoughtlessness that the fame ofsome men is created. It rises gradually, like one of those mysteriousmounds in barbarous countries, to which a stone is added by everypasserby; each one brings something at random, and adds it as he passes,without being able himself to see whether he is raising a pedestal or agibbet. Who will dare look behind him, to see his rash judgments held upthere to view?
Some time ago I was walking along the edge of the green mound on whichthe Montmartre telegraph stands. Below me, along one of the zigzag pathswhich wind up the hill, a man and a girl were coming up, and arrested myattention. The man wore a shaggy coat, which gave him some resemblanceto a wild beast; and he held a thick stick in his hand, with which hedescribed various strange figures in the air. He spoke very loud, and ina voice which seemed to me convulsed with passion. He raised his eyesevery now and then with an expression of savage harshness, and itappeared to me that he was reproaching and threatening the girl, and thatshe was listening to him with a submissiveness which touched my heart.
Two or three times she ventured a few words, doubtless in the attempt tojustify herself; but the man in the greatcoat began again immediatelywith his loud and angry voice, his savage looks, and his threateningevolutions in the air. I followed him with my eyes, vainly endeavoringto catch a word as he passed, until he disappeared behind the hill.
I had evidently just seen one of those domestic tyrants whose sullentempers are excited by the patience of their victims, and who, thoughthey have the power to become the beneficent gods of a family, chooserather to be their tormentors.
I cursed the unknown savage in my heart, and I felt indignant that thesecrimes against the sacred peace of home could not be punished as theydeserve, when I heard his voice approaching nearer. He had turned thepath, and soon appeared before me at the top of the slope.
The first glance, and his first words, explained everything to me: inplace of what I had taken for the furious tones and terrible looks of anangry man, and the attitude of a frightened victim, I had before me onlyan honest citizen, who squinted and stuttered, but who was explaining themanagement of silkworms to his attentive daughter.
I turned homeward, smiling at my mistake; but before I reached myfaubourg I saw a crowd running, I heard calls for help, and everyfinger pointed in the same direction to a distant column of flame.
A manufactory had taken fire, and everybody was rushing forward toassist in extinguishing it.
I hesitated. Night was coming on; I felt tired; a favorite book wasawaiting me; I thought there would be no want of help, and I went on myway.
Just before I had erred from want of consideration; now it was fromselfishness and cowardice.
But what! have I not on a thousand other occasions forgotten the dutieswhich bind us to our fellowmen? Is this the first time I have avoidedpaying society what I owe it? Have I not always behaved to my companionswith injustice, and like the lion? Have I not claimed successively everyshare? If any one is so ill-advised as to ask me to return some littleportion, I get provoked, I am angry, I try to escape from it by everymeans. How many times, when I have perceived a beggar sitting huddled upat the end of the street, have I not gone out of my way, for fear thatcompassion would impoverish me by forcing me to be charitable! How oftenhave I doubted the misfortunes of others, that I might with justiceharden my heart against them.
With what satisfaction have I sometimes verified the vices of the poorman, in order to show that his misery is the punishment he deserves!
Oh! let us not go farther--let us not go farther! I interrupted thedoctors examination, but how much sadder is this one! We pity thediseases of the body; we shudder at those of the soul.
I was happily disturbed in my reverie by my neighbor, the old soldier.
Now I think of it, I seem always to have seen, during my fever, thefigure of this good old man, sometimes leaning against my bed, andsometimes sitting at his table, surrounded by his sheets of pasteboard.
He has just come in with his glue-pot, his quire of green paper, and hisgreat scissors. I called him by his name; he uttered a joyfulexclamation, and came near me.
"Well! so the bullet is found again!" cried he, taking my two hands intothe maimed one which was left him; "it has not been without trouble,I can tell you; the campaign has been long enough to win two clasps in.
I have seen no few fellows with the fever batter windmills during myhospital days: at Leipsic, I had a neighbor who fancied a chimney was onfire in his stomach, and who was always calling for the fire-engines; butthe third day it all went out of itself. But with you it has lastedtwenty-eight days--as long as one of the Little Corporals campaigns."
"I am not mistaken then; you were near me?"
"Well! I had only to cross the passage. This left hand has not made youa bad nurse for want of the right; but, bah! you did not know what handgave you drink, and it did not prevent that beggar of a fever from beingdrowned--for all the world like Poniatowski in the Elster."
The old soldier began to laugh, and I, feeling too much affected tospeak, pressed his hand against my breast. He saw my emotion, andhastened to put an end to it.
"By-the-bye, you know that from to-day you have a right to draw yourrations again," resumed he gayly; "four meals, like the German meinherrs--nothing more! The doctor is your house steward."
"We must find the cook, too," replied I, with a smile.
"She is found," said the veteran.
"Who is she?"
"Genevieve."
"The fruit-woman?"
"While I am talking she is cooking for you, neighbor; and do not fear hersparing either butter or trouble. As long as life and death werefighting for you, the honest woman passed her time in going up and downstairs to learn which way the battle went. And, stay, I am sure this isshe."
In fact we heard steps in the passage, and he went to open the door.
"Oh, well!" continued he, "it is Mother Millot, our portress, another ofyour good friends, neighbor, and whose poultices I recommend to you.
Come in, Mother Millot--come in; we are quite bonny boys this morning,and ready to step a minuet if we had our dancing-shoes."
The portress came in, quite delighted. She brought my linen, washed andmended by herself, with a little bottle of Spanish wine, the gift of hersailor son, and kept for great occasions. I would have thanked her, butthe good woman imposed silence upon me, under the pretext that the doctorhad forbidden me to speak. I saw her arrange everything in my drawers,the neat appearance of which struck me; an attentive hand had evidentlybeen there, and day by day put straight the unavoidable disorderconsequent on sickness.
As she finished, Genevieve arrived with my dinner; she was followed byMother Denis, the milk-woman over the way, who had learned, at the sametime, the danger I had been in, and that I was now beginning to beconvalescent. The good Savoyard brought me a new-laid egg, which sheherself wished to see me eat.
It was necessary to relate minutely all my illness to her. At everydetail she uttered loud exclamations; then, when the portress warned herto be less noisy, she excused herself in a whisper. They made a circlearound me to see me eat my dinner; each mouthful I took was accompaniedby their expressions of satisfaction and thankfulness. Never had theKing of France, when he dined in public, excited such admiration amongthe spectators.
As they were taking the dinner away, my colleague, the old cashier,entered in his turn.
I could not prevent my heart beating as I recognized him. How would theheads of the firm look upon my absence, and what did he come to tell me?
I waited with inexpressible anxiety for him to speak; but he sat down byme, took my hand, and began rejoicing over my recovery, without saying aword about our masters. I could not endure this uncertainty any longer.
"And the Messieurs Durmer," asked I, hesitatingly, "how have they taken--the interruption to my work?"
"There has been no interruption," replied the old clerk, quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Each one in the office took a share of your duty; all has gone on asusual, and the Messieurs Durmer have perceived no difference."
This was too much. After so many instances of affection, this filled upthe measure. I could not restrain my tears.
Thus the few services I had been able to do for others had beenacknowledged by them a hundredfold! I had sown a little seed, and everygrain had fallen on good ground, and brought forth a whole sheaf. Ah!
this completes the lesson the doctor gave me. If it is true that thediseases, whether of the mind or body, are the fruit of our follies andour vices, sympathy and affection are also the rewards of our having doneour duty. Every one of us, with Gods help, and within the narrow limitsof human capability, himself makes his own disposition, character, andpermanent condition.
Everybody is gone; the old soldier has brought me back my flowers and mybirds, and they are my only companions. The setting sun reddens my half-closed curtains with its last rays. My brain is clear, and my heartlighter. A thin mist floats before my eyes, and I feel myself in thathappy state which precedes a refreshing sleep.
Yonder, opposite the bed, the pale goddess in her drapery of a thousandchanging colors, and with her withered garland, again appears before me;but this time I hold out my hand to her with a grateful smile.
"Adieu, beloved year! whom I but now unjustly accused. That which Ihave suffered must not be laid to thee; for thou wast but a tract throughwhich God had marked out my road--a ground where I had reaped the harvestI had sown. I will love thee, thou wayside shelter, for those hours ofhappiness thou hast seen me enjoy; I will love thee even for thesuffering thou hast seen me endure. Neither happiness nor suffering camefrom thee; but thou hast been the scene for them. Descend again then, inpeace, into eternity, and be blest, thou who hast left me experience inthe place of youth, sweet memories instead of past time, and gratitude aspayment for good offices."