The novels, romances, and memoirs of Alphonse Daudet (17 page)

CHAPTER III.

MOTHER JACQUES.

Jacques has finished his Odyssey, and now it is my turn. In vain the dying fire signals to us: " Go to bed, children," in vain the candles cry, " To bed, to bed ! We are burned to the sockets." " We are not listening to you," Jacques says to them, smiling, and our vigil continues.

You can understand that what I tell my brother interests him very much. It is about Little What *s-His-Name's life at the school of Sarlande, — the sad life which the reader doubtless remembers. It is the story of ugly, cruel children; of persecution, hatred, and humiliation ; of M. Viot's keys that are always angry; of the little suffocating room under the roof; of treachery and tearful nights; and then, too, — for Jacques is so indulgent that I can tell him everything, — the sprees at the Caf6 Barbette, the absinthe with the corporals, my debts and self-abandonment; everything in fact, — even to the suicide, and the Abbe Germane's terrible prediction : " You will be a child all your life."

Jacques, with his elbows on the table, and his head in his hands, listens till the end of my confession without interrupting me. From time to time I see him shudder, and hear him say: " Poor little fellow, poor little fellow! "

When I have finished he rises and takes my hands, saying in a sweet voice that has a tremor in it: " The Abbe Germane was right; do you see, Daniel, you are a child, a little child incapable of walking alone through life, and you have done well to take refuge with me. From this day henceforth, you are no longer only my brother, you are my son too; and since our mother is far away, I shall take her place. Will you let me, — tell me, Daniel, will you let me be a mother to you? I shall not bother you very much, you will see. All I ask of you is to let me always walk by your side and hold your hand. If I do that, you may be at ease, and may look life in the face, like a man ; it will not swallow you up."

In answer, I fling my arms round his neck. " O dear Mother Jacques! how good you are! " And there I am, weeping warm tears, without being able to stop myself, just like the old Jacques of Lyons. The present Jacques does not cry any more; the cistern is dry, as he says. Whatever happens, he will never cry again.

At this moment seven o'clock strikes. The window panes begin to glimmer, and a pale light comes quivering into the room.

" There is daylight, Daniel," said Jacques. " It is time to sleep. Go to bed quickly; you must need rest."

" And you, Jacques? "

" Oh ! I ? I have not been shaken up by two days in the train. Besides, before I go to the Marquis I must return some books to the circulating library,

and I have no time to lose; you know d'Hacque-ville won't stand joking. I shall come back this evening at eight o'clock. When you are thoroughly rested, you may go out a little way. Above all, I charge you — "

Here my Mother Jacques begins a string of injunctions that are very important for a greenhorn like me; unluckily, in the meantime I have stretched myself on the bed, and, without being precisely asleep, my mind is no longer clear. My fatigue, the pasty, and my tears — I am very drowsy. I hear in a confused way that some one is telling me of a restaurant near at hand, of money in my waistcoat pocket, bridges to pass, boulevards to follow, policemen to consult, and the tower of Saint-Germain-des-Pres that is to be my rallying-point. In my half-sleeping condition, the tower of Saint-Germain makes more impression upon me than all the rest. I see two, five, ten towers of Saint-Germain ranged round my bed ike sign-posts. Between the sign-posts somebody is going to and fro through the room, poking the fire, and drawing the window-curtains ; then he approaches me, throws a cloak over my feet, kisses my forehead, and goes away softly, shutting the door behind him.

I slept for some hours, and I think I should have slept till Mother Jacques' return if I had not been suddenly wakened by the sound of a bell. It was the bell of Sarlande, the horrible iron bell, clanging as usual: " Ding-dong! Wake up ! Ding-dong! Dress yourself! " With a bound I sprang into the middle of the room, my mouth open

ready to cry as I used to do in the dormitory: " Get up, gentlemen ! " Then, when I found that I was in Jacques' room, I burst out laughing aloud, and began skipping madly about. What I had taken for the bell of Sarlande, was the bell of a neighboring factory, which rang harshly and ferociously like the one so far away. Still, the school-bell was even more metallic and cruel. Fortunately for me, it was five hundred miles off; and, however loud it rang, I ran no more risk of hearing it.

I went to the window and opened it. I expected to see below me the court of the seniors, with its melancholy trees and the man with the keys slinking round the walls.

Just as I opened the window, the midday bells were ringing everywhere. The tall tower of Saint-Germain first tolled the twelve strokes of the Angehis one after the other. Almost in my ears through the open casement, the great, heavy notes fell into Jacques' room, three by three, bursting as they fell, like sonorous bubbles, filling all the place with sound. The other Angelus of Paris answered the Angelus of Saint-Germain, in different keys. Beneath, the invisible Paris roared. I stayed there a moment looking at the domes, spires and towers glittering in the light; then, all at once, as the noise of the city reached me, I was overtaken by a mad, indescribable desire to plunge and roll in the noise and crowd, in that life, in those passions; and I said to myself rapturously: " Let me go to see Paris."

CHAPTER IV.

THE DISCUSSION OF THE BUDGET.

On that day, more than one Parisian must have said as he returned home in the evening to dine: " What a strange little fellow I met to-day! " The truth is, that with his hair that was too long, his trousers that were too short, his india-rubbers, his blue stockings, his provincial fragrance and that solemnity of gait peculiar to all creatures that are too little, Little What 's-His-Name must have been entirely ludicrous.

It was a day toward the end of winter, one of those soft bright days that, at Paris, have more of spring in them than the springtime itself. There were many people out-of-doors. Slightly bewildered by the noisy movement in the street, I walked timidly, straight ahead, along the walls. When anybody jostled against me, I begged pardon and blushed ; I was careful not to stop before the shops, and, for nothing in the world would I have asked my way. I took one street and then another, always straight on. I was stared at, and that embarrassed me very much. Some people turned round after they had passed me, and some laughed as they brushed by me; once, I heard one woman say to another: "Just look at him."

This made me wince, and what troubled me very much, too, was the searching eyes of the policemen. At every street corner, this strange, silent glance was fixed curiously upon me; and when I had gone by, I still felt it following me from a distance and burning my back. At the bottom, I was rather uneasy.

I walked thus for nearly an hour, till I reached a great boulevard planted with slender trees. There was so much noise there, so many people and carriages, that I stopped, almost alarmed. " How shall I get out of here? " thought I to myself. " How shall I get home again? If I ask for the tower of Saint-Germain, they will laugh at me. I shall look like a wandering tower myself, coming back from Rome at Easter."

So, in order to give myself time to adopt a resolution, I paused before some play-bills, with the absorbed air of a man who is making his choice of entertainments for the evening. Unfortunately, the play-bills, although very interesting, gave me not the slightest information concerning the tower of Saint-Germain, and I was in great danger of staying there until the sound of the last trump, when suddenly my Mother Jacques appeared at my side. He was as surprised as I.

"What? Is it you, Daniel? What are you doing here, for Heaven's sake?"

I answered carelessly:

" I am taking a walk, as you see."

The good fellow looked at me with admiration,

" You are really a Parisian already."

As a matter of fact, I was very glad to have him with me, and clung to his arm with a childish joy, as at Lyons when my father came to get us on the boat.

*' What good luck that we have met," said Jacques, " My Marquis has lost his voice, and as, happily, he cannot dictate by gestures, he has given me a holiday till to-morrow. We shall profit by it to take a long walk."

Thereupon he pulls me along with him, and here we are starting out through Paris, each pressing close against the other, very proud to be walking together.

Now that my brother is with me, I am no longer afraid of the streets. I walk with head erect, and a self-assurance worthy of a trumpeter of zouaves, and woe unto him who dares to laugh! Nevertheless, one thing makes me uneasy. As we go along, Jacques looks at me several times with a compassionate air. I do not venture to ask the reason.

" Do you know that your india-rubbers are very nice?" said he, after a minute.

** Are n't they, Jacques? "

"Yes, indeed, very nice." Then he added, smiling: '* All the same, when I am rich, I shall buy you a good pair of shoes to wear inside of them."

Poor, dear Jacques! He says this without the least idea of wounding me, but it is enough to put me out of countenance. All my mortification has come back again. On that great boulevard, brilliant with sunlight, I feel that I am ridiculous in

my india-rubbers, and in spite of all Jacques can say in praise of my foot-gear, I wish to go home at once.

We return to establish ourselves by the fireside, and spend the rest of the day pleasantly in chattering together like two sparrows in the gutter. Towards evening, somebody raps at the door. It is one of the Marquis's servants with my trunk.

" All right," says my Mother Jacques. " We are going to inspect your wardrobe a little."

Good gracious, my wardrobe !

The inspection begins. The piteously comic air with which we take this meagre inventory is worth seeing. Jacques, on his knees before the trunk, draws out the articles, one after another, and announces what they are. " A dictionary, a cravat, another dictionary, and here 's a pipe, —then you smoke ! Another pipe — great heavens ! how many pipes? If you only had as many shoes! And this big book. What is it? Oh ! Oh ! Book of punishments — Boucoyran five hundred lines, Soubeyrol, four hundred lines, Boucoyran, five hundred lines, Boucoyran—Boucoyran—on my soul, you did not treat Boucoyran with much consideration. All the same, two or three dozen shirts would be more to our purpose."

At this point of the inventory my Mother Jacques utters a cry of surprise.

" Mercy, Daniel! Whatdolsee? Verses? Here are verses. Then you still write them ? Why did you never mention them in your letters, you mysterious boy? You know well enough that I am

not one of the profane. I have written poems, too, in my time. Do you remember Religion! Religion! A poem in twelve cantos? Now, Master Poet, let me look at your poems! "

"Oh, no! please don't, Jacques. They are not worth the trouble."

" Poets are all alike," says Jacques, with a laugh.

" Now, sit down there, and read me your verses; if you won't, I shall read them myself, and you know how badly I read."

This threat persuades me, and I begin to read.

They are the verses I wrote at the school of Sar-lande, under the chestnut-trees in the meadow, while I had charge of the boys. Good or bad? I cannot remember, but how much emotion I feel in reading them! Only think, poems that I have never shown to anybody, and then, the author of Religion! Religion! is not an ordinary judge. What if he should make fun of me? However, as I read, the music of the rhymes intoxicates me, and my voice grows steady. Jacques listens impassively, seated in front of the window. Behind him, the great red sun is sinking on the horizon, and sets the window-panes ablaze. On the edge of the roof, a lean cat yawns and stretches itself, as it watches us; it has the scowl of a member of the Comedie-Fran^aise listening to a tragedy. I can see all this from the corner of my eye, without interrupting my reading.

Unexpected triumph! I have hardly finished when Jacques leaves his seat in ecstasy and falls on my neck.

" Oh, Daniel! How beautiful! How beautiful! "

I look at him with some mistrust.

" Do you really think so, Jacques ? "

" Magnificent, my dear fellow, it is magnificent! When I think that you had all these treasures in your trunk and never spoke of them, it seems incredible."

And Mother Jacques begins to stride up and down the room, gesticulating and talking to himself. He stops suddenly, and assuming a solemn expression, says:

" There is no more need of hesitation: Daniel, you are a poet! You must remain a poet and try to make your living by it."

" Oh, Jacques ! That is very difficult, particularly in the beginning. I should earn so little by it."

"Pooh! I can earn enough for both; don't be afraid."

" And our hearth, Jacques, our hearth that we want to rebuild? "

"Our hearth? I will take care of that; I feel strong enough to rebuild it by myself. You will make it illustrious, and think how proud our parents will be to sit down by an illustrious fireside! "

I try a few more objections, but Jacques has an answer for everything. Besides, I must confess, I resist but feebly.

My brother's enthusiasm is beginning to gain upon me, and my poetic faith is visibly urging me on; already, I feel a Lamartinian longing pervade my whole being. There is one point, though, on which Jacques and I cannot come to an agreement.

Jacques wishes me, at thirty-five, to enter the French Academy, but I refuse vehemently. Old dried up Academy! It is antiquated, and out of fashion; a confounded old Egyptian Pyramid.

" All the more reason for your joining it," said Jacques. " You will put a little young blood in the veins of those effete old fellows. And then our mother would be so pleased, only think."

What could I say to that? Mme. Eyssette's name is an unanswerable argument, and I must resign myself to putting on the green coat. I consent to the Academy, and if my colleagues bore me too much, I shall do like M^rimee and never go to the meetings.