The Ancient Irish Church.
II.
We must say something about St. Columbanus, and his labors in Luxeuil, Braganza, and Bobbio; and of St. Gall, the apostle of Alemania; for it was through these two that the ancient Irish Church did so much in Switzerland and south-western Germany.
Columbanus was born in the province of Leinster, about the year 534, when Christianity began to bear its first fruits in Ireland. While the child was yet in the womb, his mother saw, in a vision, as it were, a sun proceeding from her body and enlightening all parts of the world. The son whom she bore became in fact, through the light of his wisdom and the splendor of his virtues, a star in the church; not only in Ireland, but also in Burgundy, Alemania, and Italy. Instructed, from early youth, in grammar, rhetoric, geometry, and in the study of the holy Scriptures, he left his mother's house in manhood, in order to enter the monastery of Cluain-Inis, and consecrate himself entirely to God. In the year 565 he asked to be received among the monks of the monastery at Bangor, which the Abbot Comgall, equally distinguished by his personal sanctity as well as by the rigor of the discipline which he used in governing, ruled with applause. Columbanus became so remarkable here that Abbot Comgall entrusted him with the directorship of the schools. The fame of the new teacher spread far beyond the limits of Bangor, and the nobles of the land deemed themselves happy to be able to leave their sons to be educated by a man as well skilled in profane science as in Christian perfection. Gall, born in Ireland in 545, became one of his pupils. Columbanus and Gall taught and learned in a blessed abode. Three thousand monks were united in the monastery of Bangor, under Abbot Comgall, in common prayer, the practice of virtue, and a virtuous life. The monastery was built in the year 558, by Comgall, and was, in its first form, a collection of many cells and huts, somewhat straggling in their arrangement. Bangor was fruitful in holy men and apostolic missionaries. Many convents were founded from it. Comgall himself founded the monastery of Heth, in Scotland, A.D. 565, and the monastery of Cambar, and several other smaller communities, in Leinster. Comgall died on the 10th of May, 602, in the 85th year of his age, and the forty-fourth after the foundation of Bangor. Bangor was laid waste by the Danes in the year 823, afterward entirely destroyed by pirates, and on one day the Picts murdered 900 monks. Archbishop Malachy, of Armagh, re-erected Bangor. There now remains on the coast of the bay of Belfast, where the renowned cloister once stood, no vestige of its former greatness.
Columbanus had lived and taught a number of years in the cloister of Bangor, when the desire of travelling and announcing the gospel of Christ filled his soul. He was obliged, however, to make repeated requests before Abbot Comgall gave him permission to depart, and allowed him to choose a certain number of monks as his companions. Columbanus chose twelve, recommended himself to the prayers of the rest, and set out, after receiving the blessings of his abbot, with his chosen band about the year 589-590. We know the travels of Columbanus, and must mention them here. The chosen followers of the great apostle were: Gall, founder of Saint Gall, and apostle of Alemania; Cominnius, Emroch, and Equanach, Lua, and Patentianus, afterwards made bishop of Constance, in Armorica, where he erected a monastery; Antiernus, who, becoming homesick at Luxeuil, wished to return to Ireland, but was retained by Columbanus; Columbanus the younger, a near relative of our apostle, died in the early part of his life, at Luxeuil; Deicola, the founder of the monastery of Lutra, in the diocese of Besançon; Sigibert, the founder of Dissentis, in Croatia; Aldan, later Bishop of Calboaldus. (Greith, p. 272.) In British Cambria the holy company joined several British clerics to its ranks.
Whither did these apostolic men wish to go?
It was not advisable to remain in Britain at that time. In the south of this land the Anglo-Saxon conquerors laid waste the country, destroyed the churches; both heathenism and barbarism raised their heads triumphantly in the most populous parts and cities of the island. The two last bishops of Britain, he of London and he of York, fled to the mountains of Wales, with all the holy relics and church vessels which they could save. On account of these circumstances Columbanus determined to leave Britain, to sail for Gaul, and there improve the moral condition of the people, so that if success attended his labors, the good seed might be scattered there with fruit; but if the people were stiff-necked, he would turn to other nations.
The company went to Gaul. This land was divided into three kingdoms: Neustria, Austrasia, and Burgundy. King Guntram ruled in Burgundy; King Childebert in Austrasia; but after Guntram's death, (A.D. 593,) Burgundy also fell to the share of Childebert.
Columbanus was warmly received at Metz by King Childebert, was invited to remain in the land, and received from Count Agnoald the ancient ruined castle of Luxovium in the Vosges, where the apostle and his monks dwelt, and exercised an extraordinary influence on the people of the neighboring countries.
But how did the noble wanderers find life in the Vosges?
They first rested at Anegrai. "In the wide circle around, the region was a wild desert of thick woods, and steep, rock-ribbed hills; bears and wolves dwelt in them, and only the shrill cry of the birds of the forests broke the frightful stillness. The friars built their huts with twigs and branches. They lived on the bark of trees, wild vegetables, and apples, until, on the third day after their arrival, a countryman brought them better food on a wagon. But, as want returned after a short time, they were well supplied with bread and herbs by the abbot of the monastery of Sancy, three miles distant from them."
But the first monastery was erected, and the mission opened in France. Soon the place in Anegrai was not large enough for the increasing number of the brethren.
Columbanus looked around for a second place in the wilderness of the Vosges. His eyes rested on Luxovium, which had already been offered to him. It was eight miles from Anegrai. There were in it the ruins of cities, of old baths; and in the thickest part of the wood, stone idols, which had been worshipped in ancient times.
In this spot Columbanus began the building of a larger monastery. Soon so many came and consecrated themselves, under the guidance of Columbanus, to piety and science, that the saint was compelled to erect on a height, supplied by a fountain of fair water, a third monastery, to which he gave the name of Fontaine, (Fontanas.) Whilst he appointed approved men as rulers over these monasteries, he maintained a general supervision over them all, and gave them a common rule, which he copied in part from the rule of the Abbot Comgall, of Bangor.
The Right Rev. Dr. Greith gives us a very interesting account of the life and works of the monk Columbanus in the three monasteries; but we can only give a small portion of it here.
In the year 600 the number of the monks at Luxeuil had increased to 220; and crowds of scholars were instructed in the monasteries.
"All must fast daily, but also daily take nourishment; and as all must eat daily, so must they daily partake of spiritual food, pray, work, and read in books every day." The special usages of monastic discipline were observed most strictly in the three cloisters; violators of rules were punished with rods, imprisonment, or a portion of their food was kept from them. "Before eating there was an examination of conscience, then grace was said, and there was reading during the meals. Before a monk used his spoon, he should make the sign of the cross; the same should be done in taking his lamp, in undertaking any work, or in going out of the cloister. He was commanded to pray before and after labor, and on his return to the monastery he should go before the abbot or superior and ask a blessing. Whoever cut the table with his knife, spilled beer or anything else on the table, did not gather the bread-crumbs, neglected to bow his head at the end of the psalms, or disturbed the chaunt with coughing or loud laughter, was punished," etc. Divine service at Luxeuil consisted in the daily reciting of the psalms, and, especially on Sundays and other festivals, in the celebration of Mass. The custom of uninterrupted psalmody by day and night never prevailed at Luxeuil, as was the case among the monks of Agane in Wallis, and of Haben in Burgundy, and among the nuns of the convent of St. Salaberga.
Columbanus, well educated in both profane and sacred literature, taught his own monks, made them acquainted with the discipline of the Quadrivium, and gave them a knowledge of holy Scripture.
Columbanus often retired at the approach of the principal feasts into the solitude of the forests to devote himself to piety and meditation. He sometimes remained fifty days or longer in those places. As in the ages of persecution the blood of the martyrs tamed the tigers and leopards, so that they learned to pity the saints in the circus and amphitheatre; as in the deserts of Africa and Asia Minor holy monks formed a league with nature and its animals, so Columbanus and Gall, whose life was like that of the early fathers of the desert, stood in the most friendly relations with the wild beasts of the Vosges. "As Columbanus was walking one day in the wide forests of the Vosges with a book under his arm, he saw a pack of wolves approaching. The saint stood unmoved. The wolves surrounded him on both hands, smelled the hem of his garments while he prayed to God for protection; they did him no harm, left him and went farther into the wood." Once Columbanus found in a cave a tame bear, which left its abode at command of the saint, who made it his place of shelter. Often, as he reposed under the shadow of old oaks, he called the beasts of the forest to him, and they followed him. He caressed them tenderly; and the birds often flew to him, and sat quietly on his shoulders. A little squirrel had become so accustomed to him as to leap from the branches of the trees and hide in his bosom, run up his sleeves, and then go back to the nearest boughs. A raven was so obedient to him as to return the glove which he had stolen from the saint. (Page 294.)
Columbanus could not remain long in his cloister. He became engaged in a controversy with some French priests, and was persecuted by the corrupt Merovingians, who finally compelled him to quit Luxeuil.
The fact that the Irish clergy clung to the ancient custom of the Irish Church regarding the celebration of Easter, and to the Irish traditions regarding the liturgy of the Mass, gave the French bishops and priests occasion to complain and make opposition. Columbanus wrote three letters on the Easter Controversy to Pope Gregory I. Two of them miscarried; the third reached its destination, but was unsuccessful, because Gregory I. maintained the discipline of the Roman Church on this disputed point. A synod in France, A.D. 600-601, to which Columbanus sent a memorial, did not favor him any more than the Pope. The controversy gradually died out.
The controversy with the Merovingians was far more serious. The crimes of Queen Brunhilda are well known; for instance, how she systematically ruined her grandson, King Theodoric of Burgundy. Columbanus on one occasion having refused to give his blessing to the illegitimate sons of Theodoric, presented to the saint by Brunhilda, she swore vengeance against him. A royal decree was published that no monk of the order of Columbanus should leave his monastery; that no Burgundian convert should for the future hold communion with him, and that no one should establish another foundation according to his discipline. Columbanus expostulated in vain; he wrote a severe protest to the king and threatened him with excommunication. This was the moment of revenge for Brunhilda. She prevailed on the king to cause the abduction of the saint to Besançon by Count Bandulf. Columbanus remained there for some time, highly honored by the people, and doing much good. But he soon returned to Luxeuil. The king, however, sent a whole cohort to seize him and take him out of the kingdom. The soldiers unwillingly executed their orders. The saint left the monastery amid the sighs and tears of his monks, who followed him in funereal procession with weeping and wailing. Only those whom he had brought from Ireland and Britain were allowed to accompany him. Columbanus lived twenty years in the wilderness of the Vosges, and left it in the seventy-fourth year of his life. (A.D. 609-610.)
Let us be brief. Columbanus was brought to Nantes to sail for Ireland; but God prevented him. King Clothaire of Neustria allowed him to return to Austrasia. He went to Metz, then to Mayence, up the Rhine, until he came to Zurich, where he decided to make a longer stay. But the inhabitants of the place were fierce idolaters. Many were converted, while others took arms in hatred of the saint, determined to kill himself and his companions. They consequently left this region and went to Arbon, where they dwelt seven days; thence travelling to Braganza, where they built cells near the ancient Aurelia Church. St. Gall took the three idols from the walls of the church, in the presence of a vast multitude, broke them to pieces, and threw them into the sea. A portion of the people became Christians, and the Aurelia Church was reconsecrated. Columbanus remained a few years in Braganza, when persecutions of various kinds compelled him to quit this region also. (612-613.) He crossed the Rhetian Alps, accompanied only by Attala, and arrived at Milan, where he was well received by Agilulf, king of the Lombards, who offered him a new field for the exercise of his apostolate. King Agilulf and Queen Theodolinda used the holy man for the evangelizing of the Lombards. But his days were numbered. After building a monastery and a chapel at Bobbio, he lived only an entire year, and died on the 21st December, in the year 615, in the seventy-ninth year of his age, one year before the death of Agilulf, king of Lombardy.
"Whilst Ireland glories in being the fatherland of Columbanus, France remembers him in her old abbeys in the Vosges, and his vocation to Italy still lives, not only in the dear relics of Bobbio, in his coffin, chalice, and holly staff, but also in the still living monument of his glory the town of St. Columbano, in the district of Lodi. The writings of this distinguished man, which have come down to us, display a comprehensive and varied knowledge not only of ecclesiastical but also of classic literature. His eventful life has been written by the monk Jonas of Bobbio."
We shall conclude with a few details of the mission of St. Gall, the apostle of Alemania. We already know in what an illustrious school he studied. When Columbanus was preparing himself for the journey to Italy, Gall was sick with a fever, and excused himself from travelling with his superior. In order to keep him and compel him to go, Columbanus harshly said to him, "If thou wilt not partake in my labors, I forbid thee to say Mass as long as I live." He suspected that Gall feigned sickness out of love for the place, so as not to depart from it. Thus Gall, who had been so long under obedience, was at length left to his own will.
He went to Arbon to visit a priest, Willimar, and was nursed during his illness by the clerics Maginald and Theodore, and, having recovered his health, became again an efficient apostle through the assistance of Christ. In 612-613, he began, with his companion Hittibold, the building of a monastery on the bank of the little river Steinach. This valley on the banks of the Steinach, together with Thurgau, belonged at that time to the kingdom of Austrasia, from which it had been severed under Childebert II. (594) for a short time, and separated from Burgundy, to which it was again annexed by King Dagobert. (A.D. 630-38.) Two hundred years later, in the days of Charlemagne, this region was called High Alemania. When Gall came to it, it was almost without dwellings or inhabitants. It was a primeval forest, never inhabited for a thousand years, and never touched by human hands. It was like the woods of the Vosges, a wilderness for savage beasts to roam in without danger. The wood which Gall and Hittibold found was full of underwood in which serpents nestled; the Steinach was full of fish; on the heights hawks built their nests; bears, wolves, and wild boars were numerous around. In this spot St. Gall built his monastery. Wonderful things happened at the building of this convent, all of which is charmingly told in Greith's book. "As, in every spot where, after the migration of the Germanic races, (p. 355.) holy men founded religious institutions, a new life was infused and a new impetus given to civilization, and the wild and savage districts around the monasteries became changed into fertile and well-tilled plains; so did it happen in the neighborhood of St. Gall's monastery from the very beginning of the foundation. The blessed place drew inhabitants near it; Christian worship became the focus around which they gathered; religious instruction ennobled their morals, led them to an orderly family life, made their new home dear to them, and made them love labor and industry. Under the mild protection and guidance of the monastic fraternity, strangers and colonists came from far and near; they became fiefs of the monastery, and aided in spreading its influence and its possessions. From this centre civilization spread far over the surrounding country, so that it became by cultivation transformed from a wilderness into a blooming garden. For twelve hundred years the numerous subjects of the monastery of St. Gall led a happy and peaceful life without soldiers or police. The only bayonet that governed them was the breviary of the monk; and the only sword was the crosier of the abbot. We must also remember that Gall and his followers, axe in hand, hewed down the forest, or with the spade freed the earth from thorns, thistles, and roots. He must therefore be considered as the founder and originator of the agricultural and social glories of Switzerland; for by the law of nature and of intelligence the glories of the effect must redound to the honor of the cause."
The building of the monastery of St. Gall was far advanced when Gall expelled an evil spirit from Fridiburga, the daughter of the German Duke Cunzo, of Ueberlingen. Duke Cunzo gave him many presents on this account, as did also King Sigibert, to whom Fridiburga was affianced. Sigibert sent him a donation letter, the first on record in the life of St. Gall. Gall had at this time only twelve disciples with him, deeming it improper to overstep, in the smallest particular, the limits of the rule. The Irish monks had a peculiar preference for the apostolic number twelve in all their foundations. When Columbanus died, on December 21st, 615, the hour of his death was revealed to St. Gall, and from that time he began again to celebrate Mass.
Gall declined the bishopric of Constance, and had the mitre given to his disciple John; the monks of Luxeuil wished him to be their abbot, but this honor he likewise declined. After the man of God had thrown aside the burden of worldly affairs, he retired to his cloister, to devote himself more completely to a spiritual life. His nightly vigils were renewed, and the fastings of his early days repeated, and the discipline frequently used.
Finally, at an advanced age, he left his cell to visit Arbon, and after preaching to the people, he was attacked by a fever as he was about to return. The malady became so violent that he could no longer take any food. The eternal reward of his great works and services approached. His strength almost gone, almost reduced to skin and bone by disease, he nevertheless persevered in prayer, held pious conversations, and remained faithful to the service of Christ to the end of his life. He rendered his soul to God, after fourteen days' illness, on the 16th of October, A.D. 640. His body was brought by Bishop John to the monastery which the saint had inhabited, and buried between the altar and the wall, with mournful chanting. Many infirm persons were healed, partially or entirely, at his sepulchre.
Even during his life Gall was compared to the early fathers; after his death, the Church honored him as a saint; holy Mass was offered at his tomb; his intercession was invoked with success; and his life presented as a model for Christians to imitate. Eleven years after the death of the saint, his tomb was broken open by robbers; but shortly after replaced by Bishop Boso, of Constance. (A.D. 642-676.) When the great monastery church was consecrated, on October 17th, 839, by Abbot Gotzbert, the bones of the saint were placed on the high altar. They are partially preserved there to this very day.
A glance now at the disciples of Gall. The disciples of this great apostle went forth in all directions from his sepulchre to evangelize the nations, and establish among them new foundations and centres of learning and piety. Theodore built the abbey of Kempten, in ancient Norica; Magnus travelled on foot to the entrance of the Julian Alps; Sigibert, Gall's former fellow-student, went to Dissentis, in Croatia, where they founded monasteries which, after a lapse of more than a thousand years, still exist as firm supports of the Christian religion, learning, and civilization. These monasteries must be considered as daughters of the great metropolis which the holy Irish missionary built on the side of the lofty Alps. The monastery of Reichenau, in Untersee, and that of Braganza, were closely united with St. Gall's foundation. The former was founded, under Charles Martel, by the Irishman Pirminus; the latter, 130 years earlier, by Columbanus and Gall, in the beginning of their missionary labors. The countless churches and chapels built even at an early period in honor of St. Gall, as well as the numerous acts of donation to the monastery bearing his name, prove the powerful influence of the disciples and successors of the saint in spreading Christianity, education, and civilization to the farthest regions. The bishoprics in Switzerland, Germany, and in the Austrian provinces, in the Tyrol and Bohemia, hold a special festival in honor of St. Gall, and give him a special office, honoring him now as well as formerly as the Apostle of Alemania. "The temporal inheritance which St. Gall left to his people was long enjoyed: the higher inheritance which he has left us with the eternal possessions of Christianity in our Church is still with us; and our constant prayer to God and strenuous effort must be to guard it intact, and render it fruitful in the future." (Greith, p. 401.)
Translated From The French.
The Story Of Marcel,
The Little Mettray Colonist.
Chapter VI.
"Dark the evening shadows rolled
On the eye that gleamed in death,
And the evening dews fell cold
On the lip that gasped for breath."
James Montgomery.
A year had passed away when one day Pelagie Vautrin went out in the morning, as usual, with her hand-cart, but did not return as usual in the evening. Marcel had been on a spree with Polycarpe, and was glad, when he crept to bed late at night, all muzzy with tippling, to find his dirty home vacant.
But when, at a late hour the next day, he opened his hot, aching eyes and looked around him, he was at first astonished and then frightened to see that he was still alone. He started up and ran down-stairs to ask the neighbors if they had seen Madame Vautrin that morning. There was soon a great excitement in the house; for no one had seen her, and it was well known that Pelagie never staid out at night; she was generally very regularly drunk in bed by ten o'clock.
"Go to the prefect of police," cried one to the anxious boy, "they'll find her for you!"
"Go to the Morgue," cried another. "I shouldn't wonder if she had fallen into the river."
"Or been run over by an omnibus, the drunken slut!" cried a third.
"Ay, go to the Morgue, Marcel," said Polycarpe, who had just got up, and had hurried down to take part, as usual, in what was going on. "Come, I'll go with you."
Marcel was by this time as pale as death: the idea of Pelagie being dead was dreadful to him; for though the poor boy could not love the cruel woman who had worked him so unsparingly for her own profit, still she seemed something more to him than the rest of the world; she had sheltered him when he had no shelter; she had given him a dry crust when he knew not where to find one; and the child's heart was made of such tender stuff that the slightest kindness could kindle in it a flame of never forgetful gratitude.
Pale and trembling, he now followed Polycarpe to the low, black, sinister-looking building then situated close by St. Michael's bridge, on the right bank of the Seine. [Footnote 131] Many persons were going in and out of the horrible place, some seeking missing friends; others, and the greater number, urged on by a depraved curiosity and love of excitement.
[Footnote 131: It has since been pulled down, and rebuilt more handsomely behind the cathedral of Notre Dame.]
The two boys entered; Polycarpe noisily, and with an air of busy importance that would have been ludicrous under any other circumstances; Marcel sick and faint with anxiety and fear; and awful indeed was the interior of that house of death. At one end of the stone-floored room in which they found themselves was an iron grating, behind which, on marble slabs, were laid out the perfectly naked forms of the unknown dead, victims of accident or of violence. The bloated body of a drowned man, whose starting eyes first caught the scared glance of the shuddering child, made him start with horror and surprise. He had often thought, from all he had heard, that the sights to be seen in the Morgue must be dreadful, but the reality surpassed all his imaginings. He closed his eyes, but opened them an instant after to take a look at the corpse of a woman, whose blood-clotted hair and battered features showed but too plainly that the wretched creature had been the victim of some foul crime.
"'Tis she!" cried Polycarpe. But Marcel could bear no more; the child's nerves and heart had been tried to the uttermost, and he fell insensible on the cold, damp floor. Polycarpe and two or three bystanders dragged him out of the building, and, getting some water from the river, soon brought him to again, but very shaky and weak.
Polycarpe Poquet was a regular scamp, an idle beggar, a street-thief; nevertheless very gently and lovingly did he help his friend on his legs again, and very softly did he speak to him as they walked slowly away from that horrible place. "Come in here, old fellow," said he, when they arrived before the door on the second landing. "Mother wants to see you," he added, as he perceived that Marcel hesitated.
Madame Poquet and Loulou were both at home; for the charwoman was just then at liberty, her last mistress having been mean enough to lock up the charcoal and bread and butter, and various other useful items in housekeeping, and as Madame Poquet said to her neighbors, "After that evident want of confidence, she felt herself obliged to leave, especially as the wages were so low that without the perquisites the place was worth nothing!" She was a good-natured woman, notwithstanding her dishonesty, and received poor Marcel in a kind, motherly manner that contributed much to soothe and console him. "Now, you see, Marcel," said she, "you need not feel so bad; you shall come and live with us; there's room for four, and so there's room for five. I'm sure I always wanted to have you, for Madame Vautrin was not good to you—you know that she wasn't—everybody knows that she wasn't. Now, come, don't cry so; it shows that you've a good heart, but it is not reasonable, and I can't bear to hear you. I never could bear to hear any one cry. Come, courage, courage!" And the old thieving charwoman kissed the weeping boy tenderly, and then wiped her own overflowing eyes. He threw his arms around her neck and sobbed aloud, and the motherly old soul sobbed with him. "Come now," said she presently, and she placed him as she spoke on a chair by the table, "here's some good hot coffee and milk, and a piece of nice fresh bread. I got it ready for you half an hour ago. There, you and Polycarpe sit down and take your breakfast; that'll do you good, and comfort you."
And certainly the good meal did much to calm him, though perhaps the sympathy of Madame Poquet and her children did more.
And so it was settled; the landlord sold the few miserable sticks of furniture belonging to Pelagie Vautrin for the arrears of rent, and Marcel became one of the Poquet family.
As for the battered corpse lying on the marble slab in the Morgue, it was never reclaimed, but was hurriedly buried in the pauper grave that the state provides for the unknown dead. Yet it was a long time before the orphan whom Pelagie Vautrin had so cruelly ill-treated ceased to think of her, or shudder as he remembered her terrible death. It was an end, however, as we know, to be expected for one cursed with so wicked a temper and of such dissolute habits. Drunkenness, quarrels, blows, and death! It is a natural sequence!
Poor Marcel gained by the change; at least, his life was not so hard a one as it had been. He was no longer obliged to bring home a certain quantity of rags and old iron every day; he had no regular task set him. But Monsieur and Madame Poquet nevertheless fully expected him to pick up his own living and something more, in the same way as did their son Polycarpe.
The two boys after a time adopted, as their principal source of income, the business of gathering cigar-ends and converting them into pipe-tobacco. It was a profession that required early rising, quick eyes, and light heels, for there were other lads in the same walk of life, but who could be better fitted for such a pursuit than Marcel and Polycarpe? At four every morning they sallied forth to make their round; hunting for the precious bits on the sidewalks and in the gutters of the most frequented and fashionable streets, the Boulevards, the Champs Elysées, and the purlieus of the theatres. Sometimes, when they were flush of money, they bought from the waiters in the coffee-houses the permission to pick up the ends that might be under the tables.
The harvest made, they hastened down to the river's side, and there, seated under or near the dry arches of one of the bridges, they emptied their bags on the ground beside them and commenced the sorting of their merchandise. The prime or first quality consisted of the ends of Havana cigars, regalias, londres, etc.; the second quality, of those of home growth, or bits picked up in dirty gutters, and consequently somewhat deteriorated. The sorting finished, our young tobacconists commenced their work of metamorphosis. Each one was furnished with a small square of smooth wood, a sharp, thin-bladed knife, and a whetstone, for the knife required frequent sharpening during the operation of cutting up the ends. This was performed on the square of wood, and as fine as possible, so as to resemble new smoking tobacco. Paper parcels were then made up of this novel manufacture; the inferior quality selling at one sou the packet; the superior fetching as much as fifty sous the pound.
The rest of the day was passed in disposing of their morning labors, and this was never difficult; they found plenty of customers, masons, street-sweepers, and rat-catchers, and often made as much as three francs each in the day. They might have gained an honest living by this humble means, had they only possessed an honest home. But Monsieur and Madame Poquet were thieves, and the more the lads gained the more was exacted from them. And then in the dreadful drinking-dens they frequented to sell their merchandise they became each day initiated in some new vice. There was indeed nothing to stop them on their downward course; and soon, alas, the orphan boy, intelligent, and naturally conscientious, became versed in knavery and a common street-thief! Poor, poor Marcel!
Chapter VII.
"Soon, like captives, shall ye learn
Ways less wild and laws more stern."
Anon.
Days and weeks and months had passed away in this kind of life, when one morning, while Marcel and Polycarpe were still yawning and stretching themselves in their dirty bed, Loulou, who had gone round the corner to fetch some ready-made hot coffee and milk, for their breakfast, rushed back again with cheeks as white as it was possible for her rarely washed face to show.
"Get up quick and run!" cried she as she burst into the room, "the police are coming this way; I'm sure they're coming here to look for father, and, if they find you, they'll grab you too."
The two boys needed no further calling; indeed, they were out of bed before Loulou had ended her cry of danger. Old Poquet had become a marked man at the Prefecture of Police, and his reputation was very bad among his neighbors. He had been fearing a visit of this kind during the last eight days, and had taken himself off no one knew whither. So the boys, knowing this, would not have been so much afraid for their own safety, had they not done the preceding day what they called "good business," and had in their possession this morning more money and a greater variety of purses than they could well have accounted for.
So they jumped out of bed at the first word of alarm, and huddled on their clothes in less time than it takes to write the fact; and precipitating themselves down the stairs, were out of the house and out of sight, just as two policemen turned into the street. It was not until they had threaded many narrow, dirty streets behind the Pantheon, diving into dark passages, and passing through houses which were thoroughfares, as there are many in the great city, and at last found themselves near the Barrière of St. Jacques, that they felt secure enough to walk slowly and take time to ask each other where they should go.
"Parbleu!" cried Polycarpe, who was the first to break silence, "at any rate our pockets are not empty! Liberty for ever! Hurrah for pleasure and potatoes! Never say die, old fellow!" And he clapped his friend on the back and laughed as if it were the pleasantest thing in life to be running away from the police.
Marcel was not so gay: the boy's instincts, perverted as they were by the depraved influences that surrounded him, became restive at times; mysterious aspirations, and disgust of he knew not what, agitated strangely the poor child's aching heart, and gave him sometimes an appearance of timidity that had acquired for him among his profligate companions the sobriquet of "la demoiselle" the young lady. He was now more moved than usual, his cheek was very pale, and his large blue eyes wore a more thoughtful expression than ever before.
Making a violent effort over himself, he at length replied to his companion's vivacity by asking what would become of Loulou.
"Loulou!" cried Polycarpe, "why, she's safe enough; she'll get out of the scrape, and there's nothing against her and mother. You needn't think of her, but of us, I can tell you. Now, what do you think I'm thinking of, eh?"
"I suppose of where we must go to-night."
"Exactly so, mademoiselle, and can you guess? No, that you can't, so you needn't try. Well, we must go hide in the quarries at Issy; we shall be safe there, and we won't come back to Paris before two months."
"The quarries!" cried Marcel, "How dreadful!"
"Not so dreadful as Mazas," replied Polycarpe, "as you'll know one of these days."
"I hope not," ejaculated Marcel, shuddering.
"You hope not, you idiot!" said Polycarpe angrily, "why, how can it be otherwise? One can't be always in luck. Don't you know that every one gets to prison at last? Every one that I know has been there, and why should I escape, I should like to know? Of course my time will come, and your time will come, and what we have to do then is to show game. No cry-baby goings on then, if you please, Master Marcel, or you and I'll part company when we come out!"
Marcel did not answer, and they continued silently their way until they had passed the fortifications.
"Now," said Polycarpe at last, "we must try to kill time as pleasantly as possible until the night, and then we'll go straight to the quarries; we can't go there during the day, for there is always danger from spies."
"I'm very hungry," remarked Marcel.
"And so am I," answered his friend, "my inside has let me know for a long time that it didn't get any coffee this morning."
It was not long before the two boys found a kind of nondescript cabaret and restaurant—one of those drinking and eating houses that do most business with Sunday-breakers and holiday-makers, if not with worse gentry. They were soon seated before a smoking omelette, which, with a great loaf of bread and a bottle of sour claret, they pronounced to be a first-rate breakfast. The meal finished and paid for, they bought a couple of bottles of brandy, and then strolled off again to the fortifications, where, choosing a sunny spot on the grassy side of the deep, dry moat that surrounds the massive walls, they snoozed away the rest of the day.
The quarries of Issy had long been the rendezvous of all sorts of young scamps. Idle, vicious boys who had run away from home; unfaithful apprentices who had robbed their master's tills; pickpockets whose successful operations had rendered their absence from the scene of their labors desirable for a period; hardened vagabonds waiting an opportunity to rob or murder, as the case might be—all found there a hiding-place and congenial society. Carefully concealed from any passers-by or workmen, they slept the daylight away, but as soon as darkness had rendered the place secure, the wretched youths commenced their orgies. Gorging on the provisions provided by two or three of their number in turn, and bought or stolen in the neighboring villages of Issy, Clamart, and Meudon; guzzling, singing, and swearing; boasting of their skill in every cunning and thieving art; teaching and learning all manner of vice—thus passed they their turbulent night, while outside the stifling hole that screened their wickedness the starry sky spread cool and calm over the sleeping village and peaceful fields and woods.
How the contrast between the within and the without struck Marcel a few hours after he had entered that ignoble hiding-place! He and Polycarpe had quitted the moat at nightfall and had found themselves about ten o'clock at the rendezvous. The place was well-known to the cobbler's son; many and many a time had he come hither to see some friend in hiding, and he now advanced without hesitation. At a certain distance from the entrance, he put his fingers to his lips and uttered a shrill, peculiar cry, then seizing his companion's arm hurried in. They were met by Guguste, and received an enthusiastic welcome, not only from that young rascal, but also from the rest of the band, which contained a great many at that moment, and consisted almost entirely of old acquaintances. The two bottles of brandy were hailed with acclamations, and the donors invited to take part in the eating and drinking that was about to commence.
Used as our young hero was to all kinds of wickedness, he at first listened with fear to what he heard around him now; but the brandy and the example of his companions soon acted on his impressionable nature, the revolting instincts were stifled as usual, and Marcel quickly became one of the noisiest and most cynical of those wretched children.
One half of the company was already nearly drunk, and the other half at the height of its revelry, when a sound of many feet marching in step and close at hand silenced each and all in an instant. The lights were suddenly extinguished, pistols cocked—for most of the young miscreants were armed; then came a rush from the outside, a struggle, several shots, smothered groans, oaths, and all was over. Law had conquered, and the whole band was in the power of a posse of gendarmes under the command of an officer.
To handcuff the young ruffians and lead them one by one out of their den was soon accomplished; and it was then that Marcel, emerging into the tranquil night, was struck by the contrast. Within, drunkenness and crime, false, feverish merriment ending in bloody strife; without, the cool, fresh air of early morn, the first streak of breaking day in the far east, the market-carts wending their plodding way to the great metropolis—all telling of peace, all so quiet! Beautiful nature and humble toil!
Poor Marcel! he could not understand his feelings, for his intelligence was warped and dwarfed with his conscience; but his young heart ached with vague aspirations and regrets, and he wept bitterly.
Chapter VIII.
"We travel through a desert, and our feet
Have measured a fair space, have left behind
A thousand dangers and a thousand snares.
…
… The past temptations
No more shall vex us."
Watts.
"'Tis beauty all, and grateful song around,
Joined to the low of kine, and numerous bleat
Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clovered vale."
Thomson.
A few weeks after this catastrophe, the whole band was tried and condemned to various degrees of punishment and correction. Nothing had been proven against Marcel and Polycarpe further than that they had been found among recognized thieves, and were by that fact alone suspicious characters in the eyes of the law. The answers elicited from Marcel on his examination had excited the compassion of the tribunal, and the president declared his intention of giving him the opportunity of redeeming the past and of becoming an honest man. Polycarpe Poquet, also, had been judged leniently; his frank, generous nature had been discovered amidst all the vice that overshadowed it.
Very beautiful and touching were the words in which the worthy president announced to the two boys that he acquitted them because he believed that they had acted without discernment, but that, fearing for their future, he should send them to a house of correction where they would be detained until they had each reached the age of twenty-one. He reminded them that at least six years lay before them to reform and elevate themselves. He promised them that every means should be given to them to improve, and that they should be taught a trade or profession, and thus enabled by their own labor to gain their living and become respectable citizens. Obedience and industry would be expected from them, he said; and he entreated them to have pity on themselves, and to aid by their own exertions the efforts of those who sincerely desired their welfare, both temporal and eternal.
Marcel's tears flowed plentifully while the good magistrate thus addressed them; he had never before heard such things, and he wept as much from gratitude as from fear.
Imprisonment for six years seemed terrible; but if those six years were to give him the very thing for which he yearned—a different life from that he had hitherto led, in which all was fear and pain!
As for Polycarpe, he was more silent than usual, but he seemed neither afraid nor sorry. He felt the influence of virtue and truth, however, and the president's discourse made more impression on him than he cared to confess even to Marcel; for in minds rendered obtuse by vicious habits a good feeling or impulse is generally considered as a weakness, and resisted or concealed.
The boys were conducted back to the depot of the prefecture as soon as the president had finished speaking to them, there to await their removal to the House of Correction that should be appointed by the authorities.
In 1839, a few noble-hearted, philanthropic men conceived the idea of founding at Mettray, near the beautiful town of Tours, in almost the heart of France, a colony of young convicts, to whom should be given a moral and religious training, and the blessings of a home. These benevolent men had studied with profound attention the admirable penitentiary system of the United States of America; compared with it, the system of correction as practised in the state prisons of France had struck them as singularly ineffective and quite inadequate to attain the end and aim of all punishment, the eradication of vice, and the awakening of a desire to practise industry and honesty. The published reports of these prisons had even proved that, far from the morality of the unfortunate children detained there being improved, these unhappy victims did actually become more confirmed in their perversity by their sojourn in the house of correction. Though restrained by the prison discipline, they were not actually taught; for it is not intimidation that can teach a fallen nature how to rise, nor inculcate the love of honor and virtue. The helter-skelter way of these houses was fatal to their utility. Young offenders, guilty of comparatively slight offences, were associated with scoundrels versed in every mystery of crime. The burglar and the highway robber, the coiner and the assassin, became the companions of the child so apt to learn, so ready to receive any impression whether of good or evil. Want of space was pleaded in extenuation of this great, this fundamental error in the work of reformation; and thus justice and social good were sacrificed to considerations of economy!
The system of detention, too, as applied to children, did not render it obligatory on the administration of the prison to continue its care of the child after he had quitted the walls where he had passed the last five or six years of his young life. On the day of his liberation, the rule was to give him a few clothes and a part of the products of his labor during his detention, and then all was ended between him and those who were supposed to have been his teachers and protectors. Thus thrown all at once into a world from which he had been sequestered for years, without any family traditions of industry and probity to guide and uphold him, the unhappy youth found it impossible to gain a footing among the honest and respectable, and was soon irretrievably lost.
All the errors, all the consequences of this system, were then to be avoided in the new colony of Mettray; and guided by sound sense and a deep love of their kind, the founders of this admirable establishment undertook the task of endowing the erring children confided to them by the state with family affections and habits, with the love of order, and with health. Their minds and hearts were to be cultivated, and they were to be given the desire and the means of gaining their living by honest labor. It was to the agricultural colony of Mettray that Marcel and Polycarpe were sent, a few days after their examination before the tribunal; and they made the journey thither in the company of thirty or forty other unfortunate boys of their own age. What language can express the delight that filled the bosom of the poor orphan when his eyes first rested on the home that a merciful Providence had at last given him! Most lovely was the wide landscape that spread before him; for fertile Touraine is indeed the garden of beautiful France. The bright waters of the magnificent river Loire were there to be seen winding amidst green fields, its shores bordered by strange habitations hollowed in the rocks, or fringed with waving trees. There were the houses of the Mettray colonists on the side of a rising ground, the tapering steeple of their chapel showing itself from the middle of the group like a giant finger pointing the way to heaven. On the bank of the little stream that passed close to the settlement on its way to the great river stood a windmill, turning its sails right merrily. Plantations of mulberry-trees, beautifully kept gardens and orchards, and wheat-fields nearly ripe for the harvest, surrounded the colony; oxen grazing or pulling heavily-laden carts, sheep browsing with tinking bells, young colonists smiling, bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked, directing, helping, working in every way and with a will; all the sights and sounds of husbandry, and among the leaves a whispering breeze, and the warm air perfumed with the scent of newly-mown hay, and over all the bright blue, sunny sky. Such was the landscape that met the eyes of the pale-faced, sin-degraded children of Paris. Such was the home that a few true men with loving hearts and living sympathies had provided for the victims of poverty and crime! Here were they to learn, by the all-powerful lessons of religion and healthful labor, how to become honest, useful citizens; here were they to acquire self-respect, love of country and of their fellow-men.
Oh! blessings on the Christian men who founded the colony of Mettray! Their names are inscribed on the walls of the chapel; but those walls will crumble away in time, their names will be forgotten, but the good they have done will never decay or pass away, and "Verily they shall have their reward!"
Chapter IX.
Law, conscience, honor, all obeyed, all give
The approving voice, and make it bliss to live;
While faith, when life can nothing more supply,
Shall strengthen hope and make it bliss to die.
The boys at Mettray are divided into families, each inhabiting a separate house inscribed with the name of certain towns, or of the generous giver. There is the "House of Paris," the "House of Limoges," the "House of the widow Hébert," and one is called the "House of Mary," in which the youngest children are placed. There were more than a dozen of these dwellings when our two culprits entered the colony, each directed by a Father and an Elder Brother, the inmates of each one emulating the inmates of the others in their progress to reformation, and every family considering itself a distinct brotherhood.
It was to the "House of Paris," that Marcel and Polycarpe were consigned; and what a new life began for these poor children when, after a short sequestration, so that at least the first elements of religion, order, and honesty might be instilled into their minds, they were permitted to associate with the older colonists, and take full part in their lessons and labors. Strange but sweet did it seem to Marcel when he first felt himself a member of a family, one among many brothers, where he was to find those ties and that affection refused to him hitherto. How soon he came to love his superiors, the Father and the Elder Brother, and how easy obedience was to him, can be readily imagined by those who have followed his fortunes so far. How fond and proud he grew after a while of his home—his saving ark—can only be conceived by those who have visited Mettray, and who have seen and heard with their own eyes and ears that every child there considers himself honored by the title of colonist, and bound in his own person to prove the worthiness of the community.
One of the first tasks of the newcomers was to learn the duties and discipline of the house.
"The colonists' duties are honorable," said the Father of the family to them the day after their arrival; "they resemble the soldiers; obedience to superiors and submission to discipline. Without discipline no association of men is possible. With it a nation may become invincible!"
To Marcel the discipline of Mettray was not only easy but even agreeable, and none could be more scrupulously observant of the regulations than he. At the first sound of the clarion which awoke the family each morning, he was out of his hammock and dressing himself with silent haste. Then, folding his bed and putting it away, he was ready to march with his companions to the wash-house. Here the ablutions were plentiful and thorough; for the boys at Mettray are taught that not only is cleanliness absolutely necessary to health, but that we are also more worthy to come in prayer before our Maker when purified and refreshed by his blessed gift of water.
The washing and combing finished, he returned with his brothers to the dormitory, to render thanks for the peaceful rest of the past night and to beg God's blessing on the labors of to-day. Then the clarion sounded again, and each ran to take his place in the ranks of workers about to march to their daily labors out of doors. Scarcely would they have been recognized by those they had left behind them in their old Paris haunts, as, clothed in their dark-blue blouses, their feet warm and dry in good sabots, their cheeks glowing with cleanliness and health, they marched in step, light and brisk, to their respective tasks. Some proceeded to the fields, where, superintended by an intelligent superior, they worked with a willing spirit, encouraged and strengthened by the sight of their teacher laboring with them. Some entered the out-houses fitted up as work-shops, where, while one learned tailoring on his brethren's clothes, another worked at his family's shoes. A little farther on, and the young colonists reached the blacksmith's shop, where they hammered away manfully at the chains and rails, the gear of the carts, the locks and hinges, and all the other iron necessities of the place. And near by stood the carpenter's shop, where another band prepared all the wood-work of the colony, even to the doors and windows of the new houses to be built to receive other poor castaways.
Some again, whose turn it was to attend to the farm-yard, went on to the cow-house, where the cows lowed with content as they entered. And then began such a currying and cleansing that it would be difficult to say which enjoyed it the most, the boys or the cows. Cows are not accustomed to have so much attention bestowed on them; but the lads took pleasure in it, and each house had the privilege of participating in rotation, and the kine profited wonderfully. After the cows came the turn of the pigs, the horses, and the donkeys, the latter great favorites generally. And then the dairy with its pans of yesterday's milk thick with cream, to be skimmed, and then butter-making and cheese-making.
And thus worked the once idle, quarrelsome boys until the welcome hour of breakfast summoned them within. The simple but wholesome meal finished, after a short pause the thanksgiving was said, and a quarter of an hour's recreation permitted, and then at the first blast of the clarion they left their play, formed their ranks, and gayly marched off to labor again. As they passed the Director on their way out, they greeted him respectfully and affectionately, their bright and now honest eyes becoming still brighter as he returned their salutation with a kind word and fatherly smile.
Marvellous change, operated by the force of enlightened charity alone, by a few devoted men and women! For there were at Mettray no manacles nor blows for the refractory; no prison-walls to keep in the discontented, lazy, thief, or beggar; only labor and religious influence, justice and love, ever working together to repair the ravages that sin and ignorance had wrought in the consciences of these forlorn ones, and endeavoring to extirpate even the very germ of evil in their souls.
The day of healthful toil in the woods, fields, and workshops ended at six o'clock, when the clarion's clear voice again summoned the young laborers, this time to school, whither they marched in regimental order preceded by a band of military music.
The school-rooms were large, well-ventilated chambers, their white walls bearing the inscription, "Dieu vous voit," God sees you, oft-repeated, and decorated with lists, "tablets of honor," containing the names of those boys who had for three months gained an immunity from all punishment. Many of these names had become "fixtures," they had been there so long; for the erasure of a name is considered by the colonists as a great disgrace, while its continuance on the tablet is an honor.
Here during two hours, aided by kind, intelligent teachers, the boys learned reading, writing, arithmetic, singing, and linear drawing. The more advanced helped to teach the beginners, and with few exceptions proved themselves patient, painstaking tutors.
To Marcel these hours of instruction were the best and sweetest recreation. The boy seemed to yearn after knowledge, and the progress he made was really surprising. He was even after a while able to undertake to teach a class of new-comers to read, and proud and happy was he the day this honorable task was assigned to him!
But music especially soon became his greatest source of pleasure. It soothed, cheered, and elevated him; it awakened in him the tenderest and highest sentiments. It saddened him, too, sometimes, but that was a solemn sadness that refined rather than depressed the boy's sensitive nature. The patriotic songs taught in the school roused his enthusiasm and inspired him with the most ardent love of his country. The soft strains of the simple catechism-hymns he and his brothers sang when the good chaplain prepared them for their first communion entered into his inmost heart, bringing peace and hope. But deep, very deep was his emotion when they sang some of those pieces composed expressly for them, and bearing reference to their past or present state. How his heart swelled when he joined his voice, high and sweet, to his fellow castaways, as they chaunted—
"Droop not, though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee;
Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee;
Look at yon pure heaven smiling beyond thee;
Rest not content in thy darkness a clod.
Work for some good—be it ever so slowly,
Cherish some flower—be it ever so lowly.
Let thy good deeds be a prayer to thy God."
How every stirring line re-echoed in his inmost soul, awakening there gratitude so deep and full to all those who had rescued him from sin that no language could have expressed it. We are told that there is "joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth;" how many blessings, then, must rest on the heads of those who have conducted sinning children to repentance—children whom he loves and wishes to be brought to him.
Two hours of school and the clarion sounded for supper. The repast over, after five minutes' play the refectory was converted into a dormitory by suspending the hammocks, and then came the evening prayer and hymn. The day was ended, and our orphan and his companions climbed into their clean beds, to sleep peacefully under the protection of that Heavenly Father who had permitted them in his inscrutable wisdom to bear the brunt of the battle while unprepared, but had saved them, scotched and bleeding, it is true, yet still with vitality enough to recover from their wounds, and fight again, and win at last—if they would!
Chapter X.
"I held it truth, with him who sings
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things."
Tennyson.
Polycarpe Poquet found it more difficult to conform himself to the rules of the establishment, and the law of obedience to the Elder Brother especially was peculiarly galling to him. The Father of the Family he could submit to; but this superior, the Elder Brother, elected every month by themselves from among themselves, was regarded by him as a kind of hypocritical upstart, whom he took every opportunity to annoy. Many were the insulting words he addressed to the poor boys who received this mark of their companions' esteem, but who by their very position were forced to report every fault committed by those same companions, and many a weary hour did he pass in solitary confinement, making nails, before he had learned that first duty of a good citizen, obedience to constituted authorities.
Perhaps the visit of a venerable ecclesiastic who had come to examine the working-system of the colony might be taken as the turning-point in Polycarpe's conduct, though not the real date of his improvement, as we shall see hereafter. The good Abbé had been questioning the boys of Marcel and Polycarpe's family, when he suddenly requested them to tell him which were the three best lads among them. Need we say that our poor orphan was one of those who were instantly, and without hesitation, pointed out by their comrades?
"And the worst?" asked the abbé again.
Every eye remained fixed, immovable; every tongue silent. All at once Polycarpe stepped forward and said in a low but clear voice,
"'Tis I!"
"My boy!" exclaimed the worthy priest, as he clasped the young convict's hand in both of his, "I cannot believe it! I will not take even your word for it! This very acknowledgment proves that you are mistaken."
Polycarpe never from that day forth wore the ignominious mark of punishment, the ugly black gaiter on the left leg.
His progress in learning was slow, compared with that of Marcel; but he was an adept in the house-duties, which were performed by each family of boys in turns of a week at a time. He was skilled in sweeping and dusting, washing dishes and cleaning knives. He was the aptest pupil, too, that ever studied the culinary art, and, after a time, was wont to boast that he could dish up a savory dinner there where a less gifted individual could find nothing to eat. Not that Mettray could be considered as one of the best schools for learners, nor its wholesome dinners as specimens of the world-famed French cookery; for they consisted of vegetables entirely, with the exception of twice in the week, when bacon and beef figured on the tables; but Polycarpe felt that he had natural abilities, and could do more than was required of him in the simple kitchen where he practised. He was quite a favorite with the good Sisters who presided there; they were always glad when it was his week to assist them, and praised him constantly for his activity, good temper, and disposition to oblige.
But if Polycarpe was useful in the kitchen, he was invaluable in the infirmary. A handier fellow for helping the suffering never entered a sick-room. He was quick-eyed and light-fingered, (in the good sense of the word;) he saw in a moment how best to arrange the pillows for the weary, feverish head; he could dress a blister without drawing a single exclamation from the patient; he could make palatable gruel and ptisan; he was punctual in administering the potions, and, though last not least of his good qualities, he was wakeful and, at the same time, good-tempered and cheerful. The kind Hospital Sisters, who had charge of the infirmary, pronounced him the best of nurses, and would have rejoiced could they always have had him with them.
The very first week that he was on duty there, a poor boy, who had only been a month in the establishment, died of the disease whose germs he had brought with him. Polycarpe watched over him with the tenderest care, and the child became gratefully attached to him, and talked much to him of his past life—a short but sad one. His father, he said, was in the galleys for life; his mother in the hospital at Tours; his two elder sisters in prison for theft; his young brother, a miserable deformed child, was a street-beggar; and he knew not what had become of his little sister of six years old! The poor fellow loved this little sister with all the concentrated strength of a heart that had had but few objects to love, and he cried as he spoke of her.
When the chaplain came to see him, the last evening of his short life, Polycarpe related the sad story to the good priest.
"Victor Bourdon," said the abbé gently, as he still knelt by the side of the bed, after having prayed with the dying boy, "Victor Bourdon, I will go to Tours, and find your little sister, and I will place her where she will learn to be a good and industrious girl. I promise you this, my child."
Victor turned his dim eyes toward his consoler, a smile of ineffable content played over his pain-drawn features; then, sighing rather than speaking these last words, "Oh! what a pity to leave the colony so soon!" the young earth-tried spirit passed away.
This death made a lasting impression on Polycarpe. The exclamation, "Oh! what a pity to leave the colony so soon!" was like a revelation to him; all at once he understood all that he had escaped—all the privileges he now enjoyed.
The Father of the family found the poor fellow in tears one day, and, after a few sympathizing questions, drew from him a touching confession of his repentance. He freely acknowledged that his good conduct had hitherto been prompted by pride only; "and if," added he, "I have not run away, "it is only because there are no walls at Mettray."
Singular proof of the innate sentiment of honor that exists in France! Even this ignorant boy felt it to be an unworthy, cowardly act to betray the confidence reposed in him; he considered himself a prisoner on parole, and scorned to take advantage of the liberty granted him.
All his in-door talents did not, however, prevent his working well at the harder labors out of doors. He was great at the plough, and no one groomed a horse better than he. His strongly-built frame, too, became admirably developed by the farm-work and the gymnastic exercises in which all took a part, but in which none excelled as he did. His stout, muscular form, the splendid glow of his cheeks, and perfectly healthful appearance, would have made him remarked anywhere.
He had at first chosen to learn the trade of a baker, as his future means of gaining a living; but his strong physical nature and necessity of movement soon inspired him with, a decided inclination for a military life, and the administration permitted him to revoke his first choice. Marcel had wished to be a gardener; he loved nature, and was passionately fond of flowers, and his desire had been granted.
So the two boys worked hopefully and cheerfully on; one day was a repetition of the other, until Marcel fully understood that higher life which brings its own recompense, and Polycarpe acquired the love of truth and of honest labor.
A year after his admittance into the colony, Polycarpe's name was inscribed on the tablet of honor by the side of Marcel's, which had already long gained its place there. A few months later, he succeeded to his friend as Elder Brother, and, after another interval of exemplary conduct, both lads received as a recompense a sum of money which was placed in the savings bank of the establishment for their future use, and were entitled to wear a corporal's stripe on their sleeve—a high and envied distinction.
"For the good workers there is a future!" is the hopeful salutation inscribed over the gate at Mettray.
Yes! there is a future for all true workers! Labor, then, steadfastly; labor trustfully, poor children of earth; the good time cometh—the reward is sure!
To Be Continued.