The Mysteries of Paris, illustrated with etchings, Vol. 2

by Eugène Sue

"You have heard quite right, my good fellow, there is such an institution, and, as far as it goes, is founded on pure and just motives, and is calculated to do much good. We should never despair for the wicked, but we should also hope all things for the good. Suppose now a strong, healthy, and industrious young man, of excellent character, ready and willing to work, but desirous of receiving good instruction in his way of life, were to present himself at the place you are speaking of—this farm of reclaimed thieves—well, the first question would be, 'Well, my chap, are you a rogue and a vagabond?' 'No!' 'Oh, then we can't receive you here—we've no room for honest lads.'"

"What you say, father, is right, every word of it," rejoined Jean René. "Rascals are provided for, while honest men want; and beasts are considered, and their condition continually improved, while men are passed over and left in ignorance and neglect."

"It was purposely to remedy what you complain of, my brave lad, that our master took this farm (as I was mentioning to our blind visitor). 'I know very well,' said he, 'that honest men will be rewarded on high, but then, you see, it is far and long to look forward to, and there are many (and much to be pitied are they) who can neither look to such a distance, nor wait with patience the indefinite period which bids them live on hope alone. Then how are these poor, depressed, and toil-worn creatures to find leisure thus to seek religious comfort? Rising at the first dawn of day, they toil and labour with weary limbs, till night releases them and sends them to their wretched hovels. Sunday is spent by them at the public-house, drinking to drive away the recollections both of their past and future wretchedness. Neither can these poor beings turn their very hardships to a good account by extracting a useful moral from them. After a hard day's work does their bread seem less coarse and black, their pallet less hard, their infants less sickly and meagre, their wives less worn down by giving nourishment to the feeble babes of their breast? No, no, far from it. Alas, the thin, half-starved mother is but ill calculated to nourish another, when she is obliged to yield her slender share of the family meal to still the clamours of her famishing children. Yet all this might be endured, aye, even cheerfully, for use has familiarised them with hardships and privations; their bread is food, though coarse and homely, their straw bed rests their weary limbs, and their children, though stunted and sickly, live on. All these, I say, could be borne, did no comparison arise between their own poverty and the condition of others; but, when they visit the town or city on market-days, they see an abundance of good white loaves crowding the windows of the bakers' shops; warm, soft mattresses and blankets are displayed for sale to such as have the means of purchasing; children fresh and blooming as the flowers of May are playing joyously about, and even from the superabundance of their meals casting a portion to the dogs and other pet animals. Ah! human courage gives way at this reverse in the picture of human condition; and when the tired, care-worn men return to their mud hovels, their black bread and straw pallet, and are surrounded by a number of squalid, half-starved, wailing infants, to whom they would gladly have brought the share of cakes and buns thrown by the pampered children of great towns in the streets, or cast to the animals, then bitter discontent and repining take possession of their mind, and, utterly forgetting that on high is One who careth for all, they say, "Why is this difference allowed? and, if there must be both rich and poor in the world, why were not we born to riches? why should not every man have his turn in worldly prosperity? We are not justly used or fairly treated in being always poor and hard worked." Of course, all this is both sinful and unreasonable; neither does it in any manner serve to lighten their load; and yet they must go on, bending, staggering under the burden too heavy for them to bear, till they sink, utterly exhausted and worn out. They must toil, toil on, without hope, without relaxing their daily efforts, or without once daring to entertain the idea that, by a long continuance in honest, virtuous, industrious conduct, the day might come when, like the great Creator of all, they might rest from their labours, and behold peaceful ease succeeding the hard-griping hand of poverty. Think of a whole life passed thus, in one continued struggle for the bare means of life, without a glimmer of hope to cheer the thorny path. What must such a life be like? Why, it would resemble one long rainy day, without a single ray of brightness from the blessed sun to help us through it. Then labour is resumed with an unwilling and dissatisfied spirit. "What does it signify to us," cry the worn-out labourers, "whether the harvest yields ill or well? Whether the ears of corn be heavy or light makes no difference to us. Why should we overwork ourselves, or trouble our heads with matters that only concern our master? It is sufficient for us to act with strict honesty. We will not commit any crime, because there are laws ready to punish such as do; but neither will we try to perform acts of goodness, because for those the laws provide no recompense." Such a mode of arguing, my boys, is as unwise as it is wrong and sinful, but, depend upon it, it is true to nature. From this indifference comes idleness, and from idleness to crime the distance is very short. Now, unfortunately, among the class I have been describing, the far greater proportion consists of those whose conduct may be considered as neither good nor bad, that is to say, without any particular leaning either way, and, consequently, a mere trifle might firmly enlist them in the service of virtue or vice. These are the very individuals,' continued our master, 'we ought to try and improve, just as we should have done had they been born to the honour of figuring as animals with hoofs, horns, or woolly coats. Let us continue to point out to them how completely it is to their interest to be active, industrious, steady, and well qualified to discharge their several duties; let us effectually convince them that, by becoming better men, they will also be much happier; let them see how closely their good behaviour and prosperity are interwoven, and, that good advice may sink the deeper into their hearts, give them, as it were, such a taste of earthly comfort as shall, in a slight degree, communicate to them the hope and notion of expecting the unspeakable reward prepared by the Great Giver of all, whose dwelling is on high.'

"Having well arranged his plans, our master caused it to be made known in the environs that he wished to engage twelve farm servants, six men and six females; but that his choice would be entirely regulated by the most satisfactory certificates of good conduct obtained from the civil and religious authorities in their native place. They were to be paid like princes, fed upon the best food to their hearts' content; and further, a tenth part of the produce of the harvest was to be shared among the labourers. The engagement at the farm was to last but two years, at the end of which time they were to give place to other labourers, chosen upon the same terms; but, at the expiration of five years, the original labourers were taken on again, in the event of there being any vacancies; so that, since the establishment of this farm, it is usual for the labourers and working classes in the neighbourhood to say, 'Let us be active, honest, and industrious, so as to obtain a high character for such good qualities, and, perhaps, one day we may be fortunate to get engaged at Bouqueval Farm. There, for a couple of years, we shall lead a life of perfect happiness. We shall learn our business thoroughly; we shall save a little money, so that, when our time is up, every one will be glad to engage us, because they know that we must have had first-rate characters to have been admitted on the establishment at all.'"

"I am already bespoke by M. Dubreuil for his farm at Arnouville," said Jean René.

"And I am engaged to a first-rate service at Gonesse," chimed in another labourer.

"You see, my good friend, by this plan everybody is a gainer, the neighbouring farmers particularly. There are but twelve places for servants on the farm, but there are, perhaps, fifty candidates who have all earned their right to solicit an engagement by certificates and testimonials of excellent conduct. Well, though thirty-eight out of the fifty must be disappointed, yet the good which is in them will still remain; and there are so many good and deserving characters in the environs we can safely reckon upon; for, though they have failed in this application, they still live in hopes of succeeding another time. Why, for every prize animal to which the medal is assigned, whether for swiftness, strength, or beauty, there must be a hundred or more trained to stand forward and dispute the choice; and those animals rejected do not lose any of those qualifications because they were not accepted; far from it; their value is acknowledged, and they quickly find persons desirous of possessing them. Now, friend," said Father Châtelain, having fairly talked himself out of breath, "do you not confess that I was right when I said ours was no common farm, any more than our employer was no ordinary master?"

"Indeed," said the Schoolmaster, "your account is most interesting, and fully bears out all you asserted. But, the more I hear of the exalted views and noble generosity of your master, the more earnestly do I pray he may be induced to look with pity on my wretched condition. To such a man, so filled with a desire to improve the condition of God's creatures, a charitable action more or less would make but little difference. Oh, tell me beforehand his name, and that of your kind Lady of the Ready Help, that I may already bless and thank them; for full certain am I, minds so bent upon good deeds will never turn a deaf ear to my petition."

"Now I dare say you expect to be told the high-sounding titles of some great, grand personages. But, bless you! no such thing; no more parade about their names than those of the saints themselves. 'Our Lady of Help' is called Madame Georges, and our good master plain M. Rodolph."

"Merciful powers! My wife! my judge! my executioner!" faintly exclaimed the robber, struck almost speechless at this unexpected revelation. "Rodolph!—Madame Georges!"