Old age, while rendering the play of the muscles less active,veiled the distortion of the limbs due to long hours of labourat the bench under the more affecting disfigurements which lifeand _its_ long-drawn labours impress on all men alike. The oldman had read, thought, striven honestly to do his best, and wonthe saving grace a simple faith bestows on the humble of heart;for he had become a religious man and a regular attendant atthe church of his parish. Jean told himself it would be an easyand a grateful task to cherish such a father, and he resolved toinaugurate a life of toil and sacrifice. But he had no employmentand no notion what to do.
Shut up in his room, he was filled with a great pity for himselfand longed to recover the peace of mind, the calm of the senses, thehappy life that had vanished along with the leaf he had abandonedthat evening to the drifting current. He opened a novel, but atthe first mention of love he pitched the volume down, and fellto reading a book of travel, following the steps of an Englishexplorer into the reed palace of the King of Uganda. He ascendedthe Upper Nile to Urondogami; hippopotamuses snorted in the swamps,waders and guinea-fowl rose in flight, while a herd of antelopessped flying through the tall grasses. He was recalled from far,far away by his aunt shouting up the stairs:
"Jean! Jean! come down into the shop; your father wants you."A stout, red-faced man, with the bent shoulders that come ofmuch stooping over the desk, sat beside the counter. MonsieurServien's eyes rested on his face with a deprecating air.
When the boy appeared, the stranger asked if this was the youngman in question, adding in a scolding voice:
"You are all the same. You work and sweat and wear yourselvesout to make your sons bachelors of arts, and you think the dayafter the examination the fine fellows will be posted Ambassadors.
For God's sake! no more graduates, if you please! We can't tellwhat to do with 'em.... Graduates indeed! Why, they block theroad; they are cab-drivers, they distribute handbills in thestreets. You have 'em dying in hospital, rotting in the hulks!
Why didn't you teach your son your own trade? Why didn't youmake a bookbinder of him? ... Oh! I know why; you needn't tellme,--out of ambition! Well, then! some day your son will die ofstarvation, blushing for your folly--and a good job too! The State!
you say, the State! it's the only word you can put your tonguesto. But it's cluttered up, the State is! Take the Treasury; yousend us graduates who can't spell; what d'ye expect us to dowith all these loafers?"He drew his hand across his hot forehead. Then pointing a fingerto show he was addressing Jane:
"At any rate, you write a good hand?"Monsieur Servien answered for his son, saying it was legible.
"Legible! Legible!" repeated the great man--throwing his fathands about. "A copying clerk must write an even hand. Young man,do you write an even hand?"Jean said he did not know, his handwriting might have been spoilt,he had never thought very much about it. His questioner frowned:
"That's very wrong," he blustered; "and I dare swear you youngfellows make a silly affectation of not writing decently.... Imay have a bit of influence at the Ministry, but you mustn'task me to do impossibilities."The bookbinder shrunk back with a scared glance. _He_ certainlydid not look the man to ask impossibilities.
The other got up:
"You will take lessons," he said, turning to Jean, "in writingand ciphering. You have eight months before you. Eight monthsfrom now the Minister will hold an examination. I will put yourname down. Do you set to work without losing a minute!"So saying, he pulled out his watch, as though to see if his protégéwas actually going to waste a single minute before beginning hisstudies. He directed Monsieur Servien to get to work withoutdelay on the books he was giving him to bind, and walked out ofthe shop. After the bookbinder had seen him to his carriage:
"Jean, my boy," said he, "that is Monsieur Bargemont; I havespoken to him about you and you have heard what he had to say;he is going to help you to get into the Treasury Office, wherehe holds a high post. You understand what he told you about theexaminations; you know more about such things, praise God! thanI do. I am only an ignoramus, my lad, but I am your father. Nowlisten; I want to have a word of explanation with you, so thatfrom this day on till I go to where your dear mother is we canlook each other calmly in the face and understand one anotherat the first glance. Your mother loved you right well, Jean.
There's not a gold mine in the world could give a notion of thewealth of affection that woman possessed. From the first momentyou saw the light, she lived, so to say, more in you than inherself. Her love was stronger than she could bear. Well, well,she is dead. It was nobody's fault."The old man turned his eyes involuntarily towards the darkestcorner of the shop, and Jean, looking in the same direction,caught sight of the sharp angles of the hand-press in the gloom.
Monsieur Servien went on:
"On her death-bed your mother asked me to make an educated manof you, for well she knew that education is the key that opensevery door.
"I have done what she wished. She was no longer with us, Jean,and when a voice comes back to you from the grave and bids you doa thing 'that a blessing may come,' why, one must needs obey. Idid my best; and no doubt God was with me, for I have succeeded.
You have your education; so far so good, but we must not havea blessing turn into a curse. And idleness is a curse. I haveworked like a packhorse, and given many a hard pull at the collar,in harness from morning to night. I remember in particular onelot of cloth covers for the firm of Pigoreau that kept me onthe job for thirty-six hours running. And then there was theyear when your examination fees had to be paid and I acceptedan order in the English style; it was a terrible bit of work,for it's not in my way at all, and at my time of life a man isnot good at new methods. They wanted a light sort of binding,with flexible boards as flimsy as paper almost. I shed tearsover it, but I learned the trick! Ah! it is a famous tool, is aworkman's hand! But an educated man's brain is a far more wonderfulthing still, and that tool you have, thanks to God in the firstplace, and to your mother in the second. It was she had the notionof educating you, I only followed her lead. Your work will belighter than mine, but you must do it. I am a poor man, as youknow; but, were I rich, I would not give you the means to leadan idle life, because that would be tempting you to vices andshaming you. Ah! if I thought your education had given you ataste for idleness, I should be sorry not to have made you aworking man like myself. But then, I know you have a good heart;you have not got into your stride yet, that's all! The firststeps will be uphill work; Monsieur Bargemont said so. The Stateservices are overcrowded; there are over many graduates--thoughit is well enough to be one. Besides, I shall be at your back;I will help you, I will work for you; I have a pair of stoutarms still. You shall have pocket-money, never fear; you willwant it among the folks you will live with. We will save andpinch. But you must help yourself, lad; never be afraid of hardwork, hit out from the shoulder and strike home. Good work neverspoiled play yet. Your job done, laugh and sing and amuse yourselfto your heart's content; you won't find me interfere. And, whenyou are a great man, if I am still in this world, don't you beafraid; I shall not get in your way. I am not a fellow to makea noise. We will hide away in some quiet hole, your aunt andI, and nobody will hear one word said of the old father."Aunt Servien, who had slipped into the shop and been listeningfor the last few moments, broke into sobs; she was quite readyto follow her brother and hide away in a corner; but when hernephew had risen to greatness, she would insist on going every dayto keep things straight in his grand house. She was not going toleave "the little lad" to be a prey to housekeepers--housekeepers,indeed, she called them housebreakers!
"The creatures keep great hampers," she declared, "that swallowup bottles of wine, cold chickens, and other titbits, fine linen,old clothes, oil, sugar, and candles--the best pickings from arich man's house. No, I'll not let my little Jean be sucked todeath by such vampires. _I_ mean to keep your house in order. Noone will ever know I am your aunt. And if they did know, there'snobody, I should hope, could object. I don't know why anyoneshould be ashamed of me. They can lay my whole life bare, I havenothing to blush for. And there's many a Duchess can't say asmuch. As for forsaking the lad for fear of doing him a hurt,well, the notion is just what I expected of you, Servien; you'vealways been a bit simple-minded. _I_ mean to stay all my lifewith Jean. No, little lad, you'll never drive your old aunt outof your house, will you? And who could ever make your bed theway I can, my lamb?"Jean promised his father faithfully, oh! most faithfully, hewould lead a hardworking life. Then he shut himself up in hisroom and pictured the future to himself--long years of austereand methodical labour.
He mapped out his days systematically. In the morning he wrotecopies to improve his handwriting, seated at a corner of theworkbench. After breakfast he did sums in his bedroom. Everyevening he went to the _Rue Soufflot_ by way of the Luxembourggardens to a private tutor's, and the old man would set himdictations and explain the rules of simple interest. On reachingthe gate adjoining the _Fontaine Médicis_ the boy always turnedround for a look at the statues of women he could discernstanding like white ghosts along the terrace. He had left behindon the path of life another fascinating vision.
He never read a theatrical poster now, and deliberately forgothis favorite poets for fear of renewing his pain.