CHAPTER II.
ANGE PITOU.
Ange was too young to feel the whole extent of his loss: but he divinedthat the angel of the hearth had vanished: and when the body was takento the churchyard and interred, he sat down by the grave and replied toall pleadings for him to come away by saying that Mamma Madeline wasthere, that he never had left her and he would stay beside her now.
It was there that Dr. Gilbert, for Ange Pitou's future guardian wasa physician, found him when he hastened to Haramont on receiving thedying mother's appeal.
Ange was very young when thus he saw the doctor for the first time.But, we know, youth can feel deep impressions, leaving everlastingmemories. The previous passing of the young man of mystery through thecottage had impressed its trace. He had left welfare with the boy:every time Ange heard his mother pronounce the benefactor's name, ithad been almost with worship. Finally, when he appeared, grown up,adorned with the title of Physician, joining to the past boons thefuture promises, Pitou had judged by his mother's gratitude that heought himself be grateful. The poor lad, without clearly knowing whathe was saying, faltered words of eternal remembrance, and profoundthanks such as he had heard his mother use.
Therefore, as soon as he perceived the doctor coming among the grassygraves and broken crosses, he understood that he came at his mother'sappeal and he could not say no to him as to the others. He made him noresistance except to turn his head to look backwards as Dr. Gilbertgrasped his hand and led him from the cemetery.
A stylish cab was at the gates, into which the doctor made the poor boystep, and he was taken to the town tailor's, where he was fitted withclothes: they were made too large so that he would grow up to them. Atthe rate our hero grew this would not take long.
Thus equipped, Ange was walked in a quarter of the town called Pleux,where Pitou's pace slacked. He recalled this as being the abode of hisAunt Angelique, of whom he had preserved an appalling memory.
Indeed the old maid had no attractions for a boy who cherished truemotherly affections: she was nearly sixty by this period. The minutepractice of religion had brutalized her, and mistaken piety had twistedall sweet, merciful and humane feelings, so that she cultivated intheir stead a natural dose of greedy intelligence, augmented dailyby her association with all the prudes. She did not precisely liveon public charity but besides the sale of linen thread hand-spun,and letting out chairs in the church, she received from kindly soulsensnared by her devout posturings, petty coin which she converted intosilver and that into gold. Nobody suspected she accumulated them andshe stuffed the gold in the cushion and frame of an old armchair inwhich she sat at work.
It was to this venerable relative's dwelling that Gilbert led littlePitou. We might say Big Pitou, for he was too large for his age.
Miss Rose Angelique Pitou, as they came up, was in a merry humor as shehad just sent another gold piece to go and keep company with the restof her hoard. She was going around her seat of revenue when the doctorand his ward appeared at the door, and she had to welcome the relic ofher family.
The interview would have been affecting if it had not been sogrotesque. The doctor, a man of keen observation, and physiognomist,read the character of the hypocritical old maid at a glance. With herlong nose, thin lips and small bright eyes, she collected in one personcupidity, selfishness and hypocrisy.
As soon as the stranger stated his little text on the duty of auntsto take care of their nieces and nephews, she turned sour and repliedthat, whatever her love for her poor sister, and her interest in herdear little nephew, the slenderness of her means did not permit her,though she was godmother as well as aunt, to add to her expenses.
"It is this way, Master Gilbert; this would run me into six cents aday extra, for that lubberly boy would eat a pound of bread."
Ange screwed up his face, for he could tuck away a pound and a half atbreakfast alone.
"This is saying nothing for his washing, for he is a dirty little chap."
Considering that Ange was a regular gipsy for burrowing after moles andclimbing trees, this was true enough; but it is fair to say that hetore his clothes worse than he soiled them.
"Fie!" said Doctor Gilbert; "do you who understand the Christianvirtues so well, make such close calculations about a nephew and anorphan?"
"Then the keeping of his clothes in repair," went on the miser,recalling the quantity of patches she had seen sewn by her sister onthe knees, and seat of Master Ange's pants.
"In short," said the doctor, "you refuse to shelter your nephew in yourhouse--the orphan boy who will have to beg for alms at the doors ofothers."
Mean as she was, she felt the disgrace befalling her as if she droveher next of kin to this step.
"No, I will take charge of him," she said.
"Good," said the doctor, delighted to find a moist spot in this desert.
"I will recommend him to the Augustin Monastery and have them take himas a boy of all work."
The doctor was a philosopher, we have mentioned; which means that hewas the opponent of all the churchmen. He resolved to tear this recruitfrom the enemy with all the warmth that the Augustines would have shownto deprive him of a disciple.
"Well," he rejoined, sticking his hand in his deepest pocket, "sinceyou are in so hard a position, dear Miss Angelique, that you areforced to send your nephew into beggary, I will find somebody else totake him and the sum I am going to set aside for his maintenance. Iam obliged to return to America. Meanwhile I must apprentice the boyto some craft, which he can choose for himself. In my absence he willgrow up and then we will see what to make of him. Kiss your good auntgood-bye, and let us try our luck elsewhere," concluded the doctor.
He had barely finished before Pitou rushed into his aunt's long, bonyarms to exchange the hug which he wanted to be in token of eternalseparation. But the mention of a sum of money and Gilbert's movementsof putting his hand in his pocket for cash, with the chink of silver,set the warmth of greed up from her old heart.
"Lord, doctor, do not you know that nobody in all the wide world canlove this poor lone, lorn thing like his own dear fond auntie?"
Entwining him with her long arms, she imprinted on his cheeks a coupleof kisses so sour that they made his hair stand on end and then curlwith a shriveling up.
"Just what I thought; but still you are too poor to do the properthing."
"Nay, good Master Gilbert," said the pious dame, "forget not that wehave the Father of the fatherless above and that He has promised that aswallow shall not be sold for a penny without its being spent for theorphan's share."
"The text may be so, but it nowhere says that the orphan is to be boundout as a servant. I am afraid to do with Ange as I suggested; it wouldbe too dear for your slight resources."
"But with the sum you spoke of, in your pocket," said the old devotee,with her eyes rivetted on the place whence the chink had sounded.
"I would give it, assuredly, but only on condition that the boy shouldbe brought up to some livelihood."
"I promise that," cried Aunt Angelique; "I vow it, as true as the sheepare tempered for the storm-wind." And she raised her skeleton hand toheaven.
"Well," replied Gilbert, drawing out a bag rounded with coin; "I amready to deposit the funds, but you must sign a contract at LawyerNiquet's."
Niquet was her own business man and she raised no objections.
A bargain was made for five years: Ange Pitou was to be brought up tosome trade and boarded, etc., for two hundred livres to his aunt,a-year. The doctor paid down the money.
Next day he quitted Villers, after arranging matters with a farmer onsome property of his, named Billet, whose acquaintance we shall make ingood time.
Miss Pitou, pouncing on the first payment in advance of the maintenancefund, buried eight bright gold pieces in her armchair bottom.
With eight livres over, she put the small change waiting to make up theamount of a gold piece to be placed, when converted, in the peculiarsavings-bank.
We noticed the scant
sympathy Ange felt for his aunt; he had foreseenthe sorrow, disappointment and tribulations awaiting him under her roof.
In the first place, as soon as the doctor had turned his back, therewas no longer a question about his learning any trade. When the goodnotary made a remark on this agreement, the tender aunt rejoined thather nephew was too delicate to be put out to work. The lawyer hadadmired his client's sensitive heart and deferred the apprenticeshipquestion for another year. He was only twelve so that it would notwaste much valuable time.
While his aunt was ruminating how to evade the contract, Ange resumedhis truant life in the woods, as led at Haramont: it was the same woodsand hence the same life.
As soon as he had the best spots located for bird-catching, he madesome birdlime and having a four-pound loaf under his arm, he went offinto the forest for the whole day.
He had foreseen a storm when he came back at nightfall, but he expectedto parry it with the proceeds of his skill.
He had not presaged how the tempest would fall. In fact, Aunt Angeliquehad ambushed herself behind the door to deal him a cuff, as he creptin which he recognized as inflicted by her hard hand. Happily he hada hard head, too, and though the blow staggered him, he had the senseleft to hold out as a peace-offering and buckler the talisman he hadprepared. It was a bunch of two dozen small birds.
"What is this?" challenged his aunt, continuing to grumble for form'ssake but opening her eyes more widely than her mouth.
"Birds, you see, good Aunt Angelique," replied Pitou as she grabbed thelot.
"Good to eat?" questioned the old maid who was greedy in all her sensesof the word.
"Redbreasts and larks--I should bet they are good to eat--but they arebetter to sell. They command a good price in the market."
"Where did you steal them, you little rogue?"
"Steal? they ain't stolen--I took 'em at the pool in the woods. Afellow has only to set up limed twigs anywhere round the water and thesilly birds get tangled; then you run up, wring their necks, and thereyou have them."
"Lime? do you catch birds with lime?" queried Angelique.
"Not mortar lime, bless your innocence, but birdlime; it is made byboiling down holly sap."
"I understand, but where did you get the money to buy holly sap?"
"I should be a saphead to buy that: one makes it."
"Ah, then these birds are to be had for the picking up?"
"Yes: any day; but not everyday, for, of course, you cannot catch onTuesday those you caught on Monday."
"Very true," returned the aunt, amazed at the brightness her nephew wasfor once displaying: "you are right."
This unheard of approval delighted the boy.
"But, on the days when you ought not to go to the pools, you goelsewhere. When you are not catching birds, you snare hares. You caneat them, too, and sell the skins for two cents."
Angelique stared at her nephew who was coming out as a financier.
"Oh, I can do the selling!"
"Of course, just as Mother Madeline did," for Pitou had never supposedhe was to enjoy the fruit of his hunting.
"When will you go snaring hares?" she asked eagerly.
"I will go snaring hares and rabbits when I have wire for snares."
"All right, make it."
"Oh, I cannot do that," Pitou said, scratching his head. "I must buythat at the store but I can weave the springes."
"What does it cost?"
"I can make a couple of dozen with four cents' worth, and it oughtto catch half a dozen bunnies--and the snares are used over and overagain--unless the gamekeepers seize them."
"Here are four cents," said Aunt Angelique, "go and buy wire and getthe rabbits to-morrow."
Wire was cheaper in the town than at the village so that Ange gotmaterial for twenty-four snares for three cents; he brought the oddcopper to his aunt who was touched by this honesty. For an instant shefelt like giving him the cent but unfortunately for Ange, it had beenflattened by a hammer and might be passed in the dusk for a twosouspiece. She thought it wicked to squander a piece that might bring ahundred per cent, and she popped it into her pouch.
Pitou made the snares and in the morning asked mysteriously for a bag.In it she put the bread and cheese for his meals, and away he went tohis hunting ground.
Meanwhile she plucked the robins intended for their dinner; she tooka brace of larks to Abbe Fortier, and two brace to the Golden Ballinnkeeper, who paid her three cents for them and ordered as many as shecould supply at that rate.
She went home beaming: the blessing of heaven had entered the housewith Ange Pitou.
"They are quite right who say a good action is never thrown away," sheobserved as she munched the robins, as fat as ortolans and delicate asbeccaficoes.
At dark in walked Ange, with the rounded out bag on his shoulders; AuntAngelique received him on the threshold but not with a slap.
"Here I am, with my bag," said he with the calmness of having wellspent his day.
"And what have you in the bag?" cried the aunt, stretching out her handin sharp curiosity.
"Beech-mast," replied Pitou. "It is this way. If Daddy Lajeunesse, thegamekeeper, saw me rambling without the bag he would want to know whatI was lurking for and he would feel suspicion. But when he challengedme with the bag, I just answered him: 'I am gathering beechmast,father--it is not forbidden to gather mast, is it?' and not beingforbidden, he could not do anything. So he said nothing except: 'Youhave a good aunt, Pitou; give her my compliments.'"
"So you have been collecting mast instead of catching rabbits," criedAunt Angelique, angrily.
"No, no, I laid my snares under cover of mast-gathering: the old donkeysaw me doing that and thought it right."
"But the game?" said the woman, bent on the first principle.
"The moon will be up at twelve and I will go and see how many I havesnared."
"You will go into the woods at midnight?"
"Why, not? what is there to be afraid of?"
The woman was as amazed at Ange's courage as at the breadth of hisspeculations. But brought up in the woods, Ange was not to be scared atwhat terrifies the town boy.
So at midnight he set out, skirting the cemetery wall, for the innocentlad, never in his ideas offending anybody, had no more fear of the deadthan of the living.
The only person he dreaded was Lajeunesse. So he made a turn round hishouse and stopped to imitate the barking of a dog so naturally that thegamekeeper's basset "Snorer," deceived by the provocation, replied witha full throat and came to the door to sniff the air.
Pitou ran on, chuckling, for if Snorer were home his master was surelyasleep there, as the man and the dog were inseparable.
In the snares two rabbits had been strangled, Pitou stuffed them intothe pockets of a coat made too long for him and now too small.
Greed kept the aunt awake, though she had lain down. She had reckonedon two brace of game.
"Only a pair," said Pitou. "It is not my fault that I have not donebetter but these are the cunningest rabbits for miles round."
Next day Pitou renewed his enterprises and had the luck to catchthree rabbits. Two went to the tavern and one to Abbe Fortier, whorecommended Aunt Angelique to the benevolent of the town.
Thus things went on for three or four months, the woman enchanted andAnge thinking life endurable. Except for his mother's loss, matterswere such as at Haramont: he passed his time in rural pleasures.
But an unexpected circumstance broke the jar of illusion of the prudeand stopped the nephew's trapping.
A letter from Dr. Gilbert arrived from New York. He had not forgottenhis little ward on landing, but asked Master Niquet if his instructionshad been followed and if young Pitou were learning the means to makehis own living.
It was a pinch, for there was no denying that Ange was in first-ratehealth. He was tall and lank but so are hickory saplings, and nobodydoubts their strength and elasticity.
The aunt asked a week to put in her reply; it was miserable for both.
Pitou asked no better career than he was leading, but it was quiet atthe time; not only did the cold weather drive the birds away but thesnow fell and as it would retain footprints, he dared not go into thewoods to lay traps and snares.
During the week the old maid's claws grew; she made the stripling sowretched that he was ready to take up any trade rather than be her buttany longer.
Suddenly a sublime idea sprouted in her cruelly tormented brain, wherepeace reigned again.
Father Fortier had two purses for poor students attached to his school,out of the bounty of the Duke of Orleans.
Angelique resolved to beg him to enter Ange for one of them. This wouldcost the teacher nothing, and to say nothing of the game on which thewoman had been nourishing the doctor for half a year, he owed somethingto the church-seat letter.
Indeed, Ange was received without fee by the schoolmaster.
The old girl was delighted for it was the school of the district whereDr. Gilbert's son was educated. He paid fifty livres and Ange got infor nothing, but nobody was to let Sebastian Gilbert or any others knowthat.
Whether they guessed this or not, Ange was received by his schoolfellows with that sweet spirit of brotherhood born among childrenand perpetuated among "the grown ups," in other words with hootingand teasing. But when three or four of the budding tyrants made theacquaintance of Pitou's enormous fist and were trodden under his evenmore enormous foot, respect began to be diffused. He would have had alife a shade less worried than when under Angelique's wing; but FatherFortier in soliciting little children to come unto him, forgot to warnthem that the hands he held out were armed with the Latin Rudiments andbirch rods.
Little did the aunt care whether the information was flogged orinsinuated mentally into her nephew. She basked in the golden ray fromdreamland that in three years Ange would pass the examination and besent to college with the Orleans Purse.
Then would he become a priest, when he would, of course, make his aunthis housekeeper.
One day a rough awakening came to this delusion. Ange crawled into thehouse as if shod in lead.
"What is the matter?" cried Aunt 'Gelique, who had never seen a morepiteous mien. "Are you hungry?"
"No," replied Pitou dolefully.
The hearer was uneasy, for illness is a cause of alarm to good mothersand bad godmothers, as it forces expenses.
"It is a great misfortune," Pitou blubbered: "Father Fortier sends mehome from school--so no more studies, no examination, no purse, nocollege----"
His sobs changed into howls while the woman stared at him to try toread in his soul the reason for this expulsion.
"I suppose you have been playing truant again," she said. "I hear thatyou are always roaming round Farmer Billet's place to catch a sightof his daughter Catherine. Fie, fie! very pretty conduct in a futurepriest!"
Ange shook his head.
"You lie," shrieked the old maid, with her anger rising with thegrowing certainty that it was a serious scrape. "Last Sunday you wereagain seen rambling in Lovers-Walk with Kate Billet."
It was she who fibbed but she was one who believed the end justifiedthe means, and a whale-truth might be caught by throwing out a tub-lie.
"Oh, no, they could not have seen me there," cried Ange; "for we wereout by the Orange-gardens."
"There, you wretch, you see you were with her."
"But this is not a matter that Miss Billet is concerned in," venturedAnge, blushing like the overgrown boy of sixteen that he was.
"Yes, call her 'Miss' to pretend you have any respect for her, theflirt, the jilt, the mincing minx! I will tell her father confessor howshe is carrying on."
"But I take my Bible oath that she is not a flirt."
"You defend her, when you need all the excuses you can rake up foryourself. This is going on fine. What is the world coming to, whenchildren of sixteen are walking arm in arm under the shade trees."
"But, aunt, you are away out--Catherine will not let me 'arm' her--shekeeps me off at arms-length."
"You see how you break down your own denials. You are calling herCatherine, plain, now. Oh, why not Kate, or Kitty, or some such sillynickname which you use in your iniquitous familiarity? She drives youaway to have you come nearer, they all do."
"Do they? there, I never thought of that," exclaimed the swain,suddenly enlightened.
"Ah, you will have something else to think of! And she," said the oldprude, "I will manage all this. I will ask Father Fortier to lock youup on bread and water for a fortnight and have her put in a nunnery ifshe cannot moderate her fancy for you."
She spoke so emphatically that Pitou was frightened.
"You are altogether wrong, my good aunt," pleaded he, clasping hishands: "Miss Catherine has nothing to do with my misfortune."
"Impurity is the mother of all the vices," returned Angeliquesententiously.
"But Impurity has nothing to do with my being turned out of school,"objected the youth: "the teacher put me out because I made too manybarbarisms and solecisms which prevent me of having any chance to winthat purse."
"What will become of you, then?"
"Blest if I know," wailed Pitou, who had never looked upon priesthood,with Aunt 'Gelique as housekeeper as Paradise on earth. "Let come whatProvidence pleases," he sighed, lamentably raising his eyes.
"Providence, do you call it? I see you have got hold of thesenewfangled ideas about philosophy."
"That cannot be, aunt, for I cannot go into Philosophy till I havepassed Rhetoric, and I am only in the third course."
"Joke away," sneered the old maid to whom the school-jargon was Greek."I speak of the philosophy of these philosophers, not what a pious manlike the priest would allow in his holy house. You are a serpent andyou have been gnawing a file of the newspapers in which these dreadfulwriters insult King and Queen and the Church! He is lost!"
When Aunt Angelique said her ward was lost, she meant that she wasruined. The danger was imminent. She took the sublime resolution to runto Father Fortier's for explanation and above all to try to patch upthe breach.
Taking the Bastile; Or, Pitou the Peasant Page 3