CHAPTER VI.
A TALE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.--THE BARBER'S STORY.
The following morning broke fine but frosty, and the members of the clubbeing up sufficiently early for that time of the year, they all agreedto take a long stroll before breakfast in the adjacent wood. Indeed, themembers of our club lived so thoroughly in an atmosphere of punch andtobacco-smoke that an outing every now and then was requisite in orderto air their brains.
They strolled out, accordingly, by twos and threes, passing over fieldsglittering with hoar-frost, until they came to a stile, which havingcrossed over, they found themselves immediately in a wood.
It was a fine old place--that same ancient piece of woodland, where hugeoaks and beeches were interspersed with the fir, pine and birch. Thefantastic roots that shot out from the gnarled trunks of the majesticoaks, like giants' limbs writhing in mortal agony, were coated here andthere in broad irregular patches of dank moss and variously-tintedlichen. Their distorted colossal branches, stripped of their leavesand silvered at their extremities with the hoar-frost, seemed strugglingto catch the first beams of a winter sun, while the shadowy outline ofthe misty purple mass of distant trees brought out in bolder relief andmore vigorous hue the foreground thickly strewed with richly-tintedleaves of russet, scarlet and orange. The dank fungus, luxuriant in itsfoul growth, emerged from the velvet moss as if to outvie in glow thevariegated richness of the dried leaves of the forest.
It was a scene to awaken the soul of a poet, to inspire a landscapepainter with increased love of his art; and as our two friends McGuilpand Parnassus strolled arm-in-arm together through this region ofenchantment, leaving their footprints in the crisp frost, which theytraversed with the buoyant footsteps of youth, leaving the elder membersconsiderably in the rear, each felt himself drawn towards the other by abond of common sympathy. It is not necessary to record every expressionof enthusiasm that escaped the lips of our two friends, nor to followminutely the philosophic meditations of the more mature members of theclub who brought up the rear, as at every step the scene unfolded newand fresh beauties to their view.
Let it suffice our reader that their morning's walk proved highlybeneficial to them all, for they returned with marvellous appetites tothe inn, where a sumptuous breakfast of eggs and bacon, coffee, hotrolls, etc., had just been spread for them by the fair hands of ourHelen, who waited to greet them on the doorstep.
The usual merry bantering from each member of the club in turnsucceeded, as a matter of course, and was replied to on Helen's part bya pretty rustic coyness or smart repartee. Our artist thought he hadnever seen her look to such advantage as now, glowing in the fullmorning light. He noticed, too, that she was more sprucely dressed thanusual. What could it mean? As he asked himself this question, the churchbells of the village began to chime. The mystery was out--it was Sunday,and McGuilp's hopes of a sitting fell to the ground.
"How say you--Sunday again?" exclaimed Mr. Oldstone, as he sat down tohis hot coffee. "Dear me! how the week has passed away!" Then passinghis hand over his chin, he said, "I omitted to shave this morning. Myhand shook so, owing to the stiffness of my night-cap last night beforeI went to roost. It will not do to appear at church with a chin likeHamlet's 'fretful porcupine,' and as I cannot shave myself, I mustinquire if there be not someone skilled in the noble science ofbarber-craft in the village. How say you, Helen, my girl, know you notsome knight of the razor, some nimble and expert mower, who will rid meof this crop without finding it necessary to combine the art of theleech at the same time?"
"Aye, sir," answered Helen; "there is young Master Suds, the villagebarber, successor to Old Hackchin, whom folks say never was muchaccount. Young Suds is lately from France, where he has been improvinghimself in his art. He has introduced into the village all sorts of newmodes for trimming the hair and wigs, with numerous other Frenchnovelties. You would be sure to be pleased with him, sir."
"Humph!" muttered Mr. Oldstone, who was much too old-fashioned anEnglish gentleman to be over partial to our friends across the channel."I don't want my head frizzled, thank you, but a firm, steady, Englishhand to shave me--a man that is not above his business, and who will notbore me to death with his gossip."
"Oh, as to that, sir," replied Helen, "it is part of a barber'sprofession. Many folks think it a recommendation. I am sure ourvillagers are delighted with his store of news."
"No doubt, no doubt," said Oldstone, testily. "He had better cut itshort, though, with me. However, send for this young blade, and tell himI wish to see a sample of his art. I shall be ready for him directlyafter breakfast."
And off tripped our landlord's pretty daughter in obedience to theantiquary's orders.
"'Pon my life! Crucible, this bacon is delicious," said he, helpinghimself afresh. "What say you, Blackdeed?"
Both gentlemen acquiesced, as did also the other members in turn.
"And the eggs divine," said Dr. Bleedem, bolting one at a mouthful.
"Excellent," joined in McGuilp and Parnassus, filling their plates.
The meal passed off pleasantly, and the last member at table hadscarcely wiped his mouth with his napkin when Master Suds was announced.
"Here, Helen, my dear," said Oldstone, "you may clear away now, and thenyou may call in your gallant. I am sure you will excuse me, gentlemen,for making you spectators to my operation?"
"Certainly," answered the club all round.
"There, that will do, Helen; now call him in."
Helen disappeared with the breakfast things, when a timid knock at thedoor was heard.
"Come in," roared sundry voices at once, and Master Suds appeared uponthe scene, with his shaving tackle in a bag, and having his hairfrizzled up in a caricature of the latest French fashion.
"Bong jour, Mounseers," he began, with a flourish.
"Don't mounseer me, you young whipper-snapper," said the antiquary; "butlearn to speak the king's English when Englishmen honour you with theircustom."
"Pardong, mounseer--that is, I mean, I beg pardon, gentlemen; but habit,gentlemen--habit, you know--is rather difficult to get rid of, and whenone has just come from foreign parts, like myself, one is apt to----"
"Cut it short, young shaver," said Oldstone, "and bend you to your task.Are your razors sharp?"
"Mais oui, mounseer--that is----"
"If I catch you mounseering me again, I'll make that French pate ofthine and this English fist acquainted, so mind," said the insultedantiquary.
This terrible threat imposed temporary silence on our knight of thelather, who soaped and sudded away for a time without a word.
During this pause the spectators of the operation, who were seated orstanding about the room, conversed together in groups in an undertone.Mr. Blackdeed and Mr. Crucible appeared to be particularly engrossed inconversation, but the tone they spoke in was inaudible to the ordinarylistener. Not so, however, to Mr. Oldstone, whose ears were unusuallysharp, and rendered more so on the present occasion from the position offorced quiet that he was obliged to maintain under the barber's hands.To judge by the tragedian's action, a looker-on might have supposed himquoting from one of his own melodramas, and imagined him to say, "Flywith me, dearest; leave for ever the roof of a tyrant father, and takeshelter in the heart of one who is ready to lay down his life for thysake." While Mr. Crucible might have been supposed to be rehearsing thelady's part, and to say, "Oh! tempt me not, Alonso; you know him not. Idare not fly with thee."
The ears of Mr. Oldstone, however, interpreted the gesticulations in avery different manner. Nothing could be more plain to the ears of thisworthy than these words from the tragedian. "The political state ofFrance will be a great interruption to all kinds of business." He couldhardly believe his ears, or that anyone could dare to use suchtreasonable words within the sacred precincts of the club, so helistened again, and this time caught a few disconnected words in Mr.Crucible's tone of voice, such as 'stocks,' 'bonds,' 'premiums,''interest,' and the like.
Suddenly the whilom pre
sident of the grand saturnalia of the Wonder Clubwas observed to start violently.
"Why, you rascal, you've cut me!" he cried to the barber.
"Pardong Mounseer, mais ce n'etait pas ma faute," said the confusedbarber.
"What! French again, you monkey, to my face! Would you add insult toinjury?" said the incensed antiquary.
But calming down at length, said, "Well, well, lad, I acquit you thistime, for I verily believe that those two gentlemen in the corner there(pointing to Messrs. Blackdeed and Crucible) are more to blame thanyourself for startling me out of my self-possession by the tenor oftheir conversation.
"Mr. Blackdeed, and you too, Mr. Crucible, you are both perfectly awarethat such conversation is not to be tolerated in the club. I amsurprised and grieved to be obliged to remind two such old members ofour society of their duty, and in order to put a check upon suchlamentable want of discipline, I condemn you Mr. Blackdeed to recite oneof your own tragedies at full length, and you Mr. Crucible to be readywith a story when next called upon."
Both of the gentlemen addressed looked abashed, and muttered somethingin the shape of an apology. Having conscientiously discharged his duty,Mr. Oldstone re-settled himself on his chair, and the operationproceeded.
Master Suds was the first to endeavour to restore equanimity.
"A fine day, sir," he said, "for this time of the year."
"Humph!" grunted the antiquary, who was soaped up to the eyes, and wasforced to keep his mouth shut to avoid having the lather rubbed down histhroat.
"Yes, sir," continued the barber, "as you say, sir, it _be_ fine weathersure_ly_, but it be still finer t'other side of the channel, _a Paris_;that is to say, where I have been staying for the last six months. Finecity Paris, sir, very. _Mon Dieu_, what streets! what shops! What atreat it be of a morning to rise early and take a promenade on theBullyvards!"
"On the what?" inquired his customer.
"On the Bullyvards. Ah! I see, sir, you do not understand what thatmeans. Well that is the name the French give to those streets as hastrees a running alongside of 'em. Ah! sir, fine people the French, intheir way--understand more of barber-craft than they do in this country.Why, an English barber who has never been out of his own country isquite an ignoramus alongside a French barber. But I could teach a trickor two to some of my countrymen in the line that would astonish them,having been over there long enough to get into the manners and customsof the natives. But I say, sir, what a nation they be for quarrellingamongst themselves, to be sure! There's this here revolution still goingon. What it will all end in goodness only knows. What do _you_ say,sir?"
"I don't know, and I don't care," replied Mr. Oldstone, irritably. "Theymay all go to----"
A fresh rub of the lather over his mouth prevented the antiquary fromfinishing his sentence. The pertinacious barber was not to be put down.
"Ah, sir," he continued, "I could tell you some mighty strange talesabout that same revolution."
"Oh, indeed!" broke in Mr. Hardcase. "The members of this club are fondof hearing tales, but they don't relish much anything connected withpolitics. In fact the tales permitted within these walls are almostentirely of the supernatural order."
"The supernatural!" ejaculated the barber. "Parbleu! is that stillbelieved in this country? I promise you our French friends don't believein that, or anything else, for aught I know."
"I know they don't, the infidel puppies," growled the antiquary; "but wedo. Do we not, gentlemen?"
"Ay, indeed!" answered the members of the club with one accord.
"Do you indeed, gentlemen!" exclaimed the astonished barber. "Well, itain't often that one finds gentlemen of your standing that will own somuch, but as you gentlemen all declare you believe in such things, Idon't mind telling you that I myself am also a believer."
"Ah!" said Mr. Oldstone, beginning to be interested.
"Yes, sir, I am indeed," replied the barber.
"Come, now," said Mr. Crucible, "if you could tell us of some experienceof yours that bordered on the supernatural, I'd answer for Mr.Oldstone's listening to you."
By this time the antiquary was released from the clutches of the barber,and Mr. Hardcase, wishing to profit by the occasion, took his place onthe chair, and a second edition of the lathering began.
"Well," said Oldstone, feeling himself considerably more comfortable,and throwing himself back complacently in an easy-chair, "yousay--ahem!--that you--you, at least I have been given to understand thatyou have, at some period of your life, had some experience--ahem!--ofthe supernatural."
"There, I knew he was burning to hear a story," cried all the members atonce, quizzingly.
"Well, Mounseer Suds, out with it, let's hear."
Thus encouraged, the barber put on a grave and important look, and beganhis story in these words.
Well then, gentlemen, since you deign to encourage me, I must nexttrespass on your patience whilst I enter upon some particulars about myfamily. I was born in this village some five-and-twenty years back, andat a very early age the genius of the barber began to develop itself inme. My father was a barber before me, and so was my grandfather andgreat-grandfather, too, as I have heard my father say. In fact, fromtime immemorial the Suds have been barbers. Descended from a long lineof this honourable profession, and literally reared in lather, having myyouthful imagination fired by the tales of my father and grandfather ofthe great people they had shaved in their day, what wonder that, at aprecocious age, I should yearn to wield the weapon of my ancestors, andeven aspire to be more eminent in the line than any of my predecessors?It was the height of my father's ambition--who was great in his way, andadded to the ordinary routine of business the higher branches of theart, such as bleeding, tooth drawing, quack salving, and the like--thatI, his only son, should step into his shoes, and hand down the name of"Suds" in all its unblemished purity.
"Joe," he would say to me, "when I am gone to my long account, who willthere be to support your poor mother unless you fix upon some honesttrade for a livelihood?"
"And what trade should I fix upon, if not yours, father?" I would reply.
"Well, Joe, my boy," he would say, "if you would be a true barber, anduphold the honour of the family, recollect that no excellence isachieved without constant practice. The primary rules of barber-craftare simple. Keep your razors sharp and free from rust, your waterboiling; spare not the lather, and rub it well in before you begin toshave; dip the razor in the boiling water, and work with a steadyhand."
I promised him that I would abide by his instructions, and although upto a certain age I was not permitted to handle a razor, I was,nevertheless, always in my father's shop, and watched with admiring eyesthe masterly way in which my progenitor finished off his customers. Inthe case of a tooth having to be drawn, or a vein opened, I was nevermissing, and great was my pride should my father call upon me now andthen to render him some trifling assistance. I might have been aboutseven years old when I made my first essay.
It was about Christmas time, and my father had just killed a pig, whichhe had left hung up by the legs in the yard. Being left alone for a fewminutes, a bright idea struck me. I would try my "'prentice han'" on thecarcase of the porker. So, locking all the doors so as not to beinterrupted, I mixed up a lather and, with one of my father'swell-sharpened razors, I commenced operations. Whilst thus busilyemployed, I was attracted by the sound of smothered laughter, andlooking up at the window of our next-door neighbour's house, whichlooked into our yard, I beheld some dozen of the neighbours, who hadbeen called in to witness my performance. I thought they would have diedwith laughter. However, nothing daunted, I proceeded diligently with mytask, until my father, rattling at the door, demanded instantadmittance. I was forced to admit him, and when he saw what I had beenabout, he quickly snatched the razor from my hand, and calling me "adirty young dog," administered to me a slight kick behind, although Ithought at the time, by the expression on his face, and likewise by thaton my mother's, that my parents felt inwardly proud of their
son.
An interval of two years now elapsed before I again put hand to razor. Iremember that at this time I was nine years old, and it was when I wasat this tender age that my poor father caught a fever and died.
As you may suppose, gentlemen, it was a terrible blow to my poor widowedmother, who, besides the grief she naturally felt for the loss of anaffectionate husband, found herself now alone in the world with agrowing lad to support as well as herself by the scanty proceeds of thebusiness.
It was some little time before I could realise the fact that my fatherwas actually dead. When my mother first brought me the startling news Iheard it in a sort of stupor, resembling insensibility, out of which Idid not awake until the undertaker arrived with the coffin, when thewhole extent of our calamity seemed to dawn upon me for the first time,and I fairly howled for grief. Whilst thus indulging my sorrow, a fewneighbours dropped in to see my father laid out in his coffin before hewas nailed down. I heard my mother make something like an apology forshowing her husband's body before it had been shaved. I stopped short inmy sobbing and mused awhile. It was then the custom to shave a corpsebefore consigning it to its last home. Who was to perform this duty?
Here the instinct of the barber came over me. Not a moment was to belost if I really intended to put my plan into practice. Yes, I myselfwould shave my father's corpse, and no other. Accordingly, as my motherwas showing out the neighbours and listening to their well meantcondolences on the threshold, I quickly locked myself into the room withthe corpse, having previously procured the apparatus necessary for theoperation. I bore in my mind my father's instructions, "Keep your razorsharp, and free from rust; let the water be boiling, and don't spare thelather, but rub it well in before you begin." I now proceeded to put myfather's advice into practice; so, lathering well the face of thecorpse, and rubbing the suds well in, I proceeded to wield the razorwith a dexterity at first that surprised me with my own performance andencouraged me to attempt something of that "nonchalance" of style that Ihad observed my father adopt whilst shaving his customers, but which isnot looked upon as quite safe until one has undergone considerablepractice.
Now, this was only my second attempt; still, I was so elated at havinggone through the shaving of both cheeks as well as the throat, without asingle cut, that I already deemed myself a proficient in the art, andaffected that air of ease and careless grace I have just alluded towhilst I attempted the scraping of the upper lip, when, oh, horror! therazor gave an untimely slip, and sliced my father's nose off! I droppedthe razor in my fright, and I really wonder I did not go off in a fiton the spot, such was the thrill of terror that seized me as I gazed onthe ghastly hideousness of my father's corpse as it lay noseless in itscoffin. I staggered and almost fell to the ground, but mustering all mycourage, I picked up the nose and clapped it on in its place. I rememberthat in my eagerness and hurry I stuck it on the wrong way, with thenostrils upwards, which gave an appearance at once fearful and ludicrousto its ghastly features. It rolled off, however, immediately, and Ihastened to rectify my mistake, and after much care and adroitness,succeeded in poising the feature nicely in the centre of the face, inthe hopes that it would adhere of its own accord to the spot, andproceeded with the operation; but, alas, no sooner had I begun to meddlewith the upper lip, than off rolled the nose again, so I just let it bethis time until I had completed the operation.
Having, with the exception of this trifling accident, shaved the corpseof my father to a nicety, I wiped off the lather, replaced the nose, andquitted the room, carrying back my shaving tackle to the shop.
Shortly afterwards my mother entered the room, and was surprised atfinding the corpse already shaved. She had intended shaving it herself.I was silent on the subject, and she inquired no further into thematter, being too absorbed with her grief.
Presently the undertaker returned to nail up the coffin, and my motherhastened to give my father one last parting kiss before he was nailed upfor ever. Suddenly I heard a shriek, and rushing into the room, foundmy mother in hysterics. The cause was obvious. In approaching her lipsto those of her defunct spouse, the nose had unexpectedly rolled off,causing a shock similar to that I experienced myself when I sounskilfully amputated my father's nasal protuberance. When my mothercame to, I made a clean breast of my awkwardness, for which I received asevere scolding, accompanied by sundry boxes on the ear. At length thecoffin was nailed up, and I followed it with my mother to the grave, butfor nights afterwards, my noseless father haunted me in my dreams,carrying a basin of suds in one hand, and holding his nose betweenfinger and thumb with the other, as if to reproach me with myawkwardness.
When I related these dreams to my mother, she became uneasy in her mind,and declared that all through my awkwardness my father was unable tofind rest in the tomb. She was a great believer in dreams, visions,omens, prophecies, and the like, and said that the dream boded no good.Being a mere child then, I became infected with her fears, though as Igrew up I began to reason with myself that a dream of that sort mightvery well be accounted for by the excited state of my brain at the timeand tendency of my waking thoughts, without jumping at once at theconclusion that there was anything supernatural in it.
For some time after my father's death I used to pester my mother withmany of those questions that children are so fond of asking, andmothers find so difficult to answer--viz., concerning Heaven, and afuture state after death. She used to tell me that Heaven was a placefor all good people, far, far away, high up above the stars, where goodfolks lived on for ever, and never grew old, and never to die any more;that they were very happy, and knew no more pain or sorrow, but becameas the angels, and had wings and sang praises to God all day long on acloud. Moreover, that it was very light and bright there, that all wasendless sunshine, and the angels were dressed in shining garments, etc.
Still, I was anxious to know more about Heaven; how long it took to getthere--being so far off; whether father wouldn't get tired flying allthat distance, and if so, where he would stop to rest on the road; whatsort of amusements there were in Heaven, and finally whether there wasany shaving there. This last question was a puzzler. I was not to be putoff by mother telling me that angels didn't require shaving, for then Iargued that if father had gone to Heaven, he would be out of employment,and consequently miserable and not happy, for I knew what pleasure myfather took in his business. Now if my father could not be happy withoutemployment, the only employment he cared about being shaving, and if inHeaven that employment were not permitted or encouraged, it followedthat my father could not be in Heaven, for who ever heard of a soul inHeaven and not happy?
My next question was whether there were any shaving in the other place.This was equally difficult to answer, for if my mother should admit thatthere was, then I should have argued that my father must be there, whichwould not have been a consoling idea, and if not, where should he be,since he could not be in either of these places? My mother was fain toconfess that she did not know much about it, but said she would ask theminister. Whether she did or not, I never ascertained. I began toreflect for myself. The apostles were good men, as I had been given tounderstand, and good men always went to Heaven. Yet from their effigiesupon the old stained-glass windows of the village church, they were allrepresented with long beards. Therefore barber-craft could not beencouraged in Heaven. Nothing could be more conclusive than this. Mydoubts were at rest for ever, but I felt less happy than before I beganto argue on these matters.
Ever since my father's death the whole weight of the business fell uponmy mother. Even in my father's lifetime she had so profited by hislessons as to be able to lend a helping hand occasionally when thecustomers were numerous and was thought to possess no inconsiderableskill in the art, but now that my father was no more, she had to put hershoulder to the wheel for her very bread. As for myself, it was longbefore our villagers could be induced to place any confidence in myshaving, the report of my father's unlucky amputation having spread likewildfire through the neighbourhood.
At
length a strange gentleman passed through the village, and calling atour shop, demanded to be shaved. My mother not being in at the time, Ioffered my services, which were accepted, and acquitted myself to theentire satisfaction of my customer. The gentleman chancing to mention tosomeone that he had been shaved by a mere boy, and better than he hadever been shaved in his life, my fame began to spread in the village,and from that day we were in no want of customers.
Business went on swimmingly until I was twelve years old, when I had themisfortune to lose my poor mother. I was now quite alone in the world,so in order to instruct myself more fully in the higher branches of theart, such as wig making, hair-cutting, etc., I offered myself asapprentice under the late Mr. Hackchin, under whose tuition in the wigline I vastly improved, although even from the beginning my shaving wasuniversally preferred to his. Lor, sirs! his razors were never sharp,his water always lukewarm, and his hand shook as with the palsy. Thefact was, he was getting old, was my poor employer, and ought, in myopinion, to have given up business long before he did, when he mighthave retired from the field with all due honours, and handed down hisname unstained to posterity.
Well, gentlemen, not to wear out your patience, I will at once proceedto the very heart of my story--plunge into the very thick of the lather,as my poor father used to say--being about the time of my going abroad,and the reason of it. It was now some time since I had begun to castsheep's eyes on the pretty Sally Snip, daughter of Simon Snip, thevillage tailor. We met by stealth, took long walks together of a Sundayin the green lane, danced together on the green on holidays, exchangedtokens, breathed vows of eternal fidelity, and all the rest of it. Ourinterviews were detected at length by Sally's parents, who looked on ourattachment with no favourable eyes. Old Snip was ambitious, and designedquite another match for his daughter than a penniless young barber likemyself, and gave me plainly to understand that if I did not _sheer_ offhe would _baste_ my broadcloth for me. I was in a rage, but smothered itfor prudence sake, yet didn't I wish in that moment that I had theshaving of him--wouldn't I have scraped him, that's all! Well, wordsgrew high; I protested that my intentions were strictly honourable,etc., etc., but all to no purpose; the obstinate old parent wouldn't seewhat was for his daughter's good, and I left him very much disgusted. Afew stolen interviews were attempted after this, but were allfrustrated, and I soon saw we were not destined for one another, so wemet for the last time, wept, embraced, and vowed still to love eachother to eternity.
Now, there is no knowing but I might still have sought to renew myinterviews, had not an extraordinary circumstance occurred to alter mydetermination. On the very night after our parting I was tossingrestlessly on my bed, between sleeping and waking, when all of asudden--whether it was a dream, I know not, but I fancy that I wasawake--all at once there stood by my bedside the spirit of my father inthe habiliments of the grave, unblemished in whiteness as the suds heused in his lifetime, and, approaching me solemnly, said,
"My son, all that has happened is for the best. Stick to thy trade, andrival the most illustrious of thy ancestors, to which end thou mustvisit Paris. I will guide thy steps. Practise incessantly. We shall meetagain."
With these words the vision vanished, and I felt myself bathed in a coldsweat.
I slept no more that night, but rose early the following morning. Mydetermination was fixed, for a parent's command from the other side ofthe tomb was not to be combated, so I scraped together my slenderearnings, tied up my bundle, took leave of my employer, and paid mypassage over to Paris.
Soon after my departure Sally Snip became the wife of Daniel Nimble, anaspiring apprentice of old Simon's. This was my first love, and, likemost first loves, ended miserably. Few men there are I wot who can boastof having loved but once, and of having lived uncrossed in that love tothe end of the chapter. But I digress.
No sooner arrived in Paris than I began searching out the names andaddresses of the most celebrated men in the hair line of the day with aview of offering my services as assistant. The day after my arrival Ipassed a large and handsome shop, evidently a first-rate business, witha large printed card in the window. Now, although at that time I had notthe remotest knowledge of the French language, and consequently couldnot possibly understand what was written on the card, yet anindescribable I-don't-know-what, an inexplicable "_je-ne-sais-quoi_"(perchance a spiritual dig in the ribs from my father), induced me tointerpret the words, "_A boy wanted_." I was as certain as I am of myown existence that the proprietor was in want of an assistant and thatmy services would be accepted, so I entered the shop, addressed theproprietor in English, which, it is needless to say, was perfectlyunintelligible to him. However, by expressive signs, I told him I was anadept, and that he couldn't do better than engage me. He smiled, thebargain was struck, and from that day I commenced my career in a foreignland.
My employer was one Pierre le Chauve, a hair-dresser who had anextensive business in the Rue St. Honore, and who was especiallyrenowned for the neatness and elegance of his wigs. He also cut hair,manufactured fancy soaps, hair oil, hair dye, perfumery, and the like.He had one daughter, Mademoiselle Pauline, of some eighteen summers, asneat a little grisette as ever trod the Champs Elysees or the Bois deBoulogne on Sundays, and who presided at the counter and sold articlesof perfumery to the Parisian exquisites, with whom she chatted with themost charming ease and grace and bewitching naivete.
Pauline was the thorough type of a French girl. Eyes of dark hazel, setwide apart in her head, nez retrousee, rather wide mouth and exceptionalteeth, small hand and foot, jimp waist, and a countenance capable ofevery possible shade of expression, while her voice, by nature pitchedin a high key, rose to shrillest treble when under any excitement.
Besides myself, there was another assistant, one Jacques Millefleurs, aconceited French puppy, who fancied himself irresistible, and used topersecute his employer's daughter with the most marked attentionswhenever her father's back was turned, and which she, it must beconfessed, did not appear to be entirely indifferent to, although, atthe same time, she gave him plainly to understand that she intended toflirt with whomever she liked without asking _his_ permission, and thathe had no right whatever to monopolise her. Jacques was of anexceedingly jealous temper, and could ill brook this tone from theobject of his affections; this she knew well, and often took a maliciousdelight in provoking him by putting on her best airs and graces andbeing doubly fascinating whenever a handsome customer came to the shop.It was then that Jacques would grow pale, and dart vicious side glancesfrom the corners of his eyes; but Pauline took no notice of himwhatever, but flirted more and more, as if to aggravate him. After thecustomer had departed they would have a lovers' quarrel, and then theywould make it up again, and so on from day to day.
Now, all this could be of very little interest to me, even if I hadunderstood their conversation, for had I not my own secret grief? Was itto be supposed that I could forget Sally in a day? No; whilst I insilence counted and separated the hairs destined to be woven into thescalp of a wig, or whilst shaving a customer or cutting his hair, mysoul was in the green lane with Sally, or behind her at church, or underher window at night, watching for a momentary glimpse of her shadow onthe window blind. In fact, whatever happened to be my employment, Sallywas ever uppermost in my thoughts, and still continued to be so, evensome time after the sad news reached me that she had married DanielNimble. This shock at first was terrific, but, gradually subsiding, Iresolved at length that, as she had so soon forgotten me, not to thinkof her any more, which in time I succeeded in doing. From being moodyand silent, I now became more talkative, for I had begun to pick up afew phrases in French.
Mademoiselle Pauline encouraged me in my progress, and was pleased totake a great interest in me, much to the disgust of her admirer, JacquesMillefleurs, who began to look upon me as a probable rival. I dailyimproved in the French language under my fair tutor, and day by day shegained upon me, for she certainly had the most winning manners. The moreI talked with her, the less I thought of
Sally, till at last shesucceeded in completely supplanting her in my heart, and I found myself,before I was well aware of it, head over ears in love with thefascinating grisette.
Here was a to do. Murder will out. Love and a cough are two things onecan't hide, as the proverb says.
The odious Jacques _must_ discover my passion ere long, and a quarrelwill be inevitable. Not that I feared the likes of him, gentlemen. Don'tsuppose it for a moment. Why, I'd take half a dozen or so of suchfellows one off and another on, and thrash the whole lot of them as easyas a game of ninepins. Well, but to proceed, gentlemen. What I foresawsoon happened. One day while taking my French lesson under MademoisellePauline, and we were chatting away merrily enough without taking anynotice of Jacques, who was arranging pots of bears' grease on theshelves in the background, our heads drew very close together, and wewere looking very fondly into each other's eyes and whispering ratherlow.
Now, I knew that there was no engagement between her and Jacques,therefore I had every right to pay her just the same attention that hedid, and I intended to let him know it. Well, my head might have touchedhers, or my locks may have intermingled with hers as we pored over theFrench grammar together. However this may have been, something or otherseems to have exasperated my rival, for I heard him mutter to himselfsomething like _Cochon d'un Anglais_. I was getting on in my French nowand understood the words, so turning round, I said,
"Did your remark refer to me, Monsieur Jacques?"
"_Oui a vous_," he said, furiously, now losing all command over himself,and heedless of the consequences; "and I repeat my remark."
Here he repeated his obnoxious epithet with an invective against mycountrymen in general.
"Hold there!" I cried, for I began to feel my English blood boil in myveins, and in the best French I could muster, said,
"Retract your words. I give you one chance to apologise, and if yourefuse----"
Before I could finish my rival's legs had formed a right angle, and Ireceived a _savat_ in the eye. Stung by the pain, and still more by theinsult, I felt the strength of our whole line of barbers rush into myveins, and clenching my fist convulsively I let forth so terrible a blowin the chest of my adversary as to make him measure his length upon thefloor, and cause the back of his head to resound against it like acocoanut. Miss Pauline screamed, but the next moment my rival hadbounced upright upon his feet, and seized a razor. Another scream fromPauline as he was making towards me, razor in hand, but this time I tookup a chair and with it gave him such a blow over the knuckles as madehim drop the razor and yell in agony. I laid down the chair, thinkingthat the fight was now over, but the Frenchman sprang on to me againlike a hungry tiger, and so unexpected was the movement that I nearlylost my balance, but with great adroitness I managed to trip him up, andhe fell under me.
He now began to bite and to scratch, but I seized his hair and bangedhis head against the ground several times. He then clutched me anew, andwe began rolling over and over on the floor, Pauline screaming all thewhile, but extricating myself at length from his grasp, I bounded to myfeet, and before he had time to rise placed one foot upon his throat. Atthis moment my employer attracted by his daughter's screams, entered.
"_Mille diables!_" he cried, fiercely, "_ques-ce-que ce tappage la? Ah!ca, Monsieur Godam_," said he, turning full upon me, "_esce que vousetes entre chez moi pour ensegner le box a mes eleves?_"
Here Pauline broke in.
"No, I assure you, dear papa, it was not the Englishman's fault.Millefleurs began the quarrel. I saw him kick the Englishman in theeye."
"Ha! Monsieur Jacques, you did kick the Englishman in the eye?" inquiredmy employer; "and what for did you kick the Englishman in the eye?"
"Because he used undue familiarity towards Mademoiselle," said Jacques,doggedly.
Le Chauve glanced suspiciously first at me then at his daughter, butPauline, stung at Jacques' mean attempt at exposing me as well asherself to her father's obloquy, rose in all the pride of injuredwomanhood, as if to take the whole burden of defence upon herself, andstanding erect with compressed lips and white with passion, cried,
"It is false, 'tis a base lie! The Englishman never treated me otherwisethan with the greatest respect, nor have I ever received at his handsany of those attentions that in my indulgence I have permitted fromyourself. Think not, however, Master Jacques, that this calumny willserve your turn, or that I am blind to the paltry motives that promptedit. Your absurd jealousy is seen through, and has met with its justchastisement. What was it to you, I pray, even if the Englishman _had_paid me attention? Must you be the only one to pay me attention? Youknow very well that I have never granted you any right to monopolise me,however your conceit may have deluded you. Beware, therefore, in futurehow you attempt to calumniate either myself or this Englishman, for assure as you are born you will not succeed in your scheme, and know, oncefor all, Monsieur Jacques Millefleurs, that for the future I wish allthose attentions that you have been pleased to lavish upon me soprofusely whenever my father's back was turned, to cease. Respect me asyour employer's daughter, for I vow never to be anything more to you."
She ceased; but during her harangue, Pauline's deportment wasmajestic--it was sublime. No longer was she the little grisette with thecock-nose and the wide mouth, but a tragedy queen pronouncing amalediction. She appeared now at least half a head taller, so imposingwas her attitude. The roses and smile had deserted her countenance, andwere supplanted by a ghastly pallor, while from her dark eyes flashed awithering scorn, under which Jacques appeared to quail like a whippedhound, but which feeling his natural pride sought to overcome.
Rage, grief, jealousy, and confusion struggled in his breast for themastery, as he stood speechless, with clenched fists, teeth set, flushedface, and straining eyeballs fixed upon the ground, to which the tearswould start spite of all his efforts to repress them. His hairdisordered and dirty, as well as his clothes, from his fall, he lookedaltogether the very picture of maniacal despair.
"Ha! Jacques," said his employer, "is this true? What! have you dared toraise your eyes to my daughter, and that, too, behind my back, withoutmy permission--_hein_?"
Jacques, overcome with shame and speechless, never lifted his eyes fromthe ground, whilst the large tears, blinding him and overflowing, fellheavily on the floor.
"_Prenez garde, Monsieur Jacques_," said Le Chauve, "for, _parbleu!_ ifI hear any more of these clandestine overtures with my daughter I'lldischarge you on the spot. And you, too, Ma'meselle Pauline, you, too,were much to blame in not telling me at once of this boy's insolentpretensions. But, tell me once more, who began this ridiculous quarrel?Who gave the first blow?"
"Please, sir," said I, now speaking for the first time, "I was taking myFrench lesson with your daughter, when Monsieur Jacques was pleased tocall me '_cochon_,' and abused my country. I demanded an apology, whichhe refused, and before I was aware of it, kicked me in the eye. I gaveone straight blow with my fist, _comme ca_"--(here I imitated the blowto show him how an Englishman could knock a Frenchman down)--"and hefell full length upon the floor."
"Yes, it is true, papa," broke in Pauline; "the Englishman has spokenthe truth."
"_C'etait bien fait, c'etait bien fait_," said her father; "go on."
"Then," resumed I, "Millefleurs sprang again to his feet, and seized arazor."
"Ha! he seized a razor? Is that so, Monsieur Millefleurs? Did you seizea razor?"
Jacques was silent as before, while I proceeded, "I then seized achair."
"You seized a chair, _hebien_!"
"And I knocked the razor out of his hand. He fell to the ground withpain, and yelled."
"_Encore, bien fait--apres?_"
"He jumped up again, and pounced upon me like a tiger, and nearlyknocked me over, but I tripped him up in time, and he fell to theground, together with myself, and then we rolled over and over eachother on the floor, till I at length succeeded in extricating myself,and placed my foot upon his neck, when you entered, sir."
"_C'
est bien vraie_," burst in Pauline again; "the Englishman has givenan exact account of the quarrel."
"Ha! is that so?" asked Le Chauve. "_Hebien!_ Monsieur Jacques, you haverefused to apologise to the Englishman for insulting him and kicking himin the eye. Now, I command you to apologise to him, or out of my shopyou shall go at once. Do you hear?"
"Non; _mille fois non_!" cried Jacques, stamping with rage, forgetfulalike of the respect due to his master and the presence of Pauline, "Iwould sooner die first."
"Then prepare at once to leave my house. Take up your bundle and walk!"
The peremptory manner in which these words were said caused Jacques topause and weigh matters.
"If my employer actually does send me off," he probably said to himself,"then adieu to Pauline for ever, but if I consent to apologise, I shallremain here, and may in time succeed in cutting out the Englishman."
This was probably his mode of reasoning, for he was too good apolitician not to know where his interests lay, so changing his toneentirely, and gulping down with difficulty something that was rising inhis throat, and which, if he had given expression to, would probablyhave resembled an ingenious French oath, he replied with great apparentcalmness,
"Monsieur Le Chauve, you have always been a good master to me, and Ihave always tried to prove myself worthy of your kindness, and I shouldbe sorry to leave you for a trifle, therefore I will obey you, and willdemand pardon of _mon cher confrere l'anglais_, for having in a momentof ungovernable passion kicked him in the eye, and insulted him."
This was said in turning towards me, and in all humility.
"And you, Monsieur Suds, if you forgive him, offer him your hand."
I extended my hand towards my fellow assistant, which he took in his,and I expressed sorrow for the part I had had in the quarrel, but Inoticed that the hand of Jacques Millefleurs was icy cold.
"_Allons mes enfants_," said Le Chauve, "now don't let me hear any moreof these silly quarrels, but go in peace."
We both set about our respective duties, but I knew enough of theFrenchman's character to be sure that his apology did not come from hisheart, but had been forced out of him from motives of policy, and I wasnot at all sure that this would be the last of such quarrels, but had nodoubt that he would vent his petty spite upon me on the very nextopportunity.
I had hardly re-settled myself, and proceeded with my wig, when astranger of dignified appearance entered and demanded to be shaved. Ihad no difficulty in recognising in him a countryman. Glad of anopportunity of speaking English again after so long, I answered him inhis own mother tongue.
"Want to be shaved, sir? Yes, sir."
"Ah, you are English!" he said.
"Yes, sir, one of the latest imported," said I. "Only arrived here amonth ago to perfect myself in the art of barber-craft amongst theseforeigners. Served under Mr. Hackchin in the village of D----, in----shire, where I have learnt to shave, cut hair, make wigs, mix hairgrease, and all the rest of it, and as for tooth drawing, bleeding, andquack salving, you won't find the likes of me in all the countryside. Myname is Suds, sir, at your service. Maybe you have heard tell of myfather or my grandfather. The Suds have been barbers from timeimmemorial."
"Oh, indeed?" said the stranger. Then muttered to himself,"Suds--Suds--I fancy I have heard the name before."
And I should just think he had, gentlemen. Why, my grandfather onceshaved His Majesty King George I., or George II., or Queen Anne, or oneof that lot, I forget which, as my father used to tell me.
Well, gentlemen, when I had got my countryman fairly lathered, and hadcommenced operations, I noticed that he glanced half-quizzingly at myeye, which was now black and swollen from the kick I had received frommy adversary.
"You seem to have a bad cold in your eye, Mr. Suds," he remarked, withan ill-repressed smile.
"No, sir," I replied, "it is not exactly that."
"Not a cold!" exclaimed he, feigning astonishment. "Dear me! it's verylike one. Then if I might venture to guess, I should say you had beenin a fight, and got the worst of it."
"Well, not exactly, sir," said I; "not the worst of it; no, not theworst of it. It is true I had a slight difference of opinion thismorning with a young man of the shop, a mere trifle--an affair ofjealousy, that's all, sir."
"And I presume that that neat little baggage in the corner of the shopwith the jimp waist and well starched cap was the fair cause of thistrifling jealousy--am I right?"
"Well, really, sir, your penetration is such that it serves not to denyit," said I. "If you had only arrived five minutes earlier, you wouldhave caught me at it tooth and nail. Oh! it _was_ fine, sir. He caughtme a kick in the eye unawares--French fashion you know, sir. Englishmendon't like that sort of game, it takes them by surprise; but you shouldhave seen how I floored him with a good English blow in the chest thatmade him measure his length upon the ground. You should have heard whata whack his head came against the floor. It sounded for all the worldlike an empty cask. It will ache for him this next fortnight to come,I'll warrant."
"Oh! then England _wasn't_ thrashed after all?" said he.
"Not a bit of it," said I, proudly.
"Well, you seem a smart lad," said he. "I don't mind giving you a job todo every morning during my stay in Paris. Suppose you come every morningto my hotel to shave me."
"With pleasure, sir," said I.
"Here is my address," said he, handing me a card.
I read the name Lord Goldborough, Hotel ----, Rue ----, No. 25 _aupremier_. I fell into a sort of stupor at the discovery that I had beenshaving a real live lord, without knowing it. So taken aback was I, thatI forgot to stuff his pockets with bears' grease, tooth powder, fancysoaps, hair dye, tooth and nail brushes, etc.
Before I had well recovered, he was out of the shop. He had left anEnglish paper behind him by mistake, and a letter, the former of which Iperused, while the latter I placed in my pocket, to return to him on themorrow at his hotel.
No sooner had my countryman left the shop than Pauline asked me if hewasn't an Englishman.
"Yes," I replied, glad of an opportunity of making myself big in hereyes and of inspiring my rival with awe and respect for me; "his name isLord Goldborough, _un grand milord_, who has known me many years, andall my family. In fact," said I, "he is distantly connected withus."--(I did not say on account of our both being descended from Adam).
I told them in the shop that he had engaged my services every morning athis hotel to shave him, for old acquaintance sake, and finally that hehad called on me on purpose, under the excuse of being shaved, to lendme that paper to read, where there was a long account of the greatpolitical deeds of a celebrated English minister related to us both; infact, no less a man than the renowned William Pitt. There's no harm inmaking yourself as big as you can when you are sure of not being foundout--eh, gentlemen?--and when you do come out with a lie, tell a good'un whilst you're about it--that's my morality.
Pauline raised her eyebrows and looked at me archly, half incredulously.Jacques, who had been sulkily combing out some bunches of hair forwig-making behind the counter, looked up for a moment, his mouth wideopen with astonishment, then resumed his work.
I little knew at the time how dearly I should have to pay for a few idlewords. These are dangerous times to jest in, gentlemen, especiallyt'other side of the water, and if you happen to have an enemy. I wasinexperienced in these matters then, but I have bought my experiencesince, and dearly enough I had to pay for it.
On the following morning I hastened to keep my appointment with my noblecountryman. I found him very affable and condescending, and he waspleased to compliment me on my skill in barber-craft. He talked to memuch about England and my family, of politics, of the French, etc., andasked me how I liked foreign parts. I naturally felt flattered at theinterest he seemed to take in me, but I knew how to keep my place,always styling him "my lord" and "your lordship." In fact, we got oncapitally together. When I returned to the shop I bragged of theintimacy between my patron and my
self, not always sticking literally tothe truth, but colouring my reception a little highly to excite envyand respect in my rival and interest in Pauline.
After this I went regularly every day to his lordship, and came backafter every visit with an extravagantly coloured account of my noblecustomer's bounty and friendship for me, as well as the unlimited shareof his confidence that I enjoyed. Pauline's smiles grew daily morewinning, and Jacques scowled more and more savagely from behind thecounter.
One morning, as I was preparing as usual to start for my noble patron'shotel, an ugly-looking ruffian, dressed in the preposterous fashion ofthe "incroyables," entered the shop, and strutting up to my employer,who was hard at work on a new wig, said, "Citoyen, you harbour a'_suspect_.'"
"Not I, my friend, I assure you," said Le Chauve. "It is a mistake; Ihave no one in the house but my wife and daughter and twoapprentices--one an Englishman lately arrived."
"Just so, an Englishman, a spy of the English Government; a mostdangerous character, and on the most intimate terms with Lord Goldboro',who is himself a spy."
"It cannot possibly be my assistant Suds," muttered my employer tohimself.
"_Oui, Suds, c'est bien lui, le voici_," and he showed a warrant for myimmediate arrest.
"_Mais c'est impossible, monchere, ce pauvre garcon, si jeune, siinnocent_," pleaded my kind employer.
"Nevertheless, I have my orders. If he is innocent, he will be provedso. I come not to dispute whether he be innocent or guilty, but toarrest him," said the incroyable. "_Allons, ou est-il?_"
Now, concealment I knew to be impossible, resistance futile. The onlything to be done was to face the matter out boldly and trust toProvidence. (Of course, I made no doubt as to whom I had to thank for myarrest.) So walking bravely into the shop, without any show of fear, Ithus accosted the incroyable, "So, citoyen, it appears you have ordersto arrest me. I will not dispute your authority, although I know myselfto be innocent of the charges brought against me. I can pretty wellguess _which_ of my kind friends has been so considerate as to procurefor me a safe night's lodging free from expense, and his motive in doingso."
Here I darted a withering glance at Jacques, who cowered beneath mygaze, and another pleading one at Pauline, as if I would say, "You seehow I am betrayed, and by whom."
Pauline stood pale as death--or rather, leant against the wall forsupport. She seemed unable to utter a word, and yet seemed strugglingwith herself to defend me. As if spell-bound, she looked on in mutehorror, until the guard entered the shop, and I had barely time to say,"_Au revoir, Monsieur le Chauve; adieu, Mademoiselle Pauline._ I aminnocent, whatever my enemies may try and make me out, and doubt not butI shall be able to prove my innocence. Await my speedy return. _Enevant, gards_," and off I was conducted by the soldiers.
I was hardly out of the shop when a piercing female shriek reached myears, and poor Pauline had fallen fainting to the ground. I saw andheard no more, for though I was outwardly calm, my brain was racked withthe direst apprehensions.
Here I was being led openly through the streets of Paris like afelon--whither? To prison--to the Bastille, to be tried; possibly, nayprobably, to be condemned to death. What for? What had I done? "Nothing;I am innocent," I said to myself. "No matter, so have others been thathave likewise perished by the guillotine," I thought I heard a voiceinwardly say. "Executions are now of daily occurrence, and notindividuals, but hundreds of individuals, perish for they know not what.Marat, from out his obscure lodgings, and seated up to the neck in hiswarm bath, doth complacently issue forth his bloody orders, from whichnot even innocence itself is free. Oh, the malignity of human nature!"thought I. "Base, base Jacques Millefleurs! for who else could havebetrayed me? And Pauline, poor girl! what would become her?"
Then came another thought forcing its way through my brain, despite myefforts to crush it. Pauline for the present, it is true, was disgustedwith Millefleurs, especially for this last dastardly act of his, butwomen are proverbially fickle--the whole French nation is volatile--andafter my death, and she had shed a few transient tears belike to mymemory, Jacques _might_ work himself into her good graces again, andeven _marry_ her--the thought was agony. The mere fear of death itselfwas perhaps the last thought that occupied me, for I felt I had noparents to regret me; on the contrary, I felt consoled in the thoughtthat I should see them again in the other world. No; it was not meredeath that I feared so much; but then, to leave Pauline, to be cut shortin my brilliant career, before I had established my fame!
These were thoughts that galled me. Nevertheless, I tried to consolemyself. Perhaps things might not be so black as my imagination hadpainted them, and even if they should be--even if I should die by theguillotine for an imagined State offence--it was not like being gibbetedalive in my own country for a highway robbery or murder. No; there wassomething aristocratic in the idea of being guillotined, for did not thescaffold reek with noble blood?
Amid such reflections as these I was conducted by the guard to the gatesof the Bastille, and before I was well aware of it, found myself in aspacious cell, and heard the lock turned upon me. Here a singular andnever-to-be-forgotten scene was presented to my view. The prison wascrowded with men and women of all ranks and ages, many of whom were todie on the morrow, yet most of them appeared to have no fear of deathwhatever. Here and there were knots of friends who seemed determined tomake the most of their short stay in this world, and to enjoy life tothe utmost. Here was dicing and card playing, laughing, joking, andswearing, as if they thought it prime fun to die in company. Surelythese men, thought I, must be accustomed to death, as they say eels areto skinning, that they no longer mind it.
There were, however, prisoners of another cast, persons who preferredspending their last moments on earth in prayer and pious meditation.Parents took leave of their children, children of their parents, friendsparted from friends, lovers from lovers. Tears flowed on all sides.Profane mirth and ribald jests mingled discordantly with pious oraisonsand tearful farewells. Others again were sullenly awaiting their doomwith crossed arms and heads drooping on their breasts, keeping apartfrom the others, being too proud to pray, and yet indifferent to theamusements of the more light-hearted.
Well, days, weeks, passed by, I suppose, for I do not recollect whattime elapsed during my incarceration, as I kept no count, being in akind of mental stupor all the time, nor could I bring myself to believethat the scene before me was real, and not a dream. All the events fromthe time of my arrest, flitted through my mind like a vastphantasmagoria.
Since my imprisonment, I had been tried, found guilty, and condemned todeath. The day had been fixed, and yet it weighed but lightly upon me,being nothing more that what I had expected and prepared myself for.Each day brought new arrests, and each day some of my companions wereled forth to execution. It is wonderfully consoling to find that othersare about to share a like fate as one's self. This I found byexperience, for, engrossed as I was, with my own selfish thoughts, Istill found time to be touched with the misfortunes of others, and onseveral occasions I offered consolation, and received consolation frommany of my fellow prisoners. In some instances I had struck up quite awarm friendship with the inmates of my cell, but alas! our intimacylasted but long enough for us to know, love, and esteem each other. Nosooner had I begun to feel for my fellow sufferer as a friend andbrother, than the following day he was certain to be torn from me, andled off to execution. One of these friendships formed in prison,especially dwells upon me; perhaps because it was one of the longest.
My friend was a young man of my own years, and of noble family, as hesaid. He told me also his name, but I have forgotten it. He wasimprisoned because it was thought he entertained aristocratic opinions,and was a devout Catholic. He was in love, but the idol of hisaffections belonged to an atheistical family. It had been the dream ofhis ambition to eradicate the heretical opinions she had imbibed andconvert her to the Catholic faith. He was looked upon with suspicion byher family, who, disapproving of the match, were instrumental in placingh
im in the Bastille. I ventured to condole with him, though he needednot my consolation, as his comfort was in his religion. Of all mycompanions in prison, I found him the most resigned.
When I had learnt his tale, I told him mine, saying that I was a poor_perruquier-barbier_ who had left his country for a while to completehis art studies, and who, happening to fall in love with his employer'sdaughter, had, through the jealousy and malice of a rival, who hadfalsely accused him, found himself imprisoned in the Bastille, andcondemned to death. He was touched with my tale as I had been with his,for our histories had something in common. We were both in love, inprison, and condemned to death. We wept together, we embraced, we kissed(Frenchmen always kiss); and though he was a gentleman of noble family,and I only a lowly barber, yet, on the brink of the grave, alldistinctions are levelled, so we embraced, and called ourselves brothersin adversity. How I prayed and longed that our lives might be spared,that we might the longer enjoy each other's friendship, or that we mightquit this world in each other's company! But fate willed it otherwise.On the morrow, he whom I had learnt to love as a brother was torn fromme and led to the scaffold. My life seemed now a blank. Whilst my friendlived in his troubles, I forgot my own; now that he was no more I beganto realise all the horrors of my situation.
At length the eve of my execution arrived. I tried to give myself upwholly to pious meditation, so throwing myself down in the corner of mycell, I endeavoured to recall all my past life, to repent of my sins,and pray for a speedy and peaceful end; but then the guillotine rose upbefore me in all its terrors, and bodily fear would usurp the place ofholier thoughts. The nearer the hour drew, the more vividly everythingpainted itself to my mind's eye. I must leave Pauline without a word offarewell. The heartless turnkey, inured to scenes of death and misery,would witness me depart to execution without a tear. Then the insolenceof the brutal guard, the gaping crowd, the scaffold, and surlyexecutioner, the cold steel close to my neck, one terrible shock andthen--then--eternity--a vast blank--an unexpected world--doubt,suspense, _perhaps_, total annihilation.
"Merciful God!" I exclaimed in agony, "is there no hope? I ask not forlength of days, but only time to repent. Let me not be ushered into Thyawful presence unprepared. Help me to my salvation, and fit me for myend." Here I shut my eyes and prayed long and fervently, after which Ifelt more resigned. I heard the clock toll forth the hour of midnight,and most of the inmates of my cell were fast asleep. I now felt a chillysensation creep over me, an indescribable awe, as if in the presence ofsomething more than mortal. I opened my eyes and was aware of a vaporousform or column of luminous ether standing beside me, which graduallygrowing more distinct, shaped itself into the bearing and lineaments ofmy father. My breath forsook me. My eyeballs straining from theirsockets, fixed the cloudy image without my having the power to removethem, and I was unable to utter a word.
Presently a low, though distant, voice (whether it proceeded from thefigure or not, I cannot say, for it seemed to come from a distance andto sing through my head) uttered these words: "My son, it has pleasedHeaven for once that the innocent shall be spared and the wickedpunished. Fear not, for I am sent to protect you. Another has beenprovided to take your place at the scaffold. In another minute he willbe here. When you hear the key turn in the lock and see the door openwide, be ready to fly with me."
"Fly with you, father!" I mentally cried. To which the spectre answered,"I will envelop you in my essence, and being invisible myself to others,will make you likewise invisible. Thus, as the new prisoner enters, wewill pass unseen by the turnkey through the open door, and so on, pastthe guard, till we find ourselves outside. Once past all danger, I willconduct you to the seashore, where a vessel awaits you to carry you backto England."
Each word was uttered slowly and distinctly, and whilst he was yetspeaking I heard the key grate against the lock, and the door of myprison being flung open, a fresh prisoner entered, accompanied by thejailor. What was my surprise when, by the light of the jailor'slanthorn, I recognised my old rival, Jacques Millefleurs!
I had no time to speculate on the "how" or the "wherefore" of hisarrest, but in obedience to my father's orders I passed fearlesslythrough the open door, which was immediately closed after me. I passedthe guards, not without a certain tremor, yet no one appeared to see meor impede my course. I hurried past the outer gate, and quickening mypace, soon left the Bastille and its terrors far behind me.
Morning at length dawned, and as I passed through the streets I observedthat nobody looked me in the face, but rather looked through me intospace, as if I were air. I was thus aware that I was still invisible, soentering a diligence, arrived in due time at Calais.
"This is the vessel," said the voice, in my ear. "Embark--the wind isfair. Farewell," and I found myself once more alone and visible, forsundry passers-by stared at me in surprise, no doubt wondering how I hadmade my appearance there all of a sudden, not having been on the spot amoment ago.
I hastened to take my place on board, and having set sail, arrived,after a good passage, at Dover. How the dear old white cliffs and thegrand old castle seemed to welcome me back to my native land! Howthankful I felt for my recent miraculous preservation! How joyfully Ileapt ashore, and with what buoyancy I trod my native land again! It wasas if I had never breathed the air of liberty till now.
Once more in the land of the free, after a hearty meal, I took thestage, and travelled until I reached my native village; and here I am,gentlemen.
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"Upon my word, Mr. Suds," broke in Dr. Bleedem as the barber concludedhis story, "if you have many more tales of that sort you'll soon rivalthe members of the club. What do you say, Mr. Oldstone. Was not thatstory worthy of a member?"
Mr. Oldstone could not go so far as to admit that any one member of theclub had ever been equalled in story telling by a barber, and that, too,a Frenchified barber, but he condescended to give a complacent look ofapproval at the young man without directly answering the question put tohim, and then addressing him said, as he pulled out his watch, "I don'tknow if you are aware of it, Mr. Suds, but the absorbing interest thatyou have forced us to take in your narrative has made us quite forgetchurch time, and it now wants but a quarter to one o'clock."
"You don't say so," cried several voices at once. "Sure enough," saidanother, "here are all the people coming out of church."
"What!" cried our late story teller, in alarm, "have I really, throughmy talk, prevented your honours from exhibiting your chins at divineservice, as a sample of my art? This is indeed a sin my soul mustanswer."
"Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Oldstone, "time past cannot be recalled, allwe can do is, to try to make up for it by going to church thisafternoon."
"Stop! stop! Mr. Suds, whither away so fast," he cried, as he saw theyoung man making towards the door with his tackle in his hand. "Youhave not told us what became of Pauline. You finished your story rathertoo abruptly; it requires a sequel. Come, let's hear it."
The youth returned, after closing the door, and resting the tips of hisfingers against the back of a chair, proceeded gravely thus: "Littlemore remains to be told, gentlemen. I heard from Pauline not long since.Her letter runs as nearly as I can recollect in these words:
"Dear Mr. Suds, I write to you for the first and last time. Perhaps Ishould not have written to you at all. If I have erred from maidenmodesty in so doing, I hope you will excuse me. I really could not letso great a friend pass from me without a word. I heard of your escape bychance, and you may imagine my extreme delight and thankfulness at thejoyful news, though I never could learn in what manner you effected it.Enough for me that you are safe in your own free country, far from thebroils of civil discord and intestine misery.
"Alas! my friend, if I may be allowed to call you by that name, I havesuffered much since we parted; so much, indeed, that were you to see menow, you would not know me again for the gay capricious Pauline offormer times, whose eyes and complexion you were once wont to praise.Forgive me
, my friend, forgive me, Mr. Suds, if I have already said toomuch, and bear with me still, while I yet disburden my heart of more.The words tremble on my pen, my hand refuses to write what my heartdictates, for fear of incurring your displeasure and contempt, ratherthan brook which I would that my hand would paralyse, that I might nevertouch pen more; that my lips were sealed that I might never more expressthe feelings that rise and crave for utterance, ay that my heart itselfwould cease to beat. I can no longer restrain my pen. My eyes fill withtears as I write. Pardon my temerity. I feel I must speak or die.
"Dear Mr. Suds, did you ever imagine that from the very first momentthat you introduced yourself at my father's shop that my heart was nolonger my own? Did you know that the attentions of the odious JacquesMillefleurs which my vanity only induced me to encourage, from that timebecame loathsome to me, and my heart told me too truly the reason why?
"Oh! my dearest friend, if you knew how hard it has been to me topersist in dissimulation for so long, to hide from my father and fromMillefleurs that which was passing in my bosom!
"Oh! if you knew the shock I received when I witnessed your arrest andthe deadly hatred that I bore towards Jacques Millefleurs for being thecause, oh, then my love! then, I say, you would pardon me all, ay, eventhe hideous crime I perpetrated for your sake. Know then, my loved one,that it was I--I,--your Pauline, who accused Jacques to the governmentfor conspiring against it, even as he had falsely accused you, andcaused him to be arrested and condemned! Know you that whilst your barkwas peacefully crossing the channel that Jacques Millefleurs was takingyour place at the scaffold? You are avenged, and through me, though Iknow your noble nature must recoil at such retaliation. Enough, he isjudged; peace be to his soul.
"But, alas, evil though he may have been, will his crimes help to washout one iota of the stain of my guilt? Shall I ever feel the stings ofremorse less keenly because I committed the rash and mean act in thevery torrent of passion?
"Oh! my friend, I feel I have merited your contempt and scorn for havinggiven way thus to the promptings of my evil nature. I fancy I see youstart and shrink back whilst reading these lines, and saying toyourself, 'Can Pauline have been guilty of so black a crime?' No wonderyou shrink back in horror and loathing; yet, loathe me as you will, youcannot loathe me as much as I loathe myself. I thought revenge would besweet, but now the bitterness of remorse has filled my heart. Theremembrance of my crime is intolerable to me; it haunts me night andday. I feel that nothing short of the sacrifice of my whole life can doaught towards atoning for so black a deed.
"Yes, my friend, many and bitter have been the tears of remorse that Ihave shed, very bitter the reproaches I have launched against myself.But to what purpose all this? What should your young and innocent soulknow of the torments I bear within? Enough, my resolution is fixed neverto be changed.
"Start not, friend, when I tell you that I have renounced the world andits vanities, and intend to retire into a convent, there to atone by alifetime of fasting and prayer for the fell crime that harrows my soul.I was once vain enough to dream of becoming your bride, but now I amcalled upon to be the bride of Heaven. Shortly after you receive this Ishall have taken the veil. Think no more of one unworthy to find a placein your thoughts. Forgive me if you can. Farewell, yours, Pauline."
"These, gentlemen, are the words of her letter, as well as I canrecollect. The letter bears no date or address, but it bore thepost-mark, 'Brussels.' As the letter did not appear to crave an answer,I wrote none and thus the matter dropped."
"Poor girl!" broke in Parnassus, with a sigh; "her crime was great, nodoubt; but done in the very heat of passion; and then, her repentance isextremely touching."
"Yes," said Mr. Blackdeed, "she winds up in a manner quite dramatic."
The members of the club then expressed, severally, their approbation ofthe barber's narrative, upon which the young man bowed and scraped, andhoped he should be able to satisfy the honourable members as well on afuture occasion, if his services should be required, and then quittedthe inn. In the afternoon our members attended divine service, to a man;and, after a stroll in the wood, returned home in the evening, whichthey spent in their usual jovial manner.
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Transcriber's note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Although not present in the original publication, a list of contents has been provided for the reader's convenience.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume II Page 6