Confessions of an Artisian (from the French), Chapter IV [pp. 314-320]

CONFESSIONS OF AN ARTISAN.
the faithful laborer can be regretted.
When the unfortunate man fell, crushed
upon the paving-stones, do you know
what the task-master said?'One drunkard less to be taken up and swept off.'"
I could not restrain an indignant gesture.
"Bless me! Yes, it is hard measure,"
continued Maurice. "He estimates men
only for what they are worth. If death
had taken away a good workman, he
would have declared, instead,'Ah, it is a
loss!' The whole world thinks the same;
and, as a proof, we know that only a few
friends followed the body of Jerome to
his grave. Those, even, with whom he
clinked glasses, turned their backs on
him as soon as he was laid on his bier.
For the worthless, who frequent each
other's society, seest thou, have no love
in their hearts."
I listened without replying. We had
resumed our walk, but at the first cornercrossing, Maurice again made a full stop,
and, pointing out the chimney, which
rose in the distance far above the neighboring roofs, said, solemnly: "When
thou dost desire to re-commence thy life
of yesterday, take a clear look first on
this side, and the wine thou shalt afterward drink will have the taste of blood!"
He parted from me here, and my brain
grew bewilderedwith remorse and sorrow.
Maurice had a certain impressive way
with him, which, later, I often noticed,
that prevented one from forgetting what
he said. He was an ignorant man, but
his words always struck right. When he
spoke, the sentences fell upon the mind
as outward images do upon the eye. We
saw in them form and color. It was not
always the word alone which produced
the effect, but the gesture, the look, the
accent, I know not what, indeed, that
gleamed from his spirit into your own.
Since that time, I have read a little and
thought a little, and am persuaded that
the magnetic power Maurice possessed
is that which makes other men eloquent.
I returned home to my mother, sorely
distressed, yet without wishing to appear
so. I rebelled against the lesson which I
I had received, and revolted against myself, because I could not but feel greatly
moved. I vowed, secretly, that I would
never give up, and would take life joyously. I tried so much the more to fortify myself in my impenitence, that I
expected the reproaches of Madeline.
Prepared to cut short by a rough declaration of independence, I thus entered into
our humble dwelling, with a haughty face
and deliberate footstep.
The old woman had finished putting
the house in order, and received me as
usual. This goodness disconcerted all
my resolutions. I was seized with such a
clear view of my fault that, if I had not
made a great effort, I should have wept.
My mother apparently saw nothing out
of the way (I have since learned that
Maurice instructed her how to act), and
talked as gayly as was her custom, not
speaking of the money for my fortnight's
work, of which I had for the first time
deprived her, nor appearing at all disquieted. I went to my bed completely
disarmed, and heart-tortured by remorse.
All night I dreamed of seeing my father
tottering on the scaffolding, or dashed
to the pavement; and for myself, I
seemed to be reeling in a drunken fit
above the highest cornice, and ready to
precipitate myself to the ground. When
I rose in the morning I had an aching
and heavy head, with which all the members of my body sympathized dolorously.
Nevertheless, I went to work at the usual
hour; but it continued to be a bad day with
me. I was less stupid than on the preceding evening, but far more sad. To embarrassment had succeeded regret. It took
nearly a week to give me back my vigor
and my animation. The first time Maurice heard, me sing after these doleful
days, he passed' near me, and clapping
me on the shoulder, said:
"Aha! content has returned to the
cage. That's as it should be. Phew!
take good care of this bird that is within
there!"
"Never fear," replied I, smiling; "we
will provide a more pleasant lodging,
where it may find enough to eat!"
1875.]
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