Business.
W
hile these things were going on at "Les Marches," a great change had come over Frank's life.
His father was one day descending a ladder, when one of the rounds of the latter broke and his body received a nasty jerk. He placed his hand on his heart and muttered. "I have felt something, I have felt something here." Two days afterwards he died from internal hemorrhage.
So Frank was left to live with his step-mother.
He had now a little money and was considering how he should lay it out. Finally, he decided to build one or two greenhouses. But he wanted some land upon which to build them, and this he did not possess.
There was a field situated behind his garden which belonged to a Mr. Fallon. "This field would exactly suit me," he said to himself, "I must try to buy it."
Accordingly, he set out towards "La Chaumière"—this was the name of Mr. Fallon's residence. When he arrived there, he saw the farmer coming out of his stable and at once asked him if his field was for sale. Now, Mr. Fallon thought himself too much of a business man to answer either "Yes" or "No." "I do not think," he said, "but I can't tell. I must mention it to my wifeand think over it, for it's a serious thing to sell one's property."
Frank nodded.
Would he call the next evening? the man asked.
Frank promised to call.
The farmer immediately told his wife about the young man's proposal. The worthy couple decided to sell the piece of land, "but," said the cautious husband, "we must sell it at a high price, if we can. I wish it were sold though," he continued, "it's such an out of the way place, and so far from here."
The next evening saw Frank sitting near the hearth of the kitchen of "La Chaumière." The following conversation took place.
"Well, Mr. Fallon," said Frank, "I have come to see if the field is really for sale."
"I hardly know, one doesn't like to do away with one's property."
"You told me you would tell me this evening."
"Yes, I know, but, it's a good field."
"It may be."
"There's a stream running through it."
"I know."
"You would not have to dig a well, and a well costs a great deal of money."
"Sometimes."
"I have a mind to keep it."
"Indeed!"
"Ah! but such good land, it's a pity to give it away."
"I don't want to have it for nothing."
"Perhaps not, but I don't think you would give me my price."
"What is it?"
"Much too cheap. Land is very dear just now, and the prices will always go up."
"I don't know about that."
"No, but I do, people are very eager to purchase such fine little plots. This one has all the advantages that it can have, situation——"
"What do you mean?"
"It's situated just behind your garden; where can you have anything better."
"The field is well situated for me, but it's not worth anything as building land to others, it does not border the road," Frank ventured to remark.
"It's a splendid piece of land," continued the farmer, "light, open and yet damp soil, just the sort of thing for tomatoes, I fancy I can see them, as big as my fist——"
"We have not done much business yet."
"I don't know if I shall sell it."
"If that's the case, when will you make up your mind; shall I call again to-morrow?"
"I hardly know"—scratching his head—"such a fine plot, let me see; aloud: It's worth a lot of money."
"How much would you require?"
"Oh! I don't know."
"Well, I'll call again this day week," said Frank, tiring of this useless talk and guessing what the farmer's intentions were. He rose and added: "I hope you will have made up your mind by then."
Quoth the farmer: "I should be very sorry for you to have had to come here for nothing, perhaps we may yet come to terms."
"Will you sell it? 'Yes' or 'No,'" said the young man re-seating himself.
"If you don't mind giving me my price."
"Whatisyour price?"
"Land is very dear. This piece is situated quite close to town, it ought to fetch top price. There's two and a half vergées to that field. I have heard that some land has been sold for eight quarters a vergée."
"I won't give as much for this one; it's twice too much."
"I should require some money."
"How much?"
"At least one hundred pounds."
"Perhaps I might give you as much, but do state the price of the whole."
"Six quarters a vergée."
"No."
"It would be worth that to you."
"I will give you five quarters."
"It's too low, the field would only amount to two hundred and fifty pounds."
"Two hundred and fifty pounds for two and a half vergées, that is about an acre, is, I should think, a very good price."
"That would only make, besides the one hundred pounds cash, seven and a half pounds per annum. Such a fertile soil. Such a splendid stream. No well to dig. Hundreds of tomatoes weighing half-a-pound each. It's ridiculously low."
"It's time for me to part. Will you accept my price, Mr. Fallon, 'Yes' or 'No?'"
After much grumbling and protestations on the part of the farmer, with assertions that he would be ruined giving away his land like that, the transaction was agreed to.
Going home, Frank reviewed in his mind the state of his finance.
He possessed the house, garden, greenhouse andworkshop, minus his step-mother's dowry, and plus five hundred pounds cash. "I cannot do much with that," he thought, "but I have enough to begin with."
And now where were his ambitious castles; where was the successful inventor, the possessor of hundreds of thousands—contemplating to build two span-roofed greenhouses in which he would have to work and perspire when the thermometer would often stand at from eighty to ninety degrees.
However, he was full of hope, his ambition had received a severe blow, but it still clung to him. He feared to aim too high now, and failures he dreaded. "I must begin at the bottom of the ladder," he said to himself, "and, with God's help, I shall succeed."
He resolved to work with his brains as well as with his hands. "I have some education," he thought, "and I will seize the opportunities as they present themselves. I do not care for riches now. If only I could succeed in securing enough money to put me out of the danger of want, I should be satisfied."
Since his adventure in the garden, he had not dared to go again near "Les Marches."
He thought that Mr. Rougeant had perhaps recognised him, but, fortunately for him, Adèle's father had failed to discern his crouching figure.
A Strange Meeting.
T
hree months afterwards, Frank was planting his tomatoes in his greenhouses. He had two span-roofs, each one hundred and forty feet long by forty feet wide.
He had sold the workshop which was situated a few yards to the north of the house, and had thus been enabled to build larger houses than he at first intended.
He heard vague rumours about his step-mother going to marry again. If the truth must be said, Frank felt delighted at the prospect of getting rid of her. He had never cared for her much, and, recently, the gap that had always existed between them had been considerably enlarged.
He had been out on business and had arrived rather late in the evening, at which Mrs. Mathers was terribly displeased. "I am not going to sit up all night waiting for you," she said, and then she added in a most sarcastic tone of voice: "Perhaps you have been at the cemetery."
Frank was moved to the quick. He was of a rather passionate temper and he felt nothing but contempt for the person who had made this remark. "I have not been," he said hotly, "I have been about my business."
"I thought that perhaps you had been crying there," she continued with the same irritating smile on her features.
Frank answered: "I might have done worse."
"Who would think that of a man of twenty-one," she said. "Of course, you do not care for your poor father; your mother gets all the tears."
Frank quite forgot himself. He looked at her defiantly and said in a low tone half fearing and yet wishing to be heard: "You are a Jezabel," then turned round and left the room.
When he came to think over the last words which he had used towards his step-mother, he felt ashamed of himself. He felt he had not behaved as a man, much less as a Christian. He had gone much too far; he owed her respect.
He thought of going straight to her, and of asking her pardon, but his pride prevented him from taking this wise step. Only for a minute, however; he soon overcame it and resolutely re-entered the room where Mrs. Mathers was.
"I was very rude to you," he began, "I was rather excited, and——"
Without saying a word Mrs. Mathers left the room and, slamming the door after her, proceeded upstairs.
Frank felt relieved. He had attempted a reconciliation. She had refused. He felt a sense of duty done.
We may add that Mrs. Mathers pouted for more than a week.
The second anniversary of his father's death having arrived, Frank, profiting by his step-mother's absence, took a small bunch of sweet scented flowers and proceeded towards the Foulon Cemetery, where his parents were buried.
As he was about to open the gate, he thought he saw the form of a lady which he knew, coming down the road after him. He arrested his steps.The young lady stopped likewise, as if to examine the cottage situated on her left, and, in doing so, she turned her back towards Frank.
He did not stay there long, but proceeded up the gravel walk towards the grave, but as he advanced, he thought no more of his mission. "Where have I seen that face?" he thought, "it seems familiar to me."
He was now beside the grave, he placed the flowers near the tombstone, but his thoughts were not with the dead, they were with the living.
All at once, it flashed upon him, he remembered that person. That form, that face, belonged to Adèle Rougeant.
He hastily left the graveyard and almost ran down the walk.
One of the two persons who were standing near the gate said: "That man has seen a ghost."
Frank smiled as he overheard the remark, and, thinking that the young lady had proceeded past the gate, he went in that direction.
He walked for a quarter of an hour, but neither saw her nor anyone resembling her. At last, he gave up the chase in despair. "I must have construed wrongly," he said to himself, "perhaps the person who was standing near the entrance to the cemetery was right, it was her ghost." He mournfully retraced his steps.
It was really Adèle Rougeant that he had seen. She was returning from town, when, instead of going straight home by St. Martin's mill, she went up the Grange, took a peep at her former home, then proceeded by the Rocquettes down the Rohais. Why; the lady readers will easily guess.
She espied Frank, just as he was turning down Foulon Vale.
He was so intent on his mission that he did not notice her.
As soon as she saw his eager look and the bunch of flowers which he carried in his hands, a feeling of exasperating jealousy seized her. Where was he going with those flowers? "Alas!" she thought bitterly, "he has a rendezvous with some pretty lass. I will follow him and ascertain, if possible, the truth."
She walked after him, and when he turned round to look at her, she hastily looked the other way. Fearing lest he might recognise her, she retraced her steps and continued her journey homewards down the Rohais, muttering: "A fine place for a rendezvous."
Something within her tried to reason: "He is nothing to you, you have no claims upon him." But what of her future, what of her projected plans, her ideas, her sweet dreams; they were mown down in this huge and single sweep. Life seemed very dark. Up to this, hope had kept her radiant and cheerful, and now, hope was gone, and in its stead, there was a blank.
Arrived home, she fetched her violin and poured forth all her feelings.
She commenced in a plaintive tone, then this changed to reproach, and the conclusion was a wail of despair.
Again she tried to rouse herself; again she tried to reason. "Why am I so concerned about him?" she asked herself. "I must put these foolish thoughts aside."
But love denied what reason would dictate, and she found herself continually sighing.
Meanwhile, Tom continued his visits from timeto time, and she received him with as much coldness as she dared.
But when she came to think that Frank was an acquaintance to be forgotten, she slightly changed her manner towards her cousin.
Her father was not slow to notice the change. He laughed inly and chuckled: "I knew she would come to love him; but I must not hurry her, she is by nature a slow coach; everything will yet come all right in the end."
The days were lengthening and Tom continued to come as early as he used to do in the depth of winter.
It was now quite daylight when he put in an appearance. One evening he took Adèle for a walk round the garden. Poor girl; she did not love him, but she did not like to speak roughly to him. She felt that she was wronging him. She knew that at each meeting his hope increased. Still, what was she to do? She began to persuade herself that he was not so bad as she had imagined. He was now a reformed man; her father had told her so, and she could see it. If the passion for drink which was still probably strong within him should return! She paused, mused and said with a sigh: "Alas! I do not feel that I love him."
Still; she hardly knew if in the end she would accept him. He would be so deeply grieved if she refused, and then, if she accepted him, her father would perhaps become once more what he was when she was quite a child. She remembered how he used to take her on his knee, and call her his dear little girl.
She went on thinking: "How many people marry without what is generally called love? Certainly, the greater portion. The French havewhat they callmarriages de raison, and they seem to agree as well as others."
Poor Adèle. How many have reasoned thus, how many are daily giving themselves away in marriage to men for whom they feel nought but friendship; how many give their hand to one, while their heart yearns for another.
Superstition.
W
hile Adèle was thus pondering over her natural shocks, Frank was working, full of hope for the future.
His step-mother married, and he was left in possession of the house. He let it to an old couple, Pierre Merlin and his wife. Maît Pierre, as Frank called him, was a man of about sixty years of age. He worked for Frank who found that it was impossible for him to keep things ship-shape without re-enforcement.
This old man gloried in being a true Guernseyman, one of the old stock, of direct descent from those who fought for their country against the band of adventurers who invaded the island under Ivan of Wales. He did not say that the islanders had the worst of the fight. He only spoke in the patois, which Frank understood very well.
This species of the genus "homo" hailed from the parish of Torteval, and, being an old peasant and very illiterate, there is no cause for being astonished that he was superstitious.
Frank perceived this only a few days after he had engaged him. It was a Friday, and the old man who was told to go and gather a few tomatoes—the first of the season—exclaimed: "What! begin on a Friday, but you forget yourself, Mr. Mathers."
Frank laughed at him and told him to go all thesame, adding that he was surprised people believed in such nonsense. Old Pierre obeyed muttering: "He is a young man, and he will lose a nice lot of money on his crops, defying fate in that way. But it's as the proverb says: 'Experience is a thing which is bought.'"
Although Frank did not believe in any of the old man's notions, the continual remarks which he heard made him eager to know more. When they had dined, the two men proceeded to a garden seat and while the elder smoked his pipe, the younger questioned him.
Pierre was very reticent in his information. What was the use of telling this young man anything; he would not believe him.
As time passed on, he began to have more confidence in his employer, and seeing that he never laughed at what he said, he gradually became more talkative.
One day, when Frank was questioning him, the old man asked: "Have you ever seen thefeu bellanger?"
"I don't think so," responded Frank, "at any rate, I had never heard that name mentioned before."
"Well," said Maît Pierre, "if you care to listen, I shall tell you all about it; you appear eager to know everything."
He took his pipe from between his teeth; well emptied the bowl, and put the blackened clay pipe in his pocket with studied carefulness. Then he began: "Thefeu bellangeris one of the devil's angels which takes the shape of fire, and goes about at night, generally when it is very dark, and tries to pounce upon some victim."
Here, he stopped and looked inquiringly atFrank, who, in his desire to hear what old Pierre had to say, kept a very grave face.
Apparently satisfied at the young man's appearance, the narrator continued: "I have often seen it myself, and once, very clearly. I will never forget it to my dying day. It was pitch-dark and a drizzling rain was falling. I was walking hastily towards my home, when, on my right, I beheld a light. It danced up and down, now it came towards me, then it receded. I confess that I was nailed to the spot. I already seemed to feel its deathly grip. I was powerless to move. I could not scream. It was the old fellow who was already fascinating me. Fortunately, I remembered the words which my father had once told me: 'If ever you meet thefeu bellanger, my boy, take off your coat, turn the sleeves inside out, and put it on so; it means that you will have nothing to do with it, and that you will resist its efforts to seize you.' I found strength enough to follow my father's advice. Hope must have sustained me. The bluish light remained about there for a few minutes more, then disappeared entirely."
"How thankful did I feel. With all speed, I hastened home to tell my parents of my narrow escape. They congratulated me; my father even took my hand and welcomed me as one risen from the dead."
"How does it kill the people it attacks?" Frank inquired.
"It flies with them to the seaside, or to the nearest pool and drowns them there."
"I once knew a man who was a downright ne'er do well. He was very much addicted to drink. One morning, he was found drowned in a stream."
"But," interposed Frank, "he might have stumbled in the stream whilst in a state of intoxication."
"No—no—no," said Pierre, "it was not that; thefeu bellangerwas seen that very night near this spot where the corpse was afterwards found. Some people said that they had heard a scream. I quite believe it. It was the horrible monster's triumphal shout. He was celebrating his victory."
"You don't think it was the poor inebriate's cry for help," said Frank, forcing back a smile.
"I told you it was a shout of triumph," said old Pierre, losing patience and already angry at Frank's demeanour. "Moreover," he added, "I'll tell you something else, I have not finished yet.
"It's a well-known fact that thefeu bellangerdislikes sharpened tools, and fights with them if he happens to meet them. Being aware of this, my brother and I went to a place where we had seen the monster on the previous night. We had a sharp knife. We placed it with the handle in the ground and the keen blade sticking out."
"We watched from a distance to see if thefeu bellangerwould pass that way, and seeing that it did not appear; when midnight came, we went home. But a neighbour told us on the morrow that he had seen it in the early hours of the morning, fighting against the knife.
"We straightway proceeded to the place where the knife was. Imagine our horror on finding that the blade was covered with blood."
"Some poor stray animaldidsuffer," Frank could not help remarking. Old Pierre was terribly displeased. He rose to go about his work, muttering: "Wait till he sees it, when he gets caught, I bet he'll turn blue."
Frank thought about his labourer's story duringthe whole of the afternoon. "These superstitions do a great deal of harm to these poor people," he said in a soliloquy.
He therefore resolved to try and root out all these strange notions from Pierre's head. He soon felt a kind of ecstacy. It was a glorious thing to help bring about the time when science would sweep away all traces of ignorance.
If the theory of evolution was true, those times would come, so he decided to set to work at once upon this man.
It was a beginning, small perhaps, but he now believed in small beginnings.
He had not yet experienced what it is to try and convert a superstitious man.
It is very difficult to convince an ignorant person.
Failure.
H
aving made up his mind to rescue Maît Pierre from his superstitions, Frank at once set to work.
So, the day following his decision, he advanced to the attack.
When they were both seated as usual having their after-dinner conversation, Frank began: "Do you really believe all you told me about thefeu bellanger, Maît Pierre?"
"If I believe it? why, certainly I do."
Frank knew he did believe it, but he wanted to fix the conversation at once. "I'll tell you what this fire is," continued the young man; "it is a light which comes out of the soil, more especially in the marshy places. It is called 'Will-o'-the-Wisp' by some of the country folk in England, 'Jack-o'-Lantern' by others. The true name of this ignited gas isignis fatuus."
The old man smiled. His look at Frank was one of pity. "What a poor young simple-minded, inexperienced person," he thought, and in the voice of a man quoting a passage from Horace he said aloud: "I have seen it on the top of a hill."
"It may be," answered Frank, and, seeing old Pierre's triumphant attitude, he added: "Do you not think that there is a Maker who watches over us? how foolish to think that he would let theevil one go about like that and drown people at his will——"
Pierre suddenly interrupted him: "And Job," he said.
"Oh! that was in the olden times," said Frank; "besides, it's poetic language, you must not take it so literally as you seem to do. Do you know what lies at the bottom of all these superstitions? Ignorance; nothing but the lack of education. Among men of knowledge, nothing of this sort is ever heard of. They do not believe in witches riding on broomsticks. Ah!" he added, seeing Pierre was getting excited; "you believe in witches too?"
"Mr. Mathers," said the old man looking steadily at Frank, "you're a young man, you should not try so to rail at people who have experience; you should not try to make me disbelieve things which I have seen with both my eyes; when you are older, when you have passed through all that I have passed; ah, when you have, as we say proverbially 'dragged the harrow where I have dragged the plough'; then, and only then, will you attempt to remonstrate with elderly people. I think the proper thing for you to do now is to wait till you have gained some experience and not to try and speak about things which you know nothing of."
Frank was astonished at the serious tone in which this little speech was delivered. He began to see how deep-rooted were Pierre's beliefs, but if the difficulties multiplied in his path, his fervour rose also. He had decided to show this man the fallacy of his arguments, and he must accomplish his self-imposed task. He was now very determined;the more so, as he noticed the air of superiority old Pierre assumed.
"You have no proofs whatever in support of what you advance," he said, "while I can prove to you that this light seen over or near bogs and sometimes over cemeteries, is nothing but 'ignis fatuus.' This man found drowned, and all that nonsense, is nothing but what would happen under ordinary circumstances. In a state of intoxication, he walked in the pool and was drowned. Is not that plain enough?
"The knife covered with blood was the result of some beast cutting its leg with the sharpened edge, every sensible man will acknowledge that; prove to me the contrary, and I will believe you; until then, never.
"And these witches, by the by, you have not told me if you believed in them."
The old man met his gaze defiantly as he answered: "Yes, I do. I do not know if, as you say, they ride on broomsticks; but I'll tell you this: My father was no fibber. He told me one day that a certain woman went at their house from time to time. They never saw her come in at the door like one might see another person do, but she simply fell plump in the middle of the kitchen. She found herself there, none knew how; I do not know whether it was through the ceiling or otherwise, but my father assured me he had seen her come in this fashion more than once."
"Stop," cried Frank, "I never thought it would come to this. It beats all that I have yet heard. And you believe that, Maît Pierre, you who think yourself——"
"My father always spoke the truth," interruptedPierre, "if a man is not to believe what he has seen, what must he confide in, then?"
"You ought to use your reasoning faculties; but, tell me, have you ever been an eye-witness to any of these things?"
"If I've seen any? why, certainly, by the dozen almost. I'll tell you one. I was working some few years ago for a Mr. Fouret. One of his cows having died from milk fever, it was found necessary to replace it. Now old Mrs. X. had two for sale at that time, and knowing that my master wanted to buy one, she offered him hers.
"I must tell you that this woman had the reputation of having the evil eye. Mr. Fouret did not care to refuse her, so he said he would go and see them. He went. When he came back, he told us he would not take them even if Mrs. X. gave them to him for nothing; they were very lean and deformed. So he resolved to risk being bewitched and bought one from Mr. Paslet.
"When he came back to the farm he said to me: 'Pierre, go and fetch the cow which I have bought at Mr. Paslet's farm.'
"'All right sir,' answered I, and I started.
"As I was coming back quietly with the beast, whom should I meet but Mrs. X.
"'Oh, it's you, Pierre,' she said grinning; 'where have you had that cow from?'
"I explained: 'Master had bought the animal in the morning from Mr. Paslet and had sent me to fetch it.'
"'Ah, indeed,' she said, patting the animal; 'she's a fine beast.'
"When I saw her laying her hand on the poor creature, I said to myself, 'she's giving it her.'But what could I do? I said nothing, and the old woman went away.
"I had not proceeded more than one hundred yards when the animal began to show signs of illness. However, I managed to lead her to the farm which was not very far. But the beast got worse and worse. Mr. Fouret came to examine her. 'What's the matter with the brute?' he said, 'you've made her walk too fast I'm afraid; she seems to be tired and exhausted.'
"'Mr. Fouret,' I responded, 'I came along very slowly, but on the road I met Mrs. X.'
"'Did she touch the cow?' he inquired.
"'Yes,' I answered.
"'What a nuisance,' he exclaimed, and turning to the servant-boy who was there he said: 'take a horse and fetch the vet. as quickly as you possibly can.'
"The veterinary surgeon came. Of course, he was not going to say he did not know what was the matter with the beast, so he said it was——I forget the name now, it was a queer word he said, I know, a name which he was sure we should not remember anyone of us,—and told us to fetch some medicine.
"We gave her the drug. She seemed a little bit better and we left her for the night. In going to have a look at her on the following morning, I found the poor animal dead."
"Well," said Frank, "what proofs have you that it was really this woman who caused your cow to give up the ghost?"
"What proofs?" ejaculated the old man; "well, I think there were proofs enough; but, to be quite sure, Mr. Fouret consulted a white witch. She told him it was an old woman who was jealous ofhim, and gave my employer a powder to burn. 'You may be certain that the culpable person will come to you, when you have burnt that powder,' she said to him.
"Mr. Fouret did as he had been told to do, and Mrs. X. came on the following morning. She said: 'I thought I would call so as to have a look at your new acquisition.'"
"I do not care to hear any more," interrupted Frank; "science and reasoning will in time do away with all this."
It was now time for them to attend to their work. They went. Not one word did they exchange. There seemed to be a gap between them. Old Pierre was vexed at being rebuked by a young man. Frank was in despair.
The next day when they were seated as usual having a chat after dinner, Pierre quietly produced from his pocket theGazette de Guernesey. He had not said a word about superstition during the morning, but silently handed the paper to Frank, pointing with his finger at a paragraph.
Not a word was exchanged. The young man took the paper and read aloud: "Spiritualism. Another convert to spiritualism is reported, the learned ——. He is well known as the able and energetic editor of the ——."
The old man looked at Frank and in a deep voice said: "Is it ignorance?"
"This is a different thing altogether," he responded; "it is not that base superstition about which we were speaking yesterday. Besides, learned people are not always the first to discover trickery."
Then he thought of the superstitious, albeiteducated people who frequent the gambling hell at Monte Carlo; and stopped short.
Pierre looked at him; "Is it only ignorance?" he again asked.
"Bah," said Frank as he waved his hand with a gesture of supreme contempt; "I don't care what it is, it's very ridiculous and unreasonable."
The old man shook his head. "I believe what I've seen," he said.
Frank waxed hot. "You are then determined to remain in that state of narrow-mindedness, believing in all this nonsense. But, my man, youmustbe miserable."
Again the stolid answer came: "I believe what I've seen."
"Listen," said Frank: "One day, when I was about nine years of age, I was looking at a pig which had been, to all appearances, killed. As I was about to go nearer, the brute jumped down and came running after me. I, in my ignorance, thought it was a dead pig pursuing me, and when my mother told me the contrary, I said as you do: 'I believe what I have seen.'"
Quoth old Pierre: "As you say, it's a different thing altogether."
"Let us go about our work," said Frank; "we are losing our time I fear."
His hope of converting this man was almost extinguished.
"What are my decisions coming to?" he said to himself. "I had once determined to be an inventor, etcetera, and here I am with a face like the tan and tomato-stained hands. When I try to change Maît Pierre's notions, I fail. Notwithstanding, I will not be disheartened. Knowledge is power; if I fail here, I shall not fail everywhere."
Frank Mathers felt himself strong, rather too much so perhaps.
It is one of the defects of the self-educated, that they generally imagine themselves much more learned than they really are. Not having anyone to compete with, or a master to show them their imperfections, they rather over-estimate their capacities.
There is also another disadvantage in self-culture. The self-educated man is often only acquainted with the elements of a great many different sciences, but it is seldom that he is thoroughly versed in any single one. There are exceptions to this rule. One is when the student has a decided talent for something, and energy to pursue his studies.
Frank had studied something of almost everything and imagined himself a savant.
From this it must not be inferred that he was uneducated.
But, he lacked that knowledge of the world which is only acquired by mixing with the world.
Dark Days.
I
t was winter, dull winter, when nature rests and green fields are no more.
There was not much work to do now in the greenhouses at "the Rohais."
Frank was one evening taking a walk towards the Câtel Church.
He had some business to settle with his carpenter, who lived near "Woodlands."
Presently, a man who had dogged his steps for some time, exclaimed: "It's you, Mr. Mathers, I thought it was."
Turning round, Frank recognised Jacques, Mr. Rougeant's workman. He thought his heart had stopped beating, so sudden was the thrill of satisfaction that shook its tendrils.
"Yes, it is I," he at last answered; and he shook hands with Jacques as if he had been his most intimate friend.
"He was so glad to see him," he said. "And how are they all at 'Les Marches,'" he inquired.
"Oh, jolly-like," said the man who had boasted that he could speak English; "the squire's in a reg'lar good mood this week."
"Indeed!" said Frank.
"Well, you see, it's no wonder after all; the young Miss's engaged to a young fellow; Tom Soher, I think his name is. I don't like the looko' the chap. He used to drink and there's no sayin'——."
He stopped short on perceiving Frank who was leaning against the wall for support; his face of an ashen hue.
Jacques eyed him anxiously. "One'd say you'd be ill," he remarked.
"I don't feel exactly well," said Frank.
"Shall I see you home?"
"No, thank you, I can easily walk there."
"I think I'd better come with you; I know my missus'l be waitin' for me, but I'll come if you think I must."
"No, thank you," again responded Frank; "there are a great many people about——. There! I feel slightly better."
"As you like," said Jacques, who by-the-by was not in the least inclined to accompany the young man.
"I'll go alone," said Frank; "Good-night."
"Good-night, Sir, I hope you'll be better soon," said Jacques, as each one betook himself towards his home.
Frank was completely weighed down with this piece of unexpected and unwelcome news. He did not go to the carpenter's residence; he forgot all about it. He went straight home. How he arrived there, which road he took, which door he entered by, he did not know; but he found himself in his bedroom, seated on a chair and gazing into space in blank despair.
This was the end of everything.
He pictured to himself her lover. He did not know him, but he succeeded in forming in his mind one of the biggest monsters that ever inhabited the globe in the shape of man.
And Adèle; he knew she must have been forced into it by her father. "How she must groan under this yoke. To have to listen to that vicious being with the prospect of one day being his wife." Why had it come to this, why was the world so formed. Ah! the wicked world we live in, the abominable, corrupted world. When would the millennium come. When would all this unhappiness be swept away from the earth's surface.
Alas! he would die before that time; so would thousands and millions of others.
What had the world done that it must thus be continually sacrificed. What had he done. Others were happy; surely no one had ever met such a deception before. People had to suffer sometimes, but not such intense, heart-rending suffering as he now endured.
He was full of despair. Before him, there was nothing but darkness. The more he thought over his misfortunes, the more hopeless life seemed to be.
The candle was now nearly burnt out, but he heeded it not. He waved his hand near his face as if to scatter his thoughts. "Why did I rescue him when he was drowning. (He was thinking of Mr. Rougeant.) I risked being pulled into the water, I might have been drowned; and this is the reward." Ah! how humanity must suffer. If there was no joy, no real happiness on this earth, why live, why continue to endure all this. Schopenhauer was quite right when he said life was not worth living. Henceforth, he would be a pessimist. Three cheers for pessimism!
Ah! the wicked world we live in.
The candle had now burnt itself out but the young man remained seated, his hands thrust inhis pockets, his eyes gazing at the floor, and his heart in "kingdom come."
When the clock struck twelve, he awoke. He had fallen asleep and was a little more composed than before. He undressed and went to bed.
He awoke early in the morning. He was crying. What was the matter with him. It dawned upon him: he was going to have a fit of melancholy.
He felt it, but he was powerless to prevent its intrusion. He was like the man who stands between the rails, and suddenly sees a train advancing at full speed towards him and remains with his eyes riveted on the instrument of his destruction, seemingly powerless to move, till the engine crushes him in its onward course.
When Frank descended to breakfast, old Pierre and his spouse noticed his wan look. "I think master's going mad," said the man to his wife, when Frank was out of the room. "I don't know what ails him, but he seems very pale and strange."
The young man wandered aimlessly. Nothing interested him, not even his books, these companions which he had cherished so much. He tried to find pleasure in them. "If I had something to do, something to occupy my thoughts," he said to himself, "I would be much better. Work is the balm which heals my wounds, it sets me on my feet again. I will work, I will study."
He soon found out that work in itself could not heal his wounds. Then he grew still more despondent. What was the use of working if work did not bring a reward. It was all very well to toil, but to work like a slave, without the prospect of utilizing one's power after having continually striven to acquire it, was discouraging.
He therefore put his books aside and his melancholy grew deeper and deeper.
One day he was seized with anxiousness for his soul's future. He had not done what he ought to have done. He greatly frightened Mrs. Merlin, when he entered the house and exclaimed: "I'm lost; I'm lost."
"Don't say that, Mr. Mathers," she said. "You have always been a good man."
"Good!" he exclaimed, his eyes dilated, the muscles of his face working convulsively; "good, yes, for my sake, because I hoped in my selfishness to reap ten times the outlay. Don't you see," he continued, "that I have only worked for my own selfish interest. I have made sacrifices, because I hoped to reap a rich reward. And now, I am well punished; I deserve all this, I certainly do. I have done nothing for others. I have not been altruistic."
The woman stared at him. She knew almost as much about altruism as a dog does about the celestial sciences. After a few moments of silence she spoke: "You have been very good to us, you rescued a man from drowning once at great risk, you——"
"Ha, ha!" he laughed, "fine talk, to come and speak like that to me. I am going to die, and do you hear;" he added in an undertone, catching hold of Mrs. Merlin's arm and terrifying her; "I am afraid, oh, so afraid."
The old woman began to cry. "You must not talk like that," she said, "you really must not. Why don't you pray?"
"Pray! what is the use; no, not now. I am being punished for my sins. I must atone, I must atone."
He continued in this sad state for a few days, weighed down with this strange malady, which, alas, often preys upon our finest intellects.
Then, a reaction set in, and he began to improve gradually.
He felt quite well at times, then re-assumed his moody ways; rays of sunshine sometimes darted from behind the clouds. "I wish the sun would disperse the clouds," he sighed.
One evening, when his head was tolerably clear, he was seized with a desire to visit his parents' grave.
Without consulting anyone, he immediately proceeded towards the Foulon. When he came to the iron gate, it was closed. He was bitterly disappointed. By climbing over it, he would risk being empaled on the iron spikes, or otherwise injured.
Presently he thought of the wooden wicket situated a little lower down. He proceeded thither and climbed over it without difficulty. A stream confronted him. He crossed it on a plank thrown across the rill. It was very dark, but he did not think of it. He was alone in this graveyard, but he experienced no fear. He felt happier than he had done for a long time. "Had he not adopted the pessimistic view of life."
He walked straight to the grave where his father and mother lay buried and seated himself near it. Just then, a gentle breeze caused the stately trees surrounding the graveyard to waft their leafy tops to and fro. Nature was rocking itself to sleep.
Even as it slumbered, it now and then heaved a sigh, sympathizing with the lonely man who pondered near his parents' grave.
He soliloquized: "Around me, the dead;beneath that turf, the dead; above me, beyond those glimmering stars, somewhere in that infinity of space, in which man with his very limited understanding loses himself, the departed souls...."
Suddenly, he perceived a white form advancing towards him. If hair stands on end, Frank's did. His heart beat at a fearful rate. What could this be? It certainly must be a ghost. "I have laughed at apparitions, but I am now going to be punished for my incredulity," he said to himself.
The ghost moved and came nearer. Frank trembled from head to foot. When he had recovered sufficient courage to scrutinize this form, it suddenly disappeared.
The young man fixed his eyes on the place where the ghost had vanished, for ten minutes; then turned his gaze in another direction. He soon recovered his senses, and fell into a reverie.
Again he soliloquized: "We all travel towards the grave. We all shall one day be like these around me. Why work, why trouble oneself. Why have I taken so much pains about my education? I have been ambitious, I have worried myself, I have been anxious to acquire wealth and fame. Here, the rich and the poor, the famous, the unfamous, and the infamous, the ignorant and the educated, are resting in the same ground, surrounded by the same scenery. I have been foolish to worry myself thus.
"Do I not daily meet ignorant and uncivilised people who live a life of contentment and happiness? Not caring for the future, not aspiring after getting on in life, living from hand to mouth, they manage to show a radiant countenance.
"Is ignorance bliss? Perhaps, in one sense; still I would not be without education.
"What must I do to be happy? I will shut mine eyes to all ambition, I will live a quiet life. Alas! even as I pronounce these words, my heart belies them. I cannot annihilate the acute brain which tortures me. Since all my hopes of happiness seem to shun me, I will continue in my new religion—pessimism; and when the hour of death comes, I will smile."
He thought of the hopeful days he had once known. He rose from his seat, cast a farewell glance on his parents' grave and proceeded down the gravel walk. He then thought of the ghost which he had seen, and felt a vague sense of fear. "I am no coward," he muttered as he straightened himself and tried to assume an air of indifference. But he felt nervous. He glanced anxiously behind him every other moment, and increased his pace.
He perceived, among the trees, near the gate over which he had to pass—a light.
It was as if a thunderbolt had passed through his body.
He looked more attentively. Yes, there was a light, a strange, fantastic light, dancing amongst the trees. His feverish brain caused him to lose all power of reasoning.
"What is this?" he said to himself. He felt his heart beating heavily against the walls of its prison as if trying to escape. His legs seemed to give way under him. A big lump stuck in his throat.
"It is only anignis fatuus," he said to himself. "No, it cannot be, it does not burn with a bluish light. Why this terror, why this fear; it must be thefeu bellanger."
The light changed. It was approaching.
A sense of horripilation stole over him. A cold perspiration bathed him.
The light changed again. It really receded this time, but to Frank's agitated mind, it was simply one of its tactics to induce him to come nearer.
He suddenly bethought himself of the stream. His terror reached its climax. "Ah! there it was, waiting for him to pass that way, and then with a shout of triumph, it would plunge him in."
He remembered old Pierre's words: "Wait till he gets caught." How he wished he had not mocked him so. Perhaps thisfeu bellangerwas preparing to revenge itself.
Again, the light approached. It came nearer to him than it had yet come. The supreme moment had arrived. He already felt himself being dipped in the stream, with no one to rescue him. Ah! the horror of being killed by one of the devil's angels.
Here he remembered Pierre Merlin's advice: "Turn your coat sleeves inside out and put on your garment so." Without a moment's hesitation he divested himself of his coat. As he was turning the sleeves, the object of his dread disappeared. A sigh of relief escaped him.
In a minute, he had bounded over the stream and gate into the road. He put on his coat, and was proceeding towards his home, when he perceived the cause of his fears. It was simply a ray of light coming through the windows of the guardian's house. He could see it now. A woman was standing on a chair with a small lamp in her hand seeking for something on a shelf. As she moved the lamp, the reflection on the trees moved also.
He began to laugh. "Thefeu bellanger, forsooth.How old Pierre would have smiled if he had beheld him taking off his coat. But the ghost,thatwas what puzzled him."
The ghost came bounding over the wicket and passed by him.
It was a white dog.
This adventure had taught him a great lesson. What could he say now, he, the educated and civilized young man? No wonder if the people who had been accustomed to hear strange tales from their earliest infancy, believed in them.
He went home, determined to deal leniently with Pierre in the future.
"I must have been in a dreadful state of mind to have acted thus," he thought. "I have done more than I ever meant to do."
When he came home, he was quite cheerful. He did not say that he had seen a ghost, neither did he tell the spouses Merlin that he had nearly been attacked by thefeu bellanger.
Pierre noticed his joyous look. He gave a wink to his wife as if to say: "He's taken a glass or two."
It was not so; the shock which he had received had completely dislodged the last trace of melancholy.